Donald Worden: “Brown, you piece of shit.”
Dave Brown: “Sir?”
Donald Worden: “I called you a piece of shit.”
(Brown looks up from the magazine he’s reading.)
Donald Worden: “Gimme a quarter.”
Dave Brown: “Let me understand this. I’m here at my desk reading a magazine--”
Donald Worden: “One of them art school magazines.”
Dave Brown: “Reading a magazine of rock ‘n’ roll and popular culture, interfering with no
one, and you walk through the door and address me as fecal matter.”
Donald Worden: “Fecal matter. What the hell is that? I didn’t go to college. I’m just a poor
dumb white boy from Hampden.”
(Brown rolls eyes.)
Donald Worden: “Gimme a quarter, bitch.”
(Brown fishes quarter out of pocket and tosses it to Worden.)
Dave Brown: “Why are you always fucking with me? Why don’t you ever go after Waltemeyer? Does Waltemeyer go out to Pikesville on Saturday dayshifts to get you bagels?”
(Worden says nothing.)
Dave Brown: “Why the hell don’t you ever fuck with Waltemeyer?”
(Brown knows the answer, of course. Worden isn’t going to fuck with Waltemeyer, who has more than two decades in the trenches. He’s going to fuck with
Dave Brown, who has a mere thirteen years on the force. And Donald Waltemeyer isn’t going to drive up to Pikesville at seven A.M. to get bagels for the same reason. Brown gets the bagels because Brown is the new man and Worden is breaking him in. And when the likes of Donald Worden wants a dozen bagels and half a pound of veggie spread, the new man gets in a Cavalier and drives to Philadelphia if need be.)
Dave Brown: “This is the thanks I get.”
Donald Worden: “What do you want me to do, kiss you? You didn’t even get garlic for me.”
(Berating a dead man while cops stare on in amazement.)
Harry Edgerton: “You degenerate motherfucker. Where the fuck did you fire up? I don’t have all fucking day to look at your fucking arms. Where the fuck is that fresh track?”
Harry Edgerton: “You want to wave to your friend?”
John Nathan: “Who’s my friend?”
Harry Edgerton: “Pete. The boy from Payson and Hollins.”
John Nathan: “He ain’t my friend.”
Harry Edgerton: “No, huh? So I guess you don’t want to wave to him?”
John Nathan: “Where’s he now?”
Harry Edgerton: “Right there. The white building.”
John Nathan: “What’s he doing there?”
Harry Edgerton: “Not a helluva lot. That’s the morgue, yo.”
Terry McLarney: “It’s hell getting Harry to take a case. You’ve got to grab him by the shoulders and yell, ‘Harry. This one’s yours.’ But once you do that, he’ll work it to death.”
(Excerpt): “Some lawyers go so far as to give defendants mints or hard candies, telling clients to pull them out at a quiet moment and offer one to the lawyer, perhaps even to the prosecutor, seated a few feet away. See, ladies and gentlemen, he’s human. He likes mints. He can share.”
(Waiting for the first call of the night, Worden, James, and Dave Brown gather around the coffee room desk, concentrating their psychic powers on the phone extensions, trying to will into existence something more than a ghetto homicide, something that will bring unlimited overtime.) ((**Note: I do not know who said what**))
“I feel it.”
“Shut up. Concentrate.”
“I feel it.”
“Yeah, it’s coming.”
“A big one.”
“A double.”
“No, a triple.”
“Stone whodunit.”
“At a major tourist attration...”
“Fort McHenry!”
“Memorial Stadium!”
“No, the Harborplace Pavilion.”
“During lunch hour.”
“Ooooooh. A moneymaker.”
Jay Landsman: “I need you to tell the truth about something.”
Southern District officer: “Sir?”
Jay Landsman: “You ate those doughnuts, didn’t you?”
Southern District officer: “What?”
Jay Landsman: “The doughnuts. You finished ‘em off, right?”
Southern District officer: “No sir.”
Jay Landsman: “You sure? You just had one, right?”
Southern District officer: “No sir. They were gone when I got here.”
Jay Landsman: “Okay then, good job. Whaddaya know, Tom, a cop who doesn’t like doughnuts.”
Harry Edgerton: “If my name was Tweedy, I’d have an alias, too.”
(Nolan is calling Edgerton.)
Harry Edgerton: “Hullo.”
Roger Nolan: “Harry?”
Harry Edgerton: “Uh-huh.”
Roger Nolan: “This is your sergeant. What the hell are you doing asleep?”
Harry Edgerton: “What do you mean?”
Roger Nolan: “You’re supposed to be working tonight.”
Harry Edgerton: “No, I’m off. Tonight and Wednesday, I’m off.”
Roger Nolan: “Harry, I got the roll book right in front of me and your H-days are Wednesday-Thursday. You’re on tonight with Mac and Kincaid.”
Harry Edgerton: “Wednesday and Thursday?”
Roger Nolan: “Yeah.”
Harry Edgerton: “No way. You’re kidding me.”
Roger Nolan: “Yeah, Harry, I’m calling you up at one A.M. just to fuck with you.”
Harry Edgerton: “You’re not kidding me.”
Roger Nolan: “No.”
Harry Edgerton: “Shit.”
Roger Nolan: “Shit is right.”
Harry Edgerton: “Anything going on there?”
Roger Nolan: “A police shooting and a murder. That’s all.”
Harry Edgerton: “You want me to come in?”
Roger Nolan: “Fuck it, go back to sleep. We’ll be all right and you’ll work Thursday. I’ll pencil it in.”
Harry Edgerton: “Thanks, Rog. I could swear I had Tuesday and Wednesday. I was sure of it.”
Roger Nolan: “You’re a piece of work, Harry.”
Harry Edgerton: “Yeah, sorry.”
Roger Nolan: “Go back to sleep.”
Donald Worden: “Thanks for the cigars.”
Dave Brown: “You’re welcome.”
Donald Worden: “And the lighter.”
Dave Brown: “You’re welcome.”
Donald Worden: “I’m still not helping you with this one.”
Dave Brown: “I know, Donald.”
Donald Worden: “And your driving still sucks.”
Dave Brown: “Yes, Donald.”
Donald Worden: “And you’re still a piece of shit.”
Dave Brown: “Thank you, Donald.”
Dave Brown: “There’s not enough here for a composite, right?”
Donald Worden: “Gimme a quarter.”
(Brown fishes up a quarter presuming Worden need to use the phone or maybe the jukebox. But Worden pockets the money.)
Donald Worden: “Brown, you’re a piece of shit. Finish your beer and let’s go.”
(Garvey at the murder scene, answering the phone.)
Rich Garvey: “Hello?”
Jerry Jackson: “Who’s this?”
Rich Garvey: “This is Detective Garvey from the homicide unit. Who’s this?”
Jerry Jackson: “This is Jerry.”
(How considerate, thinks Garvey. A suspect who calls his own crime scene.)
Rich Garvey: “Jerry, how fast can you get over here?”
Jerry Jackson: “About twenty minutes or so.”
Rich Garvey: “I’ll be waiting.”
(Hangs up phone.)
Rich Garvey: “Hey Mac, that was Jerry calling.”
Bob McAllister: “Oh really.”
Rich Garvey: “Yeah. He’s on his way over.”
Bob McAllister: “That’s nice.”
(Excerpt): “Juries like dead people who have bulletholes or steak knives attached to them; anything less is not convincing.”
(After getting a whiff of the stench of the maggot-infested clothing.)
Terry McLarney: “Fuck this, Dave. I’ll give you a hand with this tomorrow. Let’s come back for this stuff in the morning.”
(Brown agreed, and they both contentedly drove back to headquarters. Until Brown realizes McLarney’s not on the next day.)
Dave Brown: “Wait a second. You’re off tomorrow.”
(McLarney giggled.)
Dave Brown: “You little Irish potatohead.”
Terry McLarney: “Potatohead?”
Dave Brown: “You did me, you g*ddamn mick.”
Donald Worden: “De-tec-tive Brown.”
Dave Brown: “What?”
Donald Worden: “Detective Brown...”
Dave Brown: “What do you want?”
Donald Worden: “I’ll bet you like the sound of that, don’t you?”
Dave Brown: “The sound of what?”
Donald Worden: “Detective Brown. Detective David John Brown.”
Dave Brown: “Go fuck yourelf, Worden.”
(Worden stares at Brown.)
Dave Brown: “Quit staring at me, you old bastard.”
Donald Worden: “I’m not staring at you.”
Dave Brown: “The fuck you aren’t.”
Donald Worden: “It’s your conscience.”
(Brown doesn’t comprehend.)
Donald Worden: “Where’s the Carol Wright case?”
Dave Brown: “Hey, I’ve got to type the prosecution report for Nina Perry...”
Donald Worden: “That was last month.”
Dave Brown: “...and I got a warrant out this week on my boy Clayvon, so gimme a fucking break already.”
Donald Worden: “My heart pumps purple piss for you.”
Dave Brown: “I didn’t ask you about Clayvon Jones, did I? What’s new with Carol Wright? Nothing. I got my dick in my hands on that.”
Donald Worden: “De-tec-tive Brown...”
(Brown opens his top right drawer and grabs the .38, pulling the gun halfway out of the holster. Worden doesn’t laugh.)
Donald Worden: “Gimme a quarter.”
Dave Brown: “What the hell for?”
Donald Worden: “Gimme a quarter.”
Dave Brown: “If I give you a quarter, will you shut the fuck up and leave me alone?”
Donald Worden: “Maybe.”
(Dave Brown stands up and fishes a quarter from his pocket and tosses it to Worden, then sits back down. Worden gives him a good ten seconds.)
Donald Worden: “De-tec-tive Brown...”
(In his final response to the jury, Larry Doan actually has the temerity to go to Polansky’s drawing board and begin writing his own comments above his opponent’s visual aid.)
Polansky: “Objection, your honor. I would appreciate it if Mr. Doan wrote on his own board.”
Judge Gordy: “Overruled.”
(From the hallway comes the sound of loud banging on the large interrogation room door.)
A Detective: “Hey, Rog, is that your man making all that noise?”
Roger Nolan: “Yeah. I’ll be there in a second.”
(Nolan makes a quick call and hangs up to the sound of even louder banging.)
A Detective: “Hey, Rog, shut this motherfucker up, will you?”
(Nolan walks through the fishbowl and out into the hallway. The devil himself has his face pressed against the window in the door, hands cupped around his eyes, trying to peer through the one-way glass.
Roger Nolan: “What’s your problem?”
Eugene Dale: “I gotta go to the bathroom.”
Roger Nolan: “The bathroom, huh? I bet you want a drink of water too.”
(The devil needs to take a leak. Evil incarnate wants a drink of water. Nolan shakes his head and opens the metal door.)
Roger Nolan: “I’ll be damned. Everytime you put one of these motherfuckers in the box, they lose control of their bladder and start getting dizzy from thirst...”
Rich Garvey: “He was talking?”
A uniform officer: “Oh yeah.”
Rich Garvey: “What did he say?”
A uniform officer: “Well, he told us who shot him...”
Rich Garvey: “Oh do tell.”
A uniform officer: “He said Warren Waddell shot him.”
Rich Garvey: “Warren Waddell?”
A uniform officer: “Yeah, he said his buddy Warren shot him in the back for no reason. He kept saying, ‘I can’t believe he shot me. I can’t believe it.’“
Rich Garvey: “You heard all this?”
A uniform officer: “I was standing right over him. Me and my side partner heard it all. He said this guy Warren works with him at a place called Precision Concrete.”
(Talking about exhumating a man.)
Donald Waltemeyer: “You sure it’s him?”
Cemetary Manager: “It oughta be. Once you put ‘em down there, they supposed to stay put.”
(On that Christmas, the early relief arrived to find Nolan’s men suffering from a strange holiday fever, acting out a series of holiday homicides in the main office.)
Roger Nolan: “Bitch!”
(Nolan yelled while pointing his finger at Hollingsworth.)
Roger Nolan: “You got me the same thing last year. . . BANG!”
Hollingsworth: “You bastard, I already got a toaster!”
(Hollingsworth said, while turning his finger on Requer.)
Hollingsworth: “POW!”
Requer: “Oh yeah?”
(Requer turned, firing a round in Nolan’s direction.)
Requer: “Well, you burned the stuffing again this year.”
Back to Books.
