Free The Choirboys by Joseph Wambaugh Page B

Moot’s gourmet restaurants.
    After being practically dragged to the first choir practice by Spencer, Willie Wright discovered something totally extraordinary: that choir practice was fun, more fun in fact than anything he had ever done in his young life. He was acceptedby the other choirboys almost from the start because he entertained them by preaching squeaky sermons. He told them how wrong it was to drink and lust after the two camp followers, Ora Lee Tingle and Carolina Moon, who often turned up at choir practice. But then when drunk he turned into an evil eyed little mustang.
    Harold Bloomguard dubbed him official chaplain of the MacArthur Park choirboys. He was thereafter known as The Padre,
Father
Willie Wright.
    The night that Father Willie Wright personally called for choir practice was the night he found the brother in the basement. It had begun much like every other night, with Spencer Van Moot driving the radio car madly to all of his various stops before the stores closed. First he had to make three cigarette stops where he picked up two packs of cigarettes for each of them, which Father Willie didn’t use. Father Willie suspected quite rightly that Spencer wholesaled the cigarettes to his neighbors.
    And then there was the dairy stop where Spencer got his daily allotment of buttermilk and yogurt, one quart for each partner, which Willie likewise refused. Each night at 10:00 P.M. the manager walked swiftly to his car under the protective beam of Spencer’s spotlight. Then there were other stops, if he could get them in, at various men’s shops on Wilshire Boulevard where Spencer and salesmen tossed around Italian names like Brioni and Valentino and which invariably ended in Spencer’s trying on something in a fine cabretta leather jacket over his blue police uniform. Father Willie sat bored in the dressing room holding his partner’s Sam Browne, gun and hat while Spencer preened.
    Sometimes a new salesman would make the mistake of quoting the retail price to the tall policeman and would find himself cowering before an indignant stare, a twitching toothbrush moustache and a withering piece of advice to “Check with the manager about my police discount.”
    Father Willie often thought about asking for a new partner but he didn’t want to hurt Spencer’s feelings. Spencer had tried for years to find a partner like Father Willie, who would not accept his rightful share of free cigarettes, wholesale merchandise and free liquor. It had gotten to be tedious for Spencer breaking in new partners:
    “You smoke?”
    “No, Spencer.”
    “Today you do. I’ll take both packs if you don’t want them.”
    And inevitably a partner would become greedy. “I’ll take a pack today Spencer.”
    “What for? You don’t smoke.”
    “I’ll give them to my brother. What the hell, three packs a day I’m entitled to.”
    Spencer got to keep Willie’s share of petty booty in every case. And Father Willie never complained when Spencer scrounged up some liquor for choir practices.
    “We’re having a retirement party for one of our detective lieutenants,” Spencer would inevitably lie to a long suffering liquor store proprietor who would take two bottles of Scotch from the shelf behind him.
    “We’re having a big big party.” Spencer would smile benignly until the proprietor would get the message and bring up another two bottles.
    But Spencer was considerate about spreading it around and rarely went to the same liquor store more than once a month for anything but cigarettes. The cigarette shop however was a relentless daily ritual. It was said that during the Watts riot of 1965, Spencer drove a half burned black and white with every window shot out ten miles to Beverly Boulevard, his face streaked with soot and sweat, and managed to make all three cigarette stops before the stores closed at 2:00 A.M .
    Spencer Van Moot had accepted a thousand packs of cigarettes and as many free meals in his time. And though he