I’m flawed—I admit it. Doin’ my job—don’ see any way round it. I watch the Cop shows on TV and laugh. I wish things were that black and white—pardon the pun.
Lately, we got a crazy loser carving up hookers and all the City Hall boys want is to get the girls off the street and problem solved—or is it?
Way I see it, government sometimes is the legalized mafia—they’re makin’ it up as they go along and then expect cops like me to climb on board.
Well, it just ain’t happenin’—not on my beat.
“Hey, Henderson—Watcha doin?”
I put down my coffee and roll down the window—it’s kinda murky on Jarvis Street in the rain.
Through the slanting lines I'm just able to make out a familiar face.
“Hey, Flo—Why ya out in the rain?”
Flo’s a little squirt—hard to figure her age, but I’m guessing about nineteen. She’s pert, pixyish with a bright smile and beautiful, long copper hair. No way she should be on the street.
“Wadda ya mean, Henie—where else would I be? Gotta make a buck…whatever the weather.”
She shivers a little and turns up the collar of her fake fur.
“C’mere for a minit—wanna talk ta ya.”
I reach across the front bench seat and push open the car door.
She hesitates, calculatin’ the odds of runnin’ or stayin’, but comes to a fast decision and climbs in.
“This ain’t doin’ either of our reputations any good,” she sniffs.
“Yeah, yeah,” I growl, “Here—take this.” I thrust a coffee at her—double cream, double sugar—just the way my partner Sarah likes it, but she’s tied up inside with the barkeep and Flo looks like she needs it more.
She eyes me suspiciously, “Hey, what’s this?”
“Crack cocaine and uppers—your usual.”
“Funny,” she pouts.
“Go ahead—drink it. Sarah’s inside convincin’ Sammy to stop sellin’ booze to underage kids.”
“Sam the Man?” she snorts, “He’ll talk her ear off—keep her in there an hour.”
“That’s what I’m thinkin’.”
She cracks the plastic tab and takes a sip. “It’s good—hot and sweet.”
“Sorta like you, Flo?”
She cracks up and then shivers a bit. I crank up the heat.
“Windows startin’ to steam up,” I pretend.
“Better watch it, Henie—people may talk.”
It’s my turn to laugh. I slant a glance at her and she’s tilted her head back, eyes half closed, enjoying the heat playing on her feet.
“Just like on the beach, eh?”
“I wouldn’t know,” she frowns.
“You need to take a break, Kid—get away for a few days—go somewhere warm.”
“Club Med’s not an option, Henie.”
“C’mon—a few days?”
“Not when you’re hustlin’ on the street—there’s a dozen girls want my block—Besides, Warren don’t offer no benefits.”
Warren’s her three hundred pound pimp—ex Hell’s Angels and mean as they come.
“Last I heard, Warren’s doin’ a dime in Club Fed.”
She snickers and begins to cough. “Naw, you got the wrong newspapers, Henie—Warren’s hired Markowitz—ten bucks says he’s out on the street by the end of the week.”
Harv Markowitz is the top defence attorney in the city. He don’t come cheap—but if Warren’s got the cash to hire him, Flo’s right—he’ll be back watchin’ the street corner and makin’ life miserable for her.
I feel useless—unable to help, but as Sarah would say, I ain't no guardian angel.
Still, I bleed for this girl shivering in my cruiser. She doesn't want or need my sympathy—like me she's stuck on the streets...
Just on a different side of the law.
