The Good Cop (13 page)

“Want a TV tray?”

“Lap's fine.”

It occurred to me that as often as I had seen Richman, we'd never really had a person-to-person conversation. It had always been about work. I had absolutely no idea of who Mark Richman was. He was sharp as all hell, that I knew; he was very good at his job, or he wouldn't have gone as far in the department as he already had; he was a very good looking man, and he was, from everything I could tell and despite all my crotch fantasies, totally and completely straight. But he was obviously not threatened by being around gays, and he had done me and the community a lot of favors. I wished all straight men were like him.

“So tell me, Lieutenant,” I said, deciding to venture out into conversational terra incognita, “how many kids do you have?”

He took a swig of his beer and a large bite of pizza. “Three: Craig, Ken, and Marcie. Craig's fifteen, Ken's thirteen, and Marcie's nine. Good kids, though Craig's getting to that ‘I know more than you do' stage. And I wouldn't be surprised if he turns out to be gay.”

That
got my attention. “How do you know? And how would you feel if he is gay?”

Richman grinned and leaned forward to put his beer on the coffee table.

“I'm his dad. I know that something's going on, but I haven't pressed him on it. He knows he can talk to me, and when he's comfortable with it, he will.” He took another bite of his pizza. “As to how I feel about it…” he shrugged “…he's my son; I sure won't love him any the less. I've got two other kids who can provide the grandchildren. Now, if all
three
of them turned out gay, it might be a problem. I do want to be a grandpa. But for Craig, I just want him to be happy and comfortable with who he is. And if he is gay, I sort of hope he turns out a lot like you.”

Wow!
I was glad I had a firm grip on my pizza, or I probably would have dropped it. That was probably one of the nicest compliments I'd ever been paid in my life, and I was so surprised by it, I don't think I even blushed. And to think it came from a straight guy….

“Thank you, Lieutenant. That means a lot, coming from you.”

Seeing he'd just about finished his second piece of pizza, I got up quickly and went into the kitchen for the box. “Another beer?” I called into the living room.

“Sure, thanks.” I opened the refrigerator, got out two more beers, opened them and then, beers in one hand and pizza box in the other, I returned to the living room.

“To hell with formality,” I said as I handed him his beer, put the pizza box down on the coffee table, and took my seat.

“Speaking of formalities,” he said as he leaned forward to open the box and extract another large slice of pizza, “we're both aware that we're in a grey area here.” He was smiling, but I knew he was serious. “By getting together outside of our professional roles, we're walking a very fine line that could have conflict of interest implications. But I'm pretty sure we both know where the line is, and can avoid crossing it. So, when we run into one another outside of the office, I'd be more comfortable if you just called me Mark. Hell, I've been calling you Dick for quite awhile.”

“Hey, I don't mind ‘Lieutenant'—I almost consider it a first name, by now. But I do appreciate the conflict problem, and agree that we can avoid it. If I ever do cross the line, I'm pretty sure you'll let me know.”

“Count on it,” he said with a grin.

The phone rang and I excused myself for a moment. As I was reaching for the phone, Richman…Mark…stood up and, with a raised eyebrow and a gesture, indicated he had to use the bathroom.

I picked up the receiver while pointing the way to the bathroom.

“Dick Hardesty.”

“Dick, it's Tom.”

“Tom!” I said, glancing down the hall toward the bathroom and keeping my voice down. “I was going to call you. Lieutenant Richman is here; we're having pizza and talking about the situation. He just went to the bathroom, so maybe it would be wisest for me to call you back later?”

“Sure,” he said, but there was something in his voice.

“Is something wrong? We can talk now if you want.”

“No, no, later's okay.”

“
Is
something wrong?”

“Nothing major. We can talk about it later.”

I heard the toilet flushing, then saw the bathroom door open and Richman enter the hall.

“Okay,” I'll call as soon as I can. “'Bye.”

*

We finished the pizza and were sitting with the last two beers when apparently he decided it was time to cross from socializing to the business that had brought him here in the first place.

“Do you fish?” Richman asked, by way of segueing between the two.

I didn't recognize the question for what it was at first, and was confused.

“Uh…not really. Why?”

“Because you are better at opening cans of worms than anyone I've ever met.”

Oh, oh! What now?
I wondered.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that I checked the license number of the van that picked up your hustler friend. I hope he got the numbers wrong.”

Talk about fishing! He had me hooked and was reeling me in slowly.

“It's possible.” I was still confused. “Why?”

“Because the plates matching those numbers belong to one Joseph G. Giacomino, who just happens to be…” He might as well have gotten off of the couch, shuffled his feet on the carpet, and touched my nose with his finger: It was that kind of shock!

“…president of the local Amalgamated Hotel Workers of America.” I finished for him.

Little Joey Giacomino! Well, what d'ya know?

“Definitely
not
good. Joey's got a wife and three kids and is a close golfing buddy with Deputy Chief—former Interim Chief—Cochran. And he's got labor contract negotiations starting tomorrow. So here we are with exactly what the department doesn't need right now: Another ticking time bomb!”

“Ah,” I said, as a little light bulb came on in my head, “but this one is
our
ticking time bomb!”

Richman looked at me with knit brows for a second, then I could almost see the light coming on behind his eyes. “You're right! I must be having one of my stupid days! I was just concentrating on the ramifications of having to toss a powerful labor boss in jail just at the start of the labor talks. But now that you mention it, this could be the best thing that could have happened…” he cut himself off abruptly, realizing what he'd said. “I'm sorry, of course I didn't mean…”

“I know you didn't. But now Chief Black's got some ammunition of his own: If Cochran and his cronies try to use the fact of Tom's being…” now it was I who caught myself just in time. “…I mean, the circumstances surrounding Officer Brady's being at the scene of the shooting, Chief Black can trump it with this sick sadistic buddy of Cochran's.”

There was another moment of silence while we were each lost in our own thoughts, until Richman said: “Of course, if it's
not
Giacomino…if your friend did get the numbers wrong, though since the plates are for a van that's not likely…or if Giacomino comes up with a story of having lent it to a friend, which he very well might try….”

“There's one way to be sure. This morning's paper had a big story on the talks, and Joey G.'s photo was right there on page 1. I know I didn't throw it away, because I hadn't had a chance to finish it when Jonathan showed up at my door. He had the paper right there in his hand when I took Polaroids of him, but of course he wasn't in any condition to pay attention to what was in it. I can show it to him, and if he can identify Joey G. as the guy who beat him up…”

“…then we have yet another problem,” Mark not so much interrupted as picked up the ball. “We can arrest the bastard right then and there, blow the contract talks out of the water, or…”

Now it was my turn to catch juggler's pin: “…or just sit on it until after the talks or until we see what Cochran and Company is going to try to do about Tom.”

We sat silent for a moment.

“I promised Jonathan I'd get—
we'
d get—the guy who did this to him, and it galls me to think of that sonofabitch being out there on the streets one second longer, maybe doing the same thing, or worse, to some other poor kid. From what I've heard about this asshole, I'd guess he goes for the ones he thinks won't fight back.”

Mark nodded. “I agree. But first things first: First let's be sure it
was
Giacomino. Then we'll take it from there.”

He paused for a moment.

“And speaking of your friend, I think I found the officers who left him out there—there was only one car in the area around sunrise: It's a pretty quiet area, so we don't feel it necessary to have too many cars covering it. They work the eleven-to-seven, and I've told their squad captain I want them in my office at seven-oh-five sharp tomorrow morning. I know it's short notice, but can you bring the kid down to Annex around seven-fifteen? I want to talk to these guys alone for a few minutes. If they admit to it, and they're willing to apologize, I'll drop it there. But if they deny it and your friend can identify them, he may have to wait for his apology, but I'll have them up on charges so fast they won't know what hit them. They're both long-termers and from what I know, I suspect they're on Deputy Chief Cochran's team.”

“I'll have him there.” I was pretty sure Jonathan wouldn't be able to do any serious job-hunting until his face looked a little less like it had been used as a punching bag; and I suddenly got another rush of anger thinking of what had happened to him.

Joey Giacomino, huh?
I thought.

*

Richman…Mark (that was going to take some getting used to)…left around 9:30. An interesting night, and I decided I really liked the guy. What was perhaps the most surprising, and I think positive, aspect of the evening was that my crotch had not been heard from at all. I think it finally had come to the same realization I had: That some people are simply the way they are and all my fantasizing isn't going to make them change. Mark Richman was an extremely handsome, sexy guy who I'd have gone to bed with in a heartbeat. But that just wasn't going to happen and it was really unfair to both of us to think that it was. And friends last a lot longer than tricks.

As soon as he left, I called Tom and was rather surprised to hear him answer the phone—and by the sharpness and anger in his voice when he said “Hello!”

“Sorry we couldn't talk earlier. What's up?”

He sighed. “Oh, Dick…sorry. I thought it might be…” There was a slight pause, and then: “I know this shouldn't bother me but I'm afraid it does. We got—or rather Lisa did, since she's been answering the phone—three calls tonight; one just a few minutes ago.”

“What kind of calls?” The knot in my stomach told me I knew full well.

“The first one said he wanted to talk to ‘the queer.' Lisa hung up on him. The second, the guy just yelled: ‘No fags on the force!' and hung up before she could. The third, well…you get the picture.”

“Jeezus! Some psycho idiot, I'll bet. Don't let it get to you.”

“
Three
psycho idiots. Lisa says they were all different voices. I'm not going to let her answer the phone anymore. These assholes have a problem, I want 'em to talk directly to me. But they haven't got the guts, of course.”

I didn't even ask him if he planned to report the calls. I knew what his answer would be: “I can handle my own problems.” That might not be considered reasonable for a cop, but it's what I would expect from Tom.

“Well, some people are just pathetically desperate to prove to themselves that they're superior to somebody—anybody.”

“One thing we're going to do is to stop answering the phone. Period. We'll let the answering machine pick up the calls. I suspect that will cut down on a lot of the messages if the caller thinks I might be getting their voice on tape. And I'll be saving the tapes, that's for damned sure.”

Well, that told me without doubt that Tom thought the calls were coming from his fellow officers, and I felt both angry and sad by what that implied.

“So how did it go with Lieutenant Richman?” Tom asked, obviously wanting to change the subject.

“Ah, I'm glad you asked. Speaking of lowlife scum, I think I have some news you'll find pretty damned interesting….” And I told him everything about Jonathan, what had happened to him, his encounter with the two cops, and everything Richman had done to help. “I'm taking Jonathan down to City Annex first thing in the morning to confront the two cops. But the frosting on the cake is that when Richman traced down the license number of the van, it belonged to…” I couldn't resist pausing for a mental drum roll…“your boyhood chum, Joey Giacomino!”

“
Jesus!
” After a short pause, he continued. “I almost started to say ‘I don't believe it,' but I do. It sounds exactly like that bullying sonofabitch!”

A glance at my watch showed it was getting close to ten o'clock and I still hadn't gotten in touch with Jonathan to let him know about tomorrow.

“I'd better go if I want to catch Jonathan before curfew, if they have one at Haven House. You try to get some sleep and ignore those crackpots.”

“I will. But I don't think we're going to answer the phone any more tonight.”

There was a slight pause, then: “Thanks for being there for me, Dick. It means a lot.”

“For me, too. We're in this thing together, remember.”

“Yep. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“'Night, Tom.”

I knew both Tom and I realized the calls he'd gotten would not be the last, but neither of us wanted to worry the other. Well, I was worried enough for the both of us. And not just a little afraid, for Tom.