Golden Orange by Joseph Wambaugh

he still had pick-of-the-litter when he felt like making an appearance at any of the surfing events in Orange County. One of the reasons the department had taken Buster off motors, according to police scuttlebutt, was because in a uniform with helmet and boots, he had women of all ages intentionally cruising through red lights just to get stopped by the hunk with violet eyes. They called him “Gideon” Wiles, he’d been in so many hotel rooms.
    â€œSo what happened down there, Buster?” asked Winnie.
    Buster let out a vaporous sigh that seemed to enervate his mean-looking body. Then he said, “Soledad Sam, ever run into him when you were on the job?”
    Winnie shook his head and Buster said, “Call him Soledad ’cause he’s got this tattoo of Soledad Prison on his shoulder. Anyways, he’s this little speed tweaker, like our snitch. Spends his time in low-life meth labs breathin more ether fumes than all the patients at Hoag Hospital put together. Uses meth and other dirtbag drugs. But our snitch tells us Soledad Sam’s been hired to transport a key of cocaine from this apartment house in Laguna Beach to a hotel up by John Wayne Airport. I mean, this little ratfucker’s gonna be trusted with a key !”
    â€œHow much is a key these days?” Winnie asked.
    â€œThirteen gee per key. And this little germ never had more than a couple twenty-dollar rocks in his life before. So me ’n Novak, we don’t really believe our snitch too much, but we stake out the apartment with a couple guys from Laguna P.D., who didn’t have to go to their tanning salon today or whatever they do down there. And jist as we’re tryin to figure out where our little dildo is at, he comes outta the apartment with something tucked inside his pants that’s either the world’s biggest hernia or a key of first-class blow.”
    â€œGet to the Uzi,” Guppy Stover said belligerently, the first time Buster was aware that the old woman was listening.
    Buster turned away from Guppy and continued in a lower voice. “Anyways, we take down the chump and sure enough he’s got the key! Says he got five ohs for takin on the transportation job and four more when he makes the delivery. He starts rollin over on everybody. Says he’s a balls-up dude and if we talk to the D.A. and his parole officer he’ll even testify for us.”
    â€œThere’s no business like snow business,” Winnie observed.
    â€œSo we strike a deal, sort of, when he says there’s still maybe another key inside with these two outta-work musicians that share the place. We hook up Sal and go chargin back inside, based on his information. We bust one guy and find a few lines of blow on the table in the kitchen, but no keys.”
    â€œ One guy?”
    â€œI’m gettin to that,” said Buster. “Now it ain’t a big apartment, so we figure he jumped out the window when he heard us comin up the steps. So me ’n Novak, we’re searchin the bedroom when I see this mangy tomcat that stops lickin his balls long enough to mosey over to this big overstuffed chair, and the cat goes behind it to this slit in the upholstery and sticks his paw inside. And I says, ‘Aha!’”
    â€œWake me up when you get to the Uzi part,” Guppy mumbled to her drink.
    â€œSo I go over and shove the tomcat outta the way and I stick my arm inside the chair. And all hell breaks loose!”
    Buster paused when three off-duty cops, including Novak the narc, came through the door and headed straight for the snooker table in the adjoining room.
    Novak yelled, “Draft beer, Spoon. And keep it comin!”
    â€œRight on cue,” Winnie said, nodding in the direction of Novak the narc, who was sighting down the shaft of a snooker cue as though it were a rifle.
    â€œLooks like he needs a drink,” Buster said. “Anyways, the cat attacks! The goddamn thing goes right for my