Partners(Anthony Colombo) "Hey, sergeant," came a voice from across the marble floor of the nearly deserted precinct foyer. Just walking through the street door was a young rookie cop named Finley, Tom Finley. He had been with the department, lets see, Oh yeah, two years this coming January. That means, to him at least, he is a veteran with one year ten months of service under his belt. Like most kids his age, one year of service in any field makes them experts, but I remember an explanation given to me some years ago referring to experts. It goes something like this, an expert, if you take the word in its two parts ex and spurt, ex meaning a “has been” and spurt stands for a “drip under pressure.” So when anyone tells you they are an expert, remember they are really saying they are has been drips under pressure.

Well at any rate, there standing before me with a grin from ear-to-ear was Tom looking like the cat that ate the canary. "What the hell are you so happy about," I asked.

He said, "didn't you hear 'bout the bust we made last night?"

"Yes, in fact I did. And, you better watch that hot-dog bullshit. You can get yourself killed acting like John Wayne."

"What do you mean, 'hot-dog?' Me and Bull had everything under control. Hell we did it by the book."

"Bull? Who the hell is Bull," I asked.

"Come on sergeant. You assigned him to me, and for an old timer he is pretty damn good. Besides, he let me in on some of the stuff you and he used to get into when he was your partner."

"Frank Wilson? Are you talking about Frank "Bull" Wilson?"

"Damn sergeant, are you on this side of the planet tonight? You assigned him to me!"

Ignoring the slight hint of insubordination, I asked, "Was he in uniform?"

"Sure, but I didn't think the reserve police officers still wore the light blue shirts and those World War I Sam brown rigs with holsters that had the flaps," he paused thinking about something, and then added, "I hadn't seen anything like that since the reruns of the old Highway Patrol series on television.

"Frank . . ." I couldn't get over the sound of his name. I hadn't, no one had talked about him for, God I don't remember how long its been now. "Look, the lieutenant brought some dough-nuts in earlier, so why don't you go to the break room, get us a couple cups of coffee, and I'll snag some of those sinkers and join you. I want to hear all about your night with my old partner."

Tom went dutifully off to the break room, God I love rookies who think highly of themselves, they bend over backwards to please. While he struggled with keeping me happy, I grabbed as many dough-nuts as I could before I was spotted by the lieutenant and tossed out of the watch commanders office. I then went to meet with Tom. He was sitting toward the rear of a rectangular shaped room lined on one side with every kind of vending machine known to man, and on the other with windows looking on to a spectacular view of the police parking lot. There were six other officers in the room. Seated at one table were two training officers with their young recruits who quaked each time their more senior mentors spoke. Sitting apart from the first four were two other officers struggling to complete reports they hoped would send bad guys off to jail for twenty years. oh, if only the courts felt the same. Then there was Tom. In front of him sat two cups of coffee with steam rising from the brown liquid.

My eyes seemed to fixate on the steam and I drifted off into thoughts of Frank and myself. I remembered one night in particular. We had gone from one call to another with out a stop in between. It wasn't the exciting kind of night that you see on those cop shows airing today on television. It was the kind of night ninety-nine percent of all cops experience one hundred percent of the time. Anyway, it was four o'clock in the morning, and we had just stopped at Mama's Bakery and Coffee Shop. There wasn't any mama, in fact there was only the owner, an Italian named Antonio. Antonio began his day at three every morning, and by four he had his counters stocked and the doors open for business. Bull and I often used the tables in the place to complete our reports as well as gobble down a bite and a cup. This day was different. We were not only hungry, we were bone tired to boot. Quiet time was going to be as much a relief as getting something to eat. We had no sooner sat our tired butts down when a very anxious man in his late forties burst through the door. Without pausing to take a breath, he sputtered, "I knew you guys would be in here, so I didn't call it in. I saw these two guys breaking into the hardware store on the corner about two blocks from here!”

I felt like telling him to call it in, but you can't always say what your thinking, not to "tax payers" anyway. Bull gathered up all the papers we had laid out in preparation to completing our masterpiece in report writing, and we headed for the door. Damn, the nerve of some people. They think cops have nothing to do but hang out in dough-nut shops. This guy didn't say, "I know you two have been busting your asses all night and you probably had nothing to eat in the last two days," no he spits out "I knew you would be here!" What a wise guy. To make matters worse when we got into our patrol car and drove to the hardware store, he followed us there. I guess he thought if we hung out at Mama's, we would just drive around the corner and go back there instead of the burglary he reported.

I'm not sure how long I was day dreaming, but Tom must have tired of waiting for me, or maybe he thought I wasn't able to find him in a room as big as Grand Central Station with only seven people in it. What ever the reason, I heard, "hey sergeant, over here. I got the coffee. Where are the dough-nuts?" Naturally, everyone in the room stopped what they were doing to look first at Tom and then to me. The way cops think, Tom had to be brown nosing or something even worse. So, to save myself further embarrassment and quickly moved to the table and sat down.

Tom was still beaming. He started the conversation by asking how long Bull and I were partners. I had to think, it was such a long time ago. When I became stumped over something that happened in the past, I would often tell people it was the result of old timers disease, unfortunately, it was now becoming all too true. "Damn, I've been on the force now for thirty-two years. Bull and I started together thirty-two years ago. Back then there was no academy. If you could walk and chew gum at the same time you got the job. I remember Bull had trouble with the walking part, that's how he got the name Bull, that and the fact he would charge in like a bull in heat. There was more than one time when I had to remind him to walk not run to a scene of a crime. He just couldn't get it through his thick head that taking time to get somewhere could save your life. I remember we were on a walking beat downtown when this woman came running up to us. She was screaming something about a fight. It took about ten minutes just to get her calm enough to tell us what was happening and where. No sooner had she told us than Bull took off on a dead run. I tried to stop him but he was gone like a shot. Well he rounded the corner from Third to Main just in time to see this six foot five inch monster release a right cross to his chin. Needless to say it was the last thing Bull saw for the next quarter of an hour. That guy had a fist of steel and Bull was down for the count and then some."

Obviously interested in the learning process, Tom Asked, "What did you do? I mean if the guy could cold cock Bull how did you stop him?"

"Hey, kid I wasn't always old and out of shape. There was a day when I could kick a little ass too, you know."

"So, you kicked some booty?"

"No, the guy was a house on legs. I pulled my six shooter, and told him the get down on your knees or I would blow his damn head off."

"My main man. A real hero. Gosh I could learn a lot from you."

"Sarcasm like that will cause me to eat all the dough-nuts by myself, do you understand?"

"Yes sir. I will try to curb my youthful exuberance, SIR!" After a moment of silence, Tom Asked, "So what caused the fight?"

"The guy that clipped Frank had been in a bar on the corner of Third and Main drinking when this other guy came in and sat next to him at the bar. The second guy was five-four, if he was an inch. He had been tossed out of two other bars on Third for being drunk and trying to start fights. Well, he started on this guy," I tried to remember his name, but even now I can't do it, old timers again. "He took as much as he could, from what we were told later, but the little shit wouldn't have any of it. He just kept picking until he got what he wanted, a fist in the mouth."

"Laid him out like Bull?"

"Nah, this jerk was too drunk. The punch only made him madder. Well, to make a long story short, the fight ended up on the sidewalk in front of the bar. Back then the local papers used to put their news papers in coin operated boxes on top of metal legged "A" frames, and because some unscrupulous so-n-sos’ would steal them, the news people chained them together. Well, when they got to the street, the house hit Mutt once more knocking him off his feet and between the two news racks. Well, his neck hit the chain and, you got it, instant dead. The chain broke the fools neck. Scratch one idiot, and five to ten for man slaughter for the house."

I'm not sure what sparked my memory, but just then I got a silly grin on my face, and Tom said, "What?"

"Oh I was just thinking of Bull, he could be such an ass at times, but damn you had to love him. There was this shots fired call that we got. It was about two in the morning. In a part of town where you wouldn't expect that kind of a call. When we get there, one of the neighbors was standing at the curb waving us down. He told Bull that the house at the end of the cul-de-sac was where the shooting took place. He said that a car with three men in it pulled up in front of the house and started cranking off rounds into the house. From where we sat, we could see the car had left the area. About the house we didn't know squat. We could see there were lights on inside, and the front door was standing wide open, beyond that nothing. The street, with the exception of our friend who didn't take our advice and was still standing at the curb, was empty. As you kids would say, in the olden times we weren't blessed with two-way-radios like now, so when you got out of the car you were alone. Anyway, we called in what we had, and waited for the cavalry to arrive. Another thing you guys have that we didn't is numbers. Back then we were about one and one half officers to every five thousand people, so we got one more unit to fill with us. Surely out numbered, and with more guts than brains, we stormed the house. As luck would have it, the house was empty, or so we thought. During our search of the building we found several rooms locked. The parts that were open had no one in them. What to do? We didn’t have search warrants and the doors were locked. Still, we are the good guys, and we couldn't leave wounded people to suffer needlessly, could we?" This being my story, I didn't feel it was necessary to wait for Tom to answer me, and, so I continued, "we had decided that the locked rooms would have to be opened to make sure there was no one in need of help. With that Bull's eyes lit up. He had seen some cop movies and wanted to kick the doors, so he headed to the first room on the ground floor. This time I was able to get him to use some discretion. Just as he was going to kick the door, I told him there could be someone on the other side with a gun. Well, Bull froze with his number twenty-six gunboat in midair thinking about what I had said. Slowly, he lowered his foot and crept to the door. He put his hand out to support his weight and leaned against the door to give a listen to what may be going on inside. Just as he began to put his full weight on his hand the door sprung open and Bull ended up on the floor of a down stairs bedroom. Seeing him on the floor face down in someone's dirty laundry with skid marks was just too much. I forgot that we may not be alone and began to laugh, no howl was more like it. Seeing me laughing didn't sit to well with Bull. The sight of a mad Bull on the floor was even funnier."

"What about the people in the house? Did you ever find out what happened?"

"Well, as mad as Bull was, he wasn't going to leave until he found out something. We continued to search the house and found no one, but we did find drugs and a lot of stolen property. We found a couple guns and some sporting equipment that was taken in a residential burglary, and a house full of appliances taken in at least four commercial burglaries. In two of the locked rooms we found pills, heroin, and some coke. The way we saw it, the bad guys castle had been attacked. We all know that our castles are supposed to be safe, right?" When Tom nodded his agreement, I continued, "so we figured they had taken off to even the score. While they were gone, we got our cars out of the neighborhood to wait for their return. Remember, Bull was in the house alone without a radio. We needed to be able to talk to one another, so Bull called radio and stayed on the line with them. Let me tell you, tying up an operator for about an hour didn't sit well with them or the captain. But anyway, home they came. There were three men and two women. Hell of an army, but if you're going to hide behind something, a through down sleaze is as good as anything." Then as more of a philosophical question than anything else, I asked Tom, "did you ever ask yourself why women find men like that attractive, and even more why the hell they would stick their necks out for assholes, or want to breed with them?" Tom’s response was only a shrug, so on I went, "well they walked in the front door, and sitting at the dirty kitchen table, afraid to put his hands on it, was Bull looking like a guest come to dinner. Bull said the look on their faces was one worth capturing on film, a 'Kodak moment.' All Bull said to the operator was, 'they're here,' and we came screaming back. I don't remember all the charges we tacked on to them, but I know it made the neighbors very happy to see them go."

"You know sergeant, Bull told me the same story, but I don't think he said he went through the door. As I recall his version was very similar to yours with one exception."

"Bullshit! I don't care what he told you, it was him on the floor, not me!" I had to remember that we weren't alone in the room. I knew that Bull would have turned that story around because he made sure that everyone in the whole department knew about his version. He had told it so many times that I no longer saw the humor in it. It was about to lead Bull and myself into one of the biggest fights we ever had but for the help of the other officer at the scene. They took Bull aside and explained the facts of life to him and we stayed friends. Hearing Tom say Bull told it a different way sparked the old resentment for an instant, that asshole will never change.

I guess looking at the faces of the other officers looking back at me must have triggered something because at that moment I was back in the car with Bull. He didn't like the way I drove, so when he could, he would beat me to the garage to grab the keys of our patrol unit off the peg board, and he would drive the whole night, pissed me off. I remembered our first night on patrol, I was driving. We get this call about a gun fight at a house on Mason Road. Neither one of us knew where the street was, so we both looked at a road map the city gave its officers to help them locate themselves. The map was courtesy of triple A. Well, it showed the street we wanted connecting with another street we both knew, so red lights and siren we took off. When we got to where the road was to have been, we were looking at a cliff. It seems we failed to notice there was a space between the road we wanted and the one we were on. Now it's U-turn time, and you guessed it, red lights and siren back the way we came. Bull was now reading the map alone, and when he got to a street he had seen on the map he yelled, "right turn." That was all well and good. He knew what he wanted and I knew what to do, but the car was operating under a set of rules we both heard about in high school and never paid any attention to, physics. I made the turn, and the car wanted to keep going straight. After spinning around three hundred and sixty degrees twice, the driver’s side tires made contact with a curb, and what kept us from tipping over, well, God only knows. Since that day Bull would not let me behind the wheel, I still think it was his fault. If he had given me a little notice, I know I could have made the turn. Oh yeah, before we ever got to the house another unit put out an all clear call meaning he had gotten there and everything was OK. Bull and I were sitting at the bottom of the hill where the call was, looking at the map when the other unit drove past. The look he gave Bull and I left nothing for interpretation, he was upset because his fill was two rookies who didn't know anything about the city that paid their salaries, so much for winning friends.

"Sergeant, where are you," came a question from Tom.

I chuckled a bit at the memory, and then said, "just doing a little driving." I then had to relate the story because Tom wouldn't let it drop there. "Hey," I said, "enough about me and Bull. I what to hear about your night. Start at the beginning and don't leave a thing out."

"Well, like I said, when briefing was over I went to the parking lot to get the car and load my stuff in for the start of the shift. Anyway, when I got to the car there was Bull. He was standing there on the passenger side with his hairy elbow on the roof of the car. As I walked up to the car, I was thinking, who the hell is this guy? I asked who he was because I don't remember seeing him in briefing. He told me his name and said you assigned him to my car."

"He wasn't at briefing and you didn't think that was funny?"

"No. The reserve cops sometimes work late at their regular jobs and well they miss briefing, you know."

"Yes, I guess you're right. I also know, contrary to orders, some of you guys pick them up at home too."

"Not me sergeant, not me. I follow orders right down the line."

"So follow this order, go on with your story."

“Yeah, sure. So I load up and off we go. We hadn't got more than a block from the station when Bull sees this car on the side of the road. He says to me, 'the car over there, see it?' I tell him yes, and he says, 'there is something wrong. Pull in behind it and stop back about two car lengths from it.' At this point I'm not sure what he saw, it looked OK to me. Then Bull said, 'the guy looked at us and dropped his head. I'm sure he didn't want me to see his face.' When I had the car the way Bull wanted it, he said, 'you want me to make contact and you cover me?' Not on your life, I thought. I would never let someone do my job for me, let alone an old man. When I got to the rear bumper, I noticed the guy in the car reach between his legs. I knew that he was reaching for a gun. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Quickly I looked over my shoulder to see where Bull was, and damn, he wasn't at the car. I though, shit he got me into this, and now when the shit is about to hit the fan, he skips. Then I heard, 'drop the gun on the floor or I'll blow your damn head off you piece of . . .' I don't know it but Bull saw the man move too. He told me later that he figured the guy was watching me giving him a chance to move to the passenger side of the car to get the drop on the suspect. It turned out the guy was an ex-con casing a liquor store for a hold up. You know sergeant, if it hadn't been for Bull, I never would have seen the guy. Damn, for an old guy he has good eyes."

"You know Tom, I could get mighty tired of that 'old guy' line."

"Sorry 'bout that. I'll try to watch what I say around you more mature types."

Kids, you suffer all kinds of hell for them; you send them to school, you teach them to read and they thank you by eating the covers off the books. "Thanks, but just go on."

"Here is a funny thing, Bull had never been to the Jail before. He was telling me about the place you guys used, I didn't say anything about old . . ."

"Just go on!"

"Bull said the jail was down town the last time he had to book any body. I don't ever remember the jail being any where but where it is. Anyway, it took about forty-five minutes to get the guy booked in and then we were back on the streets. Bull tells me to head to the park. He said there used to be a lot of action there in his day. At the park he takes me to the back parking lot and we see a car sitting all by it self near the far end of the lot. Bull tells me that he recognized the plate from the hot sheet. Hell, sergeant we haven't printed a hot sheet in, well since we got computers for the cars, what about five years or more?"

"Its been a while. So, what happened," I asked.
“Well, I ran the plate, and sure as hell it comes back to the Nelson kidnapping. Before I got the return, Bull was up at the car. He had his gun out and checking the interior of the car. When I joined him he told me the car was clear but noticed the brush near the front of the car was disturbed like someone had push their way through it. I told Bull to stay put while I called in what we had, and requested additional units, you and your friends. I had no sooner turned my back than I heard Bull pushing his way through the bush. Well, I couldn't let him go in there alone, could I? No, I couldn't. I may have said some dirty words about you mature types at this time, I don’t remember, but I followed him in. About fifty yards in the ground dropped off to a small creek. There in the clearing we saw Tracy Mathews bending over something. Bull signaled to me to stand still and he moved closer. OK, I didn't do as I was told, but anyway it worked out. I could see the look on Bull's face, and that is what told me I should have listened. Bull got to right behind Tracy before he heard us, OK me. You should have seen the look on Tracy's face when he turned to look down the barrel of Bull's gun. I bet he crapped his pants. Tracy was tying up the Nelson kid, we think to kill him, but Tracy said it was just to keep him quiet. In the car we found samples of notes he intended to send Mr. and Mrs. Nelson. We found the cloth he took from the Nelson house to send as proof he had the kid. In less than three hours I had made two major busts, and all thanks to Bull."

At this point, Tom got a peculiar look on his face. I asked what the trouble was, and he said, "Well while we were Booking Tracy in, I called communications because they wanted some information from us. I was talking to Wally, and just before I hung up he asked me how I knew the car was hot. When I told him, he said our department had just gotten the FBI bulletin about ten minutes before we went out on the plate . . ., go figure. You know this guy has something about him. I wish I could become the cop he is. It's as though he knows what is going to happen before it does."

My own memory of Bull was much the same as that of Tom. I could never figure where Bull got it. We, until the Supreme Court said we couldn't anymore, work on a thing called gut instinct. It was the feeling you get that something is wrong when there's no physical evidence upon which to base your opinion. For years cops made damn good arrests based on their gut feelings, but then some bleeding heart liberal made it to the top seat in the legal profession, and cops couldn't feel anymore. Well all I can say about her is, several years later the voting public got tired of her and now she is doing something else, she's not in the news much anymore. While she may be gone, cops still can't feel that much hasn't changed.

But, Bull . . ., I never did figure him out. Sometimes he was like Superman. He could look at a blank brick wall and see a bank robbery in progress on the other side. He reminded me of a Dirty Harry movie I saw. It was where Dirty Harry walks into this little hamburger shop and orders a hot dog. He has time to take a bite when he looks out the window, in the summer time when cars don't smoke unless they are in need of major repair work, and sees smoke coming from a car parked in front of the bank. Bull would be able to see the smoke where I wouldn't even be able to see the bank. Bull, like Dirty Harry, would know the bank was being robbed. He would know just how many people were involved, and what kind of weapons we were facing. I, on the other hand, would be thinking, the car was driven by a man waiting for his wife because she forgot something and they were in a hurry, end of story, lets eat. He could be standing on a corner in plain clothes on his day off and a man no one ever saw would come up to him and say, 'you're a cop and I think you're looking for me.' There was nothing about Bull to make him stand out or look different from anyone else, still there was something. I remember there was this ex-con that some training sergeant brought to the police department trying to make us better cops. Anyway this con tells us that we all look alike and anyone on the street could tell a cop from anyone else on the street. Well I'm here to tell you, I am a cop and I couldn't tell another cop even if someone pointed him out. What the hell did Bull have that I didn't?

"The next couple of hours seemed to go by with out much happening. I found time to catch up on my reports and get a quick bite to eat. I couldn't figure Bull out though. He told me about this place you and he used to eat at, but when we got there he wouldn't go in. He said that there were memories and the place might just stir them up. He said he really didn't want them to come back just now. I guess he just sat in the car while I ate. Do you remember a place called Mike's?"

I had to snicker at the mention of the name. I did remember the place, and the memories were good ones. Bull and I had gotten tossed out of there several times. Most of the times we were in there in uniform and on-duty. Still we would get a little carried away, and Mike would come over and say something like, “if you two don't keep it down, I'll have to call the real cops.” It was all in fun . . ., I think . . ., I hope.

Mike's was a nice place to go to eat. Nothing fancy, and as you might have guessed, it was named after the owner, a man named Mike. Bull and I met Mike by accident one night. Mike had closed his place and was on his way home when a drunk came out of nowhere and damn near killed him. We were the officers assigned the call. We didn't do anything special. Mike was just another person involved in just another accident. Yes, the other driver was drunk and he went to jail, but he went to jail because he was drunk and not because he hit Mike. Still, Mike took it as a personal favor to him, and from that time on, Bull and I never had to buy another diner.

There was something else, working at Mike's was this one waitress that Bull had a thing for. She was a twelve on a scale of ten. She also had a boyfriend that looked like he had been dragged face down over twenty miles of bad road. What she saw in that guy, I don't know, but Bull sure wished she would see it in him. Why is it, do you think, that the pretty girls always go for the ugly guys? Must be something only they can see I guess. Bull would sit and drool for hours, if I'd let him, just looking at her. Neither of them knew, but I would drool too. We had Bull's twenty-sixth birthday party there and Mike went all out. He was a makeshift chef, or at least he thought of himself as a chef, and he made this cake for Bull that looked like the top half of a woman. I had never seen anything like it before, but now you see them all over. There were good memories associated with the place and I could see why Bull didn't want to go in.

"Are you OK sergeant," asked Tom.

I told him that I was just thinking of the times Bull and I had at Mikes, and asked him if he had any more to the story of his night with my old friend. He did, and added, "After dinner I went back to the car and Bull was sitting on the passenger side looking out the windshield like he was deep in thought. I don't know, he looked funny like he wasn't really here but some place a million miles away. When I got in the car he began to talk to me as if I had never left, 'what did you think? Just what I said it would be, right?' I had to agree, it was a nice place, but while I was in there, I found out that Mike had past away about three years ago."

That came as a surprise to me because I hadn't eaten there in about ten years . . ., about the time I got my stripes. You see when they promote you, you're seniority starts at zero. It means the worst beat on graveyard. You feel like a rookie all over again. I liked Mike, and I will miss him. There were a lot of good times to remember, him sitting with Bull and I when we ate.

"So, we got started again. I pulled on to Fifth street just South of the train tracks when Bull sees this guy turn the corner about a block ahead of us. Bull nudged me and said, 'watch this guy.' no sooner had he got the words out when the car veered into my path. The headlights on the car were so bright that I couldn't see a thing. I don't know why but I continued to drive even though I couldn't see. I heard Bull say, 'pull to the right now,' but there was no panic in his voice. Damn, I was sure I had messed my shorts, but Bull was steady as a rock. As soon as the car past, I hung a U-turn and took off after him.. First, I hit the reds and nothing. It was as if Bull and I weren't even there. The driver of the other car increased his speed and even began to weave in and out of on coming traffic. I then turned on the siren. He must have heard the noise because I saw his head turn to look into the rear view mirror. Even at that time in the morning, I could see his face in the mirror, the asshole was smiling, and the chase was on. That guy had to be drunk, no one sober could have driven the way he was. He was all over the street. He hit one parked car and bounced off onto a lawn. His tires lost traction and the car did a three sixty, twice. Does that make one seven-twenty?" You have to know that was his attempt at humor not mine. "We chased him for another four miles when we came to River Road," now I have to tell you this is the cities attempt at humor, because the street, not a road, parallels a drainage ditch, not a river, "and he got airborne. When he landed he lost it taking out two cars, thirty feet of cyclone fencing and a wrought iron gate. He tried to get the car going again, but the under carriage was hung up on the gate post he had just sheered off. Bull pulled him out of the car and cuffed him. I looked through the car and found a pack of one hundred syringes and needles, two small plastic baloons of heroin, two empty six packs of beer and one half empty bottle of JD. Later we learned he had traces of meth, heroin and a blood alcohol of .35. I don't know why he was alive, and I sure as hell don't know how he could drive at all let alone at the speeds he hit."

At this point, Tom got up for another cup of coffee. He turned in my direction and asked if I wanted one, and when I said no he came back to finish his story. "We booked Berry in to the main jail, it should have been the morgue, and if he keeps up his present life style, it probably will be. There was about an hour to go before the end of our tour. I pointed the patrol car toward the barn and it was going to do the rest, but Bull said we should head down Market Street. It wasn't out of the way and by this time I had come to trust his hunches.
We hadn't gone far when we drove past Kelly's Bar. The bar had closed about three hours before. Anyway, Bull said there was something wrong. This time he wasn't sure. He said he either saw a light inside of the bar or just felt something, he couldn't be more positive than that. He told me to pull around back, so I killed the lights and literally felt my down the alley. I parked the unit about a hundred feet from the rear door of the bar. Bull told me that the owner was a cheap SOB. He said you and he had talked to him many times about the lousy security system he had especially the crappie lock on the back door. Is that right," he asked, but didn't really expect an answer, and continued. "We called radio and asked for back-up. When it arrived we sent him to the front of the building, and then requested one more to cover the back while Bull and myself went inside to search the premises for the bad guys. As soon as everything was in place, Bull moved to the door. Before he opened the door, he looked at me and said, 'you go low and I'll take high.' There was a strange look in his eyes as if he was expecting something to happen. No, not expecting, he knew that something was going to happen once we were inside. I half wanted to stop him, but there was a force about him that seemed to prevent me from doing anything but what he told me to do. As he reached for the door knob he pointed out the cheesy lock. It looked as if someone had crushed it by twisting the door knob, and yet there wasn't a mark on the knob itself. Slowly, Bull pulled the door open. Just inside was a hall lined on both sides with beer cases stacked head high leaving a space between the rows barely wide enough for one person to walk down. The hall ran for about fifteen feet and opened into the bar area itself. Bull was whispering to me as we crept down the hall. He was telling me about the layout of the place. It was uncanny, he had the floor plan imprinted in his brain. He knew where every table, every chair, where the bar was, it was as if he had been living in the place all his life. The room smelled of stale smoke and beer and was as quiet as a tomb. The only light in the place came from a couple of neon signs left on over the bar. At the end of the hall in front, and to the left, was the bar with a door leading to the restaurant. To the right was a door that opened to a flight of stairs leading down to the basement. Bull told me the office was down here where the safe with the days receipts and other bar supplies were kept. My guess was, if anyone was still in the place they would most likely be down there, but before we could go down, we would have to check the first floor so as not to have anyone behind us. Bull stood watch at the top of the steps while I went out the back door to get Larry. Both Bull and I agreed that Larry would be of more help at the top of the steps while we checked the building than outside. When Larry was positioned we took the bar first and then the restaurant. Everything up there checked out OK. We located some stuff that had been stacked to take when the crooks were ready to leave, but other than that there was no one on the ground floor, so we moved back to where we had left Larry. I told Bull because I was younger, I should go down the stairs first. He just smiled, and said, 'younger maybe but not smarted. I'll take the stairs first, and you try to keep up kid.' When he opened the door a dim light filled the stair well. The office, according to Bull, was at the end of the basement farthest from the stairs, the light must be coming from there. Bull got as close to the floor as he could without laying on his stomach to see what he could see before he started down. When he was sure he could get to the bottom without being shot, he motioned to me, and we started down. I could hear rustling noises coming from the office. It sounded like the people inside were pulling drawers open looking for something, obviously the money. I could also hear the muffled voices of at least two men. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but they didn't seem to be concerned about the police, so I was pretty sure we had gotten in undetected. Well, we were down but they had the advantage. They were in a room just around a corner. If we tried to go in after them they would be in a good position to take both of us out, what to do?" Again Tom didn't expect and answer, and again, he continued, "Bull pointed out a large old fashion cash register sitting on top of a wooden crate. He told he to take up cover behind the crate and then he squatted down behind some boxes filled with all kinds of pipe ends and pieces. When we were ready. Bull pulled a pipe joint out of the box and dropped it on the floor. The noise it made scared the begebers out of Larry and me, but I didn't learn about Larry until it was all over. Well, anyway, the two guys came out of the office with guns at the ready. When they got around the corner and into my line of sight, I yelled freeze like you see on television, damn it felt good. One of the bad guys yelled, 'don't shoot, I give up,' and dropped his gun to the floor. The other guy said, 'you pussy,' and raised his gun to fire, but I got a round off first. My bullet hit him in the right shoulder and spun him around like a top. The first guy must have thought I would shoot him too because he reached down for the gun he had dropped. Bull, in that voice of his just said, 'don't do it. I'm sure you don't want to die right now.' Sergeant, you should have seen the look on that guy’s face when he heard Bull's voice."

He stopped his story thinking I had stopped listening to him. I was in fact deeply involved by this time in what he was saying, but by this time I had begun to stare at the wall just behind Tom. It was our wall of heroes. It had pictures of twenty-seven of our best-of-the-best.

"Sergeant, you getting bored? I think I lost you again."

Then he realized that I was looking at something behind him, and turned to see what I was staring at.

I said, “top row third from the left.”

Tom's eyes moved to where I had indicated he should look. I could see the side of his face. The eye that I could see, and his mouth widened. A look of amazement crept across his face, and he read, "sergeant, Frank Charles 'Bull" Wilson killed in the line of duty October twenty-first nineteen hundred and sixty-seven."

“Yeah, Tom, exactly thirty years ago tonight in the basement of Kelly's Bar.”

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