Game of the Blues

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Game of the Blues Page 9

by Kenn C. Kincaid


  “507, we’ll work the alley from Dane Street. E-T-A three minutes.”

  “505, found the dog. He’s friendly enough.”

  “508, I think we’re behind the house.”

  “505, IN PURSUIT!”

  The Duo sprinted toward front of the house.

  “South on Chambers.”

  “Renu Five, he’s coming straight at us. Be advised, we’re an unmarked car parked on Chambers. He’s going to run right by…” The radio clicked static. “…nope, door got in his way.”

  “505, we’ve got him at 4288 Chambers.”

  Dan and Ben met 505 and RENU [Regional Enforcement Narcotics Unit], and briefed them on the arrest. RENU transported Kooker back to Pullan. While the Duo returned, RENU tested the evidence with a field kit.

  “Officer Beal greeted the Duo, “It tested valid for cannabis.”

  “Not surprised. Thanks.”

  One fire truck remained, hoses were all stowed, and the officers secured. 508 headed for the lockup with Kooker.

  “It’s been a fun time in the old town tonight,” Ben remarked.

  “And it’s just begun. After we drop Kooker off, we have an appointment with Brent Norton at Channel Three.” Dan related the details.

  “You’re gonna make his day with a citation.”

  “Nope, gonna make MY day lockin’ him up. Aggravated case.”

  “Make sure your ‘noose’ is in place, likely be on TV.”

  They finished processing the arrest of Mr. Kooker and went directly to the television station’s dock. A custodian responded to the service bell.

  “Who’s in charge?” Dan asked.

  “That’d be Mr. Collins, night editor. I’ll take you to him.”

  They walked down a short hallway containing several offices. Voices spilled out the open door of one, “Great fire footage for this time of night.”

  Dan turned into the office. Walked up to Norton and announced, “Mr. Norton you are under arrest for unlawful conduct at scene of emergency and driving over a fire hose.”

  Norton turned. Seeing the officers, his eyes widened, his jaw dropped, and his face paled. He stood struck numb while the officers handcuffed him.

  “Is this necessary?” Collins demanded. “What’s this about?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Dan replied.

  “You can’t break in here an’ handcuff people without an explanation,” Collins demanded stepping in the doorway.

  “This man’s put me in a bad mood. You’d be wise to stay out of it.”

  Collins didn’t move, “Norton what’s going on?”

  Ben brandished his handcuffs, “This pair’ll fit you.”

  Collins stepped aside.

  “False arrest! Call the lawyers!” Norton yelled as Dan pushed him through the door.

  “He’ll be at county jail in thirty minutes,” Ben said following as Collins dialed his phone. At the exit they heard Collins yelling, “Get down here! Brent’s been arrested! I don’t know!”

  On the way to lock-up Ben said, “I’ve had enough fun for one night. Can we slow down?”

  “If the conductor’ll stop wavin’ his baton, I’ll quit fiddlin’.”

  Arriving at the jail’s check-in the turnkey greeted them, “You guys working on merit badges?”

  “My partner’s magnetic personality,” Ben replied. “He doesn’t need a full moon. He is a full moon.”

  “I want my lawyer!” Norton yelled. “I got rights! You can’t do this! Free press. I’m suing.”

  “Be nice to him, Ternnka. He’s with Channel Three, put you on the news. Film at eleven an’ all,” Dan said facetiously.

  “Certainly, look forward to it. However, I’d consider it a personal favor; next one ain’t gonna to ‘sue me for all I got’.”

  “We’ll try to be more selective.”

  Back in the cruiser Dan said, “I guess he didn’t believe me when I told him driving over the hoses would be bad news.”

  “Not sure he believes it now.”

  “He will,” Dan chuckled.

  “Wouldn’t hold a party just yet. Bet we started a mud slide with this one.”

  “What you gettin’ at?”

  “High profile, and we made a physical. Could’ve cited.”

  “We’re legal, and Captain Kirk’ll back us a hundred percent. They’ve given him bad press more ’an once.”

  “I’m not so sure where you stand with the captain right now.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I know where he stands with the media hounds. They’ve bashed the ‘police image’ too often.”

  Over the next two hours they exploited the street’s sporadic service demands, and the Duo undertook the second step of the OTP Plan. They revisited the street and ticketed twelve vehicles. One was stolen and another had “delinquent” plates [outstanding tickets/unpaid fines].

  “Hess, wants parkers? He’s getting parkers,” Dan said.

  “He’ll be happy. He’s seeing numbers on a sheet. When we start towing tomorrow, someone’ll clue him in!”

  “That’s the plan. The complaint will eventually trickle down to Hess.”

  “Trickle down? More like GUSH!”

  They called for tow-trucks, and were in the process of marking when O’Toole arrived with coffee. He found Dan a half block from his cruiser. Dan stepped into the street to greet the sergeant, but O’Toole spoke first, “What are you guys doing?”

  Dan shifted the question, “You checkin’ on us?”

  “Nooo–promised coffee for delinquents,” he said handing a bag out the window.

  “Thanks, Serge.”

  “Didn’t answer my question.”

  “You really want one?”

  “I wasn’t here,” O’Toole said pulling away as the first wrecker arrived. In fifteen minutes both tows were headed for impound and the Duo sat sipping coffee.

  “Passed the point of no return,” Ben said.

  “Yep, the hammer’s thumbed back on this ‘Game of the Blues’, Dan agreed. “You ready for an ice cream?”

  “You talkin’ Dutch’s?”

  “Is there any other? I’ll see if Gary can meet us. He’s got an MR-7 and I want to finalize the fishing trip.”

  The widowed owner, Marvin Sanders, lived three blocks away from Dutch’s Custard Shop which he inherited from his wife’s father. After his wife died, he developed a passion for wood working and converted the garage into a complete woodworking shop. Since Dutch’s didn’t open until 1100, it didn’t interfere with Marvin working late at his hobby.

  Marvin made Dan and Ben’s nightsticks which dueled the mighty “Porter” and survived. Porter’s signature trait was its two-inch thickness. Although bulky, popular because city issue batons were so thin they fell through the belt’s keeper ring and were prone to break. Porter saw a need and filled it. Marvin’s sticks, lathed to careful tolerances fit the keeper ring, and ample thickness and fine grain second-growth hickory endowed them with strength of iron.

  On the way, Ben drove by Marvin’s noting the light in his workshop. When they pulled in beside the Custard Shop, Gary was waiting in the back. He flicked his beacon lights.

  They parked and approached Gary on foot. “We’re going to trust you with part of a secret,” Dan said. “Swear to take it to your grave.”

  “No problem. What’s up?”

  “Face your cruiser in on that oak tree, and turn on the radar.”

  Gary complied and got out of the car. “Now what?”

  “Wait,” Ben said.

  A minute later the radio sounded, “Car 505, 505, alarm drop; Dutch’s Custard, West Fork Road. Notifying owner. Car 508, cover.”

  Both cars acknowledged the dispatch.

  “Dip me in chocolate syrup! How’d you know it was gonna drop?” Gary asked.

  “That’s your part of the secret,” Dan said.

  “The radar set it off?”

  “Yep,” Ben admitted. “Now turn it off so it’ll reset.”

  Within minutes, Marvin arrived
in a door-less Jeep. “You fellows better check inside,” he insisted unlocking the twenty by thirty foot building. “It’ll take all three of you to make sure.” As soon as they stepped inside Marvin asked, “What can I dish up for metros finest?”

  Dan and Ben blurted out, “Sundaes’d be great.”

  Marvin prepared them while Gary watched silently. Setting them on the counter he turned to Gary depressing the lever and asked, “Your favorite?”

  “I’ll pass.”

  “Already half made. Be a waste.”

  Gary reluctantly watched custard swirl into the cup, “Strawberry.”

  “Whippy-top and nuts?”

  “Plain, thanks.”

  “Marvin, what’s you latest project?” Ben asked.

  “I’m working on a burled mahogany smoking table for a friend.”

  “This really hits the spot, thanks,” Gary said.

  “Well, thank you,” Marvin said wiping down the stainless counter. “You must be new.”

  “Marvin, meet Gary Follert, a good man to have sidin’ you,” Dan said.

  “If’n you got Dan’s endorsement, you got mine. More strawberries?”

  “More than necessary,” Gary replied stepping back.

  “You fellows?” Marvin offered.

  “We’re fine.”

  “So, your hobby’s wood working?” Gary spoke while making a show of checking for intruders. “I wish I could make things with my hands.”

  “Well Gary, okay I call you Gary?”

  Gary nodded picking at the ice-cream with the plastic spoon. He no longer ate, but chased a strawberry around the cup.

  “Don’t much matter what you do, if’n there’s pride in it,” Marvin said pulling the door tight as they left.

  “Appreciate the ice cream,” Dan said.

  “Least I could do. Side table’s near finished. Think I’ll be needing some ‘iron hickory’ for a future project.”

  “I’m sure it’d be highly appreciated. I’ll keep an eye out.”

  Gary grew noticeably quieter as they talked with the lonely man for several minutes.

  “Hey guys, want to see the project?” Marvin offered.

  “Some other time. We got bad guys to catch,” Ben answered.

  “Sticks holdin’ up? See they’re getting some character.”

  “Plenty of character. Seems a shame to mar ’em,” Dan said.

  “Mar? No way! That’s personality.”

  When first presented with the sticks Dan and Ben kept them in their lockers for months to protect the oiled finish. One day Marvin challenged them, “Get those sticks out and give them some character marks or I’ll take ’em back.”

  Marvin slid into his Jeep smiling, “One of these days, I’m getting me a better alarm.” He paused then added “Oh, maybe not, so expensive and never had a break in with this one. See you fellows next time.” Marvin pulled away waving until out of sight.

  “You louses!” Gary exclaimed glancing into the bottom of his empty cup. “You’re wrong. That’s outright stealing. I had you down for better people.”

  “You gonna blow us off over a free ice cream?” Dan asked.

  “He’s such a nice guy, and you’re takin’ advantage of him!” Gary tossed his empty cup in the trashcan, and turned to walk off.

  “Your ice cream go sour?” Ben asked.

  Gary stopped at the door of his cruiser. “More ’an my ice cream! You’re deceitful; foolin’ a lonely man to get it!”

  “Hold on! Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Dan said walking over to him. “Open your eyes and see the whole picture.”

  “I got the picture, and it’s got an ugly frame around it.”

  “You want to talk foolishness,” Ben said. “Marvin ain’t the fool here.”

  “Ain’t anybody foolin’ nobody,” Dan said. “’Cept maybe you!”

  Gary looked at them in silence shaking his head.

  “Ghost Rider don’t get it, Preacher,” Ben chuckled.

  “You’re telling me he knew all the time?” Gary asked.

  “His idea, not ours. We pulled in here on Day Run, way back when, and the alarm dropped. Marvin figured out what happened and set the whole thing up.”

  “Of course! The rest of the secret.”

  “Not really. The rest is checking to see he’s in his shop and not in bed before we drop in,” Dan said. “You pegged him for a lonely man, but you don’t understand why. His wife’s passed on. His children live out of state. He has no one. Only his woodworking to keep his mind occupied. He’s in his workshop because his memories won’t let him sleep. Meeting us makes him feel useful—valuable.”

  “That make your ice cream any sweeter?” Ben asked.

  “Never had better. I apologize.”

  “No need. We set you up,” Dan said. “Now let’s get this fishing trip settled.”

  “First off, who’s meeting who, where and when?”

  “Rick’s your man. Suggest you two pick me up soon after work as you can?”

  “Works for me.”

  They continued to coordinate the particulars, and then returned to patrol. In the big city the streets seldom slumber.

  “Notice the cab flashing his lights?” Ben asked.

  “Uh-huh, I’ll call a backup,” Dan said.

  Ben made a U-turn and followed the taxi, but nothing seemed askew. It pulled to the curb in the bus stop near the Lazy Lion Club. The officers knew the establishment catered to what the media popularly referred to as an “alternate lifestyle.”

  They approached the cab driver and Dan asked, “Any problems?”

  “These queers tryin’ to stiff me.”

  “That’s not so, Officer,” a tall man defended in a feminine whine. “We was just DISCUSSIN’ it.”

  Verifying it wasn’t a robbery, Ben disregarded the backup cars.

  “I see. Let’s take it one at a time.” Dan directed turning to the cabby, “S’pose you go first.”

  “I’ll tell you the way it was! They flagged me down. Told me take ’em to Georgia Court. But, when I get there, they start arguin’ over payin’. And then, this one,” he pointed, “wants me to haul ’em back here. That’s when I seen you. Figured they was up to stiffin’ me. The fare’s fourteen twenty-six. And …”

  “We were just working it out,” the tall man interrupted.

  “Alright then,” Dan said, “let’s hear your side of it.”

  “Well,” he began with a puff, “Cindy here, sweet talks me. Makes me promises, and I said I’d go to her place.”

  “First your name, then your story,” Dan said.

  “I’m Brenda Bunning, some calls me Bunns,” he said, “and we’ was goin’ to Cindy’s place…”

  “What were you going to ‘her-r-r’ place for?” Ben cut in.

  “Oh, you’re a ‘b-iig’ one aren’t you, honey?”

  “Ain’t your honey. Going to her place? The reason.”

  “Lordy, you do get to the point—now don’t you?”

  “Aa-nd, the answer?”

  “You make me blush,” he cast his eyes to the pavement. “Perrr-son-al business.”

  “And that’d be-e-e?”

  After a pause he added, “To exchange affections.”

  “Got the picture,” Ben said. “So what changed? Little lovers spat on the way?”

  “Surely Officer,” the other man began. “You…”

  Dan cut him off, “Hang on. We haven’t been properly introduced. You are?”

  “Cindy Cameo, those close, call me ‘Cinn-na-monnn’.”

  “We’re never going to be that close, Cindy. What you wan’a add?”

  Cindy addressed Brenda, “You really didn’t expect me to pay—did you?”

  “Sweetie, you said you’d pay the fare!”

  “Honey, that was before you changed your mind!”

  “I’m not stupid. You’re not gonna to do tha-a-at! Not without…” Brenda stopped short.

  “Without what?” Ben pressed, “Spit it all
out.”

  A short pause punctuated the conversation. Then she snapped a whispered, “Protection!”

  Dan had heard enough. “Time out! Ladies, fellows, or whatever. I suggest you split the bill, or you’ll both be making new friends in lock up.”

  “I’ll pay half,” Cindy said. “But, I’m telling everybody what kind of whore you are, Brenda Buns.”

  “Who needs you, switch bitch?” Brenda yelled stomping toward the club.

  “Hold it, where you going?” Dan demanded.

  “My clutch is behind the bar.” Then looking at Cindy she whined, “Why I couldn’t pay, drag fag!”

  “Go with him, Ben. Don’t want he-she-it slippin’ out the back.”

  “Oh, thank you Officer,” Cindy said exaggerating the feminine tone. “She’s such a cheatin’ liar.”

  “Before we end a wonderful charade,” Dan said, “I need to see I D.”

  Cindy retrieved his wallet and handed Dan a driver’s license. It bore the name Horace Billings.

  “508, with a query,” Dan radioed.

  “Switch to Com four, 508.”

  “508, wants on Horace Billings, male, white, age twenty nine, SS 121-00-4441.”

  “Stand by.”

  Ben returned to the sidewalk with Brenda in tow.

  “Dig out some ID, then pay the cabbie,” Ben said. The man provided a driver’s license, and Ben handed it off to Dan.

  “508 query,” he said into the mike, “also one Walter Gildenstein, male, white, D-O-B 10-1-53, SS 200-00-6665.”

  “You lying phony!” screamed Horace dropping the feminine overtones, “You’ve been telling everybody you’re Melton Griston!”

  “Settle down, Horace,” Dan said, “All you switch an’ swaps have a dozen names.”

  “We was closer than that,” Horace complained. Then directing his comments to Walter said, “I’m deeply hurt – wounded. You’re an insensitive vixen. How’d I ever love you?”

  “Tis an uncertain and confusing life chosen, isn’t it?” Dan said.

  “Are you ladies in the book,” Ben asked referring to a free will registry of glamour shots composed of all female dressers they could coerce into posing.

  “I am,” Horace replied proudly. “Last year, page 109, Line 2, but she’s not.”

  “508, no wants on your subjects,” squawked the radio.

  “Just between you, me, and this post,” Ben said motioning to the streetlight. “If you’re going to parade in drag, get in the registry. It’s for your own good. Understood?”

 

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