Free King City by Lee Goldberg Page A

baseball caps and long hoodies over our uniform shirts and gun belts. We blended right into the environment, like we were invisible. Crimes went down right in front of us. We made arrests, every day, before our shifts—drug dealers, parolees on weapons violations, at‐large suspects wanted in connection with open burglary, rape, and murder investigations.”
    “Cool,” Billy said from across the room, carefully taking down one of the posters. “When do I get to do that?”
    Wade ignored him. “We brought in a lot of crooks, more than we did once our official shifts started. We got noticed and moved up fast. You think that would have happened at Meston Heights?”
    “You ended up in the MCU,” she said. “What happened to your partner?”
    “He’s a homicide detective.”
    “How’s he doing?” she asked.
    Wade shrugged. He hadn’t spoken to Harry Shrake since the MCU scandal broke. Harry was even angrier at Wade for not confiding in him than Alison was.
    “Excuse me, Sarge.” Billy stepped up to them and held the rolled‐up porn‐movie posters under his arm. “Can I have these? I need something to hang in my living room.”
    “They’re all yours,” Wade said.
    “I guess you don’t expect to bring a lot of women home,” Charlotte said to Billy.
    “I don’t see why not,” Billy said.
    “They’ll take one look at your artwork and walk out the door,” she said.
    “I didn’t get your name,” Billy said.
    “Charlotte Greene.”
    “Well, Charlie, I’ve never had one walk out yet,” Billy said. “At least not without a big smile on her face.”
     

Wade showed his officers around the station, went over their duties and responsibilities, then spread out a map of downtown King City on a desk, marked off the boundaries of their patrol zone with a red highlighter, and tacked it on the wall.
    “This is our beat,” he said. “Our borders are Washington Boulevard to the north, the docks to the east, the projects to the south, and the freeway on the west.”
    It wasn’t called the south side on the map anymore because, after years of decay and violence, the name carried negative connotations. Nobody wanted to be associated with the south side, least of all the city councilmen who represented the district. So the city council simply erased the name and didn’t give it a new one. They said they were doing it to remove the stigma from the neighborhood, stimulate investment, and renew civic pride.
    But those three things never happened, not that anybody ever expected them to. There was another reason for what they did. A place without a name doesn’t exist. And neither do the people in it.
    Erasing the south side in name made it a lot easier for the police to erase the rapes, murders, and robberies that occurred there from their overall crime statistics too. Crime can’t exist in a place that isn’t there.
    The chamber of commerce certainly wasn’t going to complain about it. Or the taxpayers in places like Meston Heights. With the south side factored out, crime was down in King City.
    But Wade didn’t share his opinions with his officers. He covered only the facts they needed to know. The rest they’d learn from experience.
    Charlotte took notes in her leather‐bound notebook as Wade spoke.
    Billy seemed bored and antsy, tapping his foot nervously throughout the brief orientation.
    “How many other officers are going to be working out of this station?” she asked Wade.
    “You’re looking at everybody,” Wade said.
    “Just the three of us?”
    Wade nodded. Charlotte shot a meaningful look at Billy, who didn’t seem to understand the meaning.
    “What’s the problem?” Billy asked her.
    “It’s going to be one officer to a car,” she said, obviously irritated with him. “We’re going to be on our own out there.”
    “Works for me, Charlie,” he said, stifling a yawn. “I’m tired of having a babysitter. I’m ready.”
    Charlotte dismissed Billy with a frown and turned to Wade.