This Is a Bust (22 page)

The Brow stomped his foot and pointed a finger at me that
went through my throat.

“You u
nderstand that this matter was going to be brought
before the Civilian Complaint Review Board before I intervened.”

“I stand by my report, sir.”

“Now, son, I don't doubt for a moment that those two hippy
schoolteachers were troublemakers. No doubt in my mind. But you handled it the wrong way, and unfortunately they were part of a school project for public television. The entire event was recorded on film. But it's not just an oriental police officer that they have on film — it's the entire NYPD. It reflects badly upon all of us.”

“I'm
sorry about this, sir,” I said, feeling like I'd put a baseball
through his porch window.

“Well, today's your lucky day. I've got the matter settled.
It won't go before the CCRB and there's nothing on your record.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The Brow chewed on a part of his cheek a bit. “Chow,” he
said in a tone I'd never heard him use before. “Do you know about our upstate, uh, campus?”

“The
Farm, sir?” I asked. The farm was a counseling program
where they sent cops for a week or two to dry out, usually after incidents involving drunk, off-duty cops and the destruction of private property.

“Yes
, the Farm. I think you should consider a brief evaluation
period. You'd still be on salary and, again, there'd be nothing on your record about it.”

“I'm okay, sir. I really am.”

“On the other hand, I can't make you go. It's strictly
voluntary. If I could, I'd put you into alcohol counseling for at least two months. Everyone can use some counseling — you don't have to be a common drunkard. Even I see a counselor every week. I hope, Mr. Chow, that in the future, your personal life doesn't interfere with your duties. Our biggest battle isn't out there. It's in here.” He tapped his chest. “Consider yourself dismissed, Mr. Chow.”

I nodded and got out. The Brow thought that I had been
drunk, and that drinking was why I'd gotten pushy with the tourists. He didn't know that drinking was why I got out of bed.

—

I was standing in front of the locker room's bulletin board when English Sanchez nudged me.

“So I heard you got pretty good legs,” he said, wearing a
taunting smile. English had maybe 20 pounds on me, tops.

“Yeah, that was some time ago, though,” I said. We both
looked at the sign detailing the benefit hockey game between the police and the firemen. It was next week and our side was still short on men.

“You skate?” I asked English.

“Yeah.”

“They're probably having a tough time signing up guys
looking for freelance injuries. Last year, they let high-school kids from the Police Athletic League substitute on the roster.”

“That's how you came up, isn't it?” asked English. “Weren't
you in PAL when you were a kid?”

“Who told you that?” I asked.

English smiled, which deepened the pockmarks in his face.
“I hear things about you, these little interesting things. Like how you were a real bastard on skates.”

“I always remembered to give the right amount of change,”
I said. “I went to the PAL for a few years because there's not much to do in Chinatown but work, study, or get in trouble. PAL was fun, like an extended gym class rather than hanging out with cops.”

“Mike Donovan told me you used to sock the
other team's
goalie when he made a save. And that was in practice.”

“He's
a captain now, right? I remember Mike. He showed me
how to skate backwards.”

“He was a captain in the Bronx. He quit to play the 
stock
market.”

“How about that,” I said.

English kept smiling. It gave me a queer feeling.

“Enough about hockey,” I told him. “How about you give me
some investigative assignments?”

“C'mon,
Chow. Everyone knows you. No one in Chinatown is
more conspicuous than you.”

“But a bunch of white guys and one black guy in
plainclothes is a lot more discreet? None of them speak the language, I might add.”

“You might add that, but it doesn't make a difference. Those
men are hard-working and they get the job done.”

“If you'd just give me a shot, I could really do something for
the bureau.”

English shifted his stance and tilted his head. “I want you to
know, Chow, that when they were laying guys off, we lost a lot of good young men. You know what I mean? They didn't have a record in the military to count towards seniority like you did. And honestly, you're not the most likely to succeed in this house. In fact, I'd be more willing to give investigative assignments to guys with even less experience than you.”

I didn't say anything.

“Anyway, you've got a good gig going. Why would you want
to give it up? Every day's a party for you! Show up, shake
some hands, pose for some pictures, then sit back, hook your thumbs into your belt. You're using the system. Easy, right?”

“Yeah,” I said
. I turned to go but English put a hand on

my
shoulder.

“So what did they call you back then?” he asked me.
“Donovan said the other kids in the PAL would call you something and you'd go berserk.”

“I don't remember.”

“Come on, man, tell me. What'd they call you? Something
racial?” He stuck his elbow lightly into my ribs.

I didn't say anything. I kept my eyes on the flyer. Practice
was tonight at Wollman Rink. I figured I'd go; it would be two free hours of skating.

English was still at it.

“Come on,
Chow! What'd they say?” He drilled a fist into

my
shoulder.

I turned to him slowly. “You don't touch me like that,” I said.
“Ever.”

—

I was a little tired on the subway ride up to the rink, but the smell of sweat on ice got my legs moving again. I skated a lap backwards, which got the boys cheering.

I knew two guys from the academy, but everyone else was
on the older and heavier side, and I hadn't seen them before. The coach was Lieutenant George Teeter from the Seven precinct.

“That's real pretty, very pretty, detective. Good speed,” he
said.

“I'm not a detective,” I said.

“You're on track, though, right?”

I felt my stomach quiver like a bagpipe under someone's
squeezing armpit. “Wish I was,” I said, looking at Teeter and giving a corner smile like a guy trying to cover up bad teeth.

“Well, anyway, excellent job, officer. I'm thinking you're a prime candidate for a right wing. Chow, from the Five precinct, right?”

I looked around at the other blues.

“I don't see anyone else who could pass for a Chow, do you?”

Teeter laughed awkwardly.

“I j
ust don't want to presume or assume things. Who knows,
you could have been adopted or something.”

“I'm going to be doing the adopting. Those firemen are
gonna be calling me ‘Daddy,'” I said.

“That's the spirit. Good attitude. I like that.”

We started with laps around the rink, then shot some pucks
into the empty net. I was getting a decent lift on the puck, but I couldn't pull it as high as I wanted to.

Some of the guys paired off in two's and three's to practice
passing. I stepped off the ice to tape my stick again. It was already obvious I could skate figure eights around and 
between pretty much everyone there.

I stood the stick straight up and held the handle between
my feet. I cut the tape off the blade of the stick and peeled off a new roll. I wound it tight like it was a kid's broken leg. Then my hand slipped. The stick slid and clattered a few feet away.

It landed at Teeter's skates. He picked up the stick and
walked it over.

“Looks like you need more tape on the handle, too, Chow.”

“Yeah, I'm just taking it one step at a time.”

Teeter cleared his throat and said, “I understand that your
participation in the game may not be ideal in light of a little incident you had over Chinese New Year.”

“What?” I said. “That's supposed to be confidential!”

“To the public. Not within the department.”

“What does this have to do with playing hockey?”

“Well, naturally, there's nothing wrong with you
participating
on the surface of it. But families are going to be there, with kids. What would happen if word got out that we had a potentially unstable person playing in the rink?”

“I can't skate in a dipsy-doodle game of hockey, but it's okay
for me to walk around with a shield and a gun?”

“You're getting the wrong idea. Think of the PR angle. This
is the 10th year we've been playing the firemen. You know who's dropping the puck? Miss New York. It would be a shame if this game were marred by. . .” He waved his right hand as if trying to shake off a mitten.

I gave the tape a vicious tug and it screamed as it rolled
around my stick.

“I'm fine,” I said, “and I'm going to score a hat trick, how
does that sound?”

He took in a deep breath. It was the sound of better
judgment whistling down the elevator shaft.

“Chow, I'm going to level with you. I got a call from
someone
at the Five who told me I shouldn't let you play. He said you had a history of not being able to control your temper.”

“I'm managing to stay pretty calm right now.”

“Okay, but anytime you're not feeling good, I want you to
let me know. I'm telling you, if I see that things are amiss, I can't in good conscience let you play.”

“Who called you from the Five?”

“That's undisclosed. Don't worry about it. I'm giving you
a green light. I think you're okay. You're just the guy we needed.”

“Thanks, coach,” I said.

Teeter smiled. I tossed the tape away and hit the ice again.
English must have called Teeter. Motherfucker. I imagined my skates running over his fingers. I scored goals, but held the stick too tightly. There were blisters on my hands at the end of the night. I bit into my skin and drained them.

—

I took Lonnie to a double feature at the Music Palace. The old man must've been away and left his kids in charge 
of the theater. They were giving a Steve McQueen double feature: “The Blob” and “Papillon.”

We walked by the Graceful Heaven Buddhist Temple on
Bowe
ry on the way up. Not too many people were inside. I've always held the view that most Chinese don't go to Buddha unless they're unhealthy or know someone close who's unhealthy. The solution was always the same: donate some money.

“Ever go to a Buddhist temple?” I asked Lonnie. Her hand
was around my arm.

“Only once in a while to bow.”

“The last time I was in a temple was back in Nam.”

“Why did you go?”

“I had a friend who was hurt by a bouncing Betty mine.
He got shrapnel in his legs. I carried him back to a chopper and they took him away. When I found a temple in Saigon, I prayed for him.”

“What happened to him?”

“I don't know. I never saw him again. His name was Roy.

He said he was going to be a poet when he got back to 
the world.”

“The world?”

“W
e called America ‘the world' because Vietnam felt 
like
hell.”

“I'm glad you came back.”

“Are you crying, Lonnie?”

“I know you're still having a hard time fitting back into society. I read a story about veterans becoming alcoholics and drug addicts and criminals!”

“It's all right, you don't have to cry.”

We were waiting to cross the street now to the theater.

“Are you sure you want to see these movies?” I asked.

“I do. I've been so busy.
We haven't been able to see each other and do things
together.”

“You're in school. You have to study.”

“I can't even go to see your hockey game. I just don't have
the time. But maybe that can be another outlet for you.”

We got into the theater and got some dried mango strips
and popcorn at the concession stand. I walked Lonnie down the aisle as far away from the smoking balcony as possible.

We had some good laughs through “The Blob,
” but Lonnie
had to nudge me awake a few times during “Papillon.” Seeing a guy struggling to endure just wasn't that interesting to me.

I took the subway to Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn to catch the LIRR line out to Long Island. The game was going to be held at an arena where the Ice Capades practiced. I'd heard that the firemen were in better shape than us, and I wasn't surprised. They cooked their own meals every day while we were basically forced to eat fast food.