I: scene establishing: anomalies of zoning.
The neighborhood had come into semi-official existence as a result of the then-new freeway pushing through. A tall triangle: the roaring interstate along the east side, on the north a short bit of county road that morphed into the cloverleaf ramps, and then, connecting these inefficiently, a narrow wavering local street hugging a deep creek – almost a ravine, usually dry – which itself tapered into a shallow brackish part of the bay.
Socially speaking it was somehow on the good side of the freeway and the bad side of the creek, and there were old – really old - oak trees. If you didn’t mind the background roar and a few rambunctious neighbors you could live cheaply, in low-rent charm. Semi-official name East Alto Plano West Annex: EAPWA, known generally as Epaw.
Epaw’s unincorporated 50 acres managed to encompass two counties, three towns, on-ramps, frontage road, semi-dirt track, poor services, frequent flooding, skunks, bridges, bungalows, poison oak as well as those towering oaks: in short, a jurisdictional mess, difficult to govern; squabbling police, utilities and sheriff shirking responsibility, except on the occasion when they swept in dramatically to perform a drug bust a mayor could be proud of. Need I add it also defined a pungent social-racial divide, exploited lucratively by residents.
Highway departments aren’t subtle; outcroppings of inelegant county planning are inevitable – especially in the boom years of California’s explosive post war growth. They say there were speakeasies there back in the day, I do not for a second doubt it. Planning is destiny: your local crime hub. It even had a trailer park. Good old bad side of town.
II: zoom in, a not untypical scenario
Back when I was young, and a cop, the issue was recreational drugs: the children of the wealthier west side chose not to acknowledge laws against usage as relevant to themselves. Those on the grittier east agreed, leading to meaningful profit.
You’d pull over a car full of teens, make the heartrending decision whether or not to arrest for possession. With the white kids, the parents were humiliated but paid up and nothing much changed. The black kids had fewer options – but too, were craftier at laying low. It was all so pointless. A not untypical scenario: gaggle of them in grandad’s ancient Lincoln, pot fumes, screeching across the bridge in a poorly judged right turn, underbrush scraping the wheels. Driver, skinny blond all glammed up like David Bowie in full regalia. Girls in the back seat giggling, nervous. Claimed he was on the way home to study for a chemistry final in the morning over at Las Estrellas High. Have to pass, Officer Carleton, or I won’t graduate! A) Estrella was at that time like 92% black, and 8% mex; B) he was driving the wrong way, west...Sir, I gotta get the girls home! The pure clean absurdity of the lies amused me – and C) my name isn’t Carleton, so I tossed him a card, told him to call me when Jones, the cop behind me, hauled him in. I looked forward to meeting granddad.
At this point I was already planning my exit from the force – was weeks away from getting fired for insubordination. Had to get a new gig. Figured I’d try being a Private Investigator. I know the area well, and such, so I took these opportunities to seed it with a brand new calling card and brand new nom de dick: “Pete Marvell.” It would also work if I needed to sell used cars. Meanwhile the thin white duke’s pal, riding shotgun – he looked like the president of the math club - smiled sweetly and waved at me through the smoke – “see ya ‘round, Carleton.” Probably running a poker game.
“Nobody goes to Epaw,” was what they said in Alto Plano proper. Except for the people who do, said the people who did. The police found it useful to isolate crime in a place they could ignore or torment, according to mood. Zoning is destiny.
III: tracking shot, comedy night
This time I’m with Lou – Mary-Louise but she’s no Mary Lou, she was a kind of wanna-be girl cop I knew, did clerical in the Sheriff’s office, and a damn sight brighter than her boss. We dated sometimes when she was in the mood. I’d been desk jobbed en route to being canned, but a big bust is brewing in Epaw that night, they’re shorthanded. With misgivings I’m asked to tag along as backup. She sauntered by, saucily.
Hey Pablo – she called me that - take me with! I want to see. I will behave.
Uh, you’re not supposed to know about it, darlin’.
Well, I do, so there. Truth: I need to slip in incog to talk to my god-pa. He may be in trouble
Lou, you don’t got no pa in Eapaw, you loon. And I can’t. No can! No civilians, particularly you, Lou.
I did not add about the danger; waste of time. We were laughing; she’s a pal, although terrifying. She could have been their first female in the Epaw zone APPD but like many people from cop families she’s a little on both side of the law. Suffice to say she wore me down.
Slid over the bridge, swiping brush, in the slipstream of a convoy of cruisers; soon enough we cut our engines, started in on foot in what passes for silence. Always the background freeway, like the ocean. Lou and I hung back as 8 or 10 guys crawled up to one of the bungalows that back onto the trailer park. There are a few storage places back there as well. That was the real attraction.
Suddenly, lights up and yelling: Police! We got a warrant! etcetera; just like TV. Held my weapon up in safe position, Lou crouching behind me.
We’re creeping forward carefully as the guys bust in and start doing their thing. Then suddenly amid all the yelling and carrying on, she pulled me aside and snapped us round a corner to the back of the house. She clearly knew it: tried a door and we were in before I could react. “Shh” she hissed, dragging me to the back of a dining room where all the action seemed to be taking place. Lot a shouting and hitting – flashlights, pops. We crouched behind an armoire that came over on the Pinta. Out in the room under the only unsmashed lamp: a tremendous man. Really large. Heaved himself out of his Barcalounger, started talking to the Commander. Pissed off, but composed. Smooth: “You are mistaken. You are welcome to speak to my attorney, sir. I’ll stand bail if any of them need it but I doubt. We use this house to play cards, kind of unofficial club some evenings ...”
But this man, I tell you. Remarkable. Mexican accent but built like a Viking. A Viking from Ethiopia. Though - I’ve seen mixed race guys from Brazil like that –Who was he? We’d have known about a crime-boss that dramatic, in our area.
Reading my mind, or my surprised jerks, she murmured – yeah that’s him. Up from Baja – paying a local call. Before I can grab her: Lou steps forward drops the trench coat, emerges in sexy-police get-up. Found herself a uniform that fit, but unbuttoned to an extent. Distracting.
Hey uncle –
He looked shocked and gaped for a moment. But, caught himself. Ah, Maria Luisa what are you doing here, my dear. This is not the place for my niece … etc. It was convincing.
Amazingly she started to yell at the chief cop: That’s him, Jonesy! The big guy! (what did she call him? Valdez? Montez?). He’s your guy! Get your lard asses out back - locker 45B - the far shed on the frontage road! Got an antenna on the roof.
At first, collective huh? The cops didn’t react, couldn’t take it in, she could have been Marie Antoinette. Then, all of a sudden, it clicked, and they moved fast. Some ran out back – another went after the uncle. All confusion.
Then, the big guy up and lunged at her, knife in hand. He was yelling in Spanish now, I gathered the gist, vulgarities, insults to mama. One of the guys – my direct superiors on the force was running towards me enraged: Pete you asshole….
Lou yanked my arm – time to skedaddle Pedro, she whispered in my ear and we somehow backed out the way we came in. And then ran. All hell was breaking loose, more shots, screams. As we backed out the side door I realized we weren’t alone. It was the big guy – “damn chica what the hell-”
They’re on you, Tio. I can’t save the merch but I can get you out. Come on, follow me.
He was fast on his feet for a big guy and so was she for a gal in high heel boots. She pulled us across the yard, then, across the semi-paved street to the steep bank of the ravine. For a moment I thought she was going to shove us over the parapet. But then clicked on a small flashlight, and pointed to some steps cut into the sides of the creek. Go – go down! Damn there was no rail and they were slippery. But I managed, as one does, scrambled down about 15 feet, at which point she hissed OK stop here – and pulled us into a ledge, of sorts, overhung by teetering eucalyptus, so we were hidden from the road. She and her uncle chatted in low, rapid Spanish. You could sense his bulk, like one of the boulders. The noise up top was fading away, cruisers exiting the scene. Lou: Pablo, hey you’ll be safe now. I’ve got to get uncle outta here. Keep going down into the creek, just slide down on your butt. Go up to the Neville Street bridge, it’s a few hundred yards. You’ll find another set of steps on the west side.
Uh – you sure - ? I was disoriented. How do you know this? Ah I grew up just here. She waved toward a dark giant pile of house over on the wealthy side – this is my good old backyard. Trying to figure in my head the layout of the of area from memory: were we near that impressive home of a former chief of police? Lightbulb went off.
Hey wait – how you going to manage your Tio and—and…
Ah I’m Ok Pablo – thanks – I think this might be goodnight and goodbye.
IV: epilogue
That was one of the last big Epaw incidents. The department got a haul of coke, and spun it as a success, but ran an investigation over the loss of the ringleader – Tio – to which I was not invited. From the ravine I got an epic case of poison oak. I left the force and embarked on my career as a freelancer. I didn’t see Lou again, which was a shame – although heard rumors from time to time that she’d moved to Mexico.
Nowadays pot’s legal, and the cartels take care of the controlled substances; multinationals with clout, bar codes, dark web. Epaw is grad students and single moms again, still has the towering oaks and the ravine. If you peer into the underbrush below the bridge you can just about see crumbling concrete steps poking through the brambles and scree.
To be sure, the incident with Lou’s uncle messed with my head, but down the line it worked in my favor. From time to time people on the wrong side of the law working in and out of Epaw and Eastside, found their way to me. I got a rep as a white guy who could maybe help, should you require a white guy. My career, such as it is. I got to know the thin white duke pretty well. Followed his trajectory as pusher man to the local gentry. He always calls me Carleton, but that’s another story.