"Officer Hawthorne, can you read that back to me?"
Warren looked up, eyes bleary and thoughts elsewhere. He glanced down at the dictation. He had taken it with only a portion of his concentration, but he was fairly sure it was competently done. David Brown, his commanding officer, regarded him with a look of patient disappointment that a governess might reserve for a particularly obtuse ward. Warren felt the beginnings of a sermon coming his way. But just as he was about to speak, Lieutenant Brown sighed and the look on his face turned swiftly into concern.
"You'd rather not be here right now, I gather?" Brown asked. Warren started to object, but the lieutenant raised a hand to forestall his argument. "Everyone has their tough days, Warren. A part of my job is to read my officers and you've had a look on your face all morning..."
Brown smiled. "Just get that notice typed up and then go home for the day. Give it to the new kid and have him take it over to the district attorney. That queer bar we hit last night could be our in-road into some of the major liquor distributors in this county, but we've got to do it by the book. We need this thing clean as a whistle, so I need all my men sharp. Therefore the next time I see you, you'd better be ready to work for me. Fully. Am I understood, Officer?"
"Of course, sir. My apologies."
Brown came over and clapped him on the shoulder then he pointed at the handwritten dictation. "Type. New Kid. Home."
Warren gave a nod which Brown returned before leaving the room to attend to one of the other myriad tasks that required his constant vigilance. As the local liaison to the Federal prohibition enforcers, the lieutenant and his staff had been conscripted into the war against alcohol. Increasingly though, that war had come to include other unlawful behaviors and the first thing Warren learned as he reported for duty that morning was that there were several local entities who weren't at all broken up to see The Gentleman's Agreement shuttered. That list included a nearby bakery, and a growing woman's group, among others.
He started typing up the letter for the district attorney, but his mind drifted back to the previous night. After the raid he had carefully made his way home, avoiding being seen by anyone in law enforcement who might recognize him. Only when he was in his apartment behind a locked door did he let himself take in how close he had come to being caught in the raid. It was no secret that some officers of the law enjoyed a drink every once in a while, but Warren didn't have the clout to survive such an embarrassment. If he was lucky he would be suspended, if not, dismissed and formally charged. He would become a strawman to throw to the temperance leagues, made an example of in order to prove that the watchmen could be trusted to watch their own without ever dealing with the depths of corruption in their ranks.
Warren sought out 'the new kid' once the letter was finished. Officer Angelo Cliff was sorting through the rubbish pile when Warren found him. The pile was a list of cases that had languished, stalled, or had been too inconsequential for the department to devote resources to. Sorting through it was the bane of rookies.
"You need a break?" Warren asked, as he sidled up to the rookie's desk.
Angelo looked up. He was handsome by any standard, but his perpetually bewildered expression filed the edge off of his almost androgynous good looks. His wonkiness made him approachable.
At the mere mention of a break a spark of relief lit in Angelo's hazel eyes and his shoulders relaxed.
"This pile is never ending. I dream about these case files." He grinned. "Please tell me I get to leave the station?"
Warren waved the letter. "A run across town. District Attorney's office."
"You're my saving grace!" Angelo said, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. "Are we going together?"
"Just you. I'm gone for the rest of the day."
Warren thought that perhaps he noticed a look of disappointment at that, but whatever it was left swiftly as Angelo took the letter. The rookie winked, and said, "Lucky stiff. Try not to have too much fun."
Angelo left quickly, probably trying to get out before the lieutenant changed his mind and put him back on the rubbish pile. Warren followed soon after and headed straight home. It was a bit of a hike from the station to his apartment, but he had a lot on his mind and felt the walk would give him some time to decompress. He made his way up the west side and his thoughts wound their way inexorably back to Jack. He knew that the bartender had other jobs and he hoped that he'd be OK despite the fact that the Agreement wouldn't likely be opening back up any time soon. Of course, that assumed that Jack wasn't sitting in a jail cell or laying in a hospital bed. The prohibition agents were rarely a friendly sort.
Warren rounded on his block nearly four minutes later. The neighborhood was working class and in some ways signified the kind of togetherness that many felt was rapidly disappearing from New York. Warren could name all of the eight children playing stickball in the street. Several of which had sent balls through his third floor window, much to the chagrin of their overworked mothers and no-nonsense fathers. One of the players, Franny Hill, was dressed in breeches again despite every effort on her mother's part to get the girl in attire more fitting of her gender. Warren couldn't imagine the girl in the frilly skirts her mother had in mind, but he was careful not to mention it to the girl's imperious mother.
Warren made it to the front of his tenement. He had almost gotten inside when he saw Mildred Morgan across the street. He thought that maybe she hadn't noticed him, but he perceived her coming toward him. He was getting very good at noticing her coming without actually seeing her. He fumbled with his keys, trying to find the right one for the front door of the building as Mildred pressed in. Finally he found it and opened the door just as she started calling out his name. Feigning total ignore he made his way inside the building and up the flight of stairs toward his apartment.
