Free Hose Monkey by Reed Farrel Coleman Page A

keep our truck clean, Mr. Serpe.”
    Joe saluted. “Aye, aye. Now can we stop it here?” he urged Kramer. “I get that I stepped on your toes last night and I was outta line. I’m sorry. I really liked the kid and—”
    “You’re not listening, Snake,” Hoskins interrupted. “Seems like a problem for you, listening. This got nothing to do with anything but your shitty truck. Kramer, give the man back his paperwork and let’s you and me escort him over to the D.O.T. Then maybe after them guys write his boss a few thousand bucks in tickets, Snake will learn to listen better when Detective Lieutenant Hoskins talks to him.”
    Joe looked over to Kramer for a helping hand. Kramer shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “Hey, I think Hoskins is a dick, too, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Next time, just do as the man says.”
    “Follow us,” is what Kramer actually said.
    Joe got back in the tugboat hoping that the detectives were satisfied they’d made their point and would just speed off. It was too much to hope for. Hoskins wasn’t a second chance kind of guy. It was time for the Christmas in February motorcade to begin. Kramer turned his siren on full bore and put on a dazzling display of lights. Too bad Joe left his Santa suit at home.
    Maybe because the D.O.T. inspector resented being used by the Suffolk cops to make a point, he took some pity on Joe. The truth is, almost every truck on the road is in violation of one or more local, state or federal statute. Sometimes it’s major stuff, but mostly it’s minor crap. Between the Suffolk cops and the D.O.T., Mayday Fuel Oil, Inc. was in the hole for about a thousand bucks in tickets. That wasn’t the half of it. Between the downtime caused by having to yank the tugboat off the road to repair the violations and the cost of those repairs, Frank was going to be out another grand. Add this to the fact that it was now too late for Joe to finish his route, and the day was shaping up as a financial disaster.
    Kramer and Hoskins were waiting for Joe as he pulled onto the south service road of the Long Island Expressway. They were a little less dramatic this time, Kramer signaling to Joe to come have a private word. Hoskins stayed in the Crown Vic.
    “What now?” Joe wondered.
    “I’m the junior partner here,” he explained. “Look, I don’t know if what Tim says about you is true or not. It’s not my business, but he got a hard-on for you like nobody’s business. And to tell you the truth, this case is none of your affair. Keep a low profile and we won’t have to see each other again. You keep poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong, Hoskins is gonna have your balls on a plate. Trust me on this, he’ll pull your ass over every day and then he’ll start on your boss’ other trucks. He’s a slash and burn kinda guy, Serpe, and he gets results. He’ll take your boss down just to prove a point. Consider yourself warned.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Don’t thank me. Just stay the fuck outta this. I don’t enjoy this bullshit.”
    “One more thing.”
    “Yeah, what?” Kramer asked.
    “Your taillights are filthy.”
    A smile flashed across Kramer’s face. When he got back to the car, he didn’t linger. The rear wheels of the Crown Vic kicked up road sand and pebbles as it fish-tailed away. Joe Serpe watched the Ford disappear into the rush hour traffic. Now there was little doubt about what he would have to do.
    “What did you just say?”
    “I said, I quit, Frank.
    “What the fuck for? We got your last stops covered.” Joe pointed to the array of tickets spread across his boss’ desk. “You didn’t do nothing wrong, Joe. I can’t let you do this.”
    “It’s not up to you. And it’s not gonna stop here. Dixie’ll pick up the slack. He’ll like the extra money from the full time gig.”
    “But—”
    “But nothing, Frank. You saved me, buddy, and I’m not taking you down with me. I’ve known too many cops like this asshole