"Blood in my Eye!" ***by Frank Hickey *** In the strict and military LAPD Southwest Division, we cops chase the radio. Our four cars try protecting 250,000 residents in an area three miles wide and 13 miles long. Our radio pulls us from the homicide to another backup. We help gang officers hold back an angry crowd. They try arresting a shooter named Melvin. "Look at this brutality!" someone shouts. "We see it every day!". "Me, too," I whisper. "Against us." "This is honky political oppression!" Melvin shouts, struggling. "I read all about it in the book, 'Soledad Brother' by George Jackson. Before you pigs killed him! And the other book, 'Blood in my Eye'!" He surprises me with this literary dialogue in Southwest. "I read both books," I admit. He stops struggling. I can't believe it. "You did?" he says. "Sure," I say. "George did a thousand push-ups a day. Wrote some real truth, too" Here, I am jiving Melvin. If George Jackson wrote real truth, I don't remember it. All I remember is the thousand daily pushups. Because I hate pushups. But I want Melvin calm and literary with his crowd around him. "Get in the car," I say, "and we'll rap on it." Communicating helps policing. Always.No matter how silly it may sound. He enters our car. At the station, the gang officers book him. "Hickey," the loudspeaker says. "Report to the Watch Commander's office ASAP." All over, I go cold. Most cops would. Sweat sponges onto my all-wool uniform. This feels worse than going to the grammar school principal's office. "Hickey," the Watch Commander says. "Shut the door. This is serious. An official inquiry. You know we're under a federal monitor. Brutality stuff. And the ACLU, the American Communist Lawyer's Union. Who injured Melvin tonight? He was shouting 'Blood in my eye!'" "He wasn't hurt, sarge," I say. "'Blood in my Eye' is a book title. We were discussing literature." He stares at me. His fingers punch his computer and find the book. He shakes his head and leans back. "Get outa my office, Hickey," he says. "And stop discussing literature". "***Frank Hickey***. Frank Hickey was a cop. Somehow. He writes the Dancing Max Royster crime novels about the world's only ballroom dancing detective.