supplementing their income – and in a city like Santa Justina that was pretty easy to do.
One such cop was Edgar Blunt. He was already a fifteen year veteran of the streets when I arrived in town, and to be fair, the police work that he did do, he did it pretty well. He was good with the general public, always jovial and fair. But he could be bought really easily. $10 was all it took to get a person off being arrested for minor offence, $5 if they were under twenty one, but that was just beer money. He was paid the real money for turning a blind eye to things. The illegal distillery on Harper Street, $50 a month to pretend it wasn’t there. The brothel in Noon Town, $75 a month – and some ‘perks’ from the girls every now and then. $500 in unmarked bills – for arriving two minutes too late at the scene of a bank heist. The list went on, and the money kept coming in. I’d hazard a guess that in a year Officer Edgar Blunt probably earned more than the Police commissioner and the Chief District attorney combined.
But he knew how to play the game, you mustn’t get greedy, you mustn’t publicise your wealth, just quietly accumulate – only occasionally enjoy the profits, live humbly, well within your means, keep it all on the down low.
One of Edgar’s many income streams was cash for information. I was a pretty regular customer of his.
He was a portly man, now in his early fifties and sporting a reasonable middle-aged spread, but he was bulky and powerfully built. He didn’t do too much of chasing perps these days, but if you were within reach and weren’t fast off the mark, he’d probably get you.
His face showed a number of lines, etchings from years of being outdoors on the beat, and he sported a shock of greying hair, with the start of pattern baldness usually concealed by his hat.
I’d arranged to meet Edgar while he took a brief afternoon sabbatical in the park plaza downtown. It was a popular lunch and meeting spot, a picturesque grass park, with winding paths, ornate flowerbeds and pretty water features. After lunchtime it got real quiet, almost deserted, and that’s why Edgar liked meeting his clients there.
I could see him from a distance, his dark navy blue uniform standing out against the surrounding natural green hues around him. He was casually seated on one of the many wooden benches dotted around, tucking into some kind of oversized sandwich.
“Heart attack food, Ed.” I joked.
“Hey, I gotta’ maintain my figure, huh?”
“Good to see you, thanks for meeting up at short notice.”
“No worries, Johnny, always glad to be of service. Fancy a donut?”
“Not for me, Ed, can’t stomach the sugar these days.”
During our patter, I’d produced a blank envelope and placed it casually next Edgar, as I took a seat next to him. Without either of us actually looking at it, he picked it up and stashed it out of site in a concealed pocket in his jacket. Edgar did a lot deals like this – it never ceased to amaze me how his jacket seemed to have an extraordinary quantity of concealed pockets.
“Need some info, Ed, bit stumped on a case.”
“Shoot.”
“Anything - weird going on in the city at the moment?”
“Define weird.”
“What’s going on with the local mobs? Vitalli is the main man now, right?”
“Everyone knows that.”
“How did that come about?”
“Bosses rise to the top, usually by taking down their rivals, this is no different.”
“But it’s sudden, isn’t it?”
“True.”
“You ain’t seen this kind of domination occur so quick anywhere else before, right?”
“I guess.”
“So what is different here, what’s given him that advantage?”
“Well, there are rumours...”
“Uh huh?”
“It’s mostly crazy talk, drunken wino talk, most of it ain’t worth the time of day.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“You aware of Vitalli’s operations at the old docklands?”
“Heard about them. D’you know what’s going down out
One such cop was Edgar Blunt. He was already a fifteen year veteran of the streets when I arrived in town, and to be fair, the police work that he did do, he did it pretty well. He was good with the general public, always jovial and fair. But he could be bought really easily. $10 was all it took to get a person off being arrested for minor offence, $5 if they were under twenty one, but that was just beer money. He was paid the real money for turning a blind eye to things. The illegal distillery on Harper Street, $50 a month to pretend it wasn’t there. The brothel in Noon Town, $75 a month – and some ‘perks’ from the girls every now and then. $500 in unmarked bills – for arriving two minutes too late at the scene of a bank heist. The list went on, and the money kept coming in. I’d hazard a guess that in a year Officer Edgar Blunt probably earned more than the Police commissioner and the Chief District attorney combined.
But he knew how to play the game, you mustn’t get greedy, you mustn’t publicise your wealth, just quietly accumulate – only occasionally enjoy the profits, live humbly, well within your means, keep it all on the down low.
One of Edgar’s many income streams was cash for information. I was a pretty regular customer of his.
He was a portly man, now in his early fifties and sporting a reasonable middle-aged spread, but he was bulky and powerfully built. He didn’t do too much of chasing perps these days, but if you were within reach and weren’t fast off the mark, he’d probably get you.
His face showed a number of lines, etchings from years of being outdoors on the beat, and he sported a shock of greying hair, with the start of pattern baldness usually concealed by his hat.
I’d arranged to meet Edgar while he took a brief afternoon sabbatical in the park plaza downtown. It was a popular lunch and meeting spot, a picturesque grass park, with winding paths, ornate flowerbeds and pretty water features. After lunchtime it got real quiet, almost deserted, and that’s why Edgar liked meeting his clients there.
I could see him from a distance, his dark navy blue uniform standing out against the surrounding natural green hues around him. He was casually seated on one of the many wooden benches dotted around, tucking into some kind of oversized sandwich.
“Heart attack food, Ed.” I joked.
“Hey, I gotta’ maintain my figure, huh?”
“Good to see you, thanks for meeting up at short notice.”
“No worries, Johnny, always glad to be of service. Fancy a donut?”
“Not for me, Ed, can’t stomach the sugar these days.”
During our patter, I’d produced a blank envelope and placed it casually next Edgar, as I took a seat next to him. Without either of us actually looking at it, he picked it up and stashed it out of site in a concealed pocket in his jacket. Edgar did a lot deals like this – it never ceased to amaze me how his jacket seemed to have an extraordinary quantity of concealed pockets.
“Need some info, Ed, bit stumped on a case.”
“Shoot.”
“Anything - weird going on in the city at the moment?”
“Define weird.”
“What’s going on with the local mobs? Vitalli is the main man now, right?”
“Everyone knows that.”
“How did that come about?”
“Bosses rise to the top, usually by taking down their rivals, this is no different.”
“But it’s sudden, isn’t it?”
“True.”
“You ain’t seen this kind of domination occur so quick anywhere else before, right?”
“I guess.”
“So what is different here, what’s given him that advantage?”
“Well, there are rumours...”
“Uh huh?”
“It’s mostly crazy talk, drunken wino talk, most of it ain’t worth the time of day.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“You aware of Vitalli’s operations at the old docklands?”
“Heard about them. D’you know what’s going down out
Similar Books
