The Choirboys Read Online Free PDF Page B

"assholes," or "scrotes" to please Roscoe.
    "Know why niggers survive serious wounds, partner?" Roscoe Rules asked Whaddayamean Dean.
    "No, why, Henry?" asked Whaddayamean Dean, using the given name abhorred by the other choirboys.
    "They're too dumb to go into shock."
    Whaddayamean Dean giggled and snuffled and looked up from his driving at the browless blue eyes of Roscoe Rules, and at his freckled hands which would nervously grab at the crotch, especially when the conversation turned to women. Roscoe was one of those policemen who would sit bored in a radio car in the dark and quiet hours and talk of his incredible sexual encounters in Vietnam or Tijuana and knead and squeeze his genitals until his partners got nauseated.
    Working with Roscoe Rules was many things but it was never dull. He was what is known in LAPD jargon as a "Four-fifteen personality," 415 being the California penal code section which defines disturbing the peace. Indeed, Roscoe Rules had turned many bloodless family fights or landlord-tenant disputes into minor riots by his presence. He had been transferred around the department more than any member of his academy class, had been the subject of many complaints of excessive force from citizens and even from a few police supervisors, who generally do not challenge the techniques of policemen like Roscoe Rules. Not if they respond promptly to radio calls, write one moving traffic violation a day and stop at least three people daily for field interrogations.
    During their first week as partners, Roscoe started a small riot. It was in 7-A-77Y area, but Calvin Potts and Francis Tanaguchi were handling a call in 7-A-29's area, while Harold Bloomguard and Sam Niles were handling a call in 7-A-l's area, while Spermwhale Whalen and Baxter Slate were parked in an alley near Crenshaw Boulevard, Spermwhale receiving a listless headjob from an aging black prostitute whom he had known from his days at old University Station.
    The call had originated as a neighbor dispute, and by the time Roscoe and Whaddayamean Dean arrived, what had been a potentially dangerous situation in an unhappily mixed apartment house on Cloverdale had pretty well petered out to the name calling, face saving phase. There were two tired men involved: a black and a Mexican who did not really want to fight for the honor of their bickering wives or anything else.
    "Took a report here one time," Roscoe observed as they climbed the stairway at nine o'clock that night. "Some abba dabba made a report that one a her cubs was missing. Had so fucking many milksuckers running around she forgot the police department summer camp was taking care a the little prick for a week. That's what kind a people we run our kiddie camps for. Didn't know he was gone till she had a head count".
    Whaddayamean Dean shivered as he saw a team of roaches charge on a chunk of slimy red hamburger which lay rotting on the landing.
    There was a sign on the manager's door which said:. "No loiterers in this building. Due to lady tenants being kidnapped, molested and robbed the LAPD will arrest loiterers."
    On the second landing they passed a staggering wine reeking black woman who ignored them. She was barefoot, wore pinned black slacks and an extra large dirty blouse which hung outside. The blouse was hiked in the back because of the lopsided hump which bent her double and reduced a woman who was meant to be of average height to a misshapen dwarf.
    Roscoe tapped the hump as he passed, winked mischievously at Whaddayamean Dean and said to the stuporous woman, "I got a hunch you're for me, baby!"
    Roscoe was still giggling when they found the remnants of the once smoldering neighbor dispute. The rival factions were almost evenly divided. Two sets of neighbors, including husbands, wives, teenage and preteen children, backed the play of each injured party. Mexicans backed Mexicans, blacks backed blacks. There had been twenty-two people screaming and threatening at the height of the