The Choirboys Read Online Free PDF

or failing to answer a telephone properly.
    When things quieted down from Spermwhale’s contribution to rollcall, Lieutenant Finque said, “Fellows, we have some rollcall material to give you on diplomatic immunity in misdemeanor cases. In case you should have the occasion to run into a consul or ambassador in the course of your duties, does everyone know the difference between a consul and an ambassador?”
    “An ambassador is a Nash,” said Harold Bloomguard of 7-A-29. “Don’t see too many these days.”
    “I heard those consulate cocksuckers just wipe their ass with their parking tickets in New York,” offered Roscoe Rules of 7-A-85.
    “If you work for the UN you can do no wrong in the first place,” said Spencer Van Moot of 7-A-33.
    “Well, I hope you all read the material,” Lieutenant Finque said jauntily as the drops of acid formed. He was never sure if they were being insubordinate.
    “Finque’s rollcalls are about as exciting as a parking ticket,” whispered Francis Tanaguchi of 7-A-77 to his partner, Calvin Potts.
    “And to think I left a sick bed to come to work today,” Calvin groaned.
    “Your girl wasn’t feeling well?” Francis asked.
    “On to more important things, men,” Lieutenant Finque said, as Sergeant Nick Yanov, who sat on his left on the platform in front of the assembly, looked at the ceiling and drummed nervously on the table with his fingers. “I hope you men have been trying to sell whistles. The nightwatch has been doing pretty badly compared to the daywatch.”
    This announcement caused Sergeant Yanov to lean back in his chair and start rubbing his eyes with the heels of both hands so that he would not have to see the eye rolling, lip curling, head shaking, feet shuffling, which was utterly lost on Lieutenant Finque who had given birth to the whistle selling campaign.
    It had been a master stroke which actually was suggested by an eighty year old spinster who attended every single Basic Car Plan meeting. Since Lieutenant Finque was pretty sure the old woman was senile and would not remember she had thought of it, he adopted the idea as his own and the uniformed patrol force of Wilshire Station found themselves being forced to sell black plastic whistles for fifty cents to women they contacted on their calls. The object was that if a womanwere ever accosted on the street by thugs she should pull out her whistle and blow it.
    The proceeds from the whistle sales went to the station’s Youth Services Fund and quickly earned several thousand dollars. Lieutenant Finque was hoping the idea would earn him a written commendation from Deputy Chief Lynch, which wouldn’t look bad in his personnel package.
    Spermwhale Whalen had sold the most whistles on the nightwatch, six in fact. But actually he had bought them himself and given them to his favorite streetwalking whores with the instruction that if they ever had a slow evening and felt like giving away a free blowjob to an old pal just to pucker on the whistle when 7-A-1 came cruising by.
    There was not a recorded case of a radio car in the vast and crowded district ever hearing a distress whistle, but it was said that the whistle saved the property of one woman on LaCienega Boulevard when a purse snatcher almost fell to the sidewalk in a giggling fit at the sight of a sixty year old matron in a chinchilla coat blowing a little plastic whistle until her face looked like a rotten strawberry.
    “One last order of business before we have inspection and hit the streets,” the lieutenant said. “The detectives would like the cars in the area to keep an eye on Wilbur’s Tavern on Sixth Street. They have reports that the owner is beating up barmaids who’re too intimidated to make a report. He apparently only hires girls willing to orally copulate him. And if they start to object after a time, he beats them up and threatens them. Seven-A-Twenty-nine, how about stopping in there once every couple days?”
    “Right, Lieutenant,”