“Hey, I’m just tired of always having to go to Mom&Dad’s. Every holiday, every time you decide to fly anywhere, whenever. And they always cook too much food.” Chattered Mjǫllnir. Mjǫllnir, a squirrel monkey with a 5-second attention span found no detail too small to go to war over. She fought for every stroke drawn outside the coloring lines, and took any dare, no matter how silly. She was my other muse.

“Can’t you, just for once, be the dutiful daughter, without complaining?” said Amelia patiently.

“Then they might come to expect that.”

“Oh, yeah: if you toe the line once, you’ll always toe the line. You’ll become reliable, dependable. You might even start showing up on time, every time.”

“Oh, grow up. What’s wrong with a little spontaneity?” Mjǫllnir slapped my dresser for emphasis.

Their discourse wore on my nerves.

Thanksgiving meant Mom was awake and cutting and browning the croutons for the dressing at 4am.

“We don’t even like the bread part,” said Mjǫllnir. For once, Amelia agreed.

No, first she fries the chopped turkey bacon.

“You mean that spongy stuff that goes from tough and salty to hard and salty instantly?”

“Mom will use real bacon, because Dad will argue that Thanksgiving is special.” Said Amelia knowingly.

She chops the onions while the bread is browning.

“Are all psychopaths so methodical?”

I knew the routine: Mom browns each of the dressing ingredients separately then combines them before stuffing the bird. When Dad was working, he’d always bring home a 25-lb turkey. Even retired, he still liked a big bird, even though there’d only be the four of us eating.

Too bad Patti had passed away. Though she’d become conservative and respectable by age 30, she was gone by 38. She and her hubs always appreciated Mom&Dad’s dinners. And I sure missed her company.

She’d been such a wild gal growing up. She was always at the forefront of every trend. There was nothing she hadn’t tried, nothing she hadn’t done before. And Dad had made sure she knew her role in life was to smooth out the bumps in the road before I got there.

Her lasting advice to me: Dress to kill. Have your excuse ready. Leave early.

Still worked, even with the folks. So, I’d wear a skirt, and Dad would tease me I looked like a girl.

Mjǫllnir would be ready to leave before we even arrived. Amelia would insist on staying to wash the dishes.

I’d bake a Mrs. Smith’s pumpkin pie. If the yams with brown sugar and marshmallows didn’t give Dad a diabetic seizure, the pie sure wouldn’t. Besides, Dad had two stored in the freezer, in case I forgot.

Amelia loved the holidays. Any excuse to get together with the family. And, she loved all the preparation of the meals: every detail. Mjǫllnir had convinced me long ago, that the whole day of cooking and the weeks before filled with prep work, were all part of an elaborate ruse to keep me a prisoner there, watching endless games of football, and making and eating stuffed eggs. (This was sheer Purgatory.)

Dad would roast red, orange, yellow, and green bell peppers a few days before. He’d skin them, slice and marinate them for the salad–just something tangy. If Mom&Dad had been lucky, he’d have found and cooked a couple of big crabs on Wednesday. He’d reserve the prettiest pieces for Thursday’s salad, and Mom&Dad would have the scraps for dinner.

Amelia said, “nothing exceeds like excess.” Mom&Dad, Depression survivors, would make two hot vegetables, as well as the crab salad with a balsamic and fresh ginger vinaigrette. Mjǫllnir liked the brussel sprouts because they’re hand-sized, but hated their bitterness. Amelia loved the bountiful variety, but hated the excess.

We’d get to the folks’ at 3 or 4 in the afternoon, shortly before the bird came out of the oven. The house smelled delicious. Dad would already have started preparing the ingredients for the jook (a rice porridge made from the turkey carcass).

Cookie, their shiz tsu, would have already been fed the turkey liver and giblets. Mom made sure those were tender and juicy, and smothered with butter and seasonings.

My husband Tom loved how my parents doted on me. He would pile his plate high with food, but only ate a portion of it. His grandmother having taught him long ago, that it was alright to leave part of his dinner on his plate: it was a sign of manners that his hosts had been overly generous. Amelia hated to see how wasteful Tom was.

We (my parents, my monkeys and I) were born of a different class. Though my parents silently scrapped his plate into the garbage after dinner, I knew they were disappointed that he hadn’t finished what he had taken.

But the girls would be happy with dessert. I brought pie, burnt as usual, and barely disguised with cool whip. Mjǫllnir loved to taunt Amelia with handfuls of pumpkin and cream. In tiny measured laps, Amelia licked it from her fur.

I always overate. So did everyone else. (Except Tom.) I knew how this would play out. That’s when Mjǫllnir reminded me of the magnetic stud she’d talked me into buying six months earlier.

Well, they hadn’t liked it when at 18, I dyed my hair plum, blue, green, and purple, but this was such a small thing. Even Patti had had half a dozen piercings in her left ear. And what could they say to me? I’m no longer a child, at least that’s what I thought when I put the stud on.

Tom just rolled his eyes. Mom didn’t say a word. Neither did Dad. Her eyes lingered on it just a moment longer than was comfortable, but she knew a cross word would just make matters worse.

Dinner conversation was a little muted that night. After dinner I pulled Dad aside, and sliding it off my nose, showed him it was just a magnet. His face lit up, and he mischieviously said, “Don’t tell your Mom.”

That’s when I knew where I got my Mjǫllnir from.

Tobey and Chloe pull up to a run down starter home in Bernal Heights, probably built in the early sixties. A rope across the face of the house holds the garage door down, but the bulging contents threaten to burst out into the street.

Franks radios that he’s in position. He’s hopped three fences to cover the back door. Sergeant Jones rings the bell and announces the search warrant. He pops the gate with a crowbar when it takes too long. Then he shoulders the door. There’s rustling inside: The perps hiding their stash—or eating it—or flushing it. Chloe takes point with Tobey right behind. She’s a sleek bullet speeding into the darkened house.

The light is dim. The air’s thick with smoke and stinks of sweat and fear. Chloe races the steps taking two at a time. She snakes through the narrow corridor of human rubbish. Bathroom at the head of the stairs: she tackles a guy trying to stuff plastic baggies down the toilet. Surprise: they float! She spins him, and Tobey nails, frisks and cuffs him. Meanwhile, Mr. Invisible tries to hide behind the scuffle in the shower. Lewis yanks him out. He’s flailing a knife. Lewis grabs a towel. Perp lunges, and Lewis catches the blade in the towel. He tears the knife away as he lands on the guy. Crunch, Lewis’ elbow smashes into the guy’s face.

Another guy’s run out onto the deck. He’s oblivious that the house is perched on the side of a hill. It’s at least a four-story drop to the ground, or a sixty-foot leap to the roof across the way. Chloe’s through that open glass door like a shot! The deck’s four feet wide, and enclosed on three sides, like a big balcony. It’s littered with rusted empty animal cages and dead plants. He’s got nowhere to run. He backs up the length of the deck, stumbling on broken flowerpots and dead cacti. Chloe’s grin is all teeth. Her growl is low and dangerous. The man glances over the railing, calculating his chances. Lewis shouts, “Hey, man! Don’t be stupid.” Perp laces his fingers overhead as he turns back around. “Chloe, aus!” Lewis cuffs his hands behind his back and drags him back inside. Chloe is disappointed.

From the kitchen, there’s a loud pop and a wrenching scream as Sarge goes down, with a dislocated kneecap. Santiago hauls the thrasher out from under the kitchen sink, like prying a crab out of its shell. Well sometimes, you gotta crack a few eggs to make an omelette. And Santiago isn’t too dainty about it. Seeing his partner in pain enrages Santiago, who lays in a couple of extra punches, just for good measure.

Tobey cuffs the guy and drags him to the living room with the other perps. Santiago props Sergeant Jones up amongst the dining room clutter.

Lewis and Tobey confront two gals they find huddled in a bedroom beside the stairs. The thirty-year-old woman is openly hostile. Spitting words through rotting teeth, Jessie says “I own this place! You got no right to be here.” Jessie’s been in and out of jails since she was a young teenager. Jones and Santiago can even remember Jessie from a time before meth, when she was a pretty young thing. Her daughter, now the ravishing teen beauty, looks friightened and cries in spasmic sobs. Tobey pities the girl, a  fairy tale princess living in an urban nightmare.

The action’s over pretty quick. This time, the good guys are just bigger and faster.

Franks and Santiago discover a threesome in a downstairs apartment. The family is frightened but cooperative. The woman grunts and gestures. Her Rasta boyfriend translates. Their three year old son hangs onto a ratty Elmo. Franks questions the man while Santiago, using American Sign Language and pantomime, gets the mother and boy to quiet down. Rasta says the two women are sisters. Franks and Santiago escort them upstairs for further questioning.

Tobey snaps Chloe’s leash on, and quietly says, “Pass auf.” Chloe strains against the harness, growls and barks viciously at the suspects. “Chloe thinks you’re holding out on us. Chloe knows there’s more here than the two baggies you tried to flush. If you promise to play nice, and tell us where to look, Chloe will behave. If not, well…I can’t make any promises.”

Tobey says to Chloe. “Yes, girl. You want to find stuff? …Okay, Girl. Go get it.” Tobey unsnaps her leash, and Chloe leaps up on the guy from the balcony. Before the man can knee or punch her, Santiago nonchalantly steps between them. The guy curls up into a ball, and says, “There’s a pipe stashed behind some pillows by the couch, but it’s not mine. It’s not mine. I just came by to visit, you know what I’m sayin’?  I’m fuckin’ allergic to dog bites, so could you please keep your damn dog off me?” Santiago asks if anyone else has anything to add. The suspects nervously look at each other and shift around as if they’re sitting in soiled diapers.

Tobey says, “Aus. Nein.” Chloe whimpers and circles to sit on his feet.

He says, “Bringen,” and she’s off to search the house: so many smells. She points out some nicely pressed leaves in a bible, and more in a telephone book, and half a baggie stashed in a flowerpot, scales, empty nickel bags, three bags of rocks in one of the men’s boots, more rocks in the sock drawer of a dresser, and a few big bottles of unmarked pills. Seven plants downstairs with Farmer Bob, two of them over 6’ tall, but all over-harvested and pretty scraggly, and a mildewed set of empty drying racks. Sizeable haul, considering all the dreck Chloe had to root through.

She checks the bathroom toilet tank and sink: no balloons. She rushes to the kitchen. Under layers of grimy plates and bowls crawling with roaches in the sink, she smells something. She tears away at the rubber ring above the drain. Franks yells “Aus!” at Chloe, and rips it out of there and peers inside.

Chloe sits while Franks calls Lewis over. Lewis pulls an evidence bag out of his pocket enroute. He’s got latex gloves on, but hunts to find a fork, then scrapes it clean before he reaches into the drain with it. He drops two red and moldy pieces into the bag. Both men groan, and Franks looks like he’s gonna puke. Lewis, on the down low calls over to Tobey, as he hands the baggie over to Sergeant Jones. Sarge stares at the bag and his blood boils.

Tobey grabs Chloe, and snaps her leash on. He walks Chloe over to Santiago who is watching the suspects on the couch. By now, backup’s been called, officer down, on account of Jones’ leg. The paramedics are on their way.

Santiago shouts over to see what Franks found. Franks goes over to Santiago and Tobey and pulls them aside to tell them privately. “Chloe found some parts… of a newborn in the sink. In the garbage disposal.

There’s part of an arm and a hand. Bone’s torn off. And, there’s a foot. They’re… it’s so tiny.” Tobey looks at the suspects with wonder.

Santiago goes white and says a silent prayer for the lost baby. Then, he has to see it. Says he’ll be right back, and goes to take a look.

Nobody tells the perps. But, everybody senses the shift. It’s like someone dropped a bomb at a garden party, suddenly declaring the scene a war zone. The suspects eye each other suspiciously.

The big boys downtown will have to get involved, Captain Gutierrez, at the very least. This is no longer a simple drug bust.

Tobey’s pale. He tastes the soured milk from his latte still on his tongue. He asks Lewis to watch the suspects while he takes Chloe for a walk, like he just needs a little air—something normal that he can relate to. Night’s fallen, and the cool crisp air is refreshing. Tobey ruffles Chloe’s hair, like she was his kid sister or something. “Hey, girl, you done good. Real good.” He reaches into his pocket and slips her a Milk Bone.

Tobey and Chloe clock in and go straight to the briefing room. Sergeant Jones rambles through the dailies, mentioning a search warrant at 18:00.

Chloe’s focus is the table three feet to the right of Jones. Today is bagel day: lox, capers and cream cheese. She sits patiently, her partner Tobey sitting between her and her bagel. A dog has more than 220 million olfactory receptors in its nose, while humans have only 5 million. She sniffs the air and her tummy growls impatiently. The minutes drag on.

Finally, Sergeant Jones dismisses everyone. Tobey loads up a couple of bagels, and carts them off to the bullpen. Chloe follows the food. Tobey puts the plate down and shuffles through the folders on his desk. Lewis drops off Tobey’s latte, and Santiago’s double mocha. Chloe surreptitiously lifts the top layer of lox off the first bagel. Tobey rechecks his notebook, filling in last night’s report about the speeder who sideswiped two women in a Bonneville by the Valencia Gardens projects. Chloe silently peels off the second layer of salmon and wolfs it down. Tobey ditches the coffee lid and slurps up some foam. He looks over at Chloe, her black muzzle covered with white flecks of cream cheese. He laughs, thinking they must look like mirror images.

He’s heard it somewhere before, how couples grow to look alike as they age. And, he’s been with her for three or four years now, or about twenty or thirty dog years. He knows it sounds clichéd to say it, but she’s the best partner he’s ever had: reliable, dependable, quick on her feet, and has great instincts. He’d lay his life down for hers, any day. And, knows she’d do the same for him.

She looks at him sheepishly. He grabs a napkin, wipes the foam from his upper lip, then swipes the crumbled cheese smears from her face. She sees he’s not angry and hopes he won’t remember the second bagel. She licks at the napkin craving every cheesy morsel, but he tosses it into the bin. As her head follows the trajectory of the napkin, Tobey barks, “Aus. Nein.”

Her attention quickly shifts to the bagel now in Tobey’s hand. He bites into the “clean” side and after a moment, surrenders the lox to his partner. He hopes Chloe will keep the rich food down this time.

He pens in the date, finishing his report. “Okay, girl. Let’s go.” Chloe was born ready. She springs to his side, as he chucks the paperwork into Jones’ inbox on their way out.

The two are patrolling in a black and white as twilight darkens the sky. Dispatch reminds everyone of the warrant service. Tobey picks up the radio and responds as he turns the car towards Bernal Heights.

They pull up to a run down starter home, probably built in the early sixties. A rope across the face of the house holds the garage door down, but the bulging contents threaten to burst out onto the street.

Franks radios in, he’s in position, having hopped three fences to cover the back door. Sergeant Jones rings the doorbell and announces his search warrant. Then he pops the gate with a crowbar when it takes too long and shoulders the door. There’s rustling inside: The perps hiding their stash—or eating it—or flushing it. Chloe takes point with Tobey right behind. She’s a sleek bullet speeding into the darkened house.

The light is dim. The air’s thick with smoke and stinks of sweat and fear. Chloe races the steps taking two at a time, snaking through the narrow corridor of human rubbish. Bathroom at the head of the stairs: she tackles a guy trying to stuff plastic baggies down the toilet. Surprise: they float! She spins him, and Tobey nails, frisks and cuffs him. Meanwhile, Mr. Invisible tries to hide in the shower. Lewis pulls him out. He’s flailing a knife. Lewis snaps a towel at him. Perp lunges, and Lewis catches the blade in the towel. He flicks it away as he lands on the guy. Crunch, Lewis’ elbow smashes into the guy’s face, and he crumbles.

Another guy’s run out onto the deck. He’s oblivious the house is perched on the side of a hill. It’s at least a four-story drop to the ground, or a sixty-foot leap to the roof across the way. Chloe’s through that open glass door like a shot! The deck’s four feet wide, and enclosed on three sides, like a big balcony. It’s littered with rusted empty animal cages and dead plants. He’s got nowhere to run. He backs up the length of the deck, stumbling on broken flowerpots. Chloe’s grin is all teeth. Her growl is low and dangerous. The man glances over the railing, calculating his chances. Lewis shouts, “Hey, man! Don’t be stupid.” Perp laces his fingers overhead as he slowly turns back around. “Chloe, aus!” Lewis cuffs him and drags him back inside. Chloe is disappointed.

Then from the kitchen, there’s a loud pop and a wrenching scream as Sarge goes down, his kneecap dislocated. Santiago hauls the thrasher out from under the kitchen sink, like prying a crab out of its shell. Well sometimes, you gotta crack a few eggs to make an omelette. And Santiago isn’t too dainty about it. Seeing his partner in pain enrages Santiago, who lays in a couple of extra punches, just for good measure.

Tobey cuffs the guy and drags him to the living room with the other perps. Santiago props Sergeant Jones up amongst the dining room clutter.

Lewis and Tobey round up the two gals they find huddled in a bedroom beside the stairs. The thirty-year-old woman is openly hostile. Spitting words through rotting teeth, Jessie says “I own this place! You got no right to be here.” Jessie’s been in and out of the slammer since she was a young teenager. Jones and Santiago can even remember Jessie from a time before meth, when she was a pretty young thing. Her daughter, now the ravishing teen beauty, looks friightened and cries in spasmic sobs. Tobey pities the girl, a  fairy tale princess living in an urban nightmare.

The action’s over pretty quick. This time, the good guys are just bigger and faster.

Franks and Santiago discover a threesome in a downstairs apartment. The family is frightened but cooperative. The woman grunts and gestures. Her Rasta boyfriend translates. Their three year old son hangs onto a ratty Elmo. Franks questions the man while Santiago, through ASL and pantomime, gets the mother and boy to quiet down. Rasta says the two women are sisters. Franks and Santiago escort them upstairs for further questioning.

Tobey snaps Chloe’s leash on, and quietly says, “Pass auf.” Chloe strains against the harness, growls and barks viciously at the suspects. “Chloe thinks you’re holding out on us. Chloe knows there’s more here than the two baggies you tried to flush. If you promise to play nice, and tell us where to look, Chloe will behave. If not, well…I can’t make any promises.”

Tobey says to Chloe. “Yes, girl. You want to find stuff? …Okay, Girl. Go get it.” Tobey unsnaps her leash, and Chloe leaps up on the guy from the balcony. Before the man can knee or punch her, Santiago nonchalantly steps between them. The guy curls up into a ball, and says, “There’s a pipe stashed behind some pillows by the couch, but it’s not mine. It’s not mine. I just came by to visit, you know what I’m sayin’?  I’m fuckin’ allergic to dog bites, so could you please keep your damn dog off me?” Santiago asks if anyone else has anything to add. The suspects nervously look at each other and shift around as if they’re sitting in soiled diapers.

Tobey says, “Aus. Nein.” Chloe whimpers and circles to sit on his feet.

He says, “Bringen,” and she’s off to search the house. She points out some nicely pressed leaves in a bible, and more in a telephone book, and half a baggie stashed in a flowerpot, scales, empty nickel bags, three bags of rocks in one of the men’s boots, more rocks in the sock drawer of a dresser, and a few big bottles of unmarked pills. Seven plants downstairs with Farmer Bob, two of them over 6’ tall, but all over-harvested and pretty scraggly. Sizeable haul, considering all the dreck Chloe had to root through.

She checks the bathroom toilet tank and sink: no latex balloons. She rushes to the kitchen. Under layers of grimy plates and bowls crawling with roaches in the sink, she smells something. She tears away at the rubber ring above the drain. Franks yells “Aus!” at Chloe, and rips it out of there and peers inside.

Chloe sits while Franks calls Lewis over. Lewis pulls an evidence bag out of his pocket enroute. He’s got latex gloves on, but hunts to find a fork, then scrapes it clean before he reaches into the drain with it. He drops two red and moldy pieces into the bag. Both men groan, and Franks looks like he’s gonna puke. Lewis, on the down low calls over to Tobey, as he hands the baggie over to Sergeant Jones. Sarge stares at the bag and his blood boils.

The big boys downtown will have to get involved, Captain Gutierrez, at the very least. Sergeant Jones shakes his head.

Tobey grabs Chloe, and snaps her leash on. He walks Chloe over to Santiago who is watching the suspects on the couch. By now, backup’s been called, officer down, on account of Jones’ leg. The paramedics are on their way.

Santiago shouts over to see what Franks found. Franks goes over to Santiago and Tobey and pulls them aside to tell them privately. “Chloe found some parts… of a newborn in the sink. In the garbage disposal. There’s part of an arm and a hand. Bone’s torn off. And, there’s a foot. They’re… it’s so tiny.”

Tobey looks at the suspects with wonder.

Santiago goes white and says a silent prayer for the lost baby. Then, inexplicably he has to see it. He says he’ll be right back, and goes to take a look.

Nobody tells the perps. But, everybody senses the shift. It’s like someone dropped a bomb at a garden party, suddenly declaring the scene a war zone. The suspects eye each other suspiciously.

Tobey’s pale. He tastes the soured milk from his latte still on his tongue. He asks Lewis to watch the suspects while he takes Chloe for a walk, like he just needs a little air—something normal that he can relate to. Night’s fallen, and the cool crisp air is refreshing. Tobey ruffles Chloe’s hair, like she was his kid sister or something. “Hey, girl, you done good. Real good.” He reaches into his pocket and slips her a Milk Bone.

Tobey and Chloe clock in and go straight to the briefing room. Sergeant Jones rambles through the dailies: what happened on the day shift, what’s happening in the City tonight, what’s important, what to look out for, visiting dignitaries, etc. The Sarge mentions serving a search warrant at 18:00.

Chloe’s focus is the table three feet to the right of the lectern. Today is bagel day: lox, capers and cream cheese. She sits patiently, her partner Tobey sitting between her and her bagel. A dog has more than 220 million olfactory receptors in its nose, while humans have only 5 million. She sniffs the cream cheese and salmon in the air and her tummy growls impatiently. The minutes drag on.

Finally, Sergeant Jones dismisses everyone to bagels and paperwork. Tobey loads up a couple of bagels, inches deep with fixings, and carts them off to the bullpen. Chloe follows the food. Tobey has a report to file. He puts the plate down and shuffles through the folders on his desk looking for his incomplete report. Lewis drops off Tobey’s latte, and Santiago’s double mocha. Chloe surreptitiously lifts the top layer of lox off of the first bagel. Tobey rechecks the facts in his notebook, filling in last night’s report about the speeder anxious to get to the Valencia Gardens projects, who unluckily sideswiped two old women in a Bonneville. Chloe silently peels off the second layer of salmon and wolfs it down. Tobey ditches the coffee lid and slurps up some foam. He looks over at Chloe, her black muzzle covered with white flecks of cream cheese. He laughs, knowing they must look like mirror images.

He’s heard it somewhere before, how couples begin to look alike as they age. And, he’s been with her for three or four years now, or about twenty or thirty dog years. He knows it sounds cliché to say it, but she’s the best partner he’s ever had: reliable, dependable, quick on her feet, and has great instincts. He’d lay his life down for hers, any day. And, knows she’d do the same for him.

She looks up at him sheepishly. He grabs a napkin, wipes the foam from his mustache, then swipes the crumbled cheese smears from her face. She assesses his mood: Tobey’s not angry, maybe he won’t notice the other bagel, too. She licks at the napkin craving every cheesy morsel, but he tosses it into the bin. As her head follows the trajectory of the napkin, Tobey barks, “Aus. Nein.”

If she could purse her lips, she’d be pouting. But her attention quickly shifts to the second bagel, now in Tobey’s hand. He bites into the “clean” side, knowing he’ll only get one bite, if that. He doesn’t mind forgoing the extra calories, but sometimes rich food disagrees with Chloe, all over the squad car.

He takes another half bite and surrenders the lox to his partner. He pens in the date, finishing his report. “Okay, girl. Let’s go.” Chloe was born ready. She jumps down from the chair and springs to his side, as he chucks the paperwork into Jones’ inbox on their way out.

The two are out beat patrolling in a black and white as twilight darkens the sky. Dispatch reminds everyone of the warrant service. Tobey picks up the radio and responds as he turns the car towards Bernal Heights.

They pull up to the third house on the block. It’s a run down starter home, probably built in the early sixties. A rope across the face of the house holds the garage door down, but the bulging contents threaten to burst out into the street any moment.

Franks radios in, he’s in position, having hopped three fences to make sure no one leaves the party through the back door. Sergeant Jones rings the doorbell, does his stagy search warrant announcement, 28 seconds from start to end, including pauses. Then he pops the gate with a crowbar when it takes too long and shoulders the door. There’s some rustling inside: The perps trying to hide their stash—or consume it—or flush it. Chloe takes point with Tobey right behind. She’s a sleek bullet speeding into the darkened house.

The light is dim. The air’s thick with smoke and stinks of sweat and fear. Chloe races the steps taking two at a time, snaking through the narrow corridor of human rubbish. Bathroom at the head of the stairs: she tackles a guy trying to get some plastic baggies down the toilet. Surprise: they float! She spins him around, and Tobey throws him down, frisks and cuffs him. One guy hides in the shower, Mr. Invisible. Lewis pulls him out. He’s flailing a knife. Lewis snap-whips a towel at him, teasingly. Perp lunges, and Lewis gets the blade caught in the towel he holds taunt. He wraps it back towards the guy. Crunch, Lewis lands his elbow in the guy’s face, and he crumbles.

Another guy’s run out onto the deck. He doesn’t know the house is on the side of a hill? It’s at least a four-story drop to the ground, or a sixty-foot leap to the roof across the way. Chloe’s through that open glass door like a shot! The deck’s four feet wide, and enclosed on three sides, like a big balcony. The perp’s got nowhere to run. He backs up the length of the deck. Chloe’s grin is all teeth. She’s in control, her growl is low and dangerous. The man glances over the railing, calculating his chances. Lewis calls to him. He laces his fingers overhead as he turns back around. “Chloe, aus!” Lewis cuffs him and drags him back inside, past an attentive Chloe.

Then from the kitchen, there’s a loud pop and a wrenching scream as Sarge goes down, his kneecap popped. Santiago hauls the thrasher out from under the kitchen sink, like prying a crab out of its shell. Well sometimes, you gotta crack a few eggs to make an omelette. And Santiago isn’t too dainty about it. Seeing his partner in pain enrages Santiago, who lays in a couple of extra punches, just for good measure.

With Jones down, Lewis and Tobey cuff the two gals they find huddled in a bedroom at the top of the stairs. The thirty-year-old woman is openly hostile. Spitting words through rotting teeth, Jessie says “I own this place! You got no right to be here.” Jessie’s been in and out of the slammer since she was a young teenager. Jones, Santiago and Lewis can even remember Jessie from before she discovered meth, when she was quite pretty. Her daughter, now the beautiful young teen, looks like she’s never seen any of this before, ever. A Cinderella plucked up from a fairy tale somewhere and deposited in this crack house.

It’s over pretty quick. This time, the good guys are just bigger and faster.

Franks and Santiago find a threesome downstairs. The family is frightened but cooperative. The woman grunts and gestures. Her Rasta boyfriend translates. Their three- or four-year old wailing son, looks a little twitchy and stunted. Franks questions the man while Santiago, with his limited ASL and pantomime, gets the mother and boy to quiet down. Rasta tells them the two women are sisters. Franks and Santiago escort everyone upstairs for further questioning.

Tobey’s had Chloe and Santiago guarding the perps. Now it’s time for them to play good cop/bad cop. He snaps her leash on, and quietly says, “Pass auf.” Chloe instantly strains against the harness, growls and barks viciously at the suspects. She wants at the captives, but Tobey holds the leash firmly, and bows slightly. “Chloe thinks you’re holding out on us. Chloe knows there’s more here than the two baggies you tried to flush. If you make Chloe go and look for your stash, she mighn’t be very ladylike about it. And, I think she might want to get close to you, to track your scent to your dope. Shall I let her get a good close whiff?”

Chloe knows this game well. Oh yes, please, please let me at this one! I know he’s ready to talk! He’s gonna sing, I just know it!

Tobey pretends to talk things over with Chloe. “Yes, girl. I know you’re anxious. What do you want? You want to find stuff? Yeah? You think they’re holding out on us? Yeah, you think you can find stuff? …Okay, Girl. Go get it.” Tobey unsnaps her leash, and Chloe leaps up on the first guy, barking and growling. Before the man can knee or punch her, Santiago nonchalantly steps between them. The guy from the deck curls up into a ball, and says, “There’s a pipe stashed behind some pillows next to the couch, but it’s not mine. I just came by for a few cocoa puffs, you know what I’m sayin’?  I’m fuckin’ allergic to dog bites, so could you please keep your damn dog off me?” Santiago asks if anyone else has anything to add. The suspects nervously look at each other and shift around as if they’re sitting in wet diapers.

Tobey says, “Aus. Nein.” Chloe barks and whimpers her disapproval of being denied her prey.

Chloe sits on his feet. Tobey says, “Bringen,” and she’s off to search the house. So many smells: Chloe knows what she’s looking for. She turns up some nicely pressed leaves in a bible, and more in a telephone book. There’s half a baggie stashed in a flowerpot, scales, empty nickel bags, three bags of rocks in one of the men’s boots, more rocks in the sock drawer of a dresser, and miscellaneous unmarked pills. Seven plants downstairs with Farmer Bob, two of them over 6’ tall, but all over-harvested and pretty scraggly, and a mildewed set of empty drying racks. Sizeable haul, all things considered.

Not through yet, Chloe remembers to check the sinks. She has found balloons and all sorts of hidden things before. She finds dope perps forgot they ever had. (And naturally, they deny it all the way.) But, not this time, at least nothing in the bathroom sink. Then, under layers of grimy plates and bowls crawling with roaches in the kitchen sink, she smells something. She tears away at the rubber ring above the drain. Franks yells “Aus!” at Chloe, and rips it out of there. He peers inside.

Chloe sits while Franks calls Lewis over. Lewis pulls an evidence bag out of his pocket enroute. He’s got latex gloves on, but hunts to find a fork, then scrapes it clean before he reaches into the drain with it. He drops two red and moldy pieces into the bag. Both men groan, and Franks looks like he’s gonna puke. Lewis, on the down low calls over to Tobey, as he hands the baggie over to Sergeant Jones. Sarge is furious.

Tobey grabs Chloe, and snaps her leash back on. He saw the bag, but didn’t register what was in it. He walks Chloe over to Santiago who is watching the suspects on the couch. By now, backup’s been called, officer down, on account of Jones’ leg. The paramedics are on their way, but Sergeant Jones is uncharacteristically livid. Sure he’s in pain, but the red and purple throbbing veins on his forehead threaten to spring out and become antlers. Santiago shouts over to see what Franks found. Franks goes over to Santiago and Tobey and pulls them aside to tell them privately. “We found some parts… of a newborn in the sink. In the garbage disposal.”

“What? Are you sure?” Said Santiago.

“There’s part of an arm and a hand. The bone’s torn off. And, there’s a foot. They’re… it’s so tiny.” Tobey looks at the suspects with wonder.

Santiago goes white and says a silent prayer for the lost baby. Then inexplicably, he wants to see it, like he can’t believe it.

“It’s the parts that didn’t get ground up.” Franks still watching the perps, steals a look at Tobey’s downcast eyes.

Santiago looks at Tobey, says he’ll be right back, and goes to take a look.

Nobody tells the perps. But, everybody senses the shift. It’s like someone dropped a bomb at a garden party, suddenly declaring the scene a war zone. The suspects eye each other suspiciously.

The big boys downtown will have to get involved, Captain Gutierrez, at the very least.

Tobey’s shaken. He tastes the soured milk from his latte still on his tongue. He looks at the three women: a 30 year old meth addict, her 36 year old deaf-mute sister, and the 15 year old fairy princess. The teen’s tear-streaked face takes on new meaning.

He asks Lewis to watch the suspects while he takes Chloe for a walk, like he just needs a little air—something normal that he can relate to. Night’s fallen, and the cool crisp air is refreshing. Tobey ruffles Chloe’s hair, like she was his kid sister or something. “Hey, girl, you done good. Real good.” He reaches into his pocket and slips her a Milk Bone.

Tobey and Chloe clock in and go to the briefing room. Sergeant Jones rumbling voice rambles through the dailies: what happened on the day shift, what’s happening in the City tonight, what’s important, what to look out for, visiting dignitaries, etc. The Sarge mentions serving a search warrant at 18:00.

Chloe’s focus is on a table three feet to the right of the lectern. Today is bagel day: lox, capers and cream cheese. She sits patiently, her partner Tobey sitting between her and her bagel. She sniffs the cream cheese and salmon in the air and her tummy gurgles. The minutes drag on.

Finally, Sergeant Jones dismisses everyone to bagels and paperwork. Tobey loads up a couple of bagels, inches deep with fixings, and carts them off to the bullpen. Chloe hates paperwork almost as much as Tobey, but he’s got a report to file. He puts the plate down and shuffles through the folders on his desk looking for his incomplete report. Lewis drops off Tobey’s latte, and Santiago’s double mocha. Chloe surreptitiously lifts the top layer of lox off of the first bagel. Tobey rechecks the facts in his notebook, filling in last night’s report about the speeder anxious to get to the Valencia Gardens projects, who unluckily sideswiped two old women in a Bonneville. Chloe silently peels off the second layer of salmon and wolfs it down. Tobey ditches the coffee lid and slurps up some foam. He looks over at Chloe, her black muzzle covered with white flecks of cream cheese. He laughs, knowing they must look like mirror images.

He’s heard it somewhere before, how couples begin to look alike as they age. And, he’s been with her for three or four years now, or about twenty or thirty dog years. He knows it sounds cliché to say it, but she’s the best partner he’s ever had: reliable, dependable, quick on her feet, and has great instincts. He’d lay his life down for hers, any day. And, knows she’d do the same for him.

She looks up at him sheepishly. He grabs a napkin and wipes the crumbled cheese smears from her face. Tobey’s not angry. She thinks he might not mind if she eats the other bagel, too. She licks at the napkin craving every cheesy morsel, but he tosses it into the bin. As her head follows the trajectory of the napkin, Tobey barks, “Aus. Nein.”

If she could purse her lips, she’d be pouting. But her attention quickly shifts to the second bagel, now in Tobey’s hand. He bites into the “clean” side, knowing he’ll only get one bite, if that. He doesn’t mind forgoing the extra calories, but sometimes rich food disagrees with Chloe, all over the squad car.

He takes another half bite and surrenders the lox to his partner. He pens in the date, finishing his report. “Okay, girl. Let’s go.” Chloe was born ready. She springs to his side, as he drops the paperwork into Jones’ inbox on their way out.

The two are out beat patrolling in a black and white as twilight darkens the sky. Dispatch reminds everyone of the warrant service. Tobey picks up the radio and responds as he turns the car towards Bernal Heights.

They pull up to the third house on the block. It’s a run down starter home, probably built in the early sixties. A rope across the face of the house holds the garage door down, but the bulging contents threaten to burst out into the street any moment.

Franks radios in, he’s in position, having hopped three fences to make sure no one leaves the party through the back door. Sergeant Jones rings the doorbell, does his stagy search warrant announcement, 28 seconds from start to end, including pauses. Then he pops the gate with a crowbar when it takes too long and shoulders the door. There’s some rustling inside: The perps trying to hide their stash—or consume it—or flush it. Chloe takes point with Tobey right behind. She’s a sleek bullet speeding into the darkened house.

The light is dim. The air’s thick with smoke and stinks of sweat and fear. Chloe races the steps taking two at a time, snaking through the narrow corridor of human rubbish. Bathroom at the head of the stairs: she tackles a guy trying to get some plastic baggies down the toilet. Surprise: they float! She spins him around, and Tobey throws him down, frisks and cuffs him. One guy crowds into the shower, Mr. Invisible. Lewis pulls him out. He’s flailing, and he’s got a knife! Lewis snap-whips a towel at him, teasingly. Perp lunges, and Lewis gets the blade caught in the towel he holds taunt. He wraps it back towards the guy. Crunch, Lewis lands his elbow in the guy’s face, and he crumbles.

Another guy’s hiding out on the deck. He doesn’t know the house is on the side of a hill? It’s at least a four-story drop to the ground, or a sixty-foot leap to the roof across the way. Chloe’s through that open glass door like a shot! The deck’s four feet wide, and enclosed on three sides, like a big balcony. The perp’s got nowhere to run. He backs up the length of the deck. Chloe’s grin is all teeth. She’s in control, her growl is low and dangerous. The man glances over the railing, calculating his chances. Lewis calls to him. He laces his fingers overhead as he turns back around. “Chloe, aus!” Lewis cuffs him and drags him back inside, past a passive but attentive Chloe.

Meanwhile, a man under the kitchen sink kicks Jones in the kneecap. There’s a loud pop, and Sarge goes down. The guy comes out thrashing as Santiago hauls him out of there, like prying a crab out of its shell. Well sometimes, you gotta crack a few eggs to make an omelette. And Santiago isn’t too dainty about it. Seeing his partner in pain just enrages Santiago, who lays a couple of extra punches in, just for good measure.

With Jones down, Lewis and Tobey cuff the two gals they found huddled in a bedroom at the top of the stairs. The thirty-year-old woman is openly hostile. Spitting words through rotting teeth, Jessie says “I own this place! You got no right to be here.” Jessie’s been in and out of the slammer since she was a young teenager. Santiago and Lewis can even remember Jessie from before she discovered meth, when she was quite pretty. Her daughter, now the young teen, looks like she’s never seen any of this before, ever. A Cinderella plucked up from a fairy tale somewhere and deposited in this crack house.

It’s over pretty quick. This time, the good guys are just bigger and faster.

Franks and Santiago find a threesome downstairs. The family is frightened but cooperative. The woman grunts and gestures. Her Rasta boyfriend translates. Their three- or four-year old wailing son, looks a little twitchy and stunted. Franks questions the man while Santiago, with his limited ASL and pantomime, gets the mother and boy to quiet down. Rasta tells them the two women are sisters. Franks and Santiago escort everyone upstairs for further questioning.

Tobey’s had Chloe and Santiago guarding the perps. Now it’s time for them to play good cop/bad cop. He snaps her leash on, and quietly says, “Pass auf.” Chloe instantly strains against the harness, growls and barks viciously at the suspects. She wants at the captives, but Tobey holds the leash firmly, and bows slightly. “Chloe thinks you’re holding out on us. Chloe knows there’s more here than the two baggies you tried to flush. If you make Chloe go and look for your stash, she mighn’t be very ladylike about it. And, I think she might want to get close to you, to track your scent to your dope. Shall I let her get a good close whiff?”

Chloe knows this game well. Oh yes, please, please let me at this one! I know he’s ready to talk! He’s gonna sing, I just know it!

Tobey pretends to talk things over with Chloe. “Yes, girl. I know you’re anxious. Why are you anxious? You want to find stuff? Yeah? You think they’re holding out on us? Yeah, you think you can find stuff? …Okay, Girl. Go get it.” Tobey unsnaps her leash, and Chloe leaps up on the first guy, barking and growling. Before the man can knee or punch her, Santiago nonchalantly steps between them. The guy from the deck curls up into a ball, and says, “There’s a pipe stashed behind some pillows next to the couch, but it’s not mine. I just came by for a few cocoa puffs, you know what I’m sayin’?  I’m fuckin’ allergic to dog bites, so could you please keep your damn dog off me?” Santiago asks if anyone else has anything to add.

Tobey says, “Aus. Nein.” Chloe barks and whimpers her disapproval of being denied her prey.

Chloe sits on his feet. He says, “Bringen,” and she’s off to search the house. So many smells: Chloe knows what she’s looking for. She turns up some nicely pressed leaves in a bible, and more in a telephone book. There’s half a baggie stashed in a flowerpot, scales, empty nickel bags, three bags of rocks in one of the men’s boots, more rocks in the sock drawer of a dresser, and miscellaneous unmarked pills. Seven plants downstairs with Farmer Bob, two of them over 6’ tall, but all over-harvested and pretty scraggly, and a mildewed set of empty drying racks. Sizeable haul, all things considered.

Not through yet, Chloe decides to check the sinks. She has found balloons and all sorts of hidden things before. She finds dope they’ve forgotten they ever had. (And naturally, they deny it all the way.) But, not this time, at least nothing in the bathroom sink. Then, under layers of grimy plates and bowls crawling with roaches in the kitchen sink, she tears away at the rubber ring above the drain. Franks yells “Aus!” at Chloe, and rips it out of there. He peers inside.

Chloe sits while Franks calls Lewis over. He pulls an evidence bag out of his pocket enroute. He’s got latex gloves on, but hunts to find a fork, then scrapes it clean before he reaches into the drain with it. He drops two red and moldy pieces into the bag. Both men groan, and Franks looks like he’s gonna puke. Lewis, on the down low calls over to Tobey, as he hands the baggie over to Jones. Sarge is furious.

Tobey grabs Chloe, and snaps her leash back on. He saw the bag, but didn’t register what was in it. He walks Chloe over to Santiago who is watching the suspects on the couch. By now, backup’s been called, officer down, on account of Jones’ leg. The paramedics are on their way, but Sergeant Jones is uncharacteristically livid. It’s like the red and purple throbbing veins are going to spring out of his forehand and become antlers. Santiago shouts over to see what Franks found. Franks goes over to Santiago and Tobey and pulls them aside to tell them privately. “We found a… some parts of a newborn in the sink. In the garbage disposal.”

“What? Are you sure?” Said Santiago in disbelief.

“There’s part of an arm and a hand. The bone’s torn off. And, there’s a foot. They’re… so tiny.” Tobey looks at the suspects with wonder.

Santiago goes white and crosses himself, saying a silent prayer for the lost baby. Then inexplicably, he wants to see it, like he can’t believe it.

“It’s the parts that didn’t get ground up in the garbage disposal.” Franks still watching the perps, steals a look at Tobey’s downcast eyes.

Santiago looks at Tobey, says he’ll be right back, and goes to take a look.

Nobody tells the perps. But, everybody senses the shift. It’s like someone dropped a bomb at a garden party suddenly declaring the scene a war zone. Now the big boys will have to get involved, Captain Gutierrez, at the very least.

Tobey’s shaken. He tastes the soured milk from his latte on his tongue. He asks Lewis to watch the suspects while he takes Chloe for a walk, like he just needs a little air—something normal that he can relate to. Night’s fallen, and the cool crisp fresh air is refreshing. Tobey ruffles Chloe’s hair, like she was his kid sister or something. “Hey, girl, you done good. Real good.” He reaches into his pocket and slips her a Milk Bone.

Sergeant Jones rumbles through the dailies: what happened on the day shift, what’s happening in the City tonight, what’s dangerous, visiting dignitaries, etc. Sarge mentions a warrant service at 18:00. Then the meeting ends.

The officers disperse. Tobey negotiates the narrow paths between desks. His 6’4” 220 pound frame gracefully balances a plate of two bagels and coffee atop his clipboard as he makes his way back to his desk. Chloe eyes his two bagels piled high with lox, cream cheese, onions and capers. Lisa, Tobey’s girlfriend teases him he’s getting a gut. Chloe doesn’t see that when she looks at her partner. He has a square chin and square shoulders, and he’s a pretty solid guy who tries to do what’s right. Chloe doesn’t understand Tobey’s attraction to Lisa.

Neither Chloe nor Tobey likes paperwork much. There’s always a mountain of forms to fill out. Tobey pretends not to notice when Chloe helps herself to one of the bagels. He knows she hates the bread part, so he scrapes off the other bagel and shoves it into his mouth, as he fills out the details of a gun he confiscated from a traffic stop last night. Chloe waits until Tobey hustles the gun down to the properties room. She leaves no evidence of his remaining lox and cream cheese.

Soon it’s twilight and the two are driving through the Mission. Chloe is sated and beginning to drift off in the passenger seat when the dispatcher reminds them of the warrant service. Tobey makes a left on Cortland and heads up towards Bernal Heights. It’s a sleepy little working-class neighborhood of old hippies and young families.

Neighbors called complaining of possible drug activity in the rundown stucco house, third on the right. Lewis knows the place. He had been there on a domestic call a month earlier, and warns it’s a rabbit warren of trash, newspapers, clothes and filth. Tobey and Chloe meet the two other teams already in place in front of the house. Franks hopped 3 fences to stake out the back door. Sergeant Jones rings the bell and announces the search warrant. Then he pops the gate with a crowbar when it takes too long and shoulders the door. The house is dim, and musty. The air’s thick with smoke and stinks of sweat and fear. Sarge nods.

Chloe and Tobey race in, low and fast. Bathroom at the head of the stairs, she tackles a guy trying to flush something down the toilet. Tobey has him pinned, patted down, and cuffed before he can lay a blow on Chloe. Jones, right behind them, pulls a guy cowering in the shower—he comes out flailing a knife. Jones grabs a towel and manages to get the perp to lunge at him. Pulling the knife arm out, Jones twirls into his dance partner, and crunches his elbow under the perp’s ribs, and then into his face.

Lewis and Chloe see a guy run out onto a balcony. It’s four stories up, and sixty feet to the nearest rooftop across the way. Lewis hangs back a second: if they rush him he might jump, right into Franks’ waiting arms. Knowing how fierce Chloe can look, Lewis lets Chloe take the lead. Her senses are keener than his. He knows she’ll push the perp, but not too far. The guy backs up the length of the balcony, knowing there’s no escape. He drops to his knees with his fingers laced overhead. He knows the routine. Lewis cuffs him, and drags him inside.

By now, Jones has found another guy under the kitchen sink. He kicks Jones in the kneecap, and there’s a loud pop before he goes down. That guy comes out thrashing as Santiago hauls him out of there, like prying a crab out of its shell. Well sometimes, you gotta crack a few eggs to make an omelette. And Santiago isn’t too dainty about it.

With Jones down, Lewis and Santiago cuff the two gals they found huddled in a bedroom at the top of the stairs. The thirty-year-old is openly hostile. Says she owns the place. The teen looks a little shell-shocked. Tobey calls for an ambulance for Sarge.

It’s over pretty quick. This time, the good guys are just bigger and faster.

Lewis and Santiago find a threesome downstairs. The family is pretty scared but cooperative. The woman grunts and gestures. Her Rasta boyfriend translates. The wailing boy, about 3 or 4, looks a little twitchy and slow. Lewis questions the man while Santiago, with his limited ASL and pantomime, get the mother and little boy to quiet down.

Now, Tobey and Chloe go into their good cop/bad cop shtick. Tobey snaps his fingers and Chloe turns “rabid.” He jumps in to protect the suspects, “Uh, oh. I’ve never seen her like this before. I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s not usually
like this. You guys better tell me everything I need to hear, before I set her loose, or before I have to start finding stuff on my own. I don’t know if I can keep her off your case much longer….” Tobey gets close to the perp, gets ‘em to sing.

After that, he lets Chloe loose. She has a sixth sense about finding things. She’s found stuff the suspects forgot they ever had. (And naturally, they deny it all the way.)

Full house: Three of the suspects were transient visitors, one man, woman, and teen lived upstairs. Family of three lived downstairs. Two of the men are known dealers, one is a convicted felon. The woman who screamed she owned the house is a well known hooker. Reasonable stash: pot, crack, and narcotics. Pipes, papers, scales, magazines cut into bindles, a couple of leaves stashed in an old Bible, and more in an old telephone book, a half of a baggie of marijuana in a flower pot and two from the toilet. Seven plants downstairs, two of them over 6’ tall, but all over-harvested and pretty scraggly, and a mildewed set of empty drying racks.

Franks has made it up the hill, and is pissed to find his partner Sarge nursing his knee. Meanwhile Chloe has scoured the bathroom sink for things dropped down the drain, and moved on to the kitchen. Under layers of grimy plates and bowls, amongst crumpled Kleenex and cockroaches, Chloe finds something in the kitchen sink. Franks rips the rubber ring out of there, and looks inside. Chloe’s ready to pull it out of there when he yells for Tobey. Tobey calls Chloe over to help him question the suspects.

Lewis goes over, and unfurls an evidence bag out of his pocket. He’s got latex gloves on, so he just reaches in. He drops two red and moldy pieces into the bag. Both men groan, and Franks looks like he’s gonna puke. Lewis, on the down low calls over to Tobey, as he hands the baggie over to Jonesy. Sarge is furious.

His men have never seen him so angry. The veins on his forehead are going to pop out and become antlers. Santiago’s watching the suspects, and he shouts over to see what they found. Tobey pulls Santiago aside to whisper to him. “It’s a baby’s hand and a foot. The parts that didn’t get ground up in the garbage disposal.” Santiago goes white. He wants to see it, like he can’t believe it. When he does, he crosses himself and says a silent prayer.

Nobody tells the perps. But, everybody senses the shift. Suddenly everyone tenses up: this has become a war zone. Now the big boys get involved, Captain Gutierrez, detectives, forensics.

Tobey’s shaken. He takes Chloe outside, to catch a breath of fresh air. Night’s fallen, and the cool crisp air restores a bit of his bravado. Tobey looks at Chloe and ruffles her hair, like she’s a little kid or something. They take a walk to the car, and he says, “Hey, girl, you done good. Real good.” She knows it. Still, it’s nice to hear. He reaches in his pocket and slips her a Milk Bone. They go back inside and wait for the rest of the party to arrive.

Oh, boy! Today is bagel day: lox, cream cheese, the whole nine yards. Me, that’s what I go for. We all rotate. Last week Tobey made a couple frittatas. They were some egg-pie things that had hamburger and a lot of cheese in them. Boy howdy, everybody loved ‘em. I even went back for seconds.

Tobey’s my partner. We’ve been together for three or four years, or about twenty or thirty dog years. It feels like a lifetime. Anyway, suffice it to say, he’s pulled my bacon out of the fire plenty of times, and I’ve done the same for him. He’s an alright-kind of guy. Square shoulders, square jaw, the beginnings of a gut his girlfriend Lisa likes to rib him about. He stands six feet four, and weighs about 220. He’s pretty straight-arrow, and we get along swell. Oh, and he’s a carnivore. I like that about him: I can always tell when there’s some pacifist vegan in the room. Man, those guys just reek.

Tobey and me had just left HQ—the average Joe would be surprised to know how much paperwork we have to file, and there’s always more of it. This job would be great, if we didn’t have to waste so much time behind a desk. But that’s tax dollars at work: filling out forms. Oh, well. Can’t fight City Hall.

So, where were we? Right, out on our beat just around twilight when dispatch reminds us of our warrant service. So Tobey picks up the radio, and says we’re on our way. He looks at me, and says, “Ready for a little action?” He winks, like we’re finally going to have some fun. He turns the car towards Bernal Heights. It’s a sleepy little neighborhood within the Mission. Two other cars respond, as well. Just a routine drug bust, but they’re going to wait for us. Lewis was there before: Says it’s a rabbit warren of trash, newspapers, clothes and filth. We pull up to the third house on the block. It’s a run down starter house, probably built in the early sixties. A rope across holds the garage door down, but the contents threaten to spill out into the street any moment.

The cavalry has arrived. Sergeant Jonesy rings the doorbell, does his little search warrant announcement. Then he pops the gate with a crowbar when it takes too long and shoulders the door. Franks had already hopped three fences to circle around the back, to make sure no one leaves the party too soon. There’s some rustling inside: The perps trying to hide their stash—or consume it—or flush it. In we go, Tobey’s right behind me. I keep down low, and go in fast.

The light is dim. The air’s thick with smoke and stinks of sweat and fear. I race the steps, taking two at a time, snaking through the narrow corridor of human rubbish. Bathroom at the head of the stairs: I tackle a guy trying to get some plastic baggies down the toilet. Hah: they float! I spin him around, and Tobey throws him down, frisks and cuffs him. One smurf crowds into the shower, Mr. Invisible. Franks pulls him out. He’s flailing, and he’s got a knife! Franks whips a towel at him, taunting. Perp lunges, and Franks gets the blade caught in the towel, as he wraps it back towards the smurf. Crunch, Franks lands his elbow in the guy’s face, and he crumbles.

Another guy’s hiding on the deck. Heck, we’re up on a hill. It’s at least a four-story drop to the ground, or a sixty-foot leap to the roof across the way. Well, he might’ve made it onto the back deck of a neighbor’s, but these boys are neither swift nor agile. So this one’s mine! I’m through that open glass door like a shot! The deck’s four feet wide, and enclosed on three sides, like a balcony. He’s got nowhere to run. He backs up the length of the deck. I slow down, no need to rush him. Can’t let him jump, after all. My grin is all teeth! I’m electrified. I’ve got the upper hand, and he knows it. I’m almost on top of him, with Lewis on my heels when the guy just caves.

The man under the kitchen sink kicks Jonesy in the kneecap, and I hear a loud pop before he goes down. That guy comes out thrashing as Santiago hauls him out of there, like prying a crab out of its shell. Well sometimes, you gotta crack a few eggs to make an omelette. And Santiago isn’t too dainty about it.

With Jonesy down, Lewis and Santiago cuff the two gals they found huddled in a bedroom at the top of the stairs. The thirty-year-old is openly hostile. Says she owns the place. The teen looks a little shell-shocked.

It’s over pretty quick. Our guys are just bigger and faster.

Lewis and Santiago find a threesome downstairs. The family is pretty scared but cooperative. The woman grunts and gestures. Her Rasta boyfriend translates. The wailing boy, about 3 or 4, looks a little twitchy and slow. Lewis questions the man while Santiago, with his limited ASL and pantomime, get the mother and little boy to quiet down.

Now, it’s time for my favorite part: good cop/bad cop. I love to leap in aggressively, and have Tobey try to hold me back. He gets into it, too. “Uh, oh. I’ve never seen her like this before. I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s not usually
like this. You guys better tell me everything I need to hear: I don’t know if I can keep her off your case much longer….” Then Tobey can get close to the perp. Tobey always gets ‘em to sing.

Hah. After that little show, I’m off to find stuff. I can find things better than anyone else ever! It’s just a knack I have. Sometimes I try to get into the perps’ mindset, and figure out where they’d stash stuff. Other times, I’m just lucky: I find dope they’ve forgotten they ever had. (And naturally, they deny it all the way.)

Hah. Most of their stash is pretty routine: pot, crack, and narcotics. Pipes, papers, scales, magazines cut into bindles, a couple of leaves stashed in an old Bible, and more in an old telephone book, a half of a baggie of marijuana in a flower pot and two from the toilet. Seven plants downstairs with Farmer Bob, two of them over 6’ tall, but all over-harvested and pretty scraggly, and a mildewed set of empty drying racks. Sizeable haul, all things considered.

Then, all of a sudden I get the idea to check the sinks. We’ve found balloons and all sorts of things folks have tried to leave “out of sight.” Yep, nothing in the bathroom sink. But, under layers of grimy plates and bowls in the kitchen sink, I tear away at the rubber ring above the drain, ‘cause I think I see something. Franks rips it out of there, and we both look inside. I’m going to pull it out of there when he stops me. Right, not procedure. He calls Lewis over, and he grabs an evidence bag out of his pocket. He’s got latex gloves on, so he just reaches in. He drops two red and moldy pieces into the bag. Both men groan, and Franks looks like he’s gonna puke. Lewis, on the down low calls over to Tobey, as he hands the baggie over to Jonesy. Sarge is furious.

By now, backup’s been called, officer down, on account of Jonesy’s leg. The paramedics are on their way, but I’ve never seen Jonesy so angry. It’s like the veins on his forehead are going to pop out and become antlers. Santiago’s watching the suspects, and he shouts over to see what we got. Tobey pulls him aside to tell him. Santiago goes white. He wants to see it, like he can’t believe it.

It’s part of a baby’s arm and hand plus a foot, the parts that didn’t get ground up in the garbage disposal. Nobody tells the perps. But, everybody senses the shift. It’s like our garden party suddenly became a war zone. Now we’ve gotta get the big boys involved, Captain Gutierrez, at the very least. Sheesh. He’s gonna be mad.

Tobey’s shaken. He takes me outside, like he just needs a little air—something normal that he can relate to. Night’s fallen, and the cool crisp fresh air tastes great. Tobey looks at me and ruffles my hair, like I’m a little kid or something. We take a walk to the car, and he says, “Hey, girl, you done good. Real good.” I know it. I don’t even have to say anything. He reaches in his pocket and slips me a Milk Bone. We go back inside and wait for the rest of the fireworks.