Read Online Golden Orange by Joseph Wambaugh - Free Book Online

police retirement.”
    â€œYeah, well, I was … why not admit it? I was good as any. Some guys thought I was maybe the most dedicated. You put me on a case, I didn’t know how to let up. Used to drive guys like Buster nuts ’cause I jist wouldn’t quit. Especially if it was a good case.”
    â€œWhat’s a good case?”
    â€œSomethin big.”
    â€œMurder?”
    â€œYeah, like that. An unsolved murder is like … personal.”
    â€œA personal insult?”
    â€œYeah, Buster said that to me one time. Like an insult to me personally, not jist to the corpse. We hardly ever had a whodunit homicide in this town. If we did, I’d solve it. If I had to kill to do it.”
    â€œYou loved being a cop, didn’t you?”
    Winnie was looking into her eyes now. Even three stools away, even in this light, he could see they were gray, and opaque, like the water off Newport Pier sometimes got. Usually around the Gold Coast when you looked into unusual irises, like hers or Buster’s, you knew they were contact lenses. But Winnie was convinced that everything about her was real. He was getting that feeling again. His heart was contracting prematurely. He felt like a shellfish, jiggly and boneless. Tess Binder was so exciting she was scaring the living crap out of Winnie Farlowe.
    He didn’t know what else to say, so he said, “Yeah, I loved being a cop.”
    â€œWhy’re we sitting so far apart?” she asked.
    Tess turned toward him on the stool and uncrossed her legs. A significant piece of body language, Winnie was sure of it.
    He practically jumped over the two stools, the sudden movement making him wince.
    â€œYour back?”
    â€œYeah, sometimes I forget and then I get reminded.”
    â€œCan surgery correct it?”
    â€œI’m scared a the knife. Besides, disks’re iffy no matter what. I’m okay, long as I don’t do heavy lifting. Oh well, could be worse, huh?”
    â€œNot for you. It cost you your job.”
    â€œYou see right into a person.” Winnie turned ever so slightly toward Tess Binder while the drunks at the other end of the saloon let out a cheer for Magic Johnson’s fifth assist of the Lakers’ game.
    â€œYou’re not so hard to read,” Tess said. “You’re a straight-ahead guy. Seldom do I meet a straight-ahead guy.”
    Winnie’s heart started doing the trick again. He massaged his chest for a moment, then said, “How about another round?”
    â€œGot to go home.”
    â€œIs it the noise in here? We could …”
    â€œGot to go,” she smiled, turning gracefully and sliding off the stool, just as Carlos Tuna came staggering into the saloon, too drunk to have any chance of being served. Carlos, carrying Regis, caromed off the hemp-wrapped pillar in the center of the bar, causing it to shudder. Then he ricocheted off a chair, sending it crashing, and finally he was safely leaning on the bar. Regis was lucky he was armor plated.
    â€œComing back tomorrow?” Winnie called out hopefully as Tess moved through the gloom which had never looked more depressing to him.
    â€œProbably,” she said, waggling her long fingers at him.
    Carlos Tuna put his stud turtle on the bar and said to Spoon, “Regis is depressed. Won’t snap out of it. Ever since he met Bilge’s Irma. Don’t eat right or nothin.”
    â€œYeah, well I ain’t got time for lovesick turtles,” the saloonkeeper droned, but he mercifully poured some beer into a saucer for Regis.
    Carlos didn’t bother to try for one, drunk as he was. Particularly after Spoon took one look at him and said, “You’re about as welcome as junk mail.” Then to Winnie, “I got twenty on the Celts and right now Magic’s shovin the ball up their ass!” Then Spoon hobbled back to the other end of the bar, where the TV mob was screaming in anguish because Bird just