being called in. That ain’t my business, of course, and what the mayor or the governor want to do we just have to live with. But they just barge in here, trampling all over everything, thinking they’re smarter than anybody. I ain’t saying it’s not a serious case. But it ain’t a question of just calling in every Tom, Dick, and Harry cop—we got plenty of bodies to do the work. It’s a question,” he tapped his head hard several times with his index finger, “of using your goddam brain. That’s the difference between ordinary cops and good cops. Sure, you gotta beef up patrols, have special communications, all that stuff. That’s easy. It’s basic. We had that set up before the Troopers came in.”
He paced back and forth among the officers, his cigar growing shorter as he chewed and spat.
“So, fine, they get ordered into this, we just make more patrols. Nothing wrong with that—maybe—if they don’t end up shooting at us or their own damn shadows. But as far as my theories are concerned, that’s something else. I ain’t telling them because they’d either laugh at me or try and horn in on it and run it all themselves. And they aren’t up to it. They don’t know the area like we do, the nooks and crannies, the holes and pipes, the alleys and stairways. They’d stumble into a goddam swimming pool in somebody’s backyard and drown.
“Plus, I may be wrong. And if I’m wrong, the fewer cops who know about it the better, am I right?”
The officers nodded.
Perkins chuckled. “If I’m wrong, no sense in getting everybody in a uproar over it, ’cause I don’t feel like retiring just yet. And if I’m right . . . if I’m right . . .” he stared out the window, “. . . then we gotta play it cool and quiet. A small group of us are all that’s gonna be in on it, so it don’t get blown. Ready to move fast. ’Cause there’s gonna be some shooting. And I don’t want a whole mob of cops pumping lead into half of L.A.”
A sudden banging on the door. “Lieutenant! Lieutenant!” More banging. “Lieutenant! They got it! The state cops got it! May I come in?”
The door swung open and a red-faced, breathless young desk officer sprang into the room waving a piece of paper. “I just monitored the call! They got it surrounded! Some Mexican’s house . . .”
State Troopers ringed the yard around the small house, crouched behind bushes, nervously fingering their shotguns.
Captain Sanford clutched his .357 Magnum so tightly that his entire fist was white. His eyes, like the others’, were focused on a low section of shrubbery just off to the left of the front porch. Beside him hunkered a middle-aged man in overalls and a plaid shirt.
The cry came again, a low, mournful, hiccuping cry just like a regular baby.
“That’s it!” the man whispered in the captain’s ear. “Just like I said when I called.”
“Okay,” Sanford whispered to the Troopers nearest him, “move in slowly, all together, pass the word.”
The circle of Troopers emerged from the bushes and started edging toward the cluster of small shrubs, their shotguns at the ready. The captain was a step ahead.
Again the cry, unmistakable, louder.
The men crept forward. They were a few yards from the spot. The crying rose to a wail.
A car screeched up to the curb. A girl’s voice yelled, “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
A teenage girl and boy came running from the car, their long black hair flowing behind them. “What’s WRONG?”
They broke through the line of Troopers and headed for the shrubs.
“Watch it!” Captain Sanford bellowed. “Everybody down!”
The Troopers flopped into prone firing positions.
The two teenagers parted the shrubs to reveal a stroller in which a diaper-clad baby now goo-gooed happily.
“Stay away from its fingers!” yelled the captain.
The girl picked up the baby and hugged it to her chest. “But what’s wrong, officers? We just left the baby for a few minutes.”
Captain
He paced back and forth among the officers, his cigar growing shorter as he chewed and spat.
“So, fine, they get ordered into this, we just make more patrols. Nothing wrong with that—maybe—if they don’t end up shooting at us or their own damn shadows. But as far as my theories are concerned, that’s something else. I ain’t telling them because they’d either laugh at me or try and horn in on it and run it all themselves. And they aren’t up to it. They don’t know the area like we do, the nooks and crannies, the holes and pipes, the alleys and stairways. They’d stumble into a goddam swimming pool in somebody’s backyard and drown.
“Plus, I may be wrong. And if I’m wrong, the fewer cops who know about it the better, am I right?”
The officers nodded.
Perkins chuckled. “If I’m wrong, no sense in getting everybody in a uproar over it, ’cause I don’t feel like retiring just yet. And if I’m right . . . if I’m right . . .” he stared out the window, “. . . then we gotta play it cool and quiet. A small group of us are all that’s gonna be in on it, so it don’t get blown. Ready to move fast. ’Cause there’s gonna be some shooting. And I don’t want a whole mob of cops pumping lead into half of L.A.”
A sudden banging on the door. “Lieutenant! Lieutenant!” More banging. “Lieutenant! They got it! The state cops got it! May I come in?”
The door swung open and a red-faced, breathless young desk officer sprang into the room waving a piece of paper. “I just monitored the call! They got it surrounded! Some Mexican’s house . . .”
State Troopers ringed the yard around the small house, crouched behind bushes, nervously fingering their shotguns.
Captain Sanford clutched his .357 Magnum so tightly that his entire fist was white. His eyes, like the others’, were focused on a low section of shrubbery just off to the left of the front porch. Beside him hunkered a middle-aged man in overalls and a plaid shirt.
The cry came again, a low, mournful, hiccuping cry just like a regular baby.
“That’s it!” the man whispered in the captain’s ear. “Just like I said when I called.”
“Okay,” Sanford whispered to the Troopers nearest him, “move in slowly, all together, pass the word.”
The circle of Troopers emerged from the bushes and started edging toward the cluster of small shrubs, their shotguns at the ready. The captain was a step ahead.
Again the cry, unmistakable, louder.
The men crept forward. They were a few yards from the spot. The crying rose to a wail.
A car screeched up to the curb. A girl’s voice yelled, “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
A teenage girl and boy came running from the car, their long black hair flowing behind them. “What’s WRONG?”
They broke through the line of Troopers and headed for the shrubs.
“Watch it!” Captain Sanford bellowed. “Everybody down!”
The Troopers flopped into prone firing positions.
The two teenagers parted the shrubs to reveal a stroller in which a diaper-clad baby now goo-gooed happily.
“Stay away from its fingers!” yelled the captain.
The girl picked up the baby and hugged it to her chest. “But what’s wrong, officers? We just left the baby for a few minutes.”
Captain
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