“Go ahead,” Bates said. “Radio the stupid shit.”
Romeo reached to depress his radio mike when unrelated traffic spilled out of the speaker. He waited for clear air, watching as Vickers seemed to reprimand Antoine and head back to his car.
“Goddamn Chatty Cathys,” Bates grumbled. “They think the radio is a telephone.” He sighed. “Might as well wait now. Let Vickers take off. We’ll go hook him up ourselves.”
Romeo watched as Vickers climbed back into his patrol car and sped off. He noticed Antoine watched the car, too. As soon as the Vickers drove around the corner, he straightened up suddenly and started walking in the opposite direction.
“He’s hoofing it,” Bates said.
Both men trotted to the roof access door. Romeo reached it first by several yards and flung it open. Three stories worth of stairs yawned beneath him. Romeo started down them and Bates followed behind. The training officer spoke once to warn him not to fall and break his head, but then he started breathing too heavily to speak.
They reached the bottom floor and emerged into the lobby of the movie theater. Romeo felt a light sheen of sweat on him, little more than from standing in the hot sun on the roof. He glanced back at Bates, whose breath came in ragged breaths. The older officer wiped his sleeve across his forehead, brushing away huge droplets of sweat.
“What…the fuck…are you…looking at?” he gasped at Romeo.
Romeo bit the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling and shook his head.
The patrol car was parked directly in front of the State Theater. Romeo fished keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. Once inside, he hit the power locks and Bates opened the passenger door.
“Don’t…get in a…wreck,” Bates told him.
Romeo started the engine and pulled away from the curb. Five seconds later, he was at the corner where Antoine had been standing. The drug dealer was nowhere in sight.
Bates had slowed his breathing some. “Drive around,” he said. “He can’t be far.”
Romeo cruised down the length of The Block, past the greasy diner called Primo’s, a Laundromat and two bars. An assortment of hookers and dopers hung out on the sidewalk. All either deliberately ignored him or gave him a hard stare. He ignored them and drove on.
He took a left and drove another block with no luck. Two more lefts and he was back at the same corner he’d started at.
“Try alleys,” Bates told him. The training officer fiddled with the buttons on his door. “And unlock my goddamn window. I’m burning up in here.”
Romeo hit the window unlock and flipped a u-turn. Bates rolled down the window and hacked out a wad from his lungs.
At the first alley, Romeo turned right and crawled down the narrow passage. He ignored two winos seated against the rear of the Laundromat door, sharing a bottle wrapped in brown paper. They returned the favor.
When they reached the end of the alley, he checked both directions. No Antoine. He goosed the accelerator and zipped across the street and into the next alley and resumed crawling. Next to a dumpster behind a restaurant, another transient stood, urinating on the wall. Both officers ignored him.
“He is one sly cat,” Bates said.
Romeo wondered what he meant, using the word ‘cat.’ Before he had time to think about it, he saw a flash of yellow and Antoine turned the corner at the opposite end of the alley. He took two steps into the alley. Then, without breaking stride, he wheeled around walked back out, disappearing the way he’d come.
“There he is!” Bates pointed. “Go!”
Romeo punched the gas before the words were all the way out of Bates’s mouth. In three seconds, he reached the mouth of the alley and slowed. Up the street, already almost a half block away, Antoine walked at a rapid pace.
They were on him in another two seconds, pulling up along the curb and stopping just behind him. Romeo jammed the car into park and got out of the patrol car, but Bates was already at the front tire.
“Hey, Antoine!” he shouted. “Come back here!”
Antoine slowed and turned reluctantly. A bored, slightly put out expression was plastered on his face. “What the fuck, Officer B? I ain’t done shit.”
“Come over here,” Bates directed him.
Antoine rolled his eyes and sauntered toward them.
Bates pointed at Romeo. “Talk to my partner here,” he said.
Antoine turned his gaze to Romeo. “Partner? Shit.”
“Take your hands out of your pockets,” Romeo ordered.
Antoine removed his hands in an exaggerated motion, reminiscent of his earlier encounter with Vickers.
Romeo pointed to the push-bar at the front of the patrol car. “Stand there.”
Antoine gave him a look, shook his head and swaggered to the front of the car. “Partner, huh? Dat’s bullshit, Officer B. Nigga is a fucking Rookie, dat’s what he is.”
Romeo tensed at the epithet, but chose to ignore it.
Antoine took up his position at the front of the car and crossed his arms. “Whachoo want, Rookie?”
Romeo could sense Bates standing on his side of the car, watching them both. He met Antoine’s condescending gaze with his best professional stare. “I just wanted to introduce myself.”
Antoine cocked his head at him, then glanced over at Bates. “What’s dis, B? Social hour?”
Romeo watched Bates expression and saw that the veteran wasn’t sure what he was doing. He didn’t care. Romeo McClaren listened and he learned. His Moms taught him that.
“I wanted to tell you something else, too,” he said.
“What’s dat?”
“That you owe me one.”
Antoine looked him up and down, then back over at Bates. “Nigga is crazy, B. I’m telling you. Where you get dese muthafuckas, anyway? Boy is big and all, but he don’t look too smart, at all, you feel me?”
Bates didn’t reply, only watched and waited.
“Don’t talk to him,” Romeo said. “Talk to me.”
“Talk to you?” Antoine repeated. “Talk to you? Man, fuck you, nigga.” He jabbed his index finger in Romeo’s direction to punctuate his words.
Romeo moved quickly, stepping toward Antoine and grabbing onto his arm at the wrist and elbow. In one fluid motion, he cranked the arm and planted Antoine face-first into the hood of the cruiser.
“Motherfuck,” Antoine grunted. “Dis is police brutality, bitch.”
Romeo leaned down and spoke quietly. “No, it isn’t. You haven’t seen anything close to police brutality. Not yet.”
Antoine’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared, but he said nothing.
“Like I was saying,” Romeo continued. “You owe me one, and I’ll tell you why. I’ve been watching you sell your weed for the last hour. I got six contacts on you and I’ve got them all on videotape. My camera’s got a zoom lens and I’ve got you labeled.”
“Bullshit,” Antoine said, weakly.
“It’s true,” Romeo insisted. “You know it and I know it. I could take you in for delivery of a controlled substance right now if I wanted to. And you aren’t a juvenile any more, so the judge would drop a load on you.”
Antoine didn’t reply.
“All that ‘I’m a poor street kid’ rap won’t work anymore, Antoine. You get the full five years at Walla Walla.”
“Ain’t no judge giving five years for chronic.”
“Not for possession. And not for some piss ant case selling it, either.” Romeo increased the pressure on Antoine’s arm and pressed the dealer’s face hard into the hood. “But I’ve got six contacts. And six license plates, all on videotape. You think that when we go arrest those potheads you sold to, they won’t roll over on you in a heartbeat?”
Antoine looked around wildly for escape.
Romeo pushed down harder, making the dealer grunt. “I’ve got you cold,” he said. “But I’m going to let you go.” Then he released him.
Antoine snapped upright and glared at Romeo. He rubbed his wrist and then his cheek before turning to Bates. “What the fuck, B?”