warrant."
"You really have a way with these people," Arredondo said facetiously. "But I'm the one who pushed the man fight into the trap. We had that dude going every which way. Vertigo, man."
"Couldn't have done it without you," Stepanovich said, pulling out the driveway and into heavy traffic.
A windowless room in the basement of Hollenbeck Station, the CRASH office was crowded with desks and a police computer hookup. The walls were covered with neatly drawn link analysis charts that showed the leadership of the most active gangs, personnel deployment rosters, and gang detail wanted posters. Neither Stepanovich nor the others in the unit had much use for the charts, but they gave the captain something to point to when ushering community leaders and other visitors through the station.
Stepanovich's desk was in the corner of the police bullpen, banked by two metal filing cabinets that provided him a measure of privacy. After he phoned Harger at the police academy and briefed him on the developments in the case, Stepanovich spent the day writing and rewriting the search warrant for Greenie's apartment. Because writing a search warrant was a one-man job, Arredondo and the other members of the task force lounged about the office killing time. Their conversation half filtered through Stepanovich's consciousness as he concentrated on the paperwork copying parts of other search warrants he had written, replacing those facts with the facts of the case at hand, then sprucing up the text to make it sound original.
"I learned computers in the Navy," Fordyce said proudly from his seat at the computer terminal. "When I first came on the department I broke my ankle and they assigned me to the records bureau. Pretty soon I was giving lessons to the clerks."
Arredondo, his feet up on a desk, said, "If you know about computers, why waste your time being a policeman?"
Fordyce shrugged and gave a boyish grin. "Actually, I always wanted to be a teacher and work with kids, but I didn't have a college degree."
"So now you put kids in jail," Black said, turning from his desk. Leaning over a brimming trashcan, he opened his mouth and spat a large purple wad of chewing gum neatly into the receptacle.
Fordyce winced self-consciously. "You always have something negative to say."
Black took another stick of chewing gum from a purple package on his desk, "Me, I always wanted to be a cop," he said, unwrapping the gum and forming it into a carpetlike roll. "I liked it in the Army as an MP all of it: bar patrol, even working the stockade. I never had more fun in my life. I mean, we used to kick some ass." He opened his mouth and slipped in the fresh stick.
"You should have stayed in, then we wouldn't have to listen to your gum popping all day," Arredondo said, thumbing through a Playboy .
"I used to smoke five packs of Luckies a day, Pancho. Maybe you'd rather be sitting here with a smoke puffer. A man who's addicted to the weed."
"He's right. Anything's better than smoking," Fordyce said without looking up from the computer keyboard.
"I still miss it. Every minute of every day. I even enjoyed lighting the fuckers. That's all part of it, you know. Ask any shrink. They'll tell you straight out."
"I saw you smoking up a storm last payday at the Rumor Control Bar," Fordyce said.
"That's because I was drinking. When I drink, I can't help but smoke. After a drink or two I say fuck it. "
"But you drink almost every night," Fordyce said.
C.R. Black smiled his wide Okie grin. "Nobody's perfect." He stood up from his desk and moved to the computer. "How are you doing with those red pickup trucks, Four Eyes?"
Fordyce tapped a key twice. "Not too good. There are six thousand of them registered within the zip codes that make up East L.A. And my name is Fordyce, not Four Eyes."
Arredondo held up the Playboy to show the Playmate of the Month, an athletic brunette with capped teeth. She was balanced uncomfortably in the lotus position on the prow
"You really have a way with these people," Arredondo said facetiously. "But I'm the one who pushed the man fight into the trap. We had that dude going every which way. Vertigo, man."
"Couldn't have done it without you," Stepanovich said, pulling out the driveway and into heavy traffic.
A windowless room in the basement of Hollenbeck Station, the CRASH office was crowded with desks and a police computer hookup. The walls were covered with neatly drawn link analysis charts that showed the leadership of the most active gangs, personnel deployment rosters, and gang detail wanted posters. Neither Stepanovich nor the others in the unit had much use for the charts, but they gave the captain something to point to when ushering community leaders and other visitors through the station.
Stepanovich's desk was in the corner of the police bullpen, banked by two metal filing cabinets that provided him a measure of privacy. After he phoned Harger at the police academy and briefed him on the developments in the case, Stepanovich spent the day writing and rewriting the search warrant for Greenie's apartment. Because writing a search warrant was a one-man job, Arredondo and the other members of the task force lounged about the office killing time. Their conversation half filtered through Stepanovich's consciousness as he concentrated on the paperwork copying parts of other search warrants he had written, replacing those facts with the facts of the case at hand, then sprucing up the text to make it sound original.
"I learned computers in the Navy," Fordyce said proudly from his seat at the computer terminal. "When I first came on the department I broke my ankle and they assigned me to the records bureau. Pretty soon I was giving lessons to the clerks."
Arredondo, his feet up on a desk, said, "If you know about computers, why waste your time being a policeman?"
Fordyce shrugged and gave a boyish grin. "Actually, I always wanted to be a teacher and work with kids, but I didn't have a college degree."
"So now you put kids in jail," Black said, turning from his desk. Leaning over a brimming trashcan, he opened his mouth and spat a large purple wad of chewing gum neatly into the receptacle.
Fordyce winced self-consciously. "You always have something negative to say."
Black took another stick of chewing gum from a purple package on his desk, "Me, I always wanted to be a cop," he said, unwrapping the gum and forming it into a carpetlike roll. "I liked it in the Army as an MP all of it: bar patrol, even working the stockade. I never had more fun in my life. I mean, we used to kick some ass." He opened his mouth and slipped in the fresh stick.
"You should have stayed in, then we wouldn't have to listen to your gum popping all day," Arredondo said, thumbing through a Playboy .
"I used to smoke five packs of Luckies a day, Pancho. Maybe you'd rather be sitting here with a smoke puffer. A man who's addicted to the weed."
"He's right. Anything's better than smoking," Fordyce said without looking up from the computer keyboard.
"I still miss it. Every minute of every day. I even enjoyed lighting the fuckers. That's all part of it, you know. Ask any shrink. They'll tell you straight out."
"I saw you smoking up a storm last payday at the Rumor Control Bar," Fordyce said.
"That's because I was drinking. When I drink, I can't help but smoke. After a drink or two I say fuck it. "
"But you drink almost every night," Fordyce said.
C.R. Black smiled his wide Okie grin. "Nobody's perfect." He stood up from his desk and moved to the computer. "How are you doing with those red pickup trucks, Four Eyes?"
Fordyce tapped a key twice. "Not too good. There are six thousand of them registered within the zip codes that make up East L.A. And my name is Fordyce, not Four Eyes."
Arredondo held up the Playboy to show the Playmate of the Month, an athletic brunette with capped teeth. She was balanced uncomfortably in the lotus position on the prow
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