"Is it just me, or has this shift been awfully quiet?" Officer Jim Reed
asked, turning briefly to Officer Pete Malloy, who guided the cruiser through
yet another deserted intersection in their patrol area.
"It's just you," Pete cracked, not missing a beat. One of these days,
you'll appreciate a quiet shift, kid. "Don't worry, Reed, it'll get busy.
At 10:30."
"Always the optimist, huh, Pete?" Jim muttered sarcastically.
Pete laughed, "Good one," he complimented. "I'll turn you into a smart
aleck, yet."
Jim chuckled. "What d'ya say we take advantage of the quiet and go 7?"
Another county heard from. "Do you mean to tell me you didn't hit
the candy machine before we rolled?" Pete teased.
Jim flushed at the reminder. He'd stuffed himself with candy on one particularly
busy shift and had ended up sick as a dog by the time the shift ended.
It was pretty stupid. Telling Pete the whole story probably
wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done, either. He laughed at himself.
"Nope. No change."
Pete laughed. "Where to?"
"Eddie's?"
"As good a place as any, I guess." Pete returned.
As Jim reached for the mic, the radio beeped, signaling a call.
"Your wish is granted," Pete remarked, his mouth quirking at the look of
consternation on the young officer's face.
"1-Adam-12, see the man. 11743 Griffith. Possible 415 - unknown disturbance.
Respond Code 3."
"I wanna eat dinner," Jim grumbled, picking up the mic, "1-Adam-12, roger."
He replaced the mic and switched on the lights and siren.
Like all law enforcement officers, Pete and Jim were virtually silent as
the unit sped to the location of the call. Jim spoke only to inform Pete
that upcoming intersections were clear and, ultimately, to direct him onto
Griffith, a residential street. Both were focused on the call and what might
await them. The call might be a party that was too loud. Or a fight, involving
2 men, or 10. They wouldn't know until they got there.
Pete pulled to the curb in front of 11743 and got out, retrieving his baton
from the door and donning his uniform cap. Jim was walking around the front
of the car as Pete closed the driver's door. The disturbance, whatever it
might be, wasn't on the street.
A man in suit pants, an open collared dress shirt and socks met them on
the sidewalk. "You've got to do something about the Taylors."
"Yes, sir," Pete began, "What seems to be the problem at the Taylors'?"
As if in answer to Pete's question, a loud crash emanated from the house
at 11751, followed by a strident voice.
"That's the problem," the man responded. "They've been going at
it like that for 4 hours. 4hours." He shook his head.
"One of these days, she's gonna kill him."
"She?" Pete echoed. Domestic disturbances were usually husbands abusing
wives, or two-party fights.
"Yes. She." The man bristled. "A real piece of work, that one. I don't
know why he puts up with her. If she was my wife, I'd move to Alaska."
Pete chuckled and Jim opened his pad. "Your name, sir?"
"Oh, Morgan . . . Bob Morgan." Morgan leaned over. "That's M-O-R-G-A-N."
"You said this happens frequently," Pete began.
Morgan shrugged. "Look . . . it's none of my business, I know." He shrugged
again. "Usually, I just ignore it and they quiet down after an hour or so."
He paused. "I'm a salesman. I've been on the road for 8 days and I'm dead
on my feet. And I've got a meeting at 7 tomorrow morning in San Diego."
"Yes, sir." Jim nodded. "The Taylors are at 11751?"
Morgan nodded, then pointed to the house. "Right there."
"Can you believe that guy?" Jim asked as he and Pete made their way across
the lawn. "He says the wife's gonna kill the husband, but he doesn't wanna
call the police."
"You heard him, partner. It's none of his business," Pete said sarcastically.
"Yeah." Jim stepped to the side as Pete rapped on the door.
"Mr. and Mrs. Taylor. Police," Pete called through the door.
Both officers heard feet shuffling on the other side of the door, then
it was opened by a thin man who was at least a head taller than Reed.
This guy's built like a telephone pole. Pete nudged Jim, who gaped
openly at the man. "Mr. Taylor?" That knot on his forehead looks recent.
"Ye'sir." Taylor nodded his head.
"Who the hell is it?" the strident voice demanded.
That must be Mrs. Taylor. I can't wait to get a load of her. "Police,
ma'am." He looked back at Taylor. "May we come in?"
Taylor stepped back, holding the door open as Pete and Jim stepped into
the entry hall of the house. Mrs. Taylor met them there. Like her husband,
she was tall, standing eye-to-eye with Reed.
Man, she must outweigh the guy by 50 pounds. Jim opened his notebook
and concentrated on the empty page. And not an ounce of fat on her.
"What do you want?" Mrs. Taylor demanded.
"Ma'am, one of your neighbors reported a disturbance," Pete began diplomatically.
"We came by to make sure everything's all right." He turned to Jim. "Reed,
take Mrs. Taylor into the kitchen, while I talk to Mr. Taylor."
Pete barely managed to contain his smile at the look of dismay that passed
over his partner's face. The light moment was short-lived.
"This is private," Mrs. Taylor argued. "I want both of you out of
my house. Now."
"It stops being a private matter when it disturbs your neighbors, ma'am,"
Jim returned.
Mrs. Taylor turned on Jim and pointed an index finger at him. "You may
be all of 12, but don't call me ma'am."
Jim instinctively took a step back.
"He didn't mean no harm, Nora." The husband had a slow, Southern drawl.
Mrs. Taylor turned on her husband, brandishing the same finger. "You.
Be. Quiet."
"All right, Mrs. Taylor," Pete began, stepping between husband and wife.
"Go on in the kitchen with my partner." When she narrowed her eyes at him,
Pete fixed her with a look he normally reserved for bikers and child molesters.
For the only time that night, Mrs. Taylor found herself at a loss for words.
She turned on her heel and brushed past Jim, disappearing into the kitchen
at the end of the hall.
"You know what they say about paybacks, Malloy?" Jim muttered, then followed
the hallway to the kitchen.
Pete turned back to Mr. Taylor. He must love her a lot. Or really,
really believe in the sanctity of marriage.I have no idea where
to start. "Your neighbors say you two have been having problems since
this afternoon." He paused. "What started it?"
Taylor smiled sheepishly, stuffing his hands in his pockets and shuffling
his left foot along the edge of the rug. "Well, sir, I don't rightly know."
The bony shoulders shrugged. "Nora's got her a ch'mcal inbalance . . ."
he paused on the mispronounced word. "Most times, she's right as rain."
He paused, shaking his head. "I usually c'n get her settled down, but tonight,
she just don' wanna settle."
"Is she seeing a doctor for this . . ." Pete paused. "Inbalance?"
Don't want to embarrass the poor guy.
"N'sir. Nora don' believe in none'o that stuff."
"How'd you get that knot on your forehead?" Pete asked.
Taylor chuckled quietly to himself. "Well, y'see, that there's m'own fault.
Nora's got a good arm on her." His eyes twinkled. "I jus' din't duck quick
enuff when she commenced t' throwin' things."
In the kitchen, Nora sat at the table, her eyes on her husband and Pete.
"Ma'. . ." Jim began, then stopped himself. Quick tempered is too mild.
Better not tick her off, again. "Mrs. Taylor, could you tell me what
started this tonight?"
Nora ignored Jim.
Okay. Maybe Pete can get enough out of the husband for the report. I'll
just keep an eye on the wife.
In the hall, Pete had heard all he needed to hear from Taylor. In spite
of the knot on the man's forehead, he and Jim didn't have grounds to arrest
Mrs. Taylor. We might be able to get her out of the house for the night,
but that doesn't seem to be something Taylor wants, anyway.
"Mr. Taylor, is there someone you can stay with for the night?" Pete asked
finally. He held up a hand before Taylor could protest. "Just for the night.
To give your wife a chance to `settle down', as you put it."
"Well, I s'pose I could stay with my sister." Taylor shrugged. "Nora
won't like it." He shrugged again. "I s'pose it's fer the best, though."
"Yes, sir, it probably would be," Pete said mildly.
Nora perked up when Taylor and Pete disappeared into the living room.
"Where is he taking my husband?" She stood.
"No place, Mrs. Taylor," Jim began. "Please, sit down." I hope that
voice does the trick. She probably outweighs me by 15 pounds. And
she's a woman. Even if she hit me first, I don't think I could subdue her.
He held his breath until Nora sat down again. Well, that was
a fun five seconds. "You know, Mrs. Taylor, maybe if you talked about
what was bothering you tonight, you might feel better."
Nora's only response was to narrow her eyes at the young officer.
"You musta been pretty mad for your neighbors to hear you." Jim tried.
"What do you know?" Nora challenged. "You're all of 12." Her voice held
a generous helping of disdain.
"Actually, I'm 24, ma'am." Jim flinched. "Sorry, it's a habit." Back
to the trouble here. "What'd your husband do, Mrs. Taylor?"
Nora was about to answer, but Fate intervened. Her husband's voice drifted
into the kitchen.
"C'n I speak to Sally?"
Nora stood, knocking the chair over. "Oh, no. He's not leaving and going
to his sister's."
Jim stepped between Nora and the door. "Sit down, Mrs. Taylor."
"He's not going to his sister's," Nora repeated. "She's always criticizing
me and interfering. AND. I. WON'T. HAVE. IT." With that, she shoved
Jim aside and walked past him.
"Mrs. Taylor." I can't let her go out to the living room and start
on her husband again. Jim grabbed Nora's upper arm. He pulled her back
toward the kitchen. "Just go in and sit down."
Nora turned on him, her face beet red. "LE'ME GO!" She yanked her arm
away, planted both hands in the middle of Jim's chest and shoved.
The move caught Jim off-guard and he stumbled backwards, hitting the wall
with enough force to knock the breath out of his lungs. He slid down the
wall, watching Nora prance off toward the entry hall.
Pete had heard the woman's shout and was surprised when she stepped into
the living room behind her husband. "Mrs. Taylor."
Taylor turned. "Now, Sugah . . ."
"Don't you dare!" Nora shouted, reaching for the handset.
Taylor drew his arm back and the earpiece of the phone connected with Pete's
right eye.
"Damn!" Pete exclaimed, bending over and clutching his eye. He continued
swearing under his breath, stomping his left foot, as though that would magically
make the pain go away.
"It's fer the best, Hunny." Taylor's voice.
The next thing Pete knew, he was on the floor, beneath Taylor and Nora.
He heard the base of the phone clatter to the floor, but didn't know until
later that it had missed his left shin by mere inches. His eyes were still
closed. The right in self-defense and the left in sympathy. He'd
gone down with his hands over his right eye, but he managed to dislodge them.
Pete forced both eyes to open. Where the hell is Jim? He started
pushing at Taylor. I've got better odds of pushing the thin one off me.
He succeeded in shifting Taylor's position only slightly. Movement caught
his attention and he focused just in time to see a cloth clad missile rocketing
toward him. The missile connected and Pete saw stars in the Taylors' humble
living room.
In the hallway, Jim had heard the scuffle in the living room, but hadn't
been able to do anything about it. He'd been too busy trying to breathe.
When he finally recovered, he pulled himself up and half-ran, half-staggered
into the living room. Seeing Pete's blue uniform beneath the Taylors, who
were fighting over the phone's handset, cleared away any cobwebs left in Jim's
brain.
"All right! That's enough!" It was meant to be a shout, but it had a
squeaky quality. As though Jim's voice was changing again. He got a handful
of somebody's shirt and pulled. Hard.
Nora squealed as Jim yanked her to her feet. Taylor crawled off and away
from Pete.
"Le'me go!" Nora demanded.
"Not on your life, lady!" Jim squeaked back. "Pete? You okay, partner?"
"What took you so long?" Pete groaned.
"I'll explain later." Jim quickly handcuffed Nora and led her out of the
house.
*****
9:40 p.m.
Because the call had turned into a free-for-all, Jim and Pete decided to
bring Sgt. McDonald to the Taylors' house. After apprising Mac of the situation,
both the one present when they arrived and the deterioration afterwards, the
officers waited on the front porch as Mac questioned Nora, who was handcuffed
in the back of Adam-12. They then waited some more as Mac went into the house
to question Taylor.
"You think they'll both turn around and say we started it?" Jim's voice
was anxious. He was still a probationer, after all.
Pete shrugged. "They might." His tone was mild. "Taylor strikes me as
honest to a fault." He paused and shrugged again. "Then again, you never
know how far he'll go to protect that wife of his."
Jim snickered. "Yeah. Remind me to thank Jean the minute I get home."
"Ah, yes. The happily married couple. A rare breed these days," Pete
teased.
"Jean and I disagree. And she's hummed a plate or two my way in her life."
Jim snickered again. "But it doesn't happen every day. I wanna thank
her for that."
It was Pete's turn to snicker. "Well, somebody needs to talk to Mr. Taylor.
Tell him to show Nora who's boss."
"Don't try it, Pete," Jim said mildly. "Taylor'll know right off you're
not married."
The door opened behind them and Mac stepped out. "The husband's version
backs yours up." He paused. "Can we go over it one more time, though?"
Pete frowned, then winced as the constant throbbing in his eye flared.
"Why?"
Mac chuckled. "It's a funny story." He grinned at his officers. "I'll
wait for your reports."
Pete put a hand in the center of Mac's chest as the sergeant started to
step off the porch. "This stays between us until end of watch. Give us a
chance to go home and lick our wounds before you give it to the peanut gallery."
Mac smiled, then nodded. "Speaking of wounds. Head back to the station,
finish your reports and then go over to Central Receiving. Let them check
you both out."
"It was a poke in the eye," Pete argued. Two pokes, but who's counting?
"I'll put ice on it when I get home."
Mac shook his head, then turned to Jim. "You were down, weren't you, Reed?"
"Just had the wind knocked out of me. I'm fine, Sarge. Really." Jim
chuckled. "I've had worse after falling off my bike."
I wonder if they'll both be singing that song in the morning? Mac
shrugged. "Well, then get back to the station, take care of the paperwork
and get back out on watch." He stepped off the porch and returned to his
car.
"C'mon, Jim, let's get the paperwork finished before Wells or anybody else
can get wind of this." Pete headed across the lawn, with Jim behind him.
Man, I have to ride in back with her. "Think it's too late
to get somebody else to transport her to the station?"
Pete laughed. "You'll live, kid."
*****
11:25 p.m.
By the time Jim finished the report on Nora Taylor, there wasn't much of
their watch left. They'd made it a block from the station when Jim spotted
the car weaving along ahead of them. Taking the man into custody had been
a cakewalk compared to their encounter with Nora. Even though it had kept
them on duty an extra 20 minutes.
Jim looked up from the deuce report as Pete stood to get his second cup
of coffee. Whoa! That eye looks terrible. The car musta been too dark
to notice. "Hey, Pete, maybe you oughta take the Sarge's advice and have
Central Receiving check out your eye."
"Just finish the report so we can get out of here," Pete snapped.
"Maybe you should get some ice on it, at least," Jim suggested.
He's like a terrier with a rag. He's not gonna give up. Pete turned
from the counter, fixing a left-eyed glare on his partner.
Jim put his head down. "Okay, finishing the report."
Pete turned back to the counter, poured coffee into his cup and went back
to the table. "There isn't any ice."
Jim looked up, frowning. "Oh. Figures." He put his head down and resumed
carefully printing the narrative portion of the deuce report. A few more
minutes and he was finished. He signed the form, then slid it over to Pete.
When Pete tried to read the words on the page, they refused to focus.
If Jim sees me squinting at this report, he'll drag me to Central Receiving.
"Looks good." He picked Jim's pen up from the table. He signed the report
above what he was pretty sure was Jim's signature. I hope that's the right
line.
Jim took the report. "I'll drop this off in the Watch Commander's office."
"I'll meet you in the locker room." Pete stood and followed Jim out of
the small coffee room.
They separated in the hallway, Jim going to the Watch Commander's office
and Pete heading for the locker room. He was grateful to find it deserted.
Wells is like a terrier with a rag, too. And he wouldn't quit until he
found out how I got the shiner. That made Pete grin. If I told him
Jim did it, would he fall for it? Just then, Jim walked in. One look
at his clean-cut partner answered that question.
Pete opened his locker, then realized he was too tired and sore to change.
He pulled his badge and name tag off, then put a jacket on over his uniform.
He didn't miss Jim wincing as he pulled his own uniform shirt off. "Want
me to drop you off at Central Receiving?"
Jim froze, a confused expression on his face. Then he chuckled. "I'll
go, if you go."
Pete chuckled. "I'm goin' home."
Jim grinned. "Then, so am I." He finished buttoning his shirt, then closed
his locker door. "C'mon. Let's get out of here before somebody from AM Watch
comes in and asks who gave you the shiner."
"I was gonna tell 'em it was you." Pete joked, following Jim out of the
locker room.
"Nah. They'd never believe you." Jim turned back to his partner. "Now,
you giving me a shiner. That, they'd probably believe."
"Only the ones that know you, partner," Pete teased. They stepped out
into the parking lot. "I'll see you at 3:30 tomorrow."
"Not if I see you first." Jim unlocked his car, got in and started the
motor.
