CHANDLER'S HIP POCKET
I sat in the Internal Affairs office with an old metal fan blowing from a corner of the room. The IA office was in one of the older more run down buildings that the police department had. I wondered if they did that on purpose, for effect. No one liked coming here anyway. It was never for anything good. It was like going to the vice principal's office when you were a kid. But my partner was always fond of saying, "If someone ain't makin' a complaint about you you ain't worth a shit". He didn't mean you should be causing trouble. He meant that if you were doing REAL police work you were bound to piss people off. For most folks the easiest way to get back at a cop was to file a citizen's complaint.
I sat and thought. I stared at the fan. It was old. It looked like it came with the building. It reminded me of those 1940's private eye movies. I half expected a long legged blonde to come through the door looking to hire a detective. It made me remember a line from a Raymond Chandler story ... "She gave me a smile I could feel in my hip pocket..." That guy was great. A different era and a different world to police.
I thought about the medics doing there thing on Ali. They had some breathing tube in his mouth and using the bag device to breathe for him. That was never good. They started TWO IV's. That was never a good sign either. At least they didn't have to do CPR. At least... Maybe it would be better if he died.