Today there will be bagpipes, and the mayor and the brass and a baton salute.

Chicago is burying another police officer on Tuesday. James Camp, 34, veteran Prairie District tactical officer.

Last August it was Michael Ceriale, an only son working midnights, aggressive and young.

In January, John Knight was buried on the day Michael Jordan called it quits. That day, the fans grieved the end of the rings. Knight left a wife and little children.

Today it's James Camp, newlywed.

"He would say, `I won't worry if you won't worry,' " his widow, Opal Fryson Camp told Tribune reporters about their ritual. "I just knew he was coming home."

The widow wore a piece of jewelry on a chain around her neck. A miniature star, engraved with her husband's badge number. Their wedding album was on the coffee table in her apartment. They'd been married only three months.

James Camp was shot to death on Cottage Grove Aveune, in the 3800 block, where cocaine road begins, stretching south, as it has for decades, through dead neighborhoods killed by the drug trade.

It was a traffic stop. Camp thought the car was stolen. Camp lost his gun in a scuffle and was shot in the face. Camp's partner returned fire.

If Camp had shot first, he would have been accused of brutality. But he didn't. He lost his gun, and he died for it.

Kevin Dean has been charged with Camp's murder. He's got a history.

Dean was out on bond after threatening to kill two other police officers, following a traffic stop last July in Merrillville, Ind. He'd stolen a car and crashed it in a chase.

Even though that charge of threatening to kill police and their families was pending-- along with charges of auto theft, fleeing police and resisting arrest--Lake County. Ind., Judge James Clement did a curious thing. Clement first ordered that Dean be held without bond because of a probation violation, but then changed his mind.

Merrillville Patrol Officer Jeff Rice, 32, a 10-year veteran police officer, was one of the officers Dean threatened.

At the hospital after the crash, Rice said that Dean "told me he'd kill me and my family. He said, `I know where you live.' He told me `I've seen you over on the street. I know where to find you.' "

"He was on probation; he violated probation," said Rice. "When he was put in jail, I naturally assumed he would still be there. I thought he was, until roll call the other day, when they said he was out and had killed a Chicago police officer."

Judge Clement set Dean's bond on Aug. 17 at $30,000. Then on Oct. 8, Clement reduced the bond to $20,000, allowing Dean to post $2,000 in cash to walk until trial.

Dean stopped coming to court. He disappeared.

Eventually, he crossed paths with Camp.

Police know they'll get hit with a brutality complaint if they push too hard. And they know what happens--Tuesday's funeral is a reminder--if they don't push hard enough fast enough.

Despite the concerned community groups and the political law-and-order speeches and the outpouring of official sympathy when one of them is buried, they know one other thing.

They know they're alone.

When they get shot to death on the streets, we give them a state funeral and media coverage.

When they give us a ticket and walk away, we give them the finger. If we're arrested, it's never our fault. It's always their fault, because we're all victims of something. We have our excuses. And they're the cops.

We curse them until we need them. Then we call them heroes.

But they're not all heroes. Some are lousy. And when one turns bad and beats somebody, or takes money, or lies under oath, or frames the innocent, we blame them all.

They wade through the stupid brutality of crime, and clean up the human garbage and get dirty. We don't want to really know how it's done and what they do and the price. We wouldn't like it. And they wouldn't tell us anyway.

Here's what they do. They pick up the dead infants, frozen in plastic bags left on the back of a wooden porch.

They listen to a man explain why he stabbed his brother to death over a 98-cent cigarette lighter. They hear the reasons of the monsters who lure children on playgrounds.

They look away when the political hacks play tough guy, wearing fancy guns and pretending they're the police. They ignore it because they have careers too, and those are the rules.

So they can't trust anybody. Nobody but one of their own would understand. They gather at funerals, quiet, like the one today, and then go off to drink with their kind.

They're cops, and they're alone.