Clockers by Richard Price Read Free Book Online Page B

came to rest on Big Chief’s lap like a wild girlfriend. Despite the warm weather, the prisoner wore a varsity-style Troop jacket, wool with leather sleeves, DOG AROUND BOYS CLUB in chenille lettering across the back, the jacket dropped down around his shoulders like a shawl.
    “Yo Big Chief, we watch the Fury for you,” some kid yelled out, making everybody around him laugh. Rocco, feeling the car lurch again, turned to see Thumper fly out onto the street, reach into the crowd, pluck the kid loose and hold him up by his T-shirt.
    “Yeah? Let me tell you something, you E.T.-looking motherfucker.” Thumper was talking close enough for a kiss. “You best watch that fucking car. We come back to get it? It better be in mint condition or I’m takin’ you for a ride, you understand?”
    The crowd pulsed around the new confrontation, opening and closing in little waves, Big Chief bellowing, “Yo Thumper; c’mon there,” the kid squealing, “Yo Thumper, man, I was goofin’, I was goofin’.”
    Thumper flicked the kid free and backpedaled to the Aries again. “That’s your fucking car, E.T. Remember that.” Slamming his door, Thumper hung out the window for a last stare.
    “Take us to the office there, fellas?” Big Chief cleared his throat, the noise sounding like a thunderclap, making the kid in cuffs flinch.
    Rocco had known Big Chief since high school, had known him when he played semipro football, when he had spent six months in the hospital with a broken back, when he was a stockbroker and when at thirty-six he had become the oldest rookie in the history of the Dempsy P.D., and in all that time his name had been Artie. He had become Big Chief only in the last two years, since he had organized the Fury. All the cops in Big Chief’s squad were given their street names by the kids they policed, and by now they had heard the names so often, they had started using them among themselves. Even their wives and children used them after a while.
    Rocco finally rolled off, his rear view completely blocked by the kid on Big Chiefs lap. “You guys radio for repair?”
    “We get back there tonight?” Thumper said, pausing to light a cigarette. “We’ll be lucky if the thing’s only on fire.”
    “Yeahp, yeahp,” Rocco said, thinking about how many cops, lawyers, social workers and politicians in this town he had known since high school—easily more than a hundred.
    “What’s your name?” Big Chief asked the kid on his lap.
    “Stan.” The compressed space forced the kid’s chin into his chest and his voice came out somewhat strangled.
    “What’s your name, Stan?”
    “The Man. They call me the Man.”
    “Oh yeah? You weren’t acting like no man out there on the street. What you cry for?”
    “‘Cause I knew you were gonna grab me and I was clean, so…”
    “What you think, you’re gonna get everybody all worked up, get a little riot going, get us all distracted so you could like, sneak out the back door? We’ll arrest all your friends too. You want that?”
    “No, you know I was clean so like, I got up set, you know?”
    “You clean? OK, fine, we’ll take you to the office, give you a strip search. If you’re clean, we’ll only charge you with the clips in the bag, OK?”
    “That bag ain’t mine.”
    “Yeah OK.” Big Chief sighed.
    “Stan the Man,” Thumper snorted.
    “Who these guys?” The kid tilted his chin to Rocco and Mazilli. “They knocko too?”
    Rocco held his prosecutor’s ID behind his head. “Vatican Secret Service.”
    “What? What’s that?”
    Rocco saw Mazilli smile out the window.
    “They be Homicide, Stan.” Thumper delicately removed a shred of tobacco from the tip of his tongue. “You kill anybody?”
    “Homicide?” The kid caught Rocco’s eyes in the rearview mirror and Rocco saw something working in his face.
    “They’re probably jacking off on the steering wheel right now,” Big Chief muttered.
    “I got the tapes out at least.” Crunch held up two