Free The Secrets of Harry Bright by Joseph Wambaugh

pedestrians and blew by at forty miles an hour.
    Wingnut punched it on the amber light and sailed through a six-lane intersection after the New York Lincoln. His partner tightened his seat belt and said, "Easy, kid. This is only a traffic ticket."
    Wingnut managed to catch the car since the driver was weaving from lane number one to number two an d b ack again even though there were no cars directly in front of him.
    "A deuce," Ned Grogan griped. "I don't wanna book a deuce right now. I wanna go get a hot pastrami."
    He was a deuce all right, so drunk he didn't see the gumball lights behind and didn't hear Wingnut toot his horn for a pullover. Wingnut had to blast the siren in the drunk's ear before the Lincoln made a lurching stop against the curb.
    Wingnut had never booked a drunk driver up to then. He was anxious to give his first field sobriety test and was trying to remember all the instructions without checking his notebook. But Ned Grogan preempted his act.
    "Over there," Ned Grogan said to the middle-aged tourist who staggered out of the Lincoln. "On the sidewalk before you get killed by another drunk."
    "Marvin Waterhouse," the drunk said, trying to shake hands with Ned Grogan. "Hope I wasn't speeding, Officer. Get a little confused on these California highways. Not like back home."
    "May I see your license, please?" Wingnut asked, and Marvin Waterhouse looked at the young cop's freckled nose and said, "You a real cop, sonny?"
    "Just give him the license, Marvin," Ned Grogan sighed. "Let's get on with it."
    "Sure, sure," Marvin Waterhouse said, making Ned Grogan step back from the blast of 80-proof bourbon. Was I speeding? I'm very sorry."
    As Wingnut was about to get into the drunk test, Ned Grogan said, "Look, Marvin, you know and we know you're too drunk to drive or walk."
    "I don't think I'm . . ."
    "Don't jive me, Marvin, I'm about to give you a break."
    "Yes, sir." Marvin Waterhouse was no fool. "Whatever you say, Officer."
    "Where's your hotel?"
    "I'm at the Disneyland," Marvin Waterhouse said. "Okay, now there's a taxi stand across the street. I want you to lock up your car and get in a cab and go back to the hotel and go to bed. Will you promise me you'll do that, Marvin?"
    "Yes, sir!" Marvin Waterhouse said. "Right this second. "
    Wingnut was disappointed, but it wasn't the first time he'd lost an arrest when Ned Grogan wanted a pastrami or an enchilada or something. Wingnut figured his partner'd eat a stray dog.
    As Marvin Waterhouse was starting to stagger into the crosswalk, Wingnut grabbed his elbow and said, "I better help you."
    Ned Grogan stayed on the far side of the crowded intersection and watched across six lanes of Disneyland traffic as Wingnut Bates, looking like a gun-toting Boy Scout, steered the New York tourist toward the taxi stand.
    And then Marvin Waterhouse made a mistake that lots of easterners make when they come out west for the first time. He reached in his pocket, pulled out a $20 bill and tucked it inside Wingnut's Sam Browne belt.
    It happened so fast that Marvin Waterhouse was half inside the cab when Wingnut looked at the money. The street was packed with cars and pedestrians, but nobody noticed Marvin's gesture of New York gratitude. Except that Wingnut Bates felt a thousand eyes. The guy thought he was a grafter! He'd just been fucking bribed!
    "We don't do things like this!" Wingnut Bates cried, leaping toward the cab. "You can't . . ."
    It was too late. The door was slammed by Marvin Waterhouse and the cabbie drove off.
    "HE BRIBED ME!" Wingnut screamed across the traffic noise to Ned Grogan who was trying to figure out if his rookie partner had gone crackers in the heat.
    "What?" Ned Grogan yelled.
    "I BEEN BRIBED!" Wingnut Bates screamed, running after the taxi, which had crossed the intersection but was stopped by traffic trying to get into the Disneyland parking lot.
    "Wingnut, come back here!" Ned Grogan hollered, but Wingnut was hotfooting across the intersection tryin