users in the last couple of years once he was returned to full duty after his acquittal. Being alone made things a bit more dangerous but Tatum knew how to handle himself and was always sure to call for back up before taking any action if he sensed something amiss. He watched the car make a right hand turn off of Linden Boulevard.
“Disorderly in the division,” Tatum said into his portable radio—announcing in code to everyone on this radio frequency that Internal Affairs appeared to be present. Linden Boulevard had very few people walking the streets at this hour, but Tatum decided to stand out where he could be seen in case Internal Affairs was checking to see if he was on post. No sense in giving them an easy rip . If he was going to get written up for an infraction by Internal Affairs, it would be for something good, not for being off post or failing to make memo book entries. Tatum withdrew his leather binder containing his memo book from his back pocket, and as required, made entries regarding the Criminal Court summons he had just written.
He leaned back against the steel grating of a storefront under a street lamp where he was clearly visible. He was sure he’d be seeing that unmarked again; sometime within the next hour or so. His mind began to wander to the game of pool that he had been playing with the rookie, Schneider, when he came in for meal and the kid was on a break from t/s duty. The kid was pretty good, he was willing to concede. I still can’t believe he beat me at nine ball.
*
Tatum spotted the dark blue vehicle creeping up Linden Boulevard from the distance. He’s d efinitely looking for me . Tatum saw it slow down as it approached. He was now able to get a better look at the sole occupant—it was a well-dressed white male in his early thirties, Tatum guessed; undoubtedly Internal Affairs. He watched as the car pulled to the curb. Tatum decided to give the guy a hard time. The man leaned towards the passenger side of the vehicle as he lowered the window. Tatum watched from his position in front of the store; not flinching.
“Officer, can I speak with you for a minute?”
Tatum held his position for a couple of seconds just to irritate the man. “Are you lost, sir?” he replied as he slowly walked to the car.
“No,” said the man as he gazed at Tatum’s nameplate just to be sure. “No, Officer Tatum, I’m not lost. I’m Sergeant Boyle from the Internal Affairs Bureau.”
There was something that struck Tatum as odd about the man, but he couldn’t quite place it. “Okay, Sergeant Boyle. What can I do for you tonight?” His eyes. Tatum looked passed the man’s glasses, into his eyes . They just seemed a bit off.
The man seemed taken aback by Tatum’s sarcasm, but he wasn’t at a loss for words.
“Officer, may I see your memo book?
Tatum wondered what the rat had on him . I made memo book entries. I’ve been on post all night.
Then it hit him. The knife…the friggin knife. He saw me give it back to the Rasta. Shit, I should have just vouchered it. Tatum grew angry with himself. Procedurally, he should have confiscated the knife and issued the man another summons, or even arrested him for the possession of the weapon. It would have been a weak collar and drew the wrath of the midnight desk officer. The late tour Lieutenant was notorious for giving cops a hard time if they brought in trivial collars, but now because he didn’t, he was sure he’d be getting a rip .
He once again took the leather binder from his back pocket and opened it up to today’s date. His last entry was regarding the summons he issued for Unlawful Possession of Marijuana. Tatum’s head was buried in the book; trying to figure out if there was any way to make a quick entry regarding the knife—maybe saying it wasn’t a real knife and therefore he returned to the man. Realizing he didn’t have time to make this entry, he decided that this would
“Disorderly in the division,” Tatum said into his portable radio—announcing in code to everyone on this radio frequency that Internal Affairs appeared to be present. Linden Boulevard had very few people walking the streets at this hour, but Tatum decided to stand out where he could be seen in case Internal Affairs was checking to see if he was on post. No sense in giving them an easy rip . If he was going to get written up for an infraction by Internal Affairs, it would be for something good, not for being off post or failing to make memo book entries. Tatum withdrew his leather binder containing his memo book from his back pocket, and as required, made entries regarding the Criminal Court summons he had just written.
He leaned back against the steel grating of a storefront under a street lamp where he was clearly visible. He was sure he’d be seeing that unmarked again; sometime within the next hour or so. His mind began to wander to the game of pool that he had been playing with the rookie, Schneider, when he came in for meal and the kid was on a break from t/s duty. The kid was pretty good, he was willing to concede. I still can’t believe he beat me at nine ball.
*
Tatum spotted the dark blue vehicle creeping up Linden Boulevard from the distance. He’s d efinitely looking for me . Tatum saw it slow down as it approached. He was now able to get a better look at the sole occupant—it was a well-dressed white male in his early thirties, Tatum guessed; undoubtedly Internal Affairs. He watched as the car pulled to the curb. Tatum decided to give the guy a hard time. The man leaned towards the passenger side of the vehicle as he lowered the window. Tatum watched from his position in front of the store; not flinching.
“Officer, can I speak with you for a minute?”
Tatum held his position for a couple of seconds just to irritate the man. “Are you lost, sir?” he replied as he slowly walked to the car.
“No,” said the man as he gazed at Tatum’s nameplate just to be sure. “No, Officer Tatum, I’m not lost. I’m Sergeant Boyle from the Internal Affairs Bureau.”
There was something that struck Tatum as odd about the man, but he couldn’t quite place it. “Okay, Sergeant Boyle. What can I do for you tonight?” His eyes. Tatum looked passed the man’s glasses, into his eyes . They just seemed a bit off.
The man seemed taken aback by Tatum’s sarcasm, but he wasn’t at a loss for words.
“Officer, may I see your memo book?
Tatum wondered what the rat had on him . I made memo book entries. I’ve been on post all night.
Then it hit him. The knife…the friggin knife. He saw me give it back to the Rasta. Shit, I should have just vouchered it. Tatum grew angry with himself. Procedurally, he should have confiscated the knife and issued the man another summons, or even arrested him for the possession of the weapon. It would have been a weak collar and drew the wrath of the midnight desk officer. The late tour Lieutenant was notorious for giving cops a hard time if they brought in trivial collars, but now because he didn’t, he was sure he’d be getting a rip .
He once again took the leather binder from his back pocket and opened it up to today’s date. His last entry was regarding the summons he issued for Unlawful Possession of Marijuana. Tatum’s head was buried in the book; trying to figure out if there was any way to make a quick entry regarding the knife—maybe saying it wasn’t a real knife and therefore he returned to the man. Realizing he didn’t have time to make this entry, he decided that this would
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