Hearing him call me ‘partner’ hurt more than my rear end.
“I heard you got perforated yourself,” I replied, trying to keep the mood light.
He patted his arm. “Just a flesh wound. I’ll be good as new and ready to go in a week. How about you?”
The time I had been dreading had come. “About that. We need to talk.”
The look on his face told me he knew what was coming.
“Walt, I totally understand. I knew this day would be coming sooner or later. You’re seventy, for chrissakes! Who in their right mind would spend their golden years hoping some gangbanger or crack head wasn’t going to put a bullet in a more vulnerable spot?”
“So --- you’re okay with it?”
“Hell no, I’m not okay with it, but I understand. You’re the best partner a guy could ask for and I’ll miss you like crazy. You and Maggie deserve some quiet time together.”
“What about you? You’ve got your twenty in. Have you thought about retirement?”
“Oh sure, I’ve thought about it, but if I quit, what would I do? Get a job as a mall cop or maybe a night watchman? Being a cop is all I know how to do. I’m twenty years younger than you, plus I have a wife that’s a cop and a long way from retirement. No, I’m here for a while longer. I just hope my next partner will be half as good as you.”
Ox had made a difficult moment bearable. That’s what good partners do.
I had called the captain at the precinct and told him that I was stepping down.
That very afternoon, he stopped by the hospital.
“Walt, I’m really going to miss you. You’re the best undercover guy I’ve ever had.”
During my five years on the force, I had been ‘volunteered’ for assignments as a john because I looked ‘old and needy,’ a transvestite because of my slight build and relatively hairless legs, a dying man because I was the closest thing they had to a cadaver, and once, Vince Spaulding and I had to pose as a gay couple.
“Well, you’ve still got Vince. He can do your ‘old guy’ stuff.”
“Actually, I don’t,” the captain said, sadly. “When Vince heard you were packing it in, he decided to do the same. He’s the same age as you. Apparently, he has a buddy with a fishing boat down in the Florida Keys. He’s moving down there to crew on the fishing boat. Looks like this is the end of the City Retiree Action Patrol.”
This news hit me in the gut.
I was the first person sixty-five years old who had been allowed to join the police force. After Ox and I had achieved some success, the people in City Hall realized that maybe old guys could actually contribute something after all. They organized what became known as the City Retiree Action Patrol and put me in charge of recruitment. My first recruit was Vince Spaulding.
We became the laughing stock of the department when it was discovered that the acronym for our new group was C.R.A.P., and only after the two of us distinguished ourselves with an impressive arrest record did we earn some respect.
My second and last recruit was Ed Jacobs who was killed in the line of duty.
It was a sad moment, knowing that what we had built and what we had achieved was coming to an end.
I was reminded of the verse in Ecclesiastes.
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.
A time to be born and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to pluck up that which has been planted.
My career as an officer and the City Retiree Action Patrol had been born and we had enjoyed a season of prosperity, and now that season was coming to an end.
A time to be born and a time to die. It made sense, but it certainly didn’t make it easy.
CHAPTER 3
“A party!” Jerry declared. “Walt can’t retire without a party. It just wouldn’t be right.”
“I agree,” Dad chimed in. “I can get the Teamsters Union Hall just like I did for Ox’s bachelor party. We’ll have food, booze and maybe some girls will drop by, if you know what I mean.”
“Absolutely not!” Maggie interrupted. “Food yes, but no booze. You old farts get too crazy.”
“And no girls!” Bernice added, punching Dad in the arm.
“Party poopers,” Dad mumbled, knowing he was outnumbered.
“Hold on a minute,” I said. “Don’t I have any say in this? What if I don’t want a party?”
“Too bad!” they all chimed at once.
I, too, could see I was outnumbered. It looked like I was going to have a party.
Dad came through as promised and on the night of the big event, the Teamsters parking lot was full.
Every cop in the precinct and their families were invited. It was indeed a special occasion when one of their brothers left the force actually breathing. Too often, gatherings such as this were to mourn the passing of one who had fallen in the line of duty.
Maggie had made arrangements for a retired Independence cop to cater the event with his famous bar-b-que and all the fixin’s.
Mary had been stationed by the punch bowl with her ever-present bat to make sure that Dad or one of his cohorts didn’t spike the punch.
I would have been more than happy to just blend into the background, but since this shindig was all about me, Maggie insisted that we stand by the door to greet our guests.
I was, of course, happy to see all of my friends and fellow officers, but after a hundred or so handshakes and hugs, I was exhausted and the new hole in my kiester hurt from being on my feet.
Mercifully, my reception duties finally came to an end. When everyone was seated, Maggie and I took our seats at the head table. I breathed a sigh of relief as I sank into the foam donut I had purchased from Wally Bunker’s drug store.
Jerry had been given the role of Master of Ceremonies, and to his credit, was playing it straight for a change.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you all for coming this evening to honor our friend, Walt Williams. I know I’m starving and the tantalizing aroma of Rob’s bar-b-que is driving me crazy, so to get things started, I’d like to invite Pastor Bob of the Community Christian Church to offer a word of blessing.”
Pastor Bob came to the podium.
“Let us bow our heads in prayer. Heavenly Father, we have gathered together this evening to celebrate the life of a man who has given the last five years of his life in service to his fellow man. As your servant, I am humbled to be in the presence of not only Walt Williams, but the hundreds of others who put their lives on the line every day to protect and serve the people of this city. I would ask your blessing upon all of them and their families. Keep them safe and free from harm. I would also ask you to bless the food that has been prepared for us, to nourish and strengthen us so that we can continue in your service. Amen.”
There was a chorus of “Amens,” throughout the building.
Jerry returned to the podium. “Thank you Pastor Bob. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready to eat. Walt, lead the way.”
Gingerly, I rose from my donut and led the head table to the serving line.
In addition to the bar-b-que beef, pulled pork and baked beans, there was a tray of yellow, red and green Jell-O cubes. Ox’s face lit up when he spotted them. He had discovered and become quite fond of Jell-O shots at his bachelor party, and had, in fact, slurped them down until he became quite tipsy.
“Looks like your dad came through after all,” he whispered as he filled his plate.
The meal was everything we had hoped it would be. When we were all stuffed to the gills, Jerry returned to the podium.
“This is supposed to be a celebration, so the last thing I want is to bore you with a bunch of long speeches, but the evening wouldn’t be complete without a few words from the man that hired Walt Williams five years ago, Captain Duane Short.”
Everyone rose and applauded as our captain approached the mike.
“When Walt Williams came into my office five years ago and announced that he wanted to be a cop, I tried
my best to talk him out of it, but the guy just wouldn’t back down. Thank God he didn’t. The man has been awarded the Medal of Honor not just once, but twice, and his arrest record with his partner, Ox, and the members of the City Retiree Action Patrol is exceptional. I am proud to know and serve with this fine officer. I wish him the best in his retirement.”
The captain took his seat and Jerry introduced the next speaker.
“I think Vince Spaulding has a few parting words for our guest.”
“Five years ago, at the age of sixty-five, I was asked to leave the only job I had ever known because I was just too old and they wanted some younger blood. I had no idea what I was going to do with the rest of my life, then I heard about the City Retiree Action Patrol. After talking with Walt, I knew that the program was perfect for me. If I had realized at the time that the initials for the program were C.R.A.P., I might have had second thoughts, but, thankfully, I didn’t. It was exactly what I needed at that time in my life. Now, like Walt, I’m ready to move on to the next phase of my life and I look forward to spending many sunny days in the Florida sun on my buddy’s fishing boat. I’ll miss you all, but I’ll get over it!”
More cheers as Vince took his seat.
“And now, a word or two from the poor sap that had to ride with Walt day in and day out for five years, his partner, Ox.”
Ox had hit the Jell-O shot tray three times, and I noticed he was a bit wobbly as he made his way to the mike.
“There are three people that have been the closest to me in my life, my mother, God rest her soul, my beautiful wife, Judy, and my partner. I have been blessed to have all three. There is a special bond between a man and his partner that goes way beyond friendship. Every day when we put on the uniform, we know that our very lives depend on the man or woman riding along beside us. I can’t begin to count how many times that trust has been put to the test and each and every time my partner has come through for me. I love that man with all my heart and I’ll miss him terribly. I --- .”
He tried to continue, but just couldn’t. He sobbed, gave me a big bear hug and slumped into his seat.
“I think we all share your love for this man, Ox,” Jerry said. “Now, to wrap things up, I’d like to read a little ditty I’ve put together for Walt. I call it, Ode to an Old Retired Guy.”
I knew Jerry couldn’t get through the evening without resorting to one of his alter egos. Thankfully it was Jerry the Poet and not Jerry the Stand-up Comic.
Twas just a short five years ago
That Walt became a cop.
His family tried to warn him
But the old fool couldn’t stop.
With a badge and a gun, he hit the street
With those who had gone before.
To give a hand to Lady Justice
And even up the score.
He found himself a partner
A big guy they call Ox.
They became the Dynamic Duo
A team that really rocks.
It wasn’t long before he proved
That old guys really rule.
The group he formed was labeled C.R.A.P.
Which was really kind of cool.
As the Captain’s undercover guy
He could do most any gig.
He could morph into most anyone
With a moustache or a wig.
He lived a life of danger
Cheating death almost at will.
Someone on High had given him
A destiny to fulfill.
But then one day it happened
He could see the end had come.
To keep on cheating danger
Was really kind of dumb.
Unfortunately, the very thing
That made this come to pass.
Turned out to be, the indignity
Of a bullet in the ass.
So here we are, all gathered round
To wish this hero well.
And we’re glad he quit before some creep
Could blow him straight to hell!
There was a round of applause, but before he could continue, all hell broke loose.
First there was the squeal of tires, then the shattering of glass and the splintering of wood from a hail of bullets.
Women screamed and officers pushed their spouses to the floor, taking cover under the tables.
The attack lasted only a few minutes. We heard the squeal of tires as the shooters sped away.
A deathly silence fell over the room broken only by the sobs of the frightened and the injured.
Frantically, I searched for my family and friends.
I was relieved to see them all stagger to their feet.
All but one.
Vince Spaulding was dead.
CHAPTER 4
A funeral is rarely a happy occasion, especially if it’s the funeral of a close friend or family member, and Vince Spaulding was most definitely a close friend.
As we gathered at the gravesite in the Floral Hills Cemetery, there was a bite in the air as the temperature had fallen into the thirties for the first time during this fall season.
Vince’s casket suspended above the cold ground was in stark contrast to his plans to spend his remaining days in the warm Florida sun. His life and his dream had been taken by a senseless vendetta that was not of his making.
As the chaplain spoke the words that are meant to comfort the bereaved who have been left behind to mourn, I couldn’t help but remember some of the cases we had worked together.
On one occasion, we had been undercover at the local Buy Mart Super Center to help smoke out a ring of thieves that were bleeding the store dry. A shoplifter who had been caught red-handed made a break for the loading dock, and Vince, the retired baseball coach, plucked a coconut from the fruit stand and fired a perfect strike to the back of his head.
I had to smile as I recalled another case which took us months to live down. We were posing as a gay couple at the Cozy Corner Bar. I distinctly remember our first date and our first dance together. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but we got through it.
Good times --- but now my friend was gone.
The report of the rifles as the color guard fired their salute to a fallen brother jarred me from my reverie.
The bagpipes had just started playing the mournful strains of Amazing Grace, when an explosion in the parking area brought the service to a halt.
A car sped away, leaving behind a police cruiser engulfed in flame, the work of a Molotov cocktail.
This vicious vendetta had not only taken our friend, it had also taken our time to say good-bye.
I squinted at the red glow of the digital clock. Six A.M.
For the first time in five years, I could have slept as late as I wanted, but my internal clock was used to getting up at this early hour so I could be at the precinct to clock in at eight.
I tried to roll over for another few winks, but the old bladder was telling me it needed immediate attention.
Maggie was still zonked out, so I slipped quietly out of bed, padded to the bathroom to take care of business, then headed to the kitchen.
I brewed my coffee, retrieved the morning paper and had just finished my bowl of Wheaties when Maggie arrived.
The little hand of the clock over the sink was on seven. That was my regular cue to get dressed and head to work --- but not this morning.
“So what does my man of leisure have on his schedule for today?” Maggie asked, pouring a cup of joe.
I just shrugged. I hadn’t actually made any plans. “No idea.”
“Well, I have clients this morning. Would you like to come to the office with me?”
Maggie and I had both been real estate agents at City Wide Realty for many years. At sixty-five, I was tired of the rat race and traded in my briefcase for a badge. Maggie, on the other hand, is still going strong. She is a very good agent and seems to thrive on the interaction with her clients, plus, her annual commissions are nothing to sneeze at.
In the fi
ve years I had been out of the business, the real estate world had dramatically changed. I had briefly considered the possibility of getting back in, but I would have been like a new rookie just learning the trade. As I have aged, my tolerance level has also decreased dramatically, and since patience is a virtue for real estate agents, that was another discouraging factor.
“No, thanks for asking, but I’ll pass.”
I walked Maggie to her car and had just retraced my steps to the front porch when my old friend, Willie, appeared.
“Hey, Mr. Walt. How’s it hangin’?”
“Kind of low this morning. It’s my first day of retirement and I don’t have a clue what I’m supposed to do.”
“How ‘bout a game of checkers?”
“Sure, why not?”
After being trounced three games in a row, I was through with checkers.
Willie was just folding the board when Jerry stepped onto the porch.
“Ahhh, checkers. Who won?”
I pointed to Willie.
“Figures. You up for some video games. I remember you getting a kick out of Mario Kart.”
“Sure, why not?”
After an hour of being blown up, squashed and run off the road, I was through with Mario Kart.
I looked at my watch. It was only 10:30.
I moseyed to my car and headed to our local Hy-Vee grocery store.
When Vince and I were undercover at Buy-Mart, it crossed my mind that at some point I might want to do something where people weren’t shooting at me, and working at a large market was certainly a possibility.
Every time Maggie and I shopped at Hy-Vee I had noticed that a lot of the employees were my age and older, so I certainly fit the demographic.
Although I really didn’t need anything, I got a cart and ambled down the aisle.
An old guy that I had seen a dozen times was frying little pieces of sausage in an electric skillet. He deftly skewered the cooked meat with a toothpicks and proudly presented them to passersby. They looked like little boogers on a stick.
Lady Justice on the Dark Side (Volume 19) Page 2