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John Wayne Sings to Beach Druggies ***by Frank Hickey "I left my love a letter, In the hollow of a tree, I told her she could find me, In the U.S. Cavalry." Lusty baritone voices explode this song. The theme of "the Horse Soldiers" film stars John Wayne. The words make you gallop to charge the enemy. Tiny Belize in Central America slaughters its people. It reigns as one of world's worst murder spots. On a Belize beach, I avoid the murderous towns. Surfers, folk singers and marijuana genius prophets fill the cabanas. "Hey, dude," a smoking wastrel addresses me, smelling of weed. "Mister American. We doing some song numbers on the beach at sundown. Everyone sings. Okay?" I grin. Mother Hickey had acted on the Broadway stage and sang. "Show tunes?" I ask. "Whatever," he mumbles. "Show up, sure." All day, I wait for our pink sunset. A bony youngster slumps near the microphone. "Um, uh, yeah," he began. We beachies wait. "My first song, about my gal Muriel in Seattle," he mutters. "Dunno how many of ya been in Seattle." Nobody reacts to this choice data. "But, we, we, y'know, like we had something really special," he concludes. I guess so. Rule one of showbiz, I recall. Nobody wants to hear about your past love affairs. He lurches into something that sounds like a song. I can't be sure. Another mess follows, like Drano settling in a sink. The audience sits on their hands. Mother Hickey always said "Being inhibited wastes everybody's time." This looks like a job for Super Son. I hoist myself up through a cloud of marijuana and methamphetamine smell, seize the mike and blast out the Horse Soldiers song "I left my love a letter, In the hollow of a tree, I told her she could find me, In the L.A.P.D". The audience stares. Some sneer. But the show must go on. "Hi, ho! Up we go! We never lose our nerve, We'll ride right down to Hell and back, As we protect and serve!" "You was L.A. cop?" one teen asks. "Yup," I said truthfully. "But some called me cuckoo. Do I seem cuckooto you?". ***FrankHickey***at frankhickey.net. Frank was a cop. Somehow. He writes the Dancing Max Royster crime novels about the world's only ballroom dancing detective.

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What I Didn't Know. ***by Frank Hickey*** "Police!" I shout. "Don't move!" I yank Joey T. out of his car. "Police officer," he grunts. "What?" I ask. He mumbles again. "HUH?" I shout. "Retired," he mutters. "You aren't retired," I say. "They fired you for fraud." Around us, US postal inspectors,state troopers and District Attorney's investigators like me grip pistols and shotguns. "Why ya bustin' my chops?" Joey gripes. Standing about 50, with a necklace of chins under a playboy moustache, he spits on the sidewalk. "Criminal impersonation," I say. "Using the mails to defraud, RICO statute and violation of the Sanitary Code for spittin' on the sidewalk." Like an overactive raw detective, I believe in charging every possible crime and more. Looking back, I was a young fool. All over New York, other teams arrest75 criminals in surprise raids. For 12 years, these fake detectives and ex-cops scammed millions from the public. They posed as cops collecting for their departments' welfare funds. They pull in about $600,000 per year, or $1,500,000 in today's money. Back at my office, with my boss Joe, I interview another arrested fraudster. He is an aging black man named Clark Simmons, a former detective for eight years. "Place of birth?" I ask. "Cameron, Louisiana," he answers. That surprises me. "I worked in Cameron," I say. Simmons looks shocked. "Doing what?" he asks. "Private eye, working out of New Orleans for two years," I say. Joe, my boss, rolls his blue eyes and walks away, laughing. "Cameron had maybe a thousand people when I left," he says. "Now, about 300. Hurricaines always tore us up." Much later, I see Clark Simmons' name in the Internet. Clark's father had died young so he joined the Navy to help his family. On December 7, 1941, he was a mess attendant on the USS Utah in Pearl Harbor. Mess attendant was the only job that a black man could get in the Navy. They serviced the white officers' laundry, bedding, food and shoes. Japanese planes bombed the Utah. Down below, Clark saw the ocean rushing in to sink his ship in eight minutes. He dove through a porthole and swam. Bullets tore into his leg, shoulder and head. Throughout the war, he served at the Battle of Midway and rose to Chief Petty Officer rank. Street cops always find crooks born in 1967 who claim that they fought in Vietnam. They lie. They would be eight year-old soldiers at that time. Clark never breathed a word to me about his war. ***Frank Hickey at frankhickey.net ***Frank was a cop. Somehow. He writes the Dancing Max Royster crime novels about the world's only ballroom detective.

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