New Hope for the Dead by Charles Willeford Read Free Book Online

teeth, both uppers and lowers, were laced with a tangle of silver wire and gold caps. When he smiled, these brutal metal-studded teeth were more than a little frightening, particularly when he questioned a suspect. But his smile rarely changed, whether he was interrogating someone or eating a bowl of chili.
    Hoke and Ellita sat closer together on the left of the desk, facing the major. Ellita had a yellow legal pad and a ballpoint pen. Before they went to Brownley’s office, Hoke told her it might be a good idea to take a few notes.
    Brownley dropped the burnt match into an ashtray made from a motorcycle piston, looked at Hoke, shook his head, and smiled. “Hoke, you must be the last man in Miami wearing a leisure suit. Where’d you find it, anyway?”
    “There was a close-out in the fashion district. I got this blue poplin and a yellow one just like it for only fifty bucks on a two-for-one sale. I like the extra pockets, and with a leisure suit you don’t have to wear a tie.”
    “You don’t wear a leisure suit to court, do you?”
    “No. I’ve got an old blue serge suit I wear to court. Is that what this meeting’s about, Willie? My taste in plain clothes?”
    “In a way. What I’m doing is what they suggested in the Dale Carnegie course I took last year. I’m putting you all at ease by developing a relaxed atmosphere. You all relaxed now?”
    Hoke shook his head, Henderson smiled, and Ellita said, “Yes, sir.” Hoke took the butt of the Kool from his shirt pocket, lit it, and dropped the match into Brownley’s piston ashtray. He took two drags and then put out the butt.
    “Until I tell you different,” Brownley said, “consider this meeting as confidential. It’ll probably get out in a few days, about what you’re doing, simply because of what you’re doing, but I don’t want the press to get wind of it. If anyonein the department asks you what you’re doing, just say you’re on a special assignment and let it go at that. Until we see where we’re going, I think we can get away with that much, anyway.”
    Brownley puffed on his cigar before he continued. “You’ve all heard the rumors about the new colonelcies the chief’s passing out, haven’t you?”
    Henderson shook his head. “Colonelcies? There aren’t any colonels in the department. Except for assistant chief—and we got three already—major’s as high as we go.”
    “I heard something about it the other day,” Hoke said, “but I didn’t pay any attention to it.”
    “It isn’t official yet, but it’s no longer a rumor. The chief’s found a sneaky way around the no-raise budget this year. He’s creating a new rank of colonel, and there’ll be eight of them passed out. The new rank’ll mean an extra eighteen hundred bucks a year for those promoted. It’ll also mean eight major and captain vacancies. So although there’s no money in the new budget for raises, a good many deserving officers will be getting more money when these promotions are okayed by the city manager.”
    “What about the cop on the street?” Henderson said. “What’ll he get?”
    “He’ll get zip. On the other hand, with more supervisors, it’ll mean more vacancies for him, too, if he passes his exams high enough.”
    “It stinks,” Henderson said. “I was in the infantry, and we only had one colonel, the regimental commander, for a fifteen-hundred-man regiment. We’ve got way less than a thousand cops, and we’ve already got a highly paid chief, three overpaid assistant chiefs, and now he wants eight new colonels. What we’re gonna look like is a damned Mexican army, all generals and no privates.”
    “A police department’s not a rifle regiment, Bill,” Brownley said. “You can’t equate a professional police officer with a grunt private. Most of our officers have got at least a junior college degree of some kind.”
    “I know, I know.” Henderson scowled. “But what we need’s more men on the street, not more brass sitting on