Game of the Blues

by Kenn C. Kincaid

  With the doors splintered and knocked off the tracks, Dan and Arty watched the show. The argument grew louder, but remained a stalemate. Flo was standing her ground.

  “I’ll keep an eye on her,” Arty whispered. “Get Rick while they’re distracted.”

  “You know the situation better ’an me.”

  “She’s such a handful. They don’t know what to do with her. She’ll be okay.”

  “It’s your ballgame.” Dan took the opportunity to find Rick who was peeking through a side window.

  “What’s SHE doin’ in there?” Rick whispered.

  “Long story. No time.” Dan could see Flo was now scurrying like a mouse chased by cats, but eventually the villains corralled her in the bay with the offset press. Cornered but not lassoed, she grabbed a sheet of paper. “Okay! Here’s my insurance agent!” Flo dipped a brush by the press into some green ink and wrote, “Will Getzu Allstate 555-1919,” and thrust it at them. “Forget the blasted gas money!”

  Her response caught them off guard, and she calmly walked to the rear of the truck and knelt. “How bad I get y’r fool bumper,” she asked. Rising up she declared, “I ain’t payin’ for none of that rust neither. Just m’ own damage.” Turning in a huff, she walked to the taxi. Without a backwards glance Flo plopped in, backed down the drive, and drove away.

  Crook and cop were dumbfounded. The counterfeiters attempted to pull the broken doors unsuccessfully. Rick and shook their heads in unbelief. Gary and Chester heard the commotion, but having no vantage point and lacking radio communication had no choice but to wait.

  “Follow me,” Dan directed and they joined Arty.

  “How much of that spectacle did you see?” Arty asked Dan.

  “Most of it, what’d you catch?”

  “Not much of the inside stuff, but I covered her retreat. I’ve known her all my life. Saw it with my own eyes. Still can’t believe it.”

  “Want me to sneak out and try to corral that wild mustang?” Dan asked.

  “I’ll go. You two wait. When clear, I’ll brief the backdoor, and try and get some backup.” Arty left on the run.

  “Here’s what we have so…”

  “Oh something’s rank?” Rick interrupted.

  “It’s the barrels.” Dan said.

  “Rick reached over to touch the coating of an open barrel. “It’s sticky as fly paper.”

  “Yeah, toxic too.”

  Rick’s eyes bulged.

  “Not really, it’s sour molasses or something, but don’t eat it. Wipe it off on the ground.” As Rick worked to remove the residue Dan finished updating him.

  They were no longer aware of the odor when a black Cadillac pulled up to the entrance and beeped. Dan noted the plates from habit, MAT 245. Faces peered around the sides of the broken door’s slats. The Cadillac pulled inside. Four men in suits emerged with automatic weapons.

  Come on God give us a break here. Arty isn’t back, no radio, and we’re out numbered two to one, including armament. This nightmare just keeps getting worse!”

  “Can’t walk away now, can we?” Rick whispered.

  “Nope, we’re on this merry-go-round ’till the music stops.” They waited. Never again out of jurisdiction. Just walk away!

  The men conferred, but Dan couldn’t hear the conversation. Eventually, one of the suited men retrieved a duffel from the trunk. Returning he tried to pull the remains of the doors shut, but they were snagged. He gave up and returned setting the duffel on the tailgate. Finally a break. Skull opened it, examined the contents. In the dim warehouse light, he appeared to flip through a bundle of bills.

  Good bills for bogus, probably a dollar on a hundred.

  The suits accompanied by Skull entered the Cadillac and it backed out of the barn stopping parallel to Dan’s hide. The other three boarded the pickup. Dan heard the truck’s starter grinding and grinding, but it didn’t start. The passenger door opened and one of them raised the hood and toyed with the motor. Another continued the futile cranking.

  Skull shouted from the Caddy impatiently, “What’s wrong with it!”

  “Won’t start.”

  “I see that you nit wit. Didn’t you gas it?”

  “Yeah, we gassed it!”

  The cranking slowed.

  “Don’t have all night.”

  “Battery’s dead now.”

  “Useless as screens on submarines! We’ll get the van. Be ready!”

  Shortly after, Arty returned from his errand.

  “Did you find her?” Dan asked.

  “Yep, she’s headed back to the docks. And, get this. She grabbed some samples of bogus! That’s one courageous tiger in a dress!”

  “Where’s she now? She okay?”

  “In the cruiser, and she’s fine. Had enough excitement for one day. You won’t believe how she put it.”

  “I think I might. She has a way of getting her message across.”

  “Yeah, I asked her if she was coming with me. She said, ‘Naw, I limits m’self to wetin’ m’ pants t’ once a day.’”

  Dan chuckled as Arty asked, “What do we have here?”

  “Apparently some good luck for a change. They’d be gone, but their truck didn’t start.”

  “Weren’t luck, Flo stuffed the tail pipe with a potato when she checked bumper.”

  “I’m glad she’s on our side,” Rick whispered.

  Dan finished briefing Arty.

  “Okay, you take this shotgun,” Arty said handing the Remington he brought back to Dan, “I’ve got my side arm. I radioed Chester and he has the other shotgun.” He turned to Rick and asked, “You have your off duty?”

  “I’m not a cop. I’m a college anthropologist.”

  “Where am I? A costume ball?” Arty asked turning to address Dan. “You a real cop?”

  “I am,” Dan assured Arty while offering Rick his off duty. “Here, point it, look mean, just don’t pull the trigger unless it’s life and death.”

  “Is it loaded?”

  “Yeah. Why, you want me to take the bullets out?”

  “No-o-o!”

  “The way I figure it, Dan, when they come back they’ll load the bogus,” Arty said. “We’ll have two options; move in and make the arrest, or follow the parade hoping to uncover the next rung on the ladder. If we want the head honcho, we’ll have to tail ’em.”

  “True, but the tailing option chances losing it all,” Dan said.

  “They’d have to be blind for it to succeed. Face it; we’ve got a cruiser and a tawdry taxi. I’m drawing to an inside strait. I’ve requested an undercover team, but it’s a big county on a busy weekend. If it doesn’t happen we’ll have to move on what we have and let the Feds clean it up.”

  Fifteen minutes passed and no truck. The radio alerted Arty two undercover vehicles were en route, he left to coordinate their arrival. Twenty minutes later a cargo van arrived and backed up to the disabled truck. Dan noted the license, HEB 139, Probably a rental.

  “Rick, sneak over and tell Arty it’s going down,” Dan whispered.

  Rick slipped away as the counterfeiters transferred the bundles. Arty and Rick had not returned as the last bundle was transferred.

  I can’t spring the trap. I got no trap! This whole caper’s melting away like ice on a summer beach.

  Skull entered the Caddie with the suits, and it backed down to the street and waited. The others boarded the van.

  I could unload on the tires as the van rolls past. The blasts will alert everybody else. They’ll converge and we’ll take them down. Not good. Too risky! They’ve got automatic weapons. Be skydiving without a chute. Gotta let it go.

  The van backed down the driveway. Instinctively the shotgun came to Dan’s shoulder. He steadied the sight bead on the rear tire. Dan’s finger brought pressure to the trigger. Oh well! Let the chips fly! I can’t let it go!

  Dan felt the nudge on his shoulder before he heard Arty’s whisper, “Let ’em go.”

  Dan watched the van pull away with the
Cadillac following. “Please, tell me someone’s tailing them.”

  “A fellow we call Deputy Dawg, with Chester and Gary. Come on. Rick’s waiting in the second car.”

  They hurried to the staging area. A nondescript brown Chevy Nova sat alongside the cruiser. Rick stood beside it with another man.

  “Meet Deputy Victor Morgan. We call him “Morgue-man”, Arty said.

  Morgan briefed them as they piled into the vehicle, “Flo took the taxi back. She’s had enough. The Coast Guard is on standby in case our bogus bandits head for the lake.”

  “Ocean-Charlie-23,” the radio whined, “Lake don’t appear to be their destination. They’re headed down Perry Street toward the main interchange for State-53.”

  “Ocean-Charlie-31,” Arty spoke in the radio, “We’ll be up with you in a couple minutes.”

  “Ocean-Charlie-23, we’re passing the exchange and going north on Sand Road.”

  “Ocean-Charlie 31, I can’t figure this. Catawba Peninsula extends only six miles.”

  “Ocean-Charlie-23, we’re sure they haven’t made us.”

  “This road’s a dead end at the ferry to South Bass Island,” Arty spoke openly. “I suppose they could have a boat around Put-in Bay, but why not load off sooner. Plenty of better places.”

  “Hey, you’re the tour guide,” Dan said, “I don’t know the lay of the land.”

  They silently weighed the event. Five minutes later the radio reported again. “Ocean-Charlie-23, the suspect vehicle is approaching the ferry.”

  “The ferry,” Arty said, “That’s it!” He called the lead car. “Ocean-Charlie-31, can you hold back? They’re using the ferry to watch for a tail? We can catch up and take the lead. You follow on the next one.” He slapped the driver on the shoulder, “Hit it Morgue-man! To the ferry, double time.”

  The car sped up and closed the gap.

  “Okay Dawg,” Arty radioed, “we’re on your six. Break off left on Cliff Street. It’ll look like you’re local.”

  Morgan trailed behind watching the lead car turn left and then seconds later the villains went right toward the ferry. Morgan made a quick diversionary right and picked up the county road. As Morgan negotiated the route, Arty removed his uniform shirt exposing a white T-shirt. Timing brought them back in behind the target at the ferry.

  Five cars were loaded on the ferry behind the target vehicle. The suspects were in the front row of two wide and three deep. It placed Dan behind the suspect vehicles with another van between them. The ferry ride took thirty minutes to loop around to the back of Bass Island and unload.

  “Ocean-Charlie-31, we just off loaded, and are following them up the ramp.”

  “Ocean-Charlie-23, we’ve half way to Bass. A Coast Guard defender class ship is standing by at Rattlesnake Island, but the proximity of Canadian waters concerns them. They’re notifying the Canadian Navy.”

  “It just can’t get any crazier,” Dan said.

  The radio clicked again. “The Coast Guard is now advising of an auxiliary crew of two at Miller’s Marina at Put-In-Bay with a six man rigid hull inflatable, but there’s no mounted armament.”

  “It just did,” Arty said.

  The van moved out of the main harbor area. Dan and his companions followed as it wound around and took the county highway south.

  “Round and round we go,” Dan murmured aloud.

  Soon they left the county road onto a State Park dirt service road. It led through a grove of pines.

  “This wild goose chase is ending,” Arty said. “After these trees, it runs dead at lakeside. That means they can’t escape by land without coming through us.”

  Arty informed the tail car and requested his dispatcher to notify the Coast Guard. They approached slowly without headlights. Their eyes adjusted quickly, and the full moon and clear night provided ample light. Dan went ahead on foot to be sure the road was clear. Within ten minutes, he walked into view of the van backed up to the water’s edge a hundred yards ahead. He wouldn’t have seen them if the tug hadn’t been using flood lamps to load. Dan signaled Arty who joined him. A couple minutes later the second car arrived, and Arty briefed Morgan and Gary.

  “Ocean-Charlie-31,” the dispatcher alerted, “The Coast Guard’s inflatable is in route from Miller’s with an ETA of twelve minutes. The Defender’s moving the islands so it can intercept on either side of the island.”

  Twenty minutes ticked by as the tug loaded; the men in suits guarding while the workmen ferried boxes. The forty-foot tug had a black hull with a pilot’s cabin mid shift. Arty examined her through his binoculars. “She’s under an American flag, and my guess is drafting a couple feet. Means she’s pretty empty.” He lowered the glasses.

  “In another ten minutes they’ll be loaded. I figure the limeys will stay on the tug, but expect the suits to drive back this way. We’re stuck. The Coast Guard will have to intercept the tug, and we’ll take down the Caddie full of suits. Let’s get a limb shoved behind our front wheels. Maybe they’ll think a couple lovers got hung up. At least put them off guard enough to give us an advantage.”

  As the others worked at the diversion, Arty put his uniform shirt back on. The six officers would be ready with four service revolvers, three shotguns, and Rick with Dan’s off duty. With a tree limb under the front right tire, and a rear wheel buried in the sand, the car appeared abandoned. Cardboard from the trunk placed on the windshield read “gone for tow.” The second chase car backed up around the bend. They also briefed the dispatcher and requested her to alert the Coast Guard.

  “Okay men,” Arty directed. “This isn’t going to be an ice cream social. In order to contain them, we must cover both sides of the road. That creates a potential dangerous crossfire. Be careful! Three on the driver’s side, four on the other.”

  Arty spaced the men at staggered intervals, and marked the positions by tying strips of a sheet from the car’s trunk on the trees. “Pay attention to these. I don’t want anyone shot in a crossfire. Wait ’till they get out. I’ll yell ‘Ottawa County Sheriff Department, you’re under arrest,’ then we’ll see what happens. I emphasize, BE PATIENT, don’t jump the gun. Wait for my order. But, if they try to back up take the rear wheels out with the shotguns. If they start shooting—and you have a clear shot—take it. Be mindful of the strips and watch the crossfire. We’re all elevated on these roadside berms so be sure to shoot down. Take your places, and God protect us.”

  The workmen finished loading a short time later and stayed aboard as the tug chugged away. The men in suits boarded the Caddie. The ominous sedan crept toward the snare leaving the van behind. When it encountered the roadblock, it came to a complete stop.

  Minutes passed. Both rear doors opened and two men stepped out with weapons. Slowly they approached the abandoned vehicle. Illuminated by the Cadillac’s headlights they worked on clearing the limb. Then they tried to push the car by joining bumpers. One man steered the car through an open door, but the car slid sideways. “Willie, get your lazy behind out here and help!” he yelled.

  A passenger emerged from the Caddie slamming the door. When he reached the front of the vehicle Arty yelled, “Ottawa County Sheriff! Hands up! You’re under arrest!”

  The command startled them. The Cadillac attempted to retreat and a shotgun flashed reverberating from the trees; “CABOOM! CABOOM! CABOOM!” The tires flattened. The car stopped. The man between the vehicles swung a short-barreled automatic weapon from under his coat spraying Rick’s cover. Immediately, return fire came from Morgan’s position striking the man twice in the upper chest. He sank to his knees and fell forwards.

  The other two culprits dove into the abandoned Chevy through open doors. Momentarily, the officers accepted it as a sign of surrender. The Caddie driver, not yet persuaded, lay across the front seat, lowered the passenger window, and fired randomly.

  Dan felt a hot poker jab his shoulder. Pain didn’t last. Arm still works. Flesh wound, but close enough, scumbag. Time I teach you manners. Dan fired the re
maining shells into the door. Not enough to get through the door? Okay, I have time to reload. However, the rattle and impact impressed the driver. As Dan thumbed more rounds in the tube, a white handkerchief appeared in the window waving frantically.

  “Guns out first!” Arty ordered. “One at a time! Caddie driver first! Any hint of a gun, and it’s all over!”

  A hand dropped a gun out the window. The door opened activating the dome light revealing the driver. There were red specks on the gunman’s forehead, and right cheek. He exited in slow motion as if stepping out on eggs.

  “Turn around. Face the car!” ordered Arty. “Dan, cuff him.”

  His ears ringing, Dan stepped into the sulfuric air and secured the man. Arty took the other two prisoners through the same routine, and then everyone left their cover. Everyone except Rick.

  Dan went into the cover with dread. “Rick! It’s over! Rick! This is Dan coming your way! You okay!”

  There was no reply.

  “The music’s over! Time to get off the merry-go-round!” Dan came to Rick’s post. The strip of sheet fluttered in the breeze, but no Rick. Get hit, panic? Disorient and run off?”

  Heavy cover made searching difficult even with the flashlight. These pine boughs hang so low, lying under a tree he’d be easy to miss. searching another ten feet he saw Rick prone on the ground. “RICK, you okay?”

  Rick groaned, “Is it over?”

  “Yeah, it’s all over.”

  “Good, it hurts my ears.”

  “Come on, follow me out.”

  “That was loud! Not what I expected! Here, take this thing ‘fore it goes off.” He gingerly handed Dan his gun. Dan checked the hammer position. Safe. He opened the cylinder. No spent rounds. Dan closed it. It was a short trip back to the road. As soon as Rick saw the criminals were secured, his composure changed. “We sure shut this gang of cutthroats down, didn’t we?”

  “We certainly did,” Dan said smiling.

  Two additional uniform cars arrived, and transported the three prisoners. The fourth man was dead. The driver incurred minor cuts from fragments of glass shrapnel. The bleeding stopped, he’d be treated later.

  The county Crime Scene Unit took another fifteen minutes to arrive. Dan, Gary and Rick gave statements to the investigators. An hour into processing the scene the investigators removed the body.