The Blue Knight Read Online Free

a minute when Seymour said it, and this shook me.
    “When is your twentieth year up, Bumper?” she asked.
    “End of this month.”
    “You’re not even considering pulling the pin, are you Bumper?” asked Seymour, who knew all the police lingo from feeding the beat cops for years.
    “What do
you
think?” I asked, and Seymour seemed satisfied and started telling Parker a few more incidents from the Bumper Morgan legend. Ruthie kept watching me. Women are like cops, they sense things. When Seymour finally ran down, I promised to come back Friday for the Deluxe Businessman’s Plate, said my good-byes, and left six bits for Ruthie which she didn’t put in her tip dish under the counter. She looked me in the eye and dropped it right down her bra.
    I’d forgotten about the heat and when it hit me I decided to drive straight for Elysian Park, sit on the grass, and smoke a cigar with my radio turned up loud enough so I wouldn’t miss a call. I wanted to read about last night’s Dodger game, so before getting in the car I walked down to the smoke shop. I picked up half a dozen fifty-cent cigars, and since the store recently changed hands and I didn’t know the owner too well, I took a five out of my pocket.
    “From you? Don’t be silly, Officer Morgan,” said the pencil-necked old man, and refused the money. I made a little small talk in way of payment, listened to a gripe or two about business, and left, forgetting to pick up a paper. I almost went back in, but I never make anyone bounce for two things in one day. I decided to get a late paper across the street from Frankie the dwarf. He had his Dodger’s baseball cap tilted forward and pretended not to see me until I was almost behind him, then he turned fast and punched me in the thigh with a deformed little fist.
    “Take that, you big slob. You might scare everybody else on the street, but I’ll get a fat lock on you and break your kneecap.”
    “What’s happening, Frankie?” I said, while he slipped a folded paper under my arm without me asking.
    “No happenings, Killer. How you standing up under this heat?”
    “Okay, I guess.” I turned to the sports page while Frankie smoked a king-sized cigarette in a fancy silver holder half as long as his arm. His tiny face was pinched and ancient but he was only thirty years old.
    A woman and a little boy about four years old were standing next to me, waiting for the red light to change.
    “See that man,” she said. “That’s a policeman. He’ll come and get you and put you in jail if you’re bad.” She gave me a sweet smile, very smug because she thought I was impressed with her good citizenship.
    Frankie, who was only a half head taller than the kid, took a step toward them and said, “That’s real clever, lady. Make him scared of the law. Then he’ll grow up hating cops because
you
scared him to death.”
    “Easy, Frankie,” I said, a little surprised.
    The woman lifted the child and the second the light changed she ran from the angry dwarf.
    “Sorry, Bumper,” Frankie smiled. “Lord knows I’m not a cop lover.”
    “Thanks for the paper, old shoe,” I said, keeping in the shade, nodding to several of the local characters and creeps who gave me a “Hi, Bumper.”
    I sauntered along toward Broadway to see what the crowds looked like today and to scare off any pickpockets that might be working the shoppers. I fired up one of those fifty-centers which are okay when I’m out of good hand-rolled custom-mades. As I rounded the corner on Broadway I saw six of the Krishna cult performing in their favorite place on the west sidewalk. They were all kids, the oldest being maybe twenty-five, boys and girls, shaved heads, a single long pigtail, bare feet with little bells on their ankles, pale orange saris, tambourines, flutes and guitars. They chanted and danced and put on a hell of a show there almost every day, and there was no way old Herman the Devil-drummer could compete with them. You could see his