The Choirboys by Joseph Wambaugh Page B

with tiny hearts.
    "Satisfied?" he asked again, but now his authoritative baritone was a tenuous rasp and his eyes darted past the men to the corridor outside.
    "I said strip, damnit!" Elwood Banks ordered. "Now get them boots and britches off before I rip em off!"
    In a moment Murray Fern stood utterly naked before them, turning his body to one side and another, his composure breaking to pieces before their eyes, the rolls of textured fat shaking as he squirmed and wriggled with nowhere to hide.
    "Turn around and bend over and spread your cheeks, Murray," Elwood Banks said, for the first time using the fat man's name.
    "Bend over?"
    "Bend over and show me that round brown," Elwood Banks said. "I gotta see if you're hiding a machine gun in there."
    When Murray Fern timidly did as he was told Elwood Banks said, "Humph, my kid's basset hound got better markins than that. Okay, boy, lift your feet up one at a time and show me the bottoms."
    Murray Fern obeyed quickly and quietly.
    When he was finished, Elwood Banks said, "Okay, Murray, now turn around and face me and open your mouth and lift up your balls. We don't want you rat-holin, twenty bucks in some little crease down there. You can't be no better off than Mr. Reilly when we lock you in the tank together."
    As Murray Fern opened his mouth for inspection he unconsciously held his hands over his shriveled penis, which was lost in the hair and layers of overhanging fat.
    Elwood Banks then delivered the coup de grace. "Okay, Murray, now take your hands away and skin your wee wee back. I once knew a bookie kept bettin markers hid under his foreskin."
    When the search and booking were finished, Murray Fern was docile, tamed by the jailor who knew that this soft wealthy white man could be subdued as easily as a black pimp could be mastered by the threat to book his flash money as evidence. As easily as a fighting derelict could be pacified simply by calling him "sir" and "mister." Elwood Banks had never set foot in a college classroom, but life had made him a psychologist.
    "Wanna use the phone now, Murray?" Elwood Banks asked when he finished the fingerprinting and offered Murray Fern a cigarette.
    "Yes sir," said Murray Fern, who was ever so grateful to the black jailor for giving him his silk underwear with the little, hearts, a cigarette and a dime for a phone call.
    After booking Murray Fern, Spencer longed to get up to Wilshire Boulevard and eat liver pate and poached turbot with sauteed cucumbers. But Father Willie made the mistake of clearing on the radio and they were given a call at once. "Seven-A-Thirty-three, Seven-Adam-Thirty-three, see the woman. Eleventh and Ardmore, possible DB."
    "A dead body, at eleven fifteen! Goddamnit, Padre, how many times I told you about picking up that frigging mike and clearing?"
    "I know, Spencer, I know," Willie answered.
    "You're too goddamn conscientious!"
    "I know."
    "Wait'll you been on the job awhile. You think the sergeants care we bust our balls? You think that cunt Lieutenant Finque cares?"
    "I know, Spencer, I know."
    "Christ, I got a headache already. All that jawing from that fat prick, Murray Fern., My head aches and I'm sick to my stomach."
    "I know."
    "I didn't get my vichyssoise tonight, for chrissake."
    "I'm sorry."
    "I didn't get my veal a la creme."
    "There's nothing I can do."
    "And I had my heart set on maybe some Coquilles St Jacques Parisienne!" Spencer cried.
    "Is that the one with scallops, garlic and herbs?"
    "No that's Provencale. This is the one with scallops and mushrooms."
    "In a white wine sauce?"
    "Yeah."
    "I like that one."
    "And I had my heart set on some artichoke hearts and truffles!" Spencer continued, "Oh God!"
    "I'm really awful sorry, Spencer," Father Willie said.
    "When you started working with me you thought all menus were printed on the wall. I trained you!" reminded Spencer Van Moot.
    "I know, Spencer, I know."
    "And this is the thanks I get. All because you're so goddamn gung ho and have to