Uolter Mosli - Down the River unto the Sea

Looking out from my second-floor window onto Montague Street is better than the third-floor view. From here you can almost make out the lines in the faces of the hundreds of working people moving past; people who, more and more, have no reason to walk through the doors of the fancy shops and banks that have made their claim on that thoroughfare. These new businesses are like modern-day prospectors panning for gentrified, golden customers who will buy the million-dollar condos and fancy clothes, eat in the French bistros, and buy wine for a hundred dollars a bottle.

When I took this office, almost eleven years ago now, there were used-book stores, secondhand clothes shops, and enough fast food to feed that displaced army of workers in Brooklyn Heights. Thats when Kristoff Hale offered me a twenty-year renewable lease because another cop, Gladstone Palmer, had overlooked his son Laiph Hales involvement in the brutal attack on a woman; a woman whose only offense was to say no.

Three years later Laiph went to prison for another beating, one that got bargained down to manslaughter. But this had nothing to do with me; I had the lease by then.

My maternal grandmother always tells me that every man gets what he deserves.

Thirteen years earlier I was a cop too. I would have tried to put Laiph in prison for the first assault, but thats just me. Not everyone sees the rules the same. The law is a flexible thing on both sides of the line influenced by circumstance, character, and, of course, wealth or lack of same.

My particular problem with women was, at one time, my desire for them. It didnt take but a smile and wink for me, Detective First Class Joe King Oliver, to walk away from my duties and promises, vows and common sense, for something, or just the promise of something, that was as transient as a stiff breeze, a good beer, or a street that couldnt maintain its population.

For the last thirteen years I have been somewhat less influenced by my sexual drives. I still appreciate the opposite, sometimes known as the fairer, sex. But the last time I acted on instinct I ran into so much trouble that I believed I was pretty much cured of my roaming ways.

Her name was Nathali Malcolm. She was a modern-day Tallulah Bankhead, with the husky voice, quick wit, and that certain something that defined the long-ago starlet. My dispatcher, the same Sergeant Gladstone Palmer, called via cell phone to give me the assignment.

It should be easy, Joe, Palmer assured me. Its basically a favor for the chief of Ds.

But Im on that portside thing, Glad. Little Exeter always makes his move on Wednesdays.

That means hell be doin it next Wednesday and the one after that, my sergeant reasoned.

Gladstone and I had come through the academy together. He was white Irish and I was a deep shade of brown, but that never affected our friendship.

Im close, Glad, I said, real close.

That may very well be, but Bennets in a hospital bed with a punctured lung and Brewster messes up two out of every five collars. You need a point or two on your sheet this year anyway. You spend so much time at the docks you dont make half the arrests you need to keep your numbers up to snuff.

He was right. The one place the law was not flexible was in statistics. Criminal arrests and convictions, the retrieval of stolen property, and competent investigation that leads to crime solution were what our professional careers hinged on. I had a big case in front of me, but it might be a year before I could wrap it up.

Whats the offense? I asked.

GTA.

Just one cop for a chop shop?

Nathali Malcolm. Stole a Benz from Tremont Bendix of the Upper East Side.

A woman car thief?

Order came from up top. I guess Bendix got friends. Its just a single woman lives alone in Park Slope. They say the car is parked in front of the brownstone. All you have to do is ring the bell and slap on some cuffs.

You got paper on her?

Itll be waiting for you at the station. And, King...

What? Glad only used my middle name when he wanted to make a point.

Dont mess it up. Ill send you a text with all the details.

The purple Benz was parked in front of her place. It had the right plates.

I looked at the front door, flanked by full-length windows that were swathed in yellow curtains. I remember thinking that was the easiest arrest Id ever been sent on.

Yes? she said, opening the door maybe a minute after I rang.

Her tan eyes seemed to be staring through a fog at me. She had red hair, and the rest, pure Tallulah.

My grandmother likes old movies. When I visit her in the Lower Manhattan retirement home, we watch the old love stories and comedies on TCM.

Ms. Malcolm? I said.

Yes?

Im Detective Oliver. I have a warrant for your arrest.

Youre what?

I took out the leather fold with my shield and ID. These I showed her. She looked, but Im not sure she registered anything.

Tremont Bendix claims you stole his car.

Oh. She sighed and shook her head slightly. Come in, Detective, come in.

I could have grabbed her right there, put on the restraints while reciting her rights as the Supreme Court detailed them. But this was a soft arrest and the lady was feeling tender, vulnerable. Anyway, Little Exeter Barret had already connected with the captain of the Sea Frog. The shipment of heroin wouldnt be in for a few more days.

I was a good cop. The kind of officer who had yards of patience and lost his temper only when threatened physically by some suspect. And even then I took no joy in beating him after hed been subdued and restrained.

Would you like some water? Nathali Malcolm asked. The good stuffs all been packed away.

The living room was filled with boxes, bulging duffel bags, and piles of books and electronic equipment, along with clusters of potted plants.

Whats going on here? I asked, as if reciting a line that had been written for me.

This is what Tree calls me stealing his car.

She was wearing a sheer and shimmery green housecoat with nothing underneath. I hadnt paid close attention at first. When I got there I was still intent on the job.

I dont understand, I said.

For the past three years hes paid my rent and left me the Benz to use as my car, she said. Her tan eyes had turned golden under electric light. Then his wife threatened to divorce him and he told me to get out and bring his car back to his uptown garage.

I see.

I have to move, Detective... whats your name again?

Joe.

When Nathali smiled and shifted her shoulders, the structure of our temporary relationship changed from potential handcuffs to definite bedsheets.

Nathali was very good in bed. She knew how to kiss and that is the most important thing to me. I need to be kissed and kissed a lot. She intuited this necessity, and we spent the better part of that afternoon and way into the evening discovering new and exciting ways and places to kiss.

She was a victim. I could see that in her eyes, hear it in her deep voice. And the arrest warrant was wrong. A man leaving his car at a girlfriends house, a house he paid the rent on, had no expectation of her returning that automobile to his garage.

The next morning Id make my report... and get back to the docks, where the real crime was happening.

When I opened my eyes, Monica Lars, my wife at the time, was already awake and making breakfast for her and Aja-Denise Oliver our six-year-old daughter. I awoke to the smell of coffee and the memory of Nathali kissing my spine in a place I could not reach. Id left her when my shift was over. Id showered and changed at the station and got home in time for a late supper.