87th Precinct 25 - Hail, Hail, the Gang's All Here! by McBain Ed

Author:McBain, Ed [McBain, Ed]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Police Procedural, Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9781612181646
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2012-02-28T05:00:00+00:00

The black blouse found in Lewis Scott’s bathroom had come from a clothing store called The Monkey Wrench, on Culver Avenue. Since this was a Sunday, the store was closed. The patrolman on the beat spotted Willis and Genero peering through the plateglass window and casually ambled over to them.

“Help you fellows?” he asked.

Both Genero and Willis looked at him. Neither of them recognized him. “You new on the beat, kid?” Genero said. The patrolman was perhaps three or four years older than Genero, but since his rank was lower, Genero felt perfectly free to address him in this manner. The patrolman could not decide whether he was dealing with hoods or fellow law enforcers; the distinction was sometimes difficult to make. He debated whether he should answer smartass or subservient. While he was deciding, Willis said, “I’m Detective Willis. This is my partner, Detective Genero.”

“Oh,” the patrolman said, managing to make the single word sound eloquent.

“How long you been on the beat, kid?” Genero asked.

“Just this past week. They flew me in from Majesta.”

“Special assignment?”

“Yeah. This is a glass post, you know, there’s been lots of breakage and looting lately. They almost doubled the force here, from what I understand.”

“Where’s the regular beat man?”

“He’s catching a cup of coffee at the diner up the street. Anything I can help you with?”

“What’s his name?”

“Haskins. You know him?”

“Yeah,” Willis said. “Diner on the corner there?”

“Right.”

“See you later, kid,” Genero said, and both detectives walked off toward the diner. Behind them, the patrolman shrugged in a manner clearly indicating that he thought all detectives were nogood rotten bastards who were always pulling rank.

The diner at fifteen minutes before 10:00 was empty save for Patrolman Haskins and a man behind the counter. Haskins was hunched over a cup of coffee. He looked as though he had not had much sleep the night before. Genero and Willis walked to the counter and took stools on either side of him.

“Hello, Bill,” Willis said.

Haskins looked up from his coffee. “Hey, hi,” he said.

“Two coffees,” Genero said to the counterman.

“You looking for me,” Haskins asked, “or you just happen in?”

“We’re looking for you.”

“What’s up?”

“How you want those coffees?” the counterman asked.

“Regular,” Willis said.

“One regular, one black,” Genero said.

“Two regulars, one black,” the counterman said.

“One regular, one black,” Genero said.

“He wants a regular,” the counterman insisted, “and you want a regular and a black.”

“What are you, a comedian?” Genero said.

“It’s all on the arm anyway, ain’t it?” the counterman answered.

“Who says?”

“The day a cop pays for a cup of coffee in here, that’s the day they give me a parade up Hall Avenue.”

None of the policemen answered him. They were not, as a matter of fact, in the habit of paying for coffee in local eateries. Neither did they enjoy being reminded of it.

“Bill, we’re looking for a kid about eighteen, nineteen,” Willis said. “Long blond hair, handlebar mustache. See anybody around like that?”

“I seen a hundred of them,” Haskins said. “Are you kidding?”

“This one was wearing a jacket with the fur side inside, the skin side out.

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