Chapter 6
Ironside's POV
Mark was helping me undress and go to bed when the phone rang.
It was Carl Reese who was on night shift and who probably hadn't realized that we had stopped working on the case for the night. He was chuckling.
"What's so funny?" I asked. Usually people on night shift were tired and bad-tempered, not amused, and this night was even less funny than usual...
Carl came out with the reason for his hilarity right away. "Actually I wanted to tell you that we have everything on protocol regarding what that Gonzalez boy and his friend said. But while I have you on the phone you may want to know..." he snickered, "you won't believe it. We got a phone call from a girl. She wanted to know where Sergeant Brown is. One of the colleagues saw him unlock his bicycle in the garage. Say – can't you give him a day or two off? The poor boy has to decide between spending his nights riding his bike and meeting his girl because you work him so hard!"
"Wait!" Sometimes I simply felt when something was wrong. "Did you tell the girl where Ed was headed?"
"Of course I did. The guy deserves a little fun once in a while, doesn't he?"
Although I had thought just about the same a few hours ago I knew now that there was no girl. Ed didn't have the time for girls during the past week with me in hospital and then this case.
But then - maybe I was so tired that I started seeing ghosts. Maybe. Maybe not.
I hung up but right away dialed Fran's car phone. "Fran, come back. See if you can spot Ed on his way home."
The phone rang again immediately afterwards. It was from downstairs again.
"Chief... we have another riot. A resident reported that some of the rioters wore hoods like members of the Ku Klux Klan!"
I was about to bawl him out because the last thing I needed right now was another battlefield. I had enough to do with mine. Then I realized that there might be a connection. All the troubles of this night had to do with racial conflicts. There was no doubt that Peterson was politically right wing, and so was the Ku Klux Klan. Nobody would listen to a political statement of the Ku Klux Klan though. Maybe Peterson was just carrying out the Klan's political ideas, like Sinn Féin of the IRA in Ireland.
"How many cars do you have under way?"
"Only two. We don't have more spare people. You know what this night was like..."
Fran's POV
I was dead on my feet. Everybody knew that the Chief worked his people hard – and himself as well, for that matter. But up to now I'd had no idea how hard. Ed seemed to be totally used to this kind of commitment. I wondered if I would ever get accustomed to it.
Therefore I was less than thrilled when Ironside called me once more. But when he told me the reason I was wide awake again. He gave me the address where I had to go.
"There's a riot – no need to tell you to be careful, Fran! I'll come as fast as I can."
Fortunately I had taken my own car and left Ed's in the police garage. I could risk much more with mine. I stepped on the gas.
In record time I arrived at the scene of the crime. What I saw let my blood run cold: A crowd of 100 or more people clad like the Ku Klux Klan was standing around and making a horrible noise.
When I opened the car door I understood what some people cried, "This pig was here with that Mexican girl cop... beat up Jim… didn't do anything to stop her… state an example..."
They were talking about my earlier run-in with that big man!
Someone threw a rope over a tree branch. This looked like a hanging party!
In the agitated crowd I caught a glance at a man who was taller than most others. He was pulled towards the hanging tree. He was wearing a hood over his head, but not the same kind as the Klan members. I wasn't really surprised to recognize Ed Brown's jacket underneath!
I almost panicked. How could I stop that mob? No way would they listen to me. Shooting into the air would not help. It took a man like Ed or the Chief to take advantage of the seconds of silence after such an action.
I was grasping at straws to come up with something to save my colleague.
A picture formed in my head: the picture of a ball-shaped Mexican with probably hundreds of friends - Jorge Hernandez. His phone number had been marked on the form about his license plate. Hopefully he was at home and I would be able to awaken him! Frantically, with trembling fingers, I snatched the microphone and told the operator his phone number – shouting at him or her in a way that he or she would probably be deaf for the next week at least.
Hernandez answered immediately.
Quickly I explained the situation to him. "Sir, please call your friends and send them here! We have to stop these people!"
Ed's POV
It was totally surreal. This could not be happening. A part of my mind uncoupled itself and analyzed the situation. The Ku Klux Klan had been active in the sixties of the last century, and then in a second wave in the 1920s. There was a third movement starting after WWII, most recently in Alabama and Mississippi, but here in San Francisco? I could not believe that. And even if so – I would not be involved in something so... archaic? unreasonable? fanatic? Would I?
They pulled me towards a tree. I only noticed it when I walked into it.
Something touched my hands - a rope! Somebody wanted to put it over my head.
At once I realized that this was no bad dream. Archaic, unreasonable, fanatic, yes – but very real. Up to now I hadn't tried to resist these morons in earnest. Now I broke away from the men who kept me. I didn't care whom I hit with my fists. They would not hang me just like that. I would sell myself as dearly as possible.
Yet there were too many of them. I was slammed against a wall and saw stars. Dozens of hands seemed to grab me.
Was this the end?