DIAL AXMINSTER 6-400
Ellis Loew rapped on the pebbled glass door
that separated LAPD Warrants from the Office of the District Attorney. Davis
Evans, dozing in his chair, muttered "Mother dog." I said,
"That's his college-ring knock. It's a personal favor or a
reprimand."
Davis nodded and got to his feet slowly,
befitting a man with twenty years and two days on the job--and an ironclad
civil-service pension as soon as he said the words, "Fuck you, Ellis. I
retire." He smoothed his plaid shirt, adjusted the knot in his Hawaiian
tie, hitched up the waistband of his shiny black pants, and patted the lapels
of the camel's hair jacket he stole from a Negro pimp at the Lincoln Heights drunk
tank. "That boy wants a favor, he gonna pay like a mother dog."
"Blanchard!
Evans! I'm waiting!"
We walked into the Deputy D.A.'s office and
found him smiling, which meant that he was either practicing for the press or
getting ready to kiss some ass. Davis nudged me as we took seats, then said, "Hey,
Mr. Loew. What did the leper say to the prostitute?"
Loew's smile stayed glued on; it was obviously
a big favor he wanted. "I don't know, Sergeant. What?"
"Keep the tip. Ain't that a mother
dog?"
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