Senile Squad: Adventures of the Old Blues

by Chris LeGrow

  The reporter ducked his head and the channel ran footage of the Chief opening the doors to the Ol’ Blue Precinct.

  “Things started off quite well, as you can see. When the doors opened, it was like a time capsule. They even had typewriters and officers talking on the phones to neighborhood watch groups and other civic organizations. Everything went smoothly…for a few moments. Once the sergeant of the precinct saw the Chief of Police at the door, the Ol’ Blues made their protest.”

  Tape rolled, showing the Sarge calling attention and all officers regardless of which way they were facing standing at attention.

  “And I have to add this scene even caught me off guard,” the reporter continued. “I doubt it was what the Chief had anticipated in response to his visit.”

  Whatever the reporter said after that couldn’t be heard over the din in Clubba’s wing. Every inmate pointed and laughed so loud that the volume could have been on high and they still wouldn’t have heard. The sight of the old cops melted them into gales of hysteria. The camera panned back to the Chief in his frozen salute.

  “Needless to say,” the reporter said, “the Chief was stunned.” The tape rolled and caught Chief Williams, eyes wide, mouth frozen in an open oh.

  The group toppled in renewed laughter. The volume of the TV had no meaning. The camera panned back to the precinct. A very short man faced the camera at full attention.

  The revelry stopped abruptly for Clubba. The recognition was immediate. His fingers curled into a fist, and he hit his thigh in reaction. He wanted nothing more than to pound the little man into oblivion.

  Two inmates sitting beside Clubba stopped mid-laugh and moved off to the side. Most looked at each other, shrugged, and went back to watching the television as though they were used to Clubba’s antics.

  Earnest, too, had an instantaneous realization. Clubba’s response interested Earnest who turned his attention to the cop, Tiny. His time was coming.

  “We’ll turn it back to you,” the reporter said.

  In the newsroom, the anchor tried to maintain his composure. His companion was losing hers. “Thank you…” she finally said. “We’ll be—” Her mouth opened but nothing else came out. “We’ll—”

  High fives reigned in the commons area of Clubba’s wing. Other inmates still chuckled, and even the guards got a good laugh at the Chief ’s expense. Clubba, however, wasn’t laughing. It didn’t escape Earnest’s notice.

  There was something in that newscast that really got to Clubba. The kid might be a decent ally once Clubba got out. He needed to know what it was about the group of Ol’ Blues that made the man react so strongly. After all, a young man with that much anger could be quite useful.

  FOR THE PAST FEW MONTHS, SHANESE AND HER LITTLE sister, Melia, had been staying with their grandmother. She knew it was just a matter of time until Clubba’s boys figured out where she was hiding. Shanese had more information on Clubba—stuff that had nothing to do with his threats against her. He’d make good on those just for fun, but there was another side to it as well: business. One way or another, he’d make sure she didn’t talk.

  She’d been with him long enough to have realized that he loved to watch the look of terror on his enemies’ faces once they realized his game: getting them “his way.” It was bad news all around. Either he’d beat the person senseless with his bat, and they’d die or wish they had. If he let them live, they got instructions to do exactly what Clubba wanted when he wanted it. Life was easy. Do what you’re told or your family was next. Clubba made believers of everyone in the neighborhood. Nobody doubted him and nobody ever crossed him— until Shanese and her sister.

  She was as good as dead. So was Melia. Just talking to another guy was insult number one. Two was when her sister recorded his threats, and three was taking the evidence to the authorities. One way or another, Clubba was going to get them. Both of them.

  Melia would most likely be first. That way he could immerse himself in the pain all around: Melia’s would be physical. Shanese’s would be emotional from what happened to her sibling and their grandmother’s anguish for them both—Shanese couldn’t even think of it. She wasn’t sure her grandmother would live through it. Regret washed over her. She should have kept her mouth shut. Then none of this would be on their heads.

  From two buildings to the west, Shanese could see her grandmother’s ground-floor apartment. Things were quiet and peaceful here on Etna, and she should be grateful—and would be any other time. Deep foreboding filled her.

  Shanese picked her way along a windy path. This had seemed like such a good idea in the beginning. It was the first—and safest— place she could think of. Her grandmother was surrounded by plenty of people her age. In fact, lots of older people lived in the subsidized building. The gangs didn’t pay much attention to them.

  She and her sister had quietly moved in late at night so as not to arouse attention. Lots of other elderly men moved in too. First an old white man and his son came about three weeks after Shanese and Melia. They lived directly above them. They were nice enough, Shanese supposed; they said they ran a small audio-visual equipment rental store, and it must’ve been true because she’d seen them hauling in different cameras and lots of electronic wires and equipment.

  Once they’d settled in, though, neither Shanese nor her grandmother saw them much. They heard them walking around, but the guys pretty much kept to themselves. Four more had moved in after that, and they seemed to be everywhere. Mostly they wandered around, talked to each other a lot and played checkers. Shanese shrugged and watched two of them loudly discussing their current game. No wonder the bangers didn’t care about this place; there was nothing to do. Boredom was one way to prevent gang activity, she guessed.

  A loud laugh drew her attention across the street. Two Sudanese teens circled around and nodded toward the apartment complex; fear skittered along her spine. Clubba’s thugs. It had to be.

  Young men didn’t just come around and walk through this area. No, they were here for a specific reason. One of them boldly stared directly at Shanese. Her breath caught in her throat. She knew him from the day at the courthouse, the day Clubba got sentenced. The thug pointed directly at Shanese, then turned and said something to his companion. The other thug in turn snapped his head toward Shanese. She stood rooted to the spot, frozen in a dark, anxious spiral. They stood there for what seemed like a decade, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. She knew their game. They needed to make sure she saw them. The first, bolder one pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. Speaking fluent Sudanese, he grew more animated, yelling excitedly into his phone and pointing a finger at her.

  They stayed where they were and didn’t venture across the street. They were the surveillance—observing, waiting, and watching like a couple of vultures with their prey. Her initial fright dissipated; self-preservation took over. Backing up until she came to the corner of a second building, she sidled between them and turned toward the back door of her grandmother’s apartment. She didn’t run directly to the door, but zigzagged between a couple of buildings so that Clubba’s henchmen lost sight of her. Then while still shielded by buildings and some bushes sprinted with all she had toward her objective.

  “Please be open,” she pleaded to anyone in the universe who might be listening. The sliding glass doors of her grandmother’s apartment in sight, she ran full speed toward it and grasped the handle in a firm grip. With a final glance over her shoulder to make sure no one had spotted the exact place where she was staying, she exhaled in relief and yanked to open it. Three inches in, it stopped with a thud. Panic consumed her. She glanced around trying to see Clubba’s thugs. She saw no one. Their goal was to pinpoint her exact location. She tugged on the handle again, and once more it jolted to an abrupt stop.

  “No,” she said out loud and fought back tears. Grandma always kept a small wooden broom handle, a homemade charley bar, in the bottom grooves. The door wouldn’t budge. She knocked on the glass and tried to ke
ep it quiet. That was a laugh. A tear slid down her cheek. It was just a matter of time until his thugs would have her cornered. She didn’t know where else to run, where else to turn. A shout from some men in a language she didn’t understand came from behind her. She couldn’t make it out but it sounded angry. It seemed to come from where she’d last seen Clubba’s guys.

  Then from directly in front of her came a yell, “What you want?” Her grandmother tore back the curtain with her left hand and wielded a large metal serving spoon in the other. She obviously didn’t expect to see her granddaughter, Shanese, on the other side. Her dark eyes widened, filled with fear. In a heartbeat, the charley bar was gone and the door opened.

  “What is it, baby?”

  “Clubba’s homies,” Shanese breathed out. She couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice. “They saw me…I think they’re calling others.” The initial panic over, Shanese collapsed onto a couch and buried her head in her hands.

  Her grandmother glanced right and left, then closed the back door and jerked the curtains into place. “Did they see you come in here?”

  “I don’t think so, no, but they were yelling about something. I could hear them, but I couldn’t make out the words. I don’t think they saw me, but they were definitely trying to find me. It sounded like they were running up and down the street to see which apartment I entered.”

  Shanese drew in a deep breath in an attempt to calm, if not herself, at least her voice. She willed herself to slow her breathing. Her gaze darted around the small apartment. “Where’s Melia?”

  “In her bedroom playing a video game.”

  Shanese relaxed and turned her head to face her grandmother. “What exactly were you going to do with that?”

  She nodded at the gigantic serving utensil still clenched in her grandmother’s right hand. Grandma let it slide onto a countertop where it landed with a hard metallic clang. “Child, I don’t know. Guess I’d slam the knuckles of anyone trying to get into my house.”

  The mental image brought up a giggle. Shanese had no doubt that, if necessary, Grandma would not only slam their knuckles, but she’d chase Clubba’s thugs down the hall, out the door, and through the courtyard of the entire complex.

  The smile on her lips evaporated. Shanese wished she could have made out what they were hollering about. They should have been right behind her…should have beaten her right outside her home. Her grandmother and kitchen weapon wouldn’t have stood a chance. She shook her head. It didn’t add up. Why didn’t they find her? As she thought about it in the cool aftermath, it might have been an argument. The shouting had sounded odd, like four or five guys mixing it up. But there had only been two…and she couldn’t make out the words. Shanese closed her eyes allowing the relief of being safe and home drift over her. At least, she thought, they don’t know which apartment.

  Shanese wasn’t the only one who’d spotted Clubba’s boys on the other side of the street. From the vantage point above her grandmother’s apartment, another set of eyes watched the varied entryways to the complex on digital monitors. They’d been spotted five minutes before Shanese had even known of their presence.

  The over surveillance had been assigned to Tiny who still whistled through his dentures. With all the assignments and cases handed out, he just hadn’t had time to get it fixed. As much as he’d enjoyed infuriating Clubba at his arrest and trial, Tiny knew they had to keep up the pressure. He wanted Clubba’s focus on him and not the young lady in the apartment below.

  The Ol’ Blue lab tech, Michael Beckham, masqueraded as his son. Tiny had begrudgingly accepted him after the Sarge insisted. Beckham was handpicked by The Bureau member Steve DeGoff as the lead for all covert operations. Seemed DeGoff persuaded the kid to work for him instead of NSA. Still, in Tiny’s book the kid was just another civilian. He threw the younger man a glance and exhaled a long breath. As long as the kid didn’t slow him down, Tiny supposed it was fine.

  From the apartment window Tiny spotted the two young bangers approaching half a block away. “Got ya,” Tiny blurted out. Then an unintelligible combination of sounds. “Ha ja brick!” as his body jerked and fumbled like he was holding a hot potato.

  His enthusiasm shot his lower dentures out of his mouth, and they clacked against the window. “Aw, nuts,” he half whistled and half hissed. He reached out to catch them with his right hand and succeeded in slamming his binoculars against the window.

  “Jeez!” His cohort jumped, spilling his thirty-two-ounce soda on his lap. “You’re freakin’ me out here. What’s up?” Glancing at the ground, he spotted Tiny’s dentures. “Oh.”

  Reaching down, Tiny picked up his choppers, brushed them off, and popped them back in. “Crap,” he muttered.

  “Dude, you need to get those fixed.”

  “After this job,” Tiny said and with a sidelong glance added, “I wasn’t talking about my teeth; I was talking about this.” He nodded outside toward the east entrance.

  The tech just stared at his monitor, his eyes narrowing as he scanned for whatever Tiny was talking about.

  “Get out from behind that desk,” the older officer said grabbing him by the shoulder and shoved him toward the window. “Look!”

  The tech blinked and scanned the area Tiny was waving toward. “What’s the ruckus?”

  “Across the street?” Tiny asked. “The two standing there?”

  Beckham surveyed the area. “Two of what?”

  Exasperated, Tiny grabbed the younger man’s chin and pointed him directly at Clubba’s boys. “Them…those two guys hanging out. They look Sudanese and they’re wearing the super large white T-shirts. I’ll bet they work for Clubba.”

  The tech frowned at Tiny. “How do you look Sudanese?”

  Tiny shook his head in disdain. “Tall, slender, and very dark skinned.”

  “Really?” the tech went back to his monitor and zoomed in on the guys Tiny pointed out. “I had no idea.”

  “Yeah, Sherlock,” Tiny mumbled, “no sh—”

  “What’d you say?”

  “Nothing. Get me Pauli and Tony on the radio,” Tiny said.

  “No problem.” The younger man grabbed the radio, and in a second Pauli and Tony both responded.

  “Hey Tiny, what you got?”

  Tiny held the microphone in his right hand and glanced over the tech’s shoulder at the monitor. “Looks like Clubba’s guys finally found the apartment complex. My guess is they don’t know which apartment is Shanese’s grandmother’s, but they’re gonna watch—what…wait a—”

  “What?” asked Pauli.

  “Wait for what?” Tony asked.

  “Shanese is down there,” Tiny said, “walking by the buildings toward the south entrance.”

  “So?”

  “So she just looked over and saw them. Nuts! And they spotted her. She’s running from them!”

  Shanese zigzagged through the courtyard and Tiny smiled. “She’s a smart girl,” he said, “she isn’t running directly back to her grandmother’s; she’s running between the two buildings.”

  “We’re on our way,” Pauli said.

  From above, Tiny watched him and Tony work their way over to the location of the Sudanese gangsters. One of them pulled out a cell phone and punched in a phone number. Probably putting the word out that they’d found Shanese.

  Beckham followed the drama as it played out on screen. “Tell Tony to watch the guy on the phone.”

  Tiny shot him a questioning look.

  “I can record what he’s saying—while he’s on the phone! Tell him that. Now!”

  Tiny gave a small shrug. “Tony, keep your eyes on the guy with the phone. Super scientist here can record his calls.” Tiny gave the tech a sideways glance. “You can do that?”

  The tech nodded. “Yep. The glasses record audio and visual.”

  Actually impressed, Tiny smiled. “I love ya, kid!”

  “Can’t get that from binoculars,” the tech said with a smirk.

  “Don’t get cocky
on me.”

  “The other guy’s running up the sidewalk,” the tech said.

  Tiny pulled his field glasses up to his eyes again. “Probably trying to keep an eye on Shanese…not really following her.”

  Michael asked, “Just trying to find out where she’s going?”

  “Yeah,” Tiny said. “That’s what it looks like.”

  “Weird,” the tech replied. “Why not chase her into the complex?”

  Tiny thought about the odd behavior. Weird indeed. Turning the thought over in his head, he scrunched his lips to the side and rubbed his chin. “I’d bet the mortgage they were instructed not to. If they did, it would be obvious witness tampering. My guess is that Clubba explicitly said to just watch her. Make sure she stays right here.”

  The under surveillance duo, Pauli and Tony, wound their way toward the two bangers. They couldn’t really sprint. Instead they broke into something that could only be called a goosey jog. A floor above, Tiny laughed out loud.

  Tony fixed his attention on the one talking into the phone. The kid sounded excited, and he threw his opposite hand around in silent explanation.

  The other guy stared at the apartments and followed Shanese’s progress.

  “Pauli,” Tiny barked into the radio. “Throw a piss pack at the one on the horn.”

  The tech shot him a questioning look.

  “Watch and be amazed,” Tiny said with a smirk.

  Tiny and his “son” watched from above. From his fanny pack, Pauli pulled out a plastic bag about the size of a small water balloon and filled with something that appeared dark yellow. With deadly aim, he tossed it at the kid on the phone. It splattered directly in front of him exploding in a burst of putrid urine.

  “Got him,” Tiny said with a chortle. “Dead-eye got another one.”

  The banger stopped and looked down at where the pack had hit and then at his clothes. The hand with the phone dropped to his side. Tiny knew the moment the smell enveloped the thug; he turned away to drag in a lungful of clean air.