arms and puffed a cigar until the two who had been waving at me decided to walk my way.
They were whispering now with another woman and finally the shorter girl, who was not exactly a girl, but a woman of about thirty-five, came right up. She was dressed like a teenager with a short yellow mini, violet panty hose, granny glasses, and white lipstick. Her legs were too damned fat and bumpy and she was wearing a theatrical smile with a cold arrogant look beneath it. Up close, she looked like one of the professionals and seemed to be a picket captain. Sometimes a woman, if she’s the real thing, can be the detonator much quicker than a man can. This one seemed like the real thing, and I looked her in the eye and smiled while she toyed with a heavy peace medal hanging around her neck. Her eyes said, “You’re just a fat harmless cop, not worth my talents, but so far you’re all we have here, and I don’t know if an old bastard like you is even intelligent enough to know when he’s being put down.”
That’s what I saw in her eyes, and her phony smile, but she said nothing for a few more minutes. Then a car from one of the network stations rolled up and two men got out with a camera and mike.
The interest of the marchers picked up now that they were soon to be on tape, and the chanting grew louder, the gestures more fierce, and the old teenybopper in the yellow dress finally said, “We called you over because you looked very forlorn. Where’re the riot troops, or are you all we get today?”
“If you get
me
, baby, you ain’t gonna want any more,” I smiled through a puff of cigar smoke, pinning her eyeballs, admiring the fact that she didn’t bat an eye even though I knew damn well she was expecting the businesslike professional clichés we’re trained to give in these situations. I’d bet she was even surprised to see me slouching against my car like this, showing such little respect for this menacing group.
“You’re not supposed to smoke in public, are you, Officer?” She smiled, a little less arrogant now. She didn’t know what the hell she had here, and was going to take her time about setting the bait.
“Maybe a real policeman ain’t supposed to, but this uniform’s just a shuck. I rented this ill-fitting clown suit to make an underground movie about this fat cop that steals apples and beats up flower children and old mini-skirted squatty-bodies with socks to match their varicose veins in front of the U.S. Army Induction Center.”
Then she lost her smile completely and stormed back to the guy in the headband who was also much older than he first appeared. They whispered and she looked at me as I puffed on the cigar and waved at some of the marchers who were putting me on, most of them just college-age kids having a good time. A couple of them sincerely seemed to like me even though they tossed a few insults to go along with the crowd.
Finally, the guy in the headband came my way shouting encouragement to the line of marchers who were going around and around in a long oval in front of the door, which was being guarded by two men in suits who were not policemen, but probably military personnel. The cameraman was shooting pictures now, and I hid my cigar and sucked in a few inches of gut when he photographed me. The babe in the yellow dress joined the group after passing out some Black Panther pins and she marched without once looking at me again.
“I hear you don’t make like the other cops we’ve run into in these demonstrations,” said the guy with the headband, suddenly standing in front of me and grinning. “The L.A.P.D. abandoning the oh so firm but courteous approach? Are you a new police riot technique? A caricature of a fat pig, a jolly jiveass old cop that we just can’t get mad at? Is that it? They figure we couldn’t use you for an Establishment symbol? Like you’re too fucking comical looking, is that it?”
“Believe it or not, Tonto,” I said, “I’m just the
They were whispering now with another woman and finally the shorter girl, who was not exactly a girl, but a woman of about thirty-five, came right up. She was dressed like a teenager with a short yellow mini, violet panty hose, granny glasses, and white lipstick. Her legs were too damned fat and bumpy and she was wearing a theatrical smile with a cold arrogant look beneath it. Up close, she looked like one of the professionals and seemed to be a picket captain. Sometimes a woman, if she’s the real thing, can be the detonator much quicker than a man can. This one seemed like the real thing, and I looked her in the eye and smiled while she toyed with a heavy peace medal hanging around her neck. Her eyes said, “You’re just a fat harmless cop, not worth my talents, but so far you’re all we have here, and I don’t know if an old bastard like you is even intelligent enough to know when he’s being put down.”
That’s what I saw in her eyes, and her phony smile, but she said nothing for a few more minutes. Then a car from one of the network stations rolled up and two men got out with a camera and mike.
The interest of the marchers picked up now that they were soon to be on tape, and the chanting grew louder, the gestures more fierce, and the old teenybopper in the yellow dress finally said, “We called you over because you looked very forlorn. Where’re the riot troops, or are you all we get today?”
“If you get
me
, baby, you ain’t gonna want any more,” I smiled through a puff of cigar smoke, pinning her eyeballs, admiring the fact that she didn’t bat an eye even though I knew damn well she was expecting the businesslike professional clichés we’re trained to give in these situations. I’d bet she was even surprised to see me slouching against my car like this, showing such little respect for this menacing group.
“You’re not supposed to smoke in public, are you, Officer?” She smiled, a little less arrogant now. She didn’t know what the hell she had here, and was going to take her time about setting the bait.
“Maybe a real policeman ain’t supposed to, but this uniform’s just a shuck. I rented this ill-fitting clown suit to make an underground movie about this fat cop that steals apples and beats up flower children and old mini-skirted squatty-bodies with socks to match their varicose veins in front of the U.S. Army Induction Center.”
Then she lost her smile completely and stormed back to the guy in the headband who was also much older than he first appeared. They whispered and she looked at me as I puffed on the cigar and waved at some of the marchers who were putting me on, most of them just college-age kids having a good time. A couple of them sincerely seemed to like me even though they tossed a few insults to go along with the crowd.
Finally, the guy in the headband came my way shouting encouragement to the line of marchers who were going around and around in a long oval in front of the door, which was being guarded by two men in suits who were not policemen, but probably military personnel. The cameraman was shooting pictures now, and I hid my cigar and sucked in a few inches of gut when he photographed me. The babe in the yellow dress joined the group after passing out some Black Panther pins and she marched without once looking at me again.
“I hear you don’t make like the other cops we’ve run into in these demonstrations,” said the guy with the headband, suddenly standing in front of me and grinning. “The L.A.P.D. abandoning the oh so firm but courteous approach? Are you a new police riot technique? A caricature of a fat pig, a jolly jiveass old cop that we just can’t get mad at? Is that it? They figure we couldn’t use you for an Establishment symbol? Like you’re too fucking comical looking, is that it?”
“Believe it or not, Tonto,” I said, “I’m just the
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