then laughs, which evolves into a wet, hacking cough.
“Sir, Tommy calls. “Look back at me. Good, thank you. Listen, we’re the police. Understand? We’re detectives. We don’t want to fight you. We want to help joo, er, you. How can we do that?”
I stay quiet letting Tommy do his thing.
The man jabs toward Tommy, though they’re ten feet apart. “I canz takes joo,” he slurs again. “Don’t need nose goddamn help. I just want to kicks schome ass. Fought pro for twee years in the… eighties, I think it was.” He jabs again. He might be drunk but the jab looks good, trained.
“Listen,” Tommy says, resting his foot on a fire hydrant. He fakes a good casual but I can tell he’s ready should the man move into his space. “May I ask your name, sir?”
My first year on the job, I worked just one day with an antagonistic hate-filled uniform cop named Stan. We got a call almost identical to this one, except the wino had wandered into a Victoria’s Secret store at Lloyd Center Mall and plopped himself smack in the middle of a discount bin of frilly panties. The guy clearly hadn’t showered or changed his clothes forever and, judging by the horrific smell that greeted us as we approached him, he’d just released a whole lot of wine-diarrhea into his greasy trousers.
First thing old Stan asked was, “What’s your name, pal? The name your whore mama gave you on that dreary day she gave birth to the shitbird sitting and shitting here in this pile of thongs and French cut skivvies?”
Asshole Stan was a master of clever insults. The drunk must have had some pride left because he launched himself out of that bin with both arms flailing like a windmill, and the fight was on.
After the shift ended, I asked the sarge never to work with Stan again.
“My name’s Tommy, sir. That’s Sam behind you. What’s yours?”
The guy snapped out another jab. “Jace ‘The Ace’ Widmer.” He’s jabbing faster now. “Fifteen… fifteen sometin’… oh yeah, twelve wins by KO, one lossh. Got disqualified for thumbin’ Ricky ‘Too Tall’ Place’s fuckin’ eyeball.”
Tommy moves a stride away from the hydrant but not enough to be a threat. His arms are still up and bent, his palms toward the guy. “Listen Ace, I bet you were one hell of a fighter. I can see that you got the moves.”
“Oh, I gotch duh moves.” He jabs a couple of times. “I canz kick the asshole of any cop in front of me.” He shuffles two steps toward Tommy and throws a jab-cross combo. They look good.
“Hold on, Ace,” Tommy says without reacting to the man’s advance. “Here’s how I see it. No doubt you can kick my ass. I’m big but I’m slow. But if you kick my ass, you’re going to have to kick Sam’s ass.”
The man shuffles around, bobbing and weaving in place. He looks at me, registering slow surprise, as if he’s forgotten about me. “Oh I canz kicks his asshole, too. You damn betcha.”
I shrug and nod. No need to antagonize. A couple of people in the gathering crowd chuckle.
“Ace, look at me.”
The Ace laboriously shuffles back around to face Tommy.
“So after you kick Sam’s ass, there’s going to be another police officer show up. Then you’re going to have to kick a new guy’s ass. By the way, Sam and I are the smallest cops working today.”
The Ace stops shuffling but he keeps his guard up. “I canz do thats,” he says, but with a tad less confidence than a moment ago.
“You beat him up, and another police car will come and that one is a two-man unit, real short-tempered guys. Red heads. We got twelve two-man cars working this morning. East Precinct has sixty-eight guys working, and North Precinct has one hundred and six working the day shift. You’re going to have to kick all those guys’ asses, too. Let’s say you indeed do kick ‘em all, and that’s what… a hundred fifty asses? The chief will call in the night shift or maybe the fire department. That’s nine hundred more asses. Then you got the city street sweepers, the road maintenance guys, and maybe even the mayor will get in line. I know he’s in shape because he swims at the Y.”
The Ace laughs at that and so does the crowd. “The mayor schwims?” he asks, lowering his guard a little. “How’s thats going to help his asshole?”
Tommy nods. “I hear what you’re saying, Ace. I do hear what you’re saying, and it’s a good point. But remember, you got to go through a thousand some asses first before you got to deal with the mayor’s skinny one. By then you’re going to be so tired and bruised that His Honor will easily smack you with his soggy swim trunks.”
Someone applauds in the crowd and Ace laughs again, though his merriment quickly fades and his expression changes to uncertainty. He unclenches his hands and lowers them.
“How about this instead?” Tommy says conversationally, stepping toward him a little, still showing his palms. “We give you a lift to the Drop in Center where you can hit the shower, get lunch in an hour and maybe some clean clothes. Doesn’t that sound better than fighting a boatload of cops just to prove something we already know? That you’re one hell of a fighter? Wouldn’t you rather be a cleaned-up lover?”
The Ace points at Tommy and giggles. “You got that right, Tommy my man. I’m one hell of a lover, too. Aaaaand…” He lifts his pointing finger to the sky in a Statue of Liberty pose, and slowly turns toward the crowd, searching, searching… He points at an attractive lady in a business suit standing with a group of others, “I want that one.”
“Ace,” Tommy says to distract him as the frightened woman scurries away on clicking heels. “Come on. Hop in our ride. My pard will grab your gear and put it in the trunk; I think we can make it in time for lunch. You like turkey and mashed potatoes?”
The Ace nods as he saunters toward our car. I grab his backpack and follow them, feeling like a third wheel. Tommy buzzes open the trunk and opens the back door of our car. “Have a seat, Jace ‘The Ace’ Widmer. We really appreciate your cooperation. A fighter should also be a gentleman and you are one for sure.”
“Don’ts forget I’m a lovers, too,” The Ace slurs.
Tommy slaps him on the shoulder, guy style. “Ha. I bet you are, Acey. For sure. But first you got to get a shower.”
“And cakes. I get some goddamn cakes at the Center, toos, right?” the man asks, plopping onto the seat.
“Pull your feet in there, sir. That’s it. Yes, yes, and cake. Two pieces, damn-it. You get two.” Tommy shuts the door and winks at me as I close the trunk.
The small crowd begins to disperse but not before half a dozen of them applaud.
Tommy wraps one arm across his waist and bows deeply. “Thank you ladies and germs. We’ll be right back after a little break. And don’t jaywalk.”
The crowd laughs again and disperses with a story to tell back at the office.
I smile at Tommy over the top of the car as we open our doors. “You’re good,” I say. “Everything I heard about you is true. You’re definitely good.”
We lodge Jace “The Ace” Widmer into the Drop in
