On park patrol, they made regular stops, Dave looking into the men’s, Joan checking out the women’s.
“If any shit’s going down,” Joan liked to say, “that’s where we’ll find it.”
What they often found were loitering bums, folks of various persuasions engaged in sexual activities, and an occasional drug buy. So far today, the only restroom trouble had been a male wino barfing in a toilet of the ladies’ room. Joan had escorted him out, looking as if she’d lost the tan off her face.
Dave entered the men’s room with his usual caution. It looked deserted except for a kid of about nine or ten at a urinal. The door of one stall was shut. Crouching, Dave glanced under it. Just a single pair of feet, hobbled by jeans. When he stood up, he saw the kid looking over a shoulder at him.
“You having a good time today?” Dave asked, and stepped over to the sink.
“The Bazooka guns are awful neat.”
Dave smiled. “I like those myself. They really blast those tennis balls.” He tugged a few paper towels out of the dispenser, dampened one under the faucet, and started to rub his leg.
“That a real gun you got?” the boy asked.
“A thirty-eight-caliber Smith & Wesson.”
“Are you a policeman?”
“I’d better be, don’t you think? Guy wandering around packing heat?”
The boy grinned. He zipped up and flushed and walked toward Dave, staring at him.
“See my badge?” Dave asked. With a wet finger, he pointed at the blue shield printed on the chest of his T-shirt.
“Is that a uniform? You wear that all the time?”
“Just on park patrol when it’s hot out. Otherwise, we wear blues like normal cops.”
“Weird.”
Dave was used to such comments. His blue hat looked like a baseball cap. Instead of a major-league insignia, its front was emblazoned with the gold letters BBPD inside the outline of a star. His white T-shirt bore a similar emblem. His shorts matched the cap. He wore white socks and blue sneakers. Only the black leather utility belt, laden with holster and gun, nightstick, radio, handcuffs, and half a dozen snap-down cases, marked him obviously as a police officer.
“Kinda neat, though,” the kid admitted after a long inspection. Then he ran his hands under water, pulled down a towel, and dried. “I’m gonna be a policeman.”
“Good deal. Maybe we’ll be partners.”
“Naw. I’m from Los Angeles. I’m gonna be LAPD.”
“That’s a top-notch outfit, mister.”
The kid beamed up at him, then said, “Well, see you,” and hurried away.
Dave dried his leg. Then he washed his hands, smiling as he recalled Joan’s advice to use plenty of soap for the troll-slicks.
His smile slipped off when his mind did a sudden replay of the old woman touching him.
You try to be civil to those people…
Gloria’s so fond of them…I ought to introduce her to the puppet witch.
They’re human beings, Dave.
Then why don’t they act like it?
Great, he thought. I’m arguing with Gloria, and she isn’t even here.
If she had about half the smarts of Joan…
Forget it.
He dried his hands and hurried out into the sunlight. He found Joan sitting at a small round table at the edge of the boardwalk. She had one hot dog on a stick and a small Coke for herself. Across the table from Joan were two dogs, a paper sack of french fries, and a larger Coke. Dave sat down in front of the meal.
“Trying to fatten me up?” he asked.
“You can’t live on bean sprouts and cottage cheese.”
“You should’ve seen what she fed me last night.”
“Wanta ruin my appetite?” Joan asked. She used her teeth to rip the corner of a plastic envelope, then squeezed out mustard onto the brown coating over her hot dog.
As Dave watched her, his mouth watered. He pulled the paper wrapper off one of his dogs and took a big bite. The crust of deep-fried cornmeal batter crunched. The skin of the hot dog burst. Warm juice sprayed into his mouth. He sighed as he chewed. “Real food,” he said.
“So, what manner of culinary delight did Gloria prepare for you last night?”
“Something in a wok.”
“That’s a bad sign.”
“Stir-fried vegetation.”
“Got any clue as to what it was?” Seeming to smile with her eyes, she took a rather dainty bite of her dog. In spite of her care, a yellow dab of mustard found its way onto her upper lip. It stayed there while she chewed.
“I know exactly what it was,” Dave said. “Most of it, anyway. Water chestnuts, bamboo shoots,