by Chris LeGrow
Jake skipped ahead of the group. Twenty feet from the entrance, he grabbed the Chief ’s elbow. “I think you should start the tour of the state offices first,” Jake said in a low tone.
He’d hoped the Chief caught his warning.
He didn’t. He eased from Jake’s grasp and continued toward the door and continued his conversation with the doctors.
Exasperated, Jake shot Lt. Thorp a look he hoped said stop him.
She squinted at him quizzically. Ten feet from the entrance her eyes widened in recognition. “An excellent idea, Jake,” Lt. Thorp said. She stepped in front of the Chief, blocking any chance of entering the precinct. “The…ah…staff in the state offices are waiting.”
“Nonsense,” the Chief said. “I want to see the Ol’ Blues and—” he reached for the door handles.
Jake held his breath. He didn’t know what waited behind for them, but he doubted it was good. The Chief was two feet away…one foot… and then it was too late.
“—so do the people of Omaha.” The Chief smiled and nodded at the eager media.
Jake surveyed the medical staff milling around. They exchanged worried, no, terrified gazes. The Chief swung the doors open wide. The press obtained a great over-the-shoulder shot of the Chief and shifted their focus into the Ol’ Blue Precinct.
For a moment, everyone froze. Jake, Lt. Thorp, and the Chief surveyed the surroundings.
“It’s like going back in time,” the Chief said.
“Way back,” Thorp agreed.
Officers perched behind desks in the traditional blue uniforms, complete with hats and patches. Vintage fans hummed from the top of file cabinets. “Like in the days before air conditioning,” the Chief murmured.
Several men clacked away on actual typewriters, the sound echoing throughout the cavernous floor. “I’ve never heard that before,” Jake said absently.
“It’s like something out of a black-and-white movie,” Lt. Thorp said. “Back in the old days when a precinct office was noisy and you had loads of investigations going on at the same time.”
None of the officers even looked up.
The Chief smiled and spread his arms out as though he wanted to embrace the entire group. “Will you look at this,” he said. “It’s fantastic.”
The Sarge glanced up. Recognition of the Omaha Police Chief lit his eyes.
Jake noticed Dr. Wicker’s face. His gaze locked with the sergeant’s, and the doctor seemed to be pleading whatever you’re planning, don’t do it—please!
Cameras readied, the media and medical staff stood behind them. Jake couldn’t shake the aura of tension zinging up his spine.
The Sarge yanked a chewed cigar out of his mouth. “The Chief is on the floor,” he called out.
Typewriters stopped. All activity halted. Every Ol’ Blue shifted his attention to the group at the entrance. Chief Williams smiled and brought his hand up in a salute. In the same moment, the sergeant stiffened. “A-ttention.”
Most of the old cops snapped upright; others eventually, slowly, drew up in the same stance. The Chief ’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped. His hand froze in midair never making it to a full salute. A deafening silence fell over the room adding to the apparently total shock of the visitors.
Dr. Wicker covered his face. A soft, “oh, no” leaked through his lips.
The Chief stayed frozen as though trying to comprehend the scene before him.
It was Jake who immediately understood. He nudged Lt. Thorp who spared him an incredulous glance.
Before the visiting dignitaries, media, staff, and police command, dozens of retired officers stood in their uniformed uppers and their indignity bottoms. They all faced different directions.
Some looked forward, their short medical robes stopping at their knees revealing black shoes, socks, and suspenders. Others stood half-turned away from the entrance; a few adult diapers were in plain view while others sported baggy underwear with catheter tubes running from an insertion point to a urine bag attached by a belt on their leg. A few let it all hang out—no underwear at all.
Cameras rolled and flashed. Not that anyone there would need to review anything. This moment was permanently burned into the memories of every visitor there.
Ten minutes passed in complete silence on the drive back to Omaha headquarters. From the backseat, the Chief broke the quiet. “You were trying to stop me, weren’t you, Jake?” he asked matter-of-factly.
“Yes, sir, I was,” came his muted reply.
A hush fell over the interior of the vehicle again.
Lt. Thorp pulled to the side of the road and plunked the vehicle in park.
“What—” Jake began.
“Yeah,” said the Chief.
Both palms covered her face and her shoulders shook.
“Monica?” the Chief asked with a worried note in his voice.
Snort. Snort. The sound leaked through her fingers and filled the car.
“Monica!” the Chief said.
Her hands fell away from her face. She collapsed in paroxysms of uncontrolled laughter. “Admit it,” she got out through another spasm of mirth. “That was the funniest thing you’ve ever seen!”
Jake couldn’t help it. He snickered and clamped his lips together trying to stifle his urge to join her.
“Dear heaven,” she said and dissolved into a renewed fit of giggles. “I have to sit here for a minute or I’m gonna pee my pants!”
Jake couldn’t hold it together any longer. He disintegrated into his own chortles of merriment.
The Chief glanced upward. “I’m surrounded by idiots,” he said and joined in the levity of the others.
Monica composed herself and settled the car into drive again.
The trio fell silent for another minute or two. “So,” the Chief said, “other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?”
The car came to a stop once again.
At home, Jake plopped on his couch and shook his head. The media would run that footage for at least the next week. He figured it would show up as an Omaha Press Club skit. His phone rang. Before he could say hello, hysterical laughter came from the other end.
“Hey, Ben,” he said to his brother. “Let me guess. You saw a promotional clip for the six o’clock news with a bunch of pantless old men in police shirts.”
“Yeah! You should’ve seen your face!” his brother said. “Can’t wait to see the full report!” A renewed round of guffaws came through the phone. “Oh, man! Jake what have you gotten yourself into?”
Jake sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I know the Chief stepped in it today, Ben, but he’s a good guy. I like him and this work has been good for me. It forces me to think about a million other things besides myself.”
His brother was quiet for a moment. “Just say the word and you can work for me any time. You know that, little brother, right?”
“Sure but being the personal bodyguard of my big brother isn’t my thing. Not right now anyway.”
Ben had moved to Omaha twenty-five years ago and made his fortune developing call centers. In the eighties, the Midwest had been the perfect place for telemarketing startups: good work ethic, no accent. Anyone anywhere could understand the telemarketers. Ben’s telemarketing empire laid the groundwork for both inbound and outbound phone sales. Cable was a natural expansion, and Ben expanded to serving inbound infomercial calls. There wasn’t a day that went by that Jake didn’t see Ben’s handiwork on some channel. It had made him millions; he was currently a soft-spoken billionaire. It was Ben who’d talked Jake into moving to Omaha and joining OPD.
“You know, I had no idea I’d see you on national television.”
“Ha, ha,” Jake said.
“Seriously,” Ben said, “that was the funniest, most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever seen. It was great!”
“Glad I could make your day.”
“Actually,” Ben said, “I should probably come clean. I’m part of the committee that made the facility a reality.”
“What?” Jake gripped the phone a little tighter. “Then this was your fault. I’m tellin’ Mom!” he said in his best indignant tone. He chuckled. “Sounds like something you’d get yourself into, though. It really was impressive. There are so many cops who just retire and lose their zest for life. The next thing you know they end up dying soon after retirement. Jeez, listen to me get all sappy. Tell me about your committee.”
Ben paused a moment.
“Come on,” Jake said, “out with it.”
“We call ourselves The Bureau. It’s just a group of like-minded individuals with similar resources. We get together once a month and discuss various issues and what we can do to facilitate a solution to the problem.”
“Like-minded and with similar resources, Ben?” Jake asked. “More like a billionaire social club. Mighty small club.”
“Actually,” Ben said, “Omaha has more millionaires and billionaires than most places. We don’t show it off like people in other parts of the country. It’s not the Midwestern way.”
“I’ll give you that, Ben. If I wasn’t your brother, I wouldn’t know you were loaded.”
“Thanks. I think. We started this over a year ago, decided to design and fund the facility you saw today.”
“It was incredible,” Jake said.
“That’s what the rest of the world sees too,” Ben said. “But there’s much more—” Ben stopped talking abruptly. “We’re very proud of what we’ve accomplished there.”
Ever the cop, Jake noted the brusque shift in Ben’s conversation. It was more than weird, but this wasn’t the time for questioning; he was his brother after all. But, still, it bothered him. A lot. Jake decided to stow the information in his mental file and wait until the time was right.
A plasma TV perched in a corner of the commons area. Twenty-five inmates surrounded it; three guards watched through their security monitors. Chaos erupted.
“Diapers! Some of them cops wearin’ diapers!” The inmates fell back into their chairs and hollered with laughter.
“Tonight at six and ten o’clock, watch what made the new Chief of Police freeze—” the news anchor read the teleprompter without cracking a smile as the camera cut to the wide-eyed, open-mouthed stare of Williams and followed his line of sight into the Ol’ Blue Precinct, “when he received a bare-all welcome at the new retirement home for police officers.”
“Oh,” one inmate yelled from the back of the room, “you know I’m watch’in that!”
“Oh yeah!” another chimed in. “Prime time viewing.”
The news spread quickly. Nobody would miss this.
DR. WICKER, HIS STAFF, AND SEVERAL STATE WORKERS milled around inside the staff lounge, their attention focused on the television. Slumped in a wooden chair, elbows on the table, and chin resting on the palm of his right hand, Dr. Wicker shook his head. He spoke through his fingers, almost afraid of the upcoming news program.
“This is going to be a disaster,” he said. “An unmitigated disaster.”
“Nah,” Nurse Betsy tossed out. Known as Boss Nurse by most everyone, she shrugged the imminent broadcast off.
“If you’re trying to comfort me,” Dr. Wicker said, “it’s not working.”
“It’s not that bad. I know these Ol’ Blues can be difficult to deal with sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” Wicker interrupted. “How many times have they literally run us out of there? And always due to—” he sliced his index and middle fingers through the air, “quote, police business, unquote.” He slumped further into his chair. “Betsy, I honestly think they don’t realize they aren’t cops anymore. They treat us like we’re in their way, that somehow we keep them from doing their job. It’s absurd.”
“It’s all they got,” Betsy said. “Let ’em have that at least.”
“Yesterday,” he continued as though she hadn’t spoken, “during rounds, one of them actually threatened me with arrest.”
Betsy’s face ignited into a full smile. “No, they didn’t.”
“Yes. Obstruction of justice if I didn’t get out of his way.”
“What the devil?” Betsy asked no one in particular. “Guess it’s hard to give up the power. What else could he have been talking about?”
“No clue,” Dr. Wicker said.
The new nursing instructor Jaiden Walsh spoke, “We knew going in that this was going to be a facility like nothing we’d ever seen.”
“True,” Dr. Wicker said, “but what we didn’t know was how stubborn these old guys can be. One time I entered the precinct office to visit a patient and was told he was busy. Would it be possible to meet with another officer from the same unit? I tried to explain that I had to see that particular officer who was my patient.”
“And?” Betsy asked.
“And was told to take a seat. I’m a doctor. I don’t take seats and wait to see a patient!”
“Well, I just started here,” nurse Walsh said, “but I’m sure that if we just work with them, they can and will be quite amicable.”
Dr. Wicker rolled his gaze to the ceiling. “Give me strength.”
“Um,” nurse Walsh interjected, “they do take particular interest in humiliating the students. They call them rookies and always insist on getting shots in their buttocks instead of their arms.”
“What’s the problem?” Dr. Wicker asked.
“Some of the newbies,” the instructor said. “One poor CNA student gave me such a pleading look, and before I could say a word, the cop stood up, spun around, and spread his robe—or whatever they’re calling them these days.”
“Indignity bottoms,” Betsy said.
“Anyway, he spread it wide open exposing his bare backside and anything else that happened to be hanging around. ‘Okay, rookie,’ he said, ‘gimme your best shot.’”
Wicker exchanged a glance with Betsy.
The instructor held up her hand. “I’m not done. Each and every other patient,” her voice dripped with sarcasm, “started whistling, clapping, or cheering. They fell all over themselves and one another trying to line up for the same thing.”
“O…kay,” Betsy said. “They can be tough.”
“They’re wantonly ridiculous,” nurse Walsh said. “That student burst into tears and ran out the front door. I haven’t seen her since!”
“Bet she won’t have to put up with that at the Metro or Clarkson nursing programs,” Betsy said. “You’d best warn those kids in the acceptance interview that these guys will try to crack them. They need to be tough nuts.”
She stood to leave, stopped as though something had grabbed her thoughts. “And next time they pull that garbage, use a bigger needle. They tried that with me too,” she said and held up an index finger. “Once.” What could only be called an evil grin on her face, Betsy gave a curt nod. “Humph,” she added a satisfied grunt. “Haven’t tried it since.”
Betsy turned up the television volume. The nightly broadcast brought the two anchors into view. “When we come back,” the good-looking young man said into the teleprompter, “we’ll show you the video that has all of Omaha in an uproar.”
A young woman with piercing blue eyes smiled. “Hail to the Cheeks in a moment,” she said coyly.
“H-Hail to the Cheeks,” Dr. Wicker muttered and covered his face.
“It won’t be that bad,” Betsy said. “They can’t put bare butt cheeks on television.”
A teaser shot of the Ol’ Blues, their exposed wrinkled backsides covered by a superimposed yellow happy face to shield delicate viewer eyes, faded to a commercial.
“Uh…” Betsy didn’t move her head; she shifted her gaze to Dr. Wicker and started to laugh. “That was their butt cheeks on TV.”
Behind a Formica tabletop, Wicker plopped his face into his folded arms. The Boss Nurse’s smile widened. “I stand corrected.”
“Oh, dear.” The words came out as a muffled moan. It was all he could manage.
The evening crew of guards checked in and headed to their assignments. I
n Clubba’s wing, the CO’s brows knit in confusion at the crowd gathered in front of the television.
“Is there a fight on?” he asked a departing day shifter.
“Glad to get out of here,” the second man said. “And no. No fight.” He jerked his head toward the commons. “You’d better see that.”
In the middle of a large group of inmates, Clubba laughed and joked in preparation of seeing the police look stupid. Earnest liked the back of the group; that way he watched the interaction of everybody there. From that he could gather what was going on with each. This time there was no one flashing a gang sign. No one offered anyone else a dirty look. No one dissed anybody’s girl or group or anything else. They all focused intently on what had embarrassed the police chief today.
“Good evening,” the news anchor said cheerily. “There have been numerous occasions for the local police chief to attend public gatherings. Some of them include appearances for civic groups. Others are more formal as when new officers are sworn in. Earlier today the Chief was a guest in a very special facility.”
“But I doubt it was the reception he’s used to,” his female companion said with a smirk.
“They callin’ it ‘Hail to the Cheeks!’” an inmate hooted.
“Our onsite reporter, Rob Carson, was there for all the details. Rob, what happened down there today?”
A young man in his twenties stood outside the new police officers’ retirement home. “That’s right. The Live-at-Five news team were inside this facility earlier today. As the Chief walked through, he got quite the surprise from some of these “Ol’ Blues” as they’re calling themselves. According to sources at the facility, these men don’t like wearing the hospital gowns—you know, the gowns everyone that’s ever been to a hospital knows about. The ones that don’t close in the back.” Not a wisp of amusement touched the reporter’s face. “It seems that the medical staff and caseworkers compromised with the men by allowing them a police uniform shirt. That’s just a shirt; the bottom half of the gown had to stay. It appears that the retired officers were very unhappy with the situation as you can see.”