Officer Augustine

The Alderman was at the L stop this morning greeting people as they entered the station.  He does this even though he’s running uncontested.  He’s just that kind of guy.  

When there is road work being done in his ward, he walks by to check on the progress.  When there is a new business opening, he’s there to welcome them to the neighborhood.  Major neighborhood event – he’s there.  Anniversary of something in the neighborhood – he’s there.  When there’s a photo-op, he’s there smiling and shaking hands. 

He is 100% dedicated to the people of the Ward.  Until someone does something that doesn’t uphold the standards of the community.  That’s when he sends in one of two people;  his assistant Nikolai, or Gus, the neighborhood beat cop. 

Usually Gus is in his squad car parked across from the L stop where he monitors the comings and goings of the neighborhood thugs.   A number of them are now in prison thanks to a large city-wide drug bust a year or so ago.  When Gus isn’t in his squad car, he’s hanging out on foot either in front of the L stop or inside the station, talking to the CTA attendant.  

I don’t actually recall how Gus and I met.  But every time I see him I stop and talk, even for a minute, to catch up on the neighborhood gossip which Gus willingly tells me, but always with the precursor of, “I’m telling you this because I know you don’t blab, and if anyone asks, you don’t know nothing, but just so you know….”

Like when he had to intervene at the shoe repair shop on the corner.  The old Chinese man requires up front payment for repairs, then claims he can’t find the shoes when you come back to get them.  Whether he actually repairs them or not, I don’t know, but I think the real issue is that the Chinese man has a degree of dementia.    

In the story that Gus told, a patron called the cops when the cobbler refused to return her shoes and he had to crawl over the counter and get them himself.  

Or like the time that the guys who own the liquor store asked Gus to “apply some heat” to their brother in law, who was requesting his share of the business be paid out.  Gus declined, saying that he knew that they were hiding money by funneling it to one of their girlfriend’s accounts to keep it off the books.  Naturally, the owner’s wife doesn’t know about the girlfriend.  

Then there was the time that he’d pulled some thug into the alley and knocked him against a brick wall – telling the kid that he had all of his previous arrest records ready to go for whatever he did wrong next.  “Once more,” he told him “and you’ll be heading down state.”  Gus told him to do them both a favor and get the fuck out of his district.   I’m pretty sure this happened on more than one occasion with more than just this one kid.

The thugs in the neighborhood call him Baldy.  Everyone else calls him Gus, except for when the Alderman has a story written, in which he’s referred to by his full name, Augustine.  Baldy because he’s bald.  And not shaved head bald, but truly bald.  He used to have a full head of hair.  Gus was sure to point that out to me and did so by showing me a long expired driver’s license that he just happens to carry with him.  

In the summer when it’s hot Gus looks disheveled because he unhooks his bullet proof vest and the weight of it plus the weight of his gun and radio cause him to almost fall forward when he walks, which only exacerbates his bad back and misaligned hips.  

I brought this up to him one day.  That when I saw him from behind he was walking crooked and that maybe he should see a chiropractor.  “Ah, you know, I don’t get much sleep.  I’m just tired.”  

“Why are you so tired?”

“I’ve got weekend gigs as security at a bowling alley on the west side.”

Gus told me that he picks up the extra gigs to pay off credit cards that his wife has run up.  I asked why he didn’t just close them out.  He told me that he’d face hell at home if he were to do that.  

After a night of working at the bowling alley he gets a couple hours of sleep then he’s back on the beat.  On these days his head hangs and his eyes squint under his furrowed brow, and he leans to one side when he’s standing.  The man is so tired he can barely stand up.

On the other hand, I can tell when Gus has had a couple days off because he’s on the beat with wide eyes and a smile.  His still walks crooked but his posture is better because when his Kevlar vest is worn properly it acts as an exoskeleton and keeps him together.  

As it a happens Gus has another part time job besides the bowling alley.  He sometimes does over night security at suburban shopping centers.  While he’s off his feet and patrolling the parking lots by car, he still has to stay awake.   Gus’ favorite place to be is anywhere other than home.

Turns out his wife is a hoarder.  He’d kept this secret for years.  It’s also the reason that the credit cards are maxed out.  The whole thing came to a head last summer when he and his wife were having an argument and she called the cops.  He paused at this part when he told me the story because he knows me well enough to know that I’d ask the question.

“What happens when the cops show up and they find out it’s you?”

He said that it’s the worst feeling in the world.  But it was the first time that anyone outside of his family had been inside the house and that he feels a little bit better having had his secret exposed.  He told me that the next day the cops that had shown up called him to offer their support and that made Gus realize that he needed outside help.  

It was shortly after this that Gus showed me pictures of the inside of his house.  Fortunately it’s not a house that’s dirty, it’s just crammed full of new, never used clothing and odds and ends that still have the price tags attached.  He showed me a picture of his bedroom, and there’s only enough space on the bed for one person. He’s been sleeping on a cot in the basement.  

After seeing this I offered Gus a key to my place.  I told him that he could use my place to crash in the afternoons or use the entire apartment when I’m away on vacation.  He politely declined.  We exchanged numbers and I told him to text me if he’s ever in a jam.  

Sometimes I text Gus just to say hello and see if he’s on the beat or if something’s going down in the neighborhood.  He always responds and if he knows the reason for the police activity he’ll tell me.  If he doesn’t he’ll get the info from the other officers on the beat and then follow up with me.  

A couple of times I’ve had to text Gus about suspicious activity in the neighborhood.  At first I didn’t think anything of it, but it was noon’ish and I saw a guy in a red truck that was parked adjacent to the alley and he was getting a blow job from the guy in the driver’s seat.  The act was discrete enough that no one would have really noticed, it’s just that I was on my bike in the alley and had slowed as I approached the intersecting sidewalk to look both ways when I saw them.    An alley blow job isn’t really that far out of the ordinary, the odd thing was that the recipient wasn’t someone that I recognized from the neighborhood.  He was a mid-thirties man in a truck that was parked in a reserved spot under a building that houses mostly Russian and Polish retirees.  And I knew it wasn’t the maintenance man because the maintenance man doesn’t wear corn rows.  

A few weeks later I saw him again, this time standing behind a blue Pontiac that was parked in the same spot but this time there was a woman smoking in the back seat.  This was the suspicious part.  Why would someone be watching through the back window of a car while a fat white woman sat in the back seat and smoked?  

Gus drove by later that day and ran the plates.  “Nothing” he texted back.  “But I’ll keep watching”.  Two weeks later, the Pontiac was gone.  Now there’s a convertible Saab parked in this spot.  I suspect that within the month the top will be cut open and the car will be looted.  

Another time I was walking home from the grocery store when I was hit up by one of the local pan handlers.  This guy dresses rather respectfully – slacks and typically a nice sweater or trench coat, and has a pleasantly deep comforting voice.  He kind of gives off the impression that he’s faculty at one of the near by colleges.  

Anyway, it’s the same old story with this guy.  He just needs a couple extra dollars to refill his transit card.   When I declined his request this time, he got lippy.  Cursing, pacing back and forth, then confronting others in an aggressive manner. 

I sent Gus a text.  Turns out he was parked a couple blocks away, so I swung around to tell him about the panhandler.  

“What’s he look like?”  Gus put the squad car in gear and headed that way.  A few minutes later a text, 

“Green sweater?”

“Yes”

“10-4”. 

I got a kick out of receiving 10-4 in a text message.  

Gus pulled back around parked and I leaned in the window on the passenger side.  He told me he knew the guy, referring to him as Slim.  He said he gave him a talking to and went on to say that if Slim ever gave me one ounce of shit ever again, he’d lock him up for a day or two.  

While we were talking through the car window a small group of neighbors had gathered on the street corner for their monthly “positive loitering” walk along Broadway.  Gus pointed out the window, “You see that big guy there?  That’s the guy you need to know around here.”

“Who’s he?” I asked.

“That’s Nikki, the Alderman’s assistant.  Look him up.”