gay?"
It was a cop standing ten feet away, so his voice carried through the whole room. Mack had never been rousted by a cop, though he'd heard plenty of tales and he knew the rules - always say sir and answer polite and don't ever, ever get mad, no matter what stupid thing they say. Did it make a difference that this cop was black?
"We didn't beat him up, sir," said Ceese. "And we were honestly not referring to anyone's sexual orientation, sir."
"Oh, so you were telling fairy stories to your little friend here?"
Mack didn't think he was so little anymore. Then he realized the cop was being sarcastic.
"As it happens, sir, I used to tend this boy when he was little. I was his daycare while his mother, who is a nurse in this very hospital, worked the evening shift. So I've read him a lot of fairy tales in my time."
The cop squinted, not sure if he was being had. "I've heard a lot of fairy tales, too."
"Not from me, sir."
"So you really did just find that unconscious man by the side of the road," said the cop, "and you happened to flag down the only man in the universe who would hand you his car keys and let you drive his fancy car to the hospital with a dirty bleeding old bum with a broken leg and five broken ribs and all kinds of contusions and abrasions bleeding all over the nice leather interior."
"Except," said Mack.
Ceese turned to him, looking as casual and politely interested as could be, but Mack knew his look really meant, Don't touch my story, boy, it's the best one we got.
"He wasn't unconscious when we found him," said Mack. "When I found him, I guess I mean. I heard him. Calling out for help. That's why we found him in the bushes and we dragged him to the street and that's how we knew we couldn't carry him, and maybe we caused him more pain because he was unconscious after that. But we didn't know what else to do."
"Could have called 911," said the cop, "and not moved him."
"We didn't know how bad hurt he was at first," said Ceese. "We thought maybe he was just drunk on the lawn."
"Where was this?" asked the cop, and from then on he was all business, taking notes, and then taking their names and addresses. When it was all done, and he was about to leave, he said, "You know why I believe your story?"
"Why?" asked Mack sincerely, since he didn't think he'd believe it himself.
"Because you'd have to be six kinds of stupid to make that shit up. Cause it's going to be so easy to check. First call is to this Professor Williams."
"We don't know his number at Pepperdine, sir," said Ceese.
"I'm a policeman, a highly trained professional. I am going to use that subtle instrument of detection, directory assistance, and find out the number at Pepperdine, and then I'm going to ask the nice lady who answers the telephone to connect me with Professor Williams. Meanwhile, I think I'll hold on to these car keys, since they might be evidence if things turn out wrong."
"So you don't believe us," said Ceese.
"I mostly believe you," said the policeman.
"If you take the keys, how will we get home?"
The cop laughed.
Ceese explained. "If he doesn't get the right answer from Professor Williams, then we won't be going home."
The cop winked and they followed him out into the corridor, where he pulled out a cellphone and called directory assistance and then talked to the Pepperdine switchboard and then must have got voicemail because he left a message asking Professor Williams to call him about a matter concerning his Mercedes automobile and then he said the license plate number.
"Of course not," said Ceese. "He's a professor. He's in class, not in his office."
"But where does that leave me?"
"Well, you could ask Miz Smitcher," said Mack.
"Who's that?" asked the cop.
"His mother," said Ceese.
"He calls his mother 'Miz Smitcher'?"
"He's adopted," said Ceese. "And Miz Smitcher was never one for taking a title she hadn't earned. So she taught him to call her Miz Smitcher like all the other neighborhood kids."
The cop shook his head. "The things that go on in Baldwin Hills." He got a little simpering smile on his face. "I didn't grow up with money like that."
"Neither did we," said Ceese. "We grew up in the flat of Baldwin Hills."
"That like the flat of Beverly Hills? Half