times was for a fourteen-day leave with his brother when they buried her. He had tired of the dreary little town in five days and returned to the base, selling his unused leave to the Marine Corps when he was discharged.
“Well, it’s good to have a partner who can speak Spanish,” said Galloway. “We can use you around here.”
“What makes you think I can speak Spanish?” asked Serge, very careful to maintain the narrow cordiality in his voice.
Sylvia looked at Serge strangely, stopped smiling, and returned to the sink where she began washing a small pile of cups and glasses.
“You one of those Chicanos who can’t speak Spanish?” Galloway laughed. “We got another one like that, Montez. They transfer him to Hollenbeck and he can’t speak Spanish any better than me.”
“I don’t need it. I get along well enough in English,” said Serge.
“Better than me, I hope,” smiled Galloway. “If you can’t spell better than me we’ll be in lots of trouble when we make our reports.”
Serge gulped down the coffee and waited anxiously as Galloway tried in vain to get Sylvia talking again. She smiled at his jokes but remained at the sink and looked coldly at Serge. “Bye-bye, baby face,” she said, as they thanked her for the free coffee and left.
“It’s too bad you don’t speak Spanish real good,” said Galloway as the sun dropped through the smoggy glow in the west. “With a paddy-looking guy like you we could overhear lots of good information. Our arrestees would never guess you could understand them and we could learn all kind of things.”
“How often you pick up a sitting duck?” asked Serge, to change the subject, checking a license plate against the numbers on the hot sheet.
“Ducks? Oh, I get one a week maybe. There’s plenty of hot cars sitting around Hollenbeck.”
“How about rollers?” asked Serge. “How many hot cars do you get rolling?”
“Hot rollers? Oh, maybe one a month, I average. They’re just teenage joyriders usually. Are you just half Mexican?”
Bullshit, thought Serge, taking a large puff on the cigarette, deciding that Galloway would not be denied.
“No, I’m all Mexican. But we just didn’t talk Spanish at home.”
“Your parents didn’t talk it?”
“My father died when I was young. My mother talked half English and half Spanish. We always answered in English. I left home when I got out of high school and went in the Marine Corps for four years. I just got out eight months ago. I’ve been away from the language and I’ve forgotten it. I never knew very much Spanish to begin with.”
“Too bad,” Galloway murmured and seemed satisfied.
Serge slumped in the seat staring blankly at the old houses of Boyle Heights and fought a mild wave of depression. Only two of the other policemen he had worked with had forced him to explain his Spanish name. Damn curious people, he thought. He asked nothing of people, nothing, not even of his brother, Angel, who had tried in every way possible to get him to settle in Chino after leaving the corps, and to go into his gas station with him. Serge told him he didn’t plan to work very hard at anything and his brother had to put in thirteen hours every day in the grimy gas station in Chino. He could have done that. Maybe marry some fertile Mexican girl and have nine kids and learn to live on tortillas and beans because that’s all you could afford when things were lean in the barrio. Well here he was working in another Chicano barrio he thought with a crooked smile. But he’d be out of here as soon as he finished his year’s probationary period. Hollywood Division appealed to him, or perhaps West Los Angeles. He could rent an apartment near the ocean. The rent would be high, but maybe he could share the cost with another policeman or two. He had heard stories of the aspiring actresses who languish all over the westside streets.
“You ever worked the west side?” he asked Galloway suddenly.
“No, I just worked Newton Street and here at Hollenbeck,” Galloway answered.
“I hear there’re lots of girls in Hollywood and West L.A.,” said Serge.
“I guess so,” said Galloway and the leer looked ridiculous with the freckles.
“You hear a lot of pussy stories from policemen. I’ve been wondering how true they are.”
“A lot of them are true,” said Galloway. “It seems to me that policemen do pretty well because for one thing girls trust you right off. I mean a