~ ONE ~

Los Angeles, CA. 1981

Josie lost sight of her partner but heard rummaging behind the apartment building’s massive air-conditioning unit. The moonlight wasn’t bright enough to navigate this rooftop without tripping over an assortment of junk or stepping on deposits of what smelled like shit. She hit her ankle on a venting pipe protruding from the tar paper and swore before kicking and knocking it over.

“Go away, Corsino. I can’t piss with you standing there,” Detective Larry Tomic said, peering at her from under a dim security light.

“It’s disgusting enough up here without your contribution,” she said, rubbing her ankle.

“Sorry, can’t hold it. Wait by the fire escape. That’s how he comes up.”

This was her life now, she thought, waiting for a junkie snitch in the toilet he called home. She figured there must be something seriously wrong with her because she loved it. Although she was the only woman in a squad of seasoned Hollywood narcotics detectives, it usually didn’t bother Tomic that his partner was a girl. Some of the other detectives complained at first about her invasion into their all-male world, but he’d always treated her like one of the guys, except when he had to pee.

Josie understood the primary reason for his acceptance. After she’d joined the squad three years ago, he’d quickly discovered that she could buy drugs from anyone. She’d been promoted to detective and transferred to Narcotics from Newton patrol, but had worked undercover intelligence before that, so she knew how to look and behave like someone who lived on the fringes.

She was almost six feet tall and slender and although she’d trimmed her dark unruly hair for uniformed patrol, she’d let it grow out again and wondered with all the spider webs she just walked through how many of the eight-legged creatures were nesting among her split ends. Boots and worn jeans were her favorite wardrobe so fitting into the druggie lifestyle had come easy. It helped that none of the local gangs or dealers had ever seen or expected to find a woman dope cop working LAPD street enforcement. From her first day, she and Tomic made more arrests than any of the other teams. Higher stats meant their entire squad looked good so most of the guys were slowly adapting and learning to live with “a girl” sharing their space.

She located the fire escape and looked over the side of a three-foot retaining wall. She could see four stories down to the alley; there was no sign of the snitch.

“Maybe your strange visitor from another planet had second thoughts,” she said as Tomic stood near her now, zipping up his pants and peering over the edge. He was a little shorter than she was, not muscular but strong. His light brown hair needed a trim and he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days—the uniformed look of most dope cops; except, Tomic always wore cowboy boots. Josie figured it was male ego, to give himself the extra height.

“Not Superman . . . he’s too stupid to be afraid . . . unless dickhead believes you’ve got kryptonite in your pocket,” Tomic said.

Clark Kent was the name of her partner’s snitch, his real name. He was tall and muscular so Tomic started calling him Superman. It was a joke, but with an IQ slightly higher than a cocker spaniel’s, Kent began to act as if he believed he was the comic book hero, even wearing dark-rimmed eyeglass frames . . . without glass.

Kent admitted to smoking grass, shooting a little speed, and snorting or smoking coke when he could afford it. He was a natural busybody and seemed to know everything that happened on Hollywood’s streets including the name of every active drug dealer, so Tomic fed his fantasy “to fight the never-ending battle for truth, justice, and the American way” and got a lot of useful information in return.

It was cold, and the wind was picking up on the roof. Josie zipped up her leather jacket and brushed off the top of the wall with her gloved hand before sitting where she could watch the ladder. Twenty minutes later she saw a figure moving around the dumpster in the alley. Whoever it was pulled down the fire escape steps and started to climb up.

Bundled in his parka, Tomic was sitting on a short stack of wooden pallets and leaning against her leg. She figured he’d probably heard the noisy ladder moving but tapped him on the head anyway and he grunted while getting to his feet. Like most older street cops, his body had been abused not only by police work but by hard living.

“Finally,” he said a few seconds later, helping the bigger man pull himself up and onto the roof. “Where’ve you been? Ten means ten not ten thirty or eleven.”

“Sorry, Detective Tomic, you know I got so much freakin’ shit to deal with, sir,” Kent said in his surprisingly high voice while brushing dirt off his pants and smiling at Josie. He shook his head and, leaning closer to her, whispered, “Still can’t freakin’ believe you’re no lady cop.” The temperature had dropped enough that she could see puffs of cold air as he spoke, but all he wore were Levi’s and a tight, short-sleeved T-shirt which she knew was intended to show off his bulging biceps. His acne-scarred complexion and tiny voice told her he owed most of his muscle mass to steroids.

“What’ve you got for us?” she asked, as the snitch sat beside her on the wall. Her partner was looking at his watch and clearly ready to go. Josie was tired, too, but lately the prospect of a dope arrest seemed to trump everything else in her world.

“I wouldn’t a drug you up here unless I got something big,” Kent mumbled with a manufactured East Coast accent he’d picked up in some gangster movie. He was born and raised in Southern California.

“Okay, so what the fuck you got?” Tomic asked impatiently.

“It’s what you got that’s fucked . . .” he said, pausing for dramatic effect before adding, “Bunch a cops dealing crack.” He began rubbing his arms as if he’d suddenly felt the cold.

“What cops?” Josie asked, sliding off the wall. He had her attention.

“Don’t know no freakin’ names but I can take you to a guy who does for fifty bucks . . . thirty’s mine, twenty for him.”

“Let’s go,” Tomic ordered, grabbing Kent’s massive arm with both hands and attempting to drag him off the wall.

Kent pulled away nearly knocking Tomic over and said, “Not now, boss. He ain’t gonna be there ’til tomorrow . . . won’t tell me where there is yet.”

“Who is this guy?” Josie asked.

“Can’t say. I’ll call you in the morning, but for now I gotta go.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Kent climbed back over the side and onto the ladder.

“Can’t . . . promised, but you’ll understand when you meet him,” he said, winking at her and disappearing below the wall.