Hollywood Moon by Joseph Wambaugh

Author:Joseph Wambaugh [Wambaugh, Joseph]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Crime
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2009-11-24T05:00:00+00:00

Late in the evening, Officer Harris Triplett, the young patrol officer who’d recently completed his probation, was on temporary loan to the vice unit as a UC operator. He was posing as a trick and not having a good time so far. Harris wore his sandy hair so short and looked so youthful that the vice sergeant thought the young cop could easily pass for a sailor or Marine on liberty. The plan was to borrow a few cops to use as operators to get as many hookers as possible off the streets ASAP, because one of the local TV stations had been regularly featuring a spokesperson for the Restore Hollywood project who claimed that the LAPD was ignoring vice problems on the boulevards.

It was an informal three-day operation to quiet the critics, so Harris Triplett was not wearing a wire under his Aloha shirt, as a female UC operator would if she were posing as a hooker on the boulevard. Under the front seat of the Mercury Sable that he was driving were a rover and his service weapon.

The first drag queen he encountered on the Santa Monica track, aka the “fruit loop,” was a mixed-race addict. The dragon, wearing a short gold dress and platforms, looked at him through the window and said, “So whatchoo lookin’ for, dope or pussy?”

“What’ve you got?” Harris Triplett said, figuring if a good drug bust came his way, he shouldn’t say no. He started sniffling and acting twitchy, his version of an addict, but he was far too hale and hearty to pull it off.

“You look like you could use some black,” the dragon said with a knowing smile.

“Yeah,” he said, figuring that “black” was tar heroin.

“Well, I ain’t got no black,” the dragon said. “Maybe I can get some liquid, though. I know somebody with a vial. That’s sixty doses. You got that kind of sugar?”

“Yeah, I’ll take it,” Harris Triplett said, figuring that “liquid” was LSD or PCP.

The dragon let out a raspy chuckle and said, “You switched up on me to the other dope way too fast, baby. That means you’re a cop. But you’re a cute little puppy. Come back when you’re a big dog.”

The dragon laughed again and walked away.

The next streetwalker he encountered was a tall white transsexual, well known to the vice unit who’d arrested her in the past. And now that she was post-op, she could not be booked into a male facility. The tranny stopped on the sidewalk, holding back her shoulder-length natural-red hair and bent forward to look inside the car.

“This is a pool car,” she said, “and you’re a cop.”

“What?” Harris Triplett said. “Me, a cop? I’m a Marine from Twenty-nine Palms.”

“Kiss me if you’re not a cop,” the tranny said.

Harris Triplett hesitated and said, “I don’t even kiss my wife.”

“You only got one key in the ignition, sweetie,” the tranny said before turning to walk away. “You should always use a key ring with at least a house key on it.

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