Where are they?”
“He didn’t ejaculate,” Dana said, unsure which was more distasteful, his manner or his necktie.
“How can she be sure?” the detective said.
“Because his penis was in her mouth and it was flaccid,” Dana said. “That means it wasn’t hard.”
“I know what it means,” Charlie Gilford said, but Dana doubted it. Then he added, “How come the only sex maniac that leaves
all the evidence where you can’t miss it is Bill Clinton?”
Dana Vaughn and Hollywood Nate didn’t immediately hear the further description of the apartment garage rapist when the Communications
RTO broadcast her follow-up info. Since violent assailants often seem older or larger to their victims, Dana said to Nate,
“He might not be that old, and he might not be that tall. And in fact, he might not be Middle Eastern. Just because the guy
had a box cutter doesn’t mean he works for Osama bin Laden.”
“Might even be a Jew,” Nate said. “His description sounds like my cousin Morris.”
None of the Hollywood cops expected to find the guy on foot in the area, and of course they were right. Dana and Hollywood
Nate cleared from their call, but before heading for the station, they immediately received another one.
At Nate’s insistence, Dana had to speed to this one. It was the kind of call that brought out black-and-whites from all over
the division, not to mention gang cops, motor cops, and any other male officers who happened to be on the radio frequency.
It was a “311 woman,” the penal code designation defining indecent exposure. The call sent 6-X-76 to a Laundromat on Santa
Monica Boulevard.
Dana said en route to Hollywood Nate, “I know this is the most important call that you pathetically desperate males will roll
on this month, but would you be terribly upset if I slowed down? My motto is ‘Drive to Arrive.’ ”
Three female customers waited outside on the sidewalk for the police before venturing back inside to retrieve their clothes
from the coin-operated dryers. Dana parked the Ford Crown Vic in front of the Laundromat and took her time emerging, not wanting
to get in the way of horny male coppers like Hollywood Nate, who might trample her.
The Asian woman who’d made the call said, “She’s still inside. She scared us to death when she took off all her clothes.”
When Nate ran into the Laundromat, he found the 311 woman sitting on a folding chair. Rather, she was sitting on two folding
chairs that had been pushed together. She was naked and milky white with long, stringy brown hair, and she weighed approximately
350 pounds. She was crying, her mascara running down her swollen cheeks and dripping off her pug nose onto her pendulous bosom.
Nate gaped, then turned to Dana and held up four fingers, meaning “code 4,” no further help needed at the scene. Dana jogged
out to their car and put out the code 4 broadcast, knowing that it wouldn’t stop the other horny bastards from arriving. Not
unless she said that the 311 woman was “GOA,” or “gone-on-arrival,” in which case they’d fan out and start looking for her.
The woman on the sidewalk who’d put in the call said to Dana, “Why is that woman naked, Officer?”
“We’re gonna find out,” Dana said. “Be patient.”
When she reentered the Laundromat, Nate said to her, “I got a feeling you should handle this one.”
Hollywood Nate walked out to the sidewalk, when, predictably, a car from Watch 3 squealed to the curb, despite the code 4
broadcast.
“You don’t wanna go in there,” he said to the cops inside. “She’s naked all right, but she weighs at least three bills. Her
jelly rolls hang like a loincloth. You don’t wanna go in there.”
Without comment, the night-watch car drove off, and a second one arrived and received the same eyewitness commentary, resulting
in the same rapid departure. But the third black-and-white to arrive belonged to the midwatch surfer cops, and
“He didn’t ejaculate,” Dana said, unsure which was more distasteful, his manner or his necktie.
“How can she be sure?” the detective said.
“Because his penis was in her mouth and it was flaccid,” Dana said. “That means it wasn’t hard.”
“I know what it means,” Charlie Gilford said, but Dana doubted it. Then he added, “How come the only sex maniac that leaves
all the evidence where you can’t miss it is Bill Clinton?”
Dana Vaughn and Hollywood Nate didn’t immediately hear the further description of the apartment garage rapist when the Communications
RTO broadcast her follow-up info. Since violent assailants often seem older or larger to their victims, Dana said to Nate,
“He might not be that old, and he might not be that tall. And in fact, he might not be Middle Eastern. Just because the guy
had a box cutter doesn’t mean he works for Osama bin Laden.”
“Might even be a Jew,” Nate said. “His description sounds like my cousin Morris.”
None of the Hollywood cops expected to find the guy on foot in the area, and of course they were right. Dana and Hollywood
Nate cleared from their call, but before heading for the station, they immediately received another one.
At Nate’s insistence, Dana had to speed to this one. It was the kind of call that brought out black-and-whites from all over
the division, not to mention gang cops, motor cops, and any other male officers who happened to be on the radio frequency.
It was a “311 woman,” the penal code designation defining indecent exposure. The call sent 6-X-76 to a Laundromat on Santa
Monica Boulevard.
Dana said en route to Hollywood Nate, “I know this is the most important call that you pathetically desperate males will roll
on this month, but would you be terribly upset if I slowed down? My motto is ‘Drive to Arrive.’ ”
Three female customers waited outside on the sidewalk for the police before venturing back inside to retrieve their clothes
from the coin-operated dryers. Dana parked the Ford Crown Vic in front of the Laundromat and took her time emerging, not wanting
to get in the way of horny male coppers like Hollywood Nate, who might trample her.
The Asian woman who’d made the call said, “She’s still inside. She scared us to death when she took off all her clothes.”
When Nate ran into the Laundromat, he found the 311 woman sitting on a folding chair. Rather, she was sitting on two folding
chairs that had been pushed together. She was naked and milky white with long, stringy brown hair, and she weighed approximately
350 pounds. She was crying, her mascara running down her swollen cheeks and dripping off her pug nose onto her pendulous bosom.
Nate gaped, then turned to Dana and held up four fingers, meaning “code 4,” no further help needed at the scene. Dana jogged
out to their car and put out the code 4 broadcast, knowing that it wouldn’t stop the other horny bastards from arriving. Not
unless she said that the 311 woman was “GOA,” or “gone-on-arrival,” in which case they’d fan out and start looking for her.
The woman on the sidewalk who’d put in the call said to Dana, “Why is that woman naked, Officer?”
“We’re gonna find out,” Dana said. “Be patient.”
When she reentered the Laundromat, Nate said to her, “I got a feeling you should handle this one.”
Hollywood Nate walked out to the sidewalk, when, predictably, a car from Watch 3 squealed to the curb, despite the code 4
broadcast.
“You don’t wanna go in there,” he said to the cops inside. “She’s naked all right, but she weighs at least three bills. Her
jelly rolls hang like a loincloth. You don’t wanna go in there.”
Without comment, the night-watch car drove off, and a second one arrived and received the same eyewitness commentary, resulting
in the same rapid departure. But the third black-and-white to arrive belonged to the midwatch surfer cops, and
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