The Circuit Riders
Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
THE CIRCUIT RIDERS
On the Board, they were just little lights that glowed. But out there in the night of the city-jungle, they represented human passions-- virulent emotions-- and deadly crimes-to-be ...
by R. C. FitzPatrick
Illustrated by Schoenherr
He was an old man and very drunk. Very drunk or very sick. It was themiddle of the day and the day was hot, but the old man had on a suit,and a sweater under the suit. He stopped walking and stood still,swaying gently on widespread legs, and tried to focus his eyes. He livedhere ... around here ... somewhere around here. He continued on,stumbling up the street.
He finally made it home. He lived on the second floor and he draggedhimself up the narrow staircase with both hands clutching the railing.But he was still very careful of the paper bag under his arm. The bagwas full of beer.
Once in the room, he managed to take off his coat before he sank down onthe bed. He just sat there, vacant and lost and empty, and drank hisbeer.
* * * * *
It was a hot, muggy, August afternoon--Wednesday in Pittsburgh. Thebroad rivers put moisture in the air, and the high hills kept it there.Light breezes were broken-up and diverted by the hills before they couldbring more than a breath of relief.
In the East Liberty precinct station the doors and windows were openedwide to snare the vagrant breezes. There were eight men in the room; thedesk sergeant, two beat cops waiting to go on duty, the audiocontroller, the deAngelis operator, two reporters, and a local book ...businessman. From the back of the building, the jail proper, the voiceof a prisoner asking for a match floated out to the men in the room, anda few minutes later they heard the slow, exasperated steps of theturnkey as he walked over to give his prisoner a light.
At 3:32 pm, the deAngelis board came alive as half-a-dozen lightsflashed red, and the needles on the dials below them trembled in theseventies and eighties. Every other light on the board showed varyingshades of pink, registering in the sixties. The operator glanced at theboard, started to note the times and intensities of two of the dials inhis log, scratched them out, then went on with his conversation with theaudio controller. The younger reporter got up and came over to theboard. The controller and the operator looked up at him.
"Nothing," said the operator shaking his head in a negative. "Bad callat the ball game, probably." He nodded his head towards the lights onthe deAngelis, "They'll be gone in five, ten minutes."
The controller reached over and turned up the volume on his radio. Theradio should not have been there, but as long as everyone did his joband kept the volume low, the Captain looked the other way. The setbelonged to the precinct.
The announcer's voice came on, "... ning up, he's fuming. Doak isholding Sterrett back. What a beef! Brutaugh's got his nose not twoinches from Frascoli's face, and Brother! is he letting him have it. Oh!Oh! Here comes Gilbert off the mound; he's stalking over. When Gil putsup a holler, you know he thinks it's a good one. Brutaugh keeps pointingat the foul line--you can see from here the chalk's been wipedaway--he's insisting the runner slid out of the base path. Frascoli'swalking away, but Danny's going right aft ..." The controller turned thevolume down again.
The lights on the deAngelis board kept flickering, but by 3:37 all buttwo had gone out, one by one. These two showed readings in the highsixties; one flared briefly to 78.2 then went out. Brutaugh was nolonger in the ball game. By 3:41 only one light still glowed, and it wassteadily fading.
Throughout the long, hot, humid afternoon the board held its reddish,irritated overtones, and occasional readings flashed in and out of theseventies. At four o'clock the new duty section came on; the deAngelisoperator, whose name was Chuck Matesic, was replaced by an operatornamed Charlie Blaney.
"Nothing to report," Chuck told Charlie. "Rhubarb down at the point atthe Forbes Municipal Field, but that's about all."
The new operator scarcely glanced at the mottled board, it was that kindof a day. He noted an occasional high in his log book, but most signalswere ignored. At 5:14 he noted a severe reading of 87 which stayed onthe board; at 5:16 another light came on, climbed slowly through thesixties, then soared to 77 where it held steady. Neither light was anhonest red, their angry overtones chased each other rapidly.
The deAngelis operator called over to the audio controller, "Got us acase of crinkle fender, I think."
"Where?" the controller asked.
"Can't tell yet," Blaney said. "A hot-head and a citizen with righteousindignation. They're clear enough, but not too sharp." He swiveled inhis chair and adjusted knobs before a large circular screen. Palestreaks of light glowed briefly as the sweep passed over them. Therewere milky dots everywhere. A soft light in the lower left hand cornerof the screen cut an uncertain path across the grid, and twoindeterminate splotches in the upper half of the scope flared out to themargin.
"Morningside," the operator said.
The splashes of light separated; one moved quickly off the screen, theother held stationary for several minutes, then contracted and began asteady, jagged advance toward the center of the grid. One inch down,half an inch over, two inches down, then four inches on a diagonal line.
"Like I said," said Blaney. "An accident."
Eight minutes later, at 5:32, a slightly pompous and thoroughly outragedyoung salesman marched through the doors of the station house and overto the desk sergeant.
"Some clown just hit me ..." he began.
"With his fist?" asked the sergeant.
"With his car," said the salesman. "My car ... with his car ... he hitmy car with his car."
The sergeant raised his hand. "Simmer down, young feller. Let me seeyour driver's license." He reached over the desk for the man's cardswith one hand, and with the other he sorted out an accident form. "Justgive it to me slowly." He started filling out the form.
The deAngelis operator leaned back in his chair and winked at thecontroller. "I'm a whiz," he said to the young reporter, "I'm a pheenom.I never miss." The reporter smiled and walked back to his colleague whowas playing gin with the book ... businessman.
The lights glowed on and off all evening, but only once had they calledfor action. At 10:34 two sharp readings of 92.2 and 94 even, had sentBlaney back to his dials and screen. He'd narrowed it down to afour-block area when the telephone rang to report a fight at the RedAntler Grill. The controller dispatched a beat cop already in the area.
Twenty minutes later, two very large--and very obedient young toughsstumbled in, followed by an angry officer. In addition to the marks ofthe fight, both had a lumbering, off-balance walk that showed that thepoliceman had been prodding them with his riot club. It was called an"electronic persuader"; it also doubled as a carbine. Police no longercarried sidearms.
He pointed to the one on the left, "This one hit me." He pointed to theone on the right, "This one kicked me."
The one on the left was certain he would never hit another cop. The oneon the right knew he would never kick another cop.
"Book 'em," the sergeant said. He looked at the two youths. "You'regoing in the can ... you want to argue." The youths looked down. No oneelse said anything. The younger reporter came over and took down theinformation as the cop and the two toughs gave it to the sergeant. Thenhe went back to his seat at the card table and took a minityper from hispocket. He started sending to the paper.
"You ought to send that stuff direct," the card player said.
"I scribble too bad," the reporter answered.
"Bat crap," said the older man, "that little jewel can transcribechicken scratches."
The cub scrunched over his minityper. A f
ew minutes later he looked upat his partner, "What's a good word for hoodlum?"
The other reporter was irritated. He was also losing at gin. "What areyou, a Steinbeck?" He laid down his cards. "Look kid, just send it, justthe way you get it. That's why they pay re-write men. We're reporters.We report. O.K.?" He went back to his cards.
At 11:40 a light at the end of the second row turned pinkish but noreading showed on the dial below. It was only one of a dozen bulbsshowing red. It was still pinkish when the watch was changed. Blaneywas replaced by King.
"Watch this one," Blaney said to King, indicating an entry in the log.It was numbered 8:20:18:3059:78:4a. "I've had it on four times now, allin the high seventies. I