I can't believe she blew a 28 on the Breathalyzer! No wonder she passed out on me. What do we do with her now? She's out cold on the bench in there." For what had to be the fifth time, Larry brushed his right shoulder with his hand.
"It's going to take more than that to get rid of the drool on your shoulder. Go change your shirt". Jim used his right fist the thumb sticking out to point over his shoulder towards the locker room.
"I'm trying to get the dandruff off. Do I really need to change my shirt for that?" The dandruff really stood out on the Larry's dark blue uniform, but the alcohol fumes were more pronounced.
"Yes, you need to change the shirt. It's not a good look or smell."
"It's not bad. Are you saying I have to waste a shirt for a little smell?" Larry was still trying to get the last flakes off his shirt.
"No. You are going to change your shirt because your training officer told you to." MacDonald seemed to appear out of nowhere; sergeants had an uncanny ability to show up when least expected. Mac waited until the rookie turned around before straightening to his full six feet to loom over Larry. "Don't make me say it twice." Mac's clipped delivery would brook no resistance.
As the probationer rushed down the hall, Mac invited Jim into the Watch Commander's office. Since Pete wasn't around to do it, Mac was watching the rookies and the brand new training officer. Jim took the seat indicated by MacDonald.
"What was that about out there?" MacDonald had taken a seat behind the desk. He was leaning across the table, bracing his forearms on the surface.
"That drunken woman we brought in got dandruff and drool on Larry's shirt." MacDonald had to have heard the exchange if he stepped in, so Jim couldn't help but wonder why Mac asked.
"I could see and smell that." Mac paused, silently watching Reed until the new TO began to squirm. "That's not what I was asking about."
"What else is there? He's not the first guy who has had to change their uniform after a call." Jim was disturbed by MacDonald's demeanor; why did he suddenly feel like a rookie?
"No, he's not. A shirt reeking of bourbon isn't the issue." Again, the sergeant let the silence linger. It was an eerie reminder of the dressing downs Pete had given Jim during their partnership.
"Then what is Mac?" Jim fought the urge to wipe his sweaty palms on the pants of his uniform. Clearly he had done something wrong, but he had no idea why MacDonald was jumping on him.
"You are being too easy with him. That rookie should have said 'Yes Sir' and high-tailed it to the locker room without question." Mac stood up; staying behind the desk. He was shorter than Jim, but he loomed over the seated officer. "Answer me this; would Pete have let you question him, especially on your first week in the job? Would you have even considered arguing with him?"
"No…but Pete was angry and short tempered because of Baxter's death." Sitting there, under MacDonald's silent, stern stance, Jim thought back over those early days. Had Pete been as brusque as he was solely because he was hurting over losing Andy?
"Do you really believe that was why Pete was so stern with you? Why he pushed you so hard?" MacDonald crossed his arms; waiting for Jim to answer. While Mac's style of dressing down was different from Pete's it was still very effective.
"Looking back, no." Jim hadn't responded immediately; he took the time to remember those first few stressful weeks. Pete had verbally rebuked him, but never without cause.
"Then why do you think he was so hard on you?"
As the weeks went by the dressing downs came further apart; Jim knew he was learning the ropes faster than some of his friends at the Academy. Five or six of them would get together to compare notes. Every one of them offered to trade with Jim.
"He wanted me to be the best; to keep me alive."
"Don't you think that rookie of yours deserves the same dedication that Pete showed you?" Mac hitched his left hip on the front of the desk; his voice taking on a different tone. "You can't be his friend and his teacher; not at the beginning of his training. Instilling fear is part of getting the job done."
"Pete said that I need to use my 'officer presence' to get Larry to listen to me." This was the part of being a training officer that gave Jim pause; he wasn't sure that he could be a hard-ass TO. Jim leaned back; throwing up his arms "I'm not Pete. I can't do what he does...Pete gets guys to surrender when he knows his gun is empty." Jim sighed, he missed wearing his wedding ring; he had nothing in his hands to fiddle with.
"Yeah, he does." Mac had to laugh; he rode with Malloy long enough to watch him make hardened criminals cower. "I'm not asking you to be a carbon copy of Pete, but you have something that no other TO here has; you were taught by the best. Draw on the example he set and make part of it yours."
"But…."
"No buts. That rookie's life depends on you channeling your inner strength. If we thought that you couldn't do the job, you wouldn't be sitting here now." Mac slid off the corner of the desk; gesturing with his hand for Jim to stand too. "You'd yell at your son to keep him safe. Consider Larry to be a toddler, because in many ways, he is."
O~O~O
Jim's mind raced as he made his way down to the locker room. Mac was right; he needed to put aside the budding friendship if he was to keep Larry from getting himself killed. Jim couldn't begin to count the number of times that Pete pulled his bacon out of the fire; putting himself between Jim and danger. The older man always brushed off the "thank you" with a joke or said something along the lines of "All part of the service".
"I'm almost ready Jim." Larry was putting on his tie when Jim got into the locker room. The rookie finished up and slammed his locker closed a little harder than it needed to be.
"Sit down. I need to get a few things straight with you." Jim Reed knew what he had to do. He cycled through the advice from Mac, plus all the dressing downs he had gotten from Pete and at the Academy. He realized that he did owe Larry that much. Jim put his right foot on the bench near the rookie; resting his arm on his leg.
"You questioned my authority back there in the hallway. Don't do that again." Each word of that last sentence was emphasized both by his tone of voice and a fist, with its index finger out, being repeatedly pointed at the shocked rookie. "You do what I tell you as soon as I get done telling you. Do you understand?"
"Ah, yes Ji…Sir", Jim decided right then that he was doing a good job, because Kasak looked as shaky as an addict suffering from the DTs.
"I won't have you dying on me because you think that you have the right to question my orders." Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard the echo of Malloy telling him that more than once. At the time, he thought Pete said that because he did have a partner die on him, but that's not why. Jim finally, completely, understood the urgency in Pete's lectures.
"I understand Sir." Maybe he did, and Jim would settle for that, for now.
"Good, let's see if we can take seven in the break room before we get back on patrol." Jim started towards the door, assuming that Larry would follow. "Don't call me sir, the name is Reed."
O~O~O
The two shared a quiet "seven" in the break room. Both thought about the conversation in the locker room. If they had any intention of speaking about it, the arrival of several other officers put an end to that. Instead they discussed boxing with the other men. The next few hours were relatively quiet, but then, it was a Tuesday night. It wasn't until 6 a.m. when things changed...
"1 Adam-12, a 211 in progress, 11970 Ventura Boulevard, 1 Adam-12 handle, code 3."
Jim made a U-turn while Kasak acknowledged the call. Adam-16, with Wells and Brinkman, radioed in as back-up. Jim turned off the reds and siren three blocks from the address. When they pulled into the parking lot, a woman in a McDonald's managers uniform was waving both hands in the air. A quick look into the restaurant seemed to indicate that the dining area was empty. When Adam-16 arrived, Jim waved them to the back of the store, he and Larry got out of the car to speak to the woman...
"Keep an eye out for someone. I don't see a robbery in progress." Jim kept Larry close, but directed him to watch the front doors. The babbling woman ran over to the two officers.
"Help me, please. There's a guy in there with a gun. He was going to rob me." She spoke so quickly that they had to ask her to repeat herself.
"I don't see anyone. Are you sure he's still in the building?" Sixteen had indicated that there was no activity coming from the back of the restaurant. With the front and most of the sides made of glass, it was easy to see inside.
"Yes, yes! He's still in there." She continued to point to the building; there were potential places to hide, such as behind the counter. "We've been watching the doors."
"Okay Ma'am. We'll check it out. Is the door open and where did you see him last?" The two other doors visible were rigged to sound a fire alarm if opened without the key.
"He's in the walk-in refrigerator. You can't miss him." A million questions came to Jim's mind. If he had a gun and tried to rob her, how did she get away and why was he hiding in a refrigerator. Shouldn't he have run away to rob someone else?
Larry followed Jim into the store. They carefully checked the lobby and moved behind the counter. There wasn't a soul in sight. The door to the refrigerator faced the back of the store. Jim went to the left and he sent Larry around the right side. They met on the far side. Guns drawn, Jim motioned for Larry to open the door. Jim stood, aiming at whatever was inside the refrigerator. At first glance, it was a tall man in a trench coat, a very large fedora and a shotgun under his arm, but he didn't move. On second glance, Jim burst out laughing. He waved for Larry to come see the "robber". Under the trench coat and hat was a seven foot tall statue of Ronald McDonald.
They called sixteen to come and see the "suspect". After a good laugh, Jim and Larry went out to talk to the manager.
"Did you get him? I hope so because I'm afraid to go back in. I called the head manager and the owner to come down." This woman definitely thought someone was going to rob her. When another unit pulled into the lot Jim held up four fingers; the driver nodded and left.
"Ma'am? I don't know how to tell you this but it wasn't a robber. Did you take a good look at him? May I have your name please?" Ed Wells walked over to them, he really wasn't making the same attempt to keep a straight face that Jim was; Reed didn't want to laugh at the woman.
"Betty Higgens. Tell me what Officer?" Mrs. Higgens was twisting her hands in a nervous gesture. Her eyes kept darting around the lot.
"That wasn't a man. It's a big statue of Ronald McDonald in a trench coat and hat." Okay, Jim couldn't help but snicker a little.
"I'm going to kill her!" Mrs. Higgens went from scared to angry so fast she could have broken something. "She's gone too far now!"
A car with a man and a woman pulled into the lot. They got out, walking over to Mrs. Higgens.
"Kill who?" The man asked .
'Mary Ann, that's who, this is all her fault!" She spoke around Jim to answer the semi-bald, middle aged man. "She caused the robbery, Bob. That's why I called the cops."
"Wait." Jim had to take control of the questioning. "Who is Mary Ann and what does she have to do with you thinking a statue of Ronald McDonald was a real person trying to rob you?" Mrs. Higgens should have known better than to call the police.
The gentleman pushed Mrs. Higgens to the side.
"I'm Bob Shanahan, the owner of the restaurant. Mary Ann Lautenschlager is the night manager. She and her crew like to play jokes on the morning crew."
The look he gave Mrs. Higgens warned of dire consequences for this escapade.
"Usually the other morning managers know to expect them; especially with the statue. The last time he disappeared we found him standing in the men's room with a sign on his back saying to leave him alone because he was busy." Jim grinned, but he could hear Wells, Brinkman and Kasak laughing behind him.
Clarissa Moore, the woman who arrived with Mr. Shanahan told Jim that it was all in fun.
"Mary Ann wouldn't have done this if she thought anyone would be stupid enough to mistake Ronald for a real person." She shook her head and continued.
"Betty also flipped out when he crew used a place mat and tea leaves to make fake joint. They stuck it in Ronald's mouth and hung a sign on him saying that the place had more than one kind of roach in it, but they are harmless jokes."
Jim, who was busy getting the information for his report, scowled when Wells asked Mrs. Moore about any other pranks the night crew pulled. She continued, seeming to enjoy them as much as Wells.
"They stuck a Ronald doll halfway into the toaster. That sign said 'Help! They are burning my buns.' They put Ronald in a pair of jockey shorts and taped a knife to his raised hand; putting ketchup on the blade and the floor. We didn't notice until lunchtime when a regular asked when Ronald became a mass murderer."
Even Jim laughed at the last one. He handed the form to Mrs. Higgens to sign.
"Okay, thank you Mrs. Higgens. We have to get back to work now." Jim shooed the other three officers towards their cars. As they drove away, they could still hear Mr. Shanahan yelling at Betty.
With Wells and Brinkman as back-up, there was no way that this story wouldn't spread through the station like a brush fire. There was a silver lining to the call; this time the others would be laughing with Larry and not at him.
O~O~O
Pete couldn't sleep. Actually he rarely slept in a hospital unless he was sedated and that couldn't really be called sleep. It frustrated him that he was still in the hospital; he would have been released by now if they hadn't needed to operate on his shoulder again. He stood by the window watching the sunrise. To the casual observer, he seemed relaxed; those who knew him better would notice that he kept banging a fist against the wall.
"Hey there, Houdini." Pete chuckled, but he didn't turn around, even for her voice.
"So, you heard? Word gets around here fast." He shook his head, still staring out at the city's skyline. "It wasn't that big a caper. I took a walk."
"Uh…huh." Sally crossed the room; taking hold of Pete's arm to stop him from banging it on the cement blocks of the wall. "You snuck out of the hospital and were gone for an hour, at least. They even called me at home to see if I picked you up."
"I stayed on the hospital grounds...mostly." Pete pulled his wrist free of Sally's grasp; giving her a lopsided grin.
"Mostly, are you telling me that you walked around the neighborhood? At 4 a.m. and no one said anything?" Somehow, Sally wasn't surprised. If anyone could get away with walking the darkened streets wearing a robe, the bottoms to a pair of pajamas and slippers it would be Pete.
"There were a few people who looked at me funny, but I managed to avoid questions." His grin widened; making Sally wonder how he managed to stop anyone from questioning him or reporting an escapee to the hospital.
"In other words you glared them into minding their own business." Pete didn't try to deny it; he learned early that a stern countenance would earn you some distance. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
"Pete, what am I going to do with you?"
"Take me home. That way they won't have to send out a search party for me." Ever since Dr. Franks told him that he should take a walk twice a day, Pete had been following the orders. It wasn't his fault that the doctor forget to specify that he had to stay on this floor.
"Not until you get discharged. You do realize that they have an orderly guarding your door, don't you?" Pete took as a challenge.
"Come on. Let's take a walk." Pete took Sally's hand in his, leading her towards the door. "I promise, we'll stay on this floor." Once they got pass the guard and into the hallway, Pete put his arm around Sally's waist.
"What did Dr. Franks say when they brought you back?" She was trying to sound serious, but Pete heard the chuckle in her voice.
"He said that if I felt good enough to escape this place, then it's time I left. This afternoon he's meeting with Dr. Torrens about discharging me once I finish the IV antibiotics." After operating on Pete's shoulder, Dr. Torrens had ordered a week of IV antibiotics as a precaution.
"That's in two days, right?" The anticipation was tinged with a twinge of worry. Pete was awfully thin.
"What's wrong? I thought you were looking forward to this day as much as I was." Pete stopped walking; turning to see her whole face.
"I am. It's just that…."
"That what?"
"You've lost so much weight. It worries me some." She reached up to brush back that strand of hair that keeps falling down on his forehead.
"I'll gain weight easily enough with you, Mrs. O'Brian and Jean feeding me." It was nice, knowing that he would soon be going home with Sally. Before Tony Johnson appeared, they'd quickly settled into a routine of staying at his place most nights.
"You really are too thin. I can feel every rib. If your mother sees you like this she's going to try to take you back to Seattle." Pete and Sally kept walking arm in arm through the halls of the hospital.
"Don't worry, Pop promised to keep her far away from us. Besides she's too worried that I'm going to be living in sin to come down and witness it." Pete pulled her closer as she rested her head on his right shoulder.
"Living in sin? Us?" He felt her chuckle ripple through his arm as much as heard it.
"What can I tell you? She's a strict Catholic." While Pete had grown up attending an Irish Catholic church, he had strayed from the path. Maybe it was the job; too many questions and too few answers.
"Your mother thinks that I'm going to corrupt her little boy?" She smiled up at him, pale blue eyes sparkling with mischief; she couldn't slip that double entendre past him.
"That ship sailed a long time ago." Pete was laughing, but there was the tiniest bit of pink in his cheeks. After all, they were walking past people.
"How long ago?" Sally wasn't letting him off the hook; a thing his father had warned him about with her. "I need details. We're engaged and you won't tell me? Come on Pete, tell me".
"No, there are people listening."
"Please…" It was one of those long, whiny pleases.
Pete pulled her off to a secluded corner; away from prying ears. "No details. Let's just say that I was corrupted before I left home and leave it at that." Sally was the only person in the world who could make him blush. So, it was time to turn the table on her.
"Now you tell me."
Sally leaned against his chest as her fingers brushed the stubble on his chin. "A woman never answers that question."
She turned, leading the way back towards his room with Pete hurrying after her.
"Oh no, I'm not letting you off that easily."
.
