The Patrolman - 50

EPILOGUE:

CITY HALL

50.

City Hall rose above, casting him in its monolithic shadow. The same structure he’d once stared up at from Union Station, suitcase in hand, a soldier fresh off the Super Chief. Now he stood on its steps with a medal pinned to his chest. Exhaust fumes and hot stone filled the air.

 Chief Horrall moved to the podium. Cameras popped. A hundred people sat in wooden chairs on the street. Policemen and women, their families, and city officials. The murmur of the crowd mixed with the faint rasp of a newsreel camera. In the front row was Sheriff Biscailuz, D.A. Bernhard, and Special Agent Hood, all gazing up at him.

Horrall held out a hand. Lacey climbed the steps and shook it.

‘This young man,’ Horrall said, ‘has distinguished himself in the Los Angeles Police Department. A veteran of the Third Infantry Division. He showed incredible bravery in the Zoot Suit Wars. It is my honor to present the Medal of Valor to Detective Jake Lacey.’

Applause rolled across the plaza. Sunlight hit him square in the face. Sweat gathered under his collar. Yanet Macado - the girl from Emerson’s apartment - clapped from the sidewalk. His aunt was in the third row, beaming up at him, her red hair glimmering.

He took his place in line with the other officers.

Carruthers smiled, slapped him on the back. The others nodded their approval. The only one who didn’t was Elmer V. Jackson.

‘I’m proud of you, kid,’ Carruthers said.

Lacey met his gaze and shook his hand. His partner.

Down on the street, an engine whined. It revved, then stopped by a fire hydrant. The driver got out and opened the back door. Gasoline drifted up from the street.

A man stepped out. Double-breasted houndstooth blazer. Turquoise pants. Black-and-white spats. Cigarette holder gleaming between his teeth.

Bugsy Siegel.

Lacey’s gut turned cold. He knew him - mobster, racketeer, Los Angeles' crime kingpin. But why was he here?

He looked down the line of officers. Faces calm, their eyes forward. The medal pressed hot against his chest. Cameras flashed like muzzle fire. Engines, sirens, a far-off streetcar bell. The applause turned hollow.

Who was Siegel here for? Who did he have inside the force?

Somewhere in that line of officers, his answer waited.

THE END.

A Note from the Author

Nearly a year ago, I posted the first chapter of The Patrolman here on ABCtales. Today marks the end of that journey - the final two chapters are now live.

Thank you for sticking with Jake Lacey, June Hartsfield, and Mr. Slate through the burning streets of 1943 Los Angeles. Your loyalty over these past months has meant the world to me.

As I prepare to pitch The Patrolman to literary agents in January, I'd genuinely value your feedback. What worked for you? What didn't? Which characters or scenes stood out? Where did the pacing feel off? Your insights as readers who've followed this story week by week are invaluable, and honest feedback will only make the manuscript stronger.

Feel free to leave comments here, message me directly, or post on the collection page. I'm grateful for whatever thoughts you're willing to share.

Thank you for being part of this journey.

- J. A. Stapleton