"She was younger then and so lovely," Spencer Said with a liquid burp that scared everyone. "It was before your time, guys, and I was a younger buck and this gorgeous blonde girl with bazooms like volleyballs walks up to my radio car when we're parked in the drive-in on La Brea, and she looks me right in the eyeball and says, 'Gee, I thought I blew every cop in Wilshire.' I just loved that girl from then on!"

Carolina smiled shyly and said, "Spence, honey, you're a doll. But why don't you think about going home to your wife and kiddies now? You smell awful ripe."

Spencer wrapped his blanket around him like a toga and downed a can of warm beer he found in the grass and belched perilously again. His pinky ring glittered and his little blond toothbrush mustache twitched as he breathed the night air and looked at the smog filled night sky for the great star and yearned for his lost youth.

"Gud-damn, Spencer stinks," Calvin Potts complained. "I think we better call the coroner."

"It's all right, Spencer. You look like Marcus Aurelius," Baxter Slate grinned, raising his head surprisingly well from where he had dozed for over an hour. "You long for those days when we didn't think we would fail. When we didn't think we would die! When we were young,"

"I heard you, Slate," a slurred gravel voice shouted from the darkness. "So don't start that faggy talk. And don't think you and Niles can sneak,off and smoke pot. I'm watching you!"

"But who guards the guards, Roscoe?" Baxter yelled.

"Who said that?" Roscoe suddenly confused the voices.

"Juvenal," Baxter Slate said.

"Who you calling a juvenile?" snapped Roscoe Rules.

"Now's the time for drinking! Horace said that, Roscoe," Baxter Slate yelled.

"Horace! Horace!" answered Roscoe. "Never catch a cop with a name like that. Some faggy friend a yours, huh?"

And with his bottle of bourbon three quarters gone Roscoe Rules decided to punch Baxter Slate's faggy lights out once and for all. But he found his legs didn't work and he fell heavily on his chest and panted quietly for a moment and went to sleep.

"Yeah I remember the good old days, Spencer," said Carolina Moon who also felt nostalgic. "We was wild young, kids then, Ora Lee and me. Remember how we used to say we did more to relieve policemen than the whole Los Angeles Police Relief Association?" she asked her slightly older roommate who had fallen fast asleep and was snoring noisily.

Carolina shrugged and said, "When they put that slogan To Protect and To Serve on all police cars we had one made for our Pontiac saying, To Protect and To Service.' One time Ora Lee and me figured we sucked off more cops than the whole police wives' association."

"Impossible!" cried Harold Bloomguard.

"Well it's true," said Carolina. "We got seven thousand cops in this town, right? And I bet there ain't five hundred whose wives belong to that group. Am I right, Spencer?"

"Right," said Spencer starting to be offended by his own smelly toga.

"Most of em are ladies, ain't they, Spencer? Probably only blew one, two policemen?" Carolina asked.

"No more than that," said Spencer Van Moot.

"My wife never even did one," Father Willie Wright noted. "That's my trouble."

"See," said Carolina to the assembly. "That means they couldn't a did more than eight hundred at most. Christ, Ora Lee and me done more than that one summer when we were hanging around Seventy-seventh Station!"

"They do have a lot of guys working down there," Spencer had to admit.

And it was finally conceded that the two girls had easily outfaced the entire police wives' association. But just as the girls were thinking about pulling that train for a couple of their favorites Francis Tanaguchi came charging into their midst from the direction of the duck pond.

"Come see what I did!" giggled the choirboy prankster.

"Whaddaya mean? Whaddaya mean?" asked Whaddayamean Dean.

"Not now, not now," said Spencer Van Moot, leering at Carolina Moon.

"Now! Now!" said Francis Tanaguchi, shaking all the drunken choirboys.

"What's it all about? What's it all about?" cried Whaddayamean Dean.

"Oh shit, oh shit," said Calvin Potts as Whaddayamean Dean had them all talking double action.

Carolina Moon got up and stumbled after Francis. And all the choirboys, even Spermwhale Whalen, walked or crawled toward the duck pond where Roscoe Rules slept soundly on his back with a large white duck hanging out his fly.

"My word!" said Baxter Slate.

"How'd you manage that, Francis?" asked Sam Niles, impressed out of his ennui.

"Now that's class!" mumbled Spermwhale Whalen gravely as he was finally able to stand up shakily like an enormous toddler.

"I just took some bread and sprinkled it from the water to Roscoe's crotch," giggled Francis Tanaguchi. "Then I unzipped his pants and dropped some inside!"

"He'd a caught you he'd a said it was a faggy thing to do," Father Willie remarked.

"Boy, that duck's really working out on old Roscoe," Carolina Moon said admiringly as the fat white body worked itself between Roscoe's legs and the greedy head burrowed and ate.

"Roscoe was never one to duck a fuck, but to fuck a duck?" said Spencer Van Moot.

"Wake up, Roscoe, you cunt!" growled Spermwhale, throwing an empty beer can at Roscoe which startled the duck and made it flap and jump around.

"Don't throw things! You might hit the duck!" said Harold Bloomguard.

"Hey!" Calvin Potts said, "That sucker can't get his pecker outta Roscoe's pants!"

"They got bills not peckers," said Francis.

The choirboys watched in fascination as the duck thrashed and flapped and squawked with his head entangled in the fly of Roscoe's jockey shorts. Suddenly the meanest choirboy, who had always hated and feared the loathsome creatures, awakened to see one attacking his balls.

"YAAAAAA!" screamed Roscoe Rules, awakening Alexander Blaney who had been sleeping peacefully on the grass across the water.

Then there was pandemonium as the hopelessly drunk Roscoe Rules lurched to his feet and began running in circles, screaming and pulling at the duck who was panicked and quacking in rage and terror.

"Don't hurt the duck!" yelled Harold Bloomguard as several choirboys rushed to aid the creature before Roscoe broke its neck as he ran shrieking and fell headlong into the pond.

"He'll drown it!" Harold Bloomguard cried as Father Willie and Francis plunged into the water to rescue the bird.

Roscoe Rules pitched wildly in the slime and choked on filthy water and shouted for Spencer who didn't want to get his eighty dollar shoes wet.

They grabbed Roscoe and dragged him and the duck onto shore just as the bird got a death grip on the sac containing Roscoe's left testicle. Roscoe shrieked again and broke through the drunken ranks and ran bellowing toward the blankets where he had left his gun, wallet, and keys. He fell over the body of Ora Lee Tingle who woke up to blink sleepily at the dripping man standing six feet away with a fat white object swaying wildly between his legs. She said, "I don't know who you are, honey, but welcome to choir practice!"

"He'll break its neck!" yelled Harold Bloomguard who led the charge toward the horror stricken Roscoe Rules who was pitching wildly side to side, the duck swinging like a pendulum.

Harold tackled Roscoe at the ankles and several choirboys pulled off Roscoe's pants and extricated the bird from his shorts. Then there was more pandemonium as Roscoe Rules, naked from the waist down except for wet shoes and socks, made a screaming lunge for the gun. But by then they were crawling all over him. Sam Miles jumped on Roscoe's gun and Father Willie yelled, "Handcuffs! Anybody got some cuffs?"

"I do!" yelled Baxter Slate and ran to his gunbelt which he had wrapped in his blanket.

"Over there! Over there to the tree!" commanded Spermwhale Whalen as they dragged the kicking biting Roscoe Rules to the elm tree where he snapped and snarled like a rabid dog. . "Put his arms around the tree!" Spermwhale ordered, and then Roscoe found himself hugging the elm, his wrists locked together in front.

"I'll kill you for this!" Roscoe screamed. "I'll kill you all!"

"Don't kill me, Roscoe, I'm your pal," Father Willie belched but the half naked policeman kicked out at him with a drippy shoe.

"Did the duck hurt your dick, Roscoe?" asked Carolina Moon solicitously.

"I'll kill you for sure, you scrotes!" Roscoe howled, now kneeling against the tree, the bark rough against his wounded genitals.

"Let's just leave him alone for a few minutes," Spermwhale Whalen said. "Just leave him be."

"I think he's really mad at us this time," said Father Willie as they went back to the blankets to suck the last few drops of booze out of the empty bottles.

"I think we should make a rule, no guns at choir practice," said Harold Bloomguard.

While the handcuffed Roscoe Rules raged and cursed around the elm tree, the choirboys returned to their places because Carolina Moon announced that she was going to take her blanket off into the bushes and pull that train.

"I'm first! I'm the engineer!" cried Harold Bloomguard.

"I'm second! I'm conductor!" cried Spencer Van Moot.

"I know who rides the caboose," Father Willie pouted.

But Carolina Moon put Spermwhale Whalen's big arm around her shoulder and helped the hulking choirboy off to her nest while Calvin Potts yelled grumpily, "You're gonna die in the push-up position, Spermwhale. You oughtta slow down, man your age."

By now it was after 4:00 A.M. Alexander Blaney had gone home and was at this moment trying to explain to his bawling mother that he had been asleep alone in MacArthur Park and hadn't been bedded by a tattooed merchant seaman.

And by now Ora Lee Tingle had decided to pull her own choo choo and made public her choice of engineer.

"I want Whaddayamean Dean," she said.

"Why him? He can't even understand what we're talking about," Spencer Van Moot whined.

"Him first or nobody," said Ora Lee Tingle.

"What're you trying to say? What're you trying to say?" asked Whaddayamean Dean blankly and the choirboys cursed and swore and walked in nervous circles.

"Well I'm taking my blankets and going to the bushes in private," announced Ora Lee Tingle, "and if there's gonna be a choo choo, I better see Whaddayamean Dean first."

So then the choirboys squatted and began lightly slapping Whaddayamean Dean on the cheeks and rubbing his wrists and ankles as he stared vacantly from one to the other with a drunken, sincere, idiotic smile that chilled their hearts.

Especially when Spermwhale Whalen stepped out of the brush and said, "Train jumped the track."

"Whaddayamean? Whaddayamean?" asked Father Willie, not Whaddayamean Dean.

"I mean Carolina passed out. I guess I ain't so old after all, boys. Just wear em out is what I do."

"Well passed out or not, I'm next," whined Spencer Van Moot.

"No you ain't," said the glowering Spermwhale Whalen. "We ain't animals to take advantage of a passed-out girl!"

Then there was wailing and gnashing of teeth in MacArthur Park as several choirboys pleaded in vain with Spermwhale Whalen who of course dominated them all by his age, seniority, courage and ability to kick the living shit out of them.

"What's the matter with Ora Lee? She's conscious, ain't she?" asked Spermwhale.

"Yeah, but she wants Dean first or nobody," Father Willie whined, starting to sound like his partner Spencer Van Moot.

"I see," said Spermwhale, shaking his head sadly as he looked over at the simpering choirboy sitting on the grass, red hair tousled by Harold Bloomguard who still worked frantically massaging his wrists and neck.

Then Francis Tanaguchi sat by Whaddayamean Dean, telling him exaggerated lascivious impossible things that Ora Lee Tingle was going to do to him, and Father Willie shouted, "That's exactly what the Dragon Lady promised to do to me the night she phoned and made my wife punch me in the eye! Now I know who the Dragon Lady works for, ya dirty Godless heathen little fuck, ya!"

And temporarily everyone forgot Ora Lee and looked at Father Willie in astonishment because he had uttered the second vulgarity of his life.

"I can't help it," Father Willie said sheepishly. "That was the dirtiest trick anyone ever played on me."

"Lemme try," said Calvin Potts. "Since Dean can't understand regular English I think you should talk to him like we talked to the whores in Vietnam. We always managed to communicate and they couldn't talk no English."

Several choirboys agreed that it was worth a try, so Calvin knelt in front of the placid redhead whose face from eyebrows to chin was caked with dried barbecue sauce and tried pidgin.

"Ora Lee like bang bang. Her plenty good. All time bang bang. Plenty good. You sabby?"

And Whaddayamean Dean clapped his hands happily and chuckled.

"Jesus, you're just entertaining him," said Spencer Van Moot. "That ain't getting us nowhere. He ain't a gook. That rice paddy talk ain't the answer."

"You got a better idea?" Calvin asked.

"Yeah I do," said Spencer. "I been analyzing this. He's sitting there now with the mind of a three year old, right?"

"Approximately," nodded Harold Bloomguard.

"Okay," said Spencer. "We couldn't tell a three year old to go screw in the bushes, could we? You have to talk to a three year old like a three year old."

Spencer Van Moot elbowed Calvin out of the way and squatted in front of Whaddayamean Dean. "Spencer has secret for Deanie," Spencer said desperately. "Ora Lee loves Deanie. Ora Lee take Deanie and blow up like biiiiiig balloon!" And Spencer Van Moot drew a biiiiiig sausage-shaped balloon in the air before the watery eyes of Whaddayamean Dean who sat cross legged in his barbecue-stained Bugs Bunny sweatshirt and clapped his hands like an infant. And squealed.

"My God, he's regressing," said Harold Bloomguard grimly.

"He'll be spitting up in a minute," Father Willie observed.

"Well have to burp him, for chrissake," said Francis Tanaguchi.

"All right, all right, outta the way!" said Spermwhale Whalen, staggering forward and sitting on the grass next to the simpering redhead who now had his hands folded uselessly in his lap, his brain marinated.

"Gimme a can a beer," Spermwhale said and Baxter Slate flipped him one.