Chapter 2: Block Party

Mrs. Johnson turned to face me, an angry look on her face. “Did you send that hooligan to my home?”

“What hooligan is that, Mrs. Johnson?”

“Your police officer! He came here asking about Montrose, and when I said he wasn’t here, he kicked in my door! He just kicked it in and barged in! Montrose isn’t here! Get that hooligan out of my house!’

Well, that was clear enough! This wasn’t good! “One-Six-Three to Dispatch, on scene and supervising. Who has Paul Six-One today?”

A few seconds later Dispatch came back, “Dispatch to One-Six-Three, Paul Six-One was assigned to Two-Two-Four, Patrolman Hanover.”

“One-Six-Three to Dispatch, I am on scene at 378 Deckard. I see Paul Six-One but not Officer Hanover. Try to reach him and order him out front immediately.”

“Dispatch to One-Six-Three, copy order to Patrolman Hanover to return to his vehicle.”

I was getting a very bad feeling about what was going on. Travis Hanover was one of the newest recruits to the MPD, but he hadn’t been recruited. He was originally from some small department over by Savannah and had moved to the area when his wife got a job out at the Pilot truck stop by the Alabama line. He had been hired about ten weeks ago, so he was still on his probationary period. If he made it through that, he would be on an accelerated track to make Senior Patrolman.

I had been one of his training officers, assigned to ride with him for the first six weeks of his probationary time. That was a bit unusual, but not that unusual. The regular recruits would get six weeks of riding around with a training officer to teach and evaluate them. In some cases, though, a recruit was checked out by a TRT officer, when the recruit seemed to have the smart and aggressive nature we often looked for. I had been through that during my probationary period, when I had ridden around with Hank Jenkins. We looked for people who had some balls and some smarts, and the judgement to know which to use and when. Hanover had been very aggressive, perhaps too much so, but hadn’t done anything to warrant concern.

Yet.

About thirty seconds later, Travis came out of the house looking around angrily. He was carrying his weapon and he gave Mrs. Johnson a nasty look before coming over to me. “What’s wrong, Sergeant? I was searching the house for Montrose Johnson!”

“Holster your weapon, Officer Hanover!”

“Sarge...”

“Holster your weapon immediately!”

“Sergeant!”

“I won’t tell you again! Holster your weapon immediately!” I ordered.

Travis holstered his weapon reluctantly and I breathed a hair easier. I lowered my voice and asked, “What in God’s name are you doing? Did you really kick in this woman’s door? What other damage have you done?”

I’ll give it to Hanover, he had an answer for every question. He had an arrest warrant for Montrose Johnson, and he had the legal address Montrose used. The problem was that Nanny Johnson’s grandson wasn’t at the home he used as his legal residence. He never was. He showed up about once a week to slip her a few bucks and eat a home-cooked meal.

I finally had enough. “The reason you couldn’t find Montrose Johnson here is that he doesn’t live here! That’s his grandmother’s house! This is his legal residence, not his actual residence! If you want to find Montrose Johnson, just look around the crowd!”

Hanover stared at me, and then his head whipped around to the large crowd yelling at us. I looked around, too, and spotted one of the Treys. I motioned him over and asked him if Montrose was around. He gave me a mean look but stepped back into the crowd. Thirty seconds later Montrose bulled his way forward. When I had first met him, he had been the number two and chief enforcer for the Treys, but since then their leader, Gordon Winslow, had been put in Reidsville on an armed robbery charge. Once there he had managed to get into a beef with a Royal Klansman, a member of a white supremacist prison gang, and had gotten shivved for his trouble.

Montrose did not look happy. “Reaper, what the hell did you do to Nanny’s house?”

Travis Hanover looked angrily and put his hand on his weapon. “Montrose Johnson, you are under arrest!”

I sighed. “Patrolman Hanover, shut up!”

“Sergeant...”

“That’s an order!” I turned back to Montrose. “Montrose, cool down!”

“Reaper, this ain’t right, and you know it!”

“Cool down and tell everybody else to cool down. Please!”

“Reaper...”

“Please! I don’t need the grief and you don’t either!”

Montrose gave me a hard look but stepped back and said something I couldn’t hear to a couple of his guys. They spread out through the crowd, and he turned back to me. “What about this asshole and the other cops?”

“One-Six-Three to Dispatch, have everybody pull back another block and don’t send anybody else over here.”

“Dispatch to One-Six-Three, copy pulling back units.”

I turned to Travis. “Let me see your paper!”

Travis wasn’t happy and handed over his warrants. I glanced through them and saw he had four arrest warrants for various Treys. Tremendous! This asshole had decided to single-handedly bust down four doors belonging to the Treys and bring them in all by himself. He was lucky his balls were still attached. I put them in a pocket and said, “Get back in your car and go back to the station and report to the Watch Commander.” I looked again at the warrants. The only thing he had on Montrose was a failure-to-appear, which had resulted in a bench warrant. For that I was staring at a riot!

“You can’t do that!”

“I just did. Now, get out of here!” I commed Dispatch. “One-Six-Three to Dispatch, I am sending Paul Six-One and Patrolman Hanover back to the station. Put me through to the Watch Commander.” I watched as Hanover moved through the crowd to his cruiser. As he pulled away a shower of beer bottles followed him. Great!

Once I got the Watch Commander, I simply told him to sit on Hanover until I got back. He was on the rubber gun squad until further notice. After that I turned back to Montrose.

“That’s it? You send him back!”

“Montrose, I don’t tell you how to do your business. Don’t be telling me how to do mine.”

“This ain’t right, Reaper!”

“Montrose, I am just trying to keep this from getting any worse! I don’t need it and you don’t need it. It’s bad for business, for both of us!”

“You ain’t taking me in on this!”

I just crossed my arms and didn’t respond. Mrs. Johnson came over and said, “What you going to do about my door?”

I looked at her grandson and sighed. “What do I know about doors?” I asked with a shrug. “You know how to fix a door?”

“You shitting me, right?”

“Montrose, watch your language. I can still wash your mouth out with soap,” said Mrs. Johnson.