The Interstellar Police Force, Book One: The Historic Mission

by Raymond F. Klein

  “Hopefully he hasn’t gotten there yet.” Genghis thought for a moment. “You know, when we get back to the cruiser, I want to call up a map of all the deserted buildings and the ones in the middle of renovations. We can figure out the possible choices he has and start a good old fashioned stakeout.”

  “I agree,” Trent said. “Also, let's tap into the local police computer systems. See if we can get any intel that wasn’t released to the local papers.”

  “That should be easy,” Genghis replied. “I’ve already tapped into the Department of Transportation’s computers for maps. The police department shouldn’t be any different.”

  Meanwhile at the maitre d’ station, there were now about eight employees standing around, two from the kitchen. They watched as the customer at table thirty was having an intense conversation with his dog. As one of the servers walked by with a tray of several steaming dishes on it, she slowed down and asked, “How’s the mayor of crazy town doing?”

  “Still talking to his dog.”

  As she moved on to the dining area she said over her shoulder, “So long as the dog doesn’t talk back.”

  “That sounds like a plan,” Trent said. “We’ll start tonight and . . . shhhh.”

  Jerry came through the door with a large tray. He placed the plate of sea scallops and vegetables in front of Trent, and a smaller one of the potatoes to his left. Then, he took a large soup bowl from the tray and placed it on the ground in front of Genghis. “There yah go, big fella.” He straightened up and asked Trent, “Will there be anything else?”

  “No thank you, this will be cool.”

  “If you need anything, please give me a call.” And with that Jerry left and joined his friends at the maitre d' station.

  Trent took his fork and started to probe the scallops. He selected a small piece, brought it to his nose and sniffed, then slowly placed it into his mouth. “Oh, my, this is good.” He selected a larger piece and quickly ate it.

  “Jeff?”

  “Yes?” Trent said, not looking up from his plate.

  “Jeff?”

  “Yes? . . . Oh!” He looked at his partner. “How’s yours?”

  “Jeff, Jerry put my food on the ground.”

  Trent looked down at the bowl. “Ah, yes he did.”

  “No, no, no, Jerry put it on the ground, Jeff.”

  “Yes, but it’s in a bowl!”

  “Yes, it is in a bowl . . . on the ground.”

  “Well yes, but maybe that’s how canines eat.”

  Genghis was quiet for a second. “But it’s on the ground.”

  “Oh, very well.” Trent bent down, retrieved the bowl and placed it on the table. Then he pushed the chair out for Genghis. The wrought iron chairs were without armrests so Genghis was able to slide up onto it like he was sitting in the co-pilot's chair of the cruiser and started to eat.

  The entire staff, including the manager on duty, were all huddled around the small maitre d’ station, astonished.

  “That dog sat up there like he’s done it before!” one said.

  “Will you look at that shit!” another replied.

  “This guy likes his dog way too much.”

  “Wait! Wait! What’s he doing now?”

  They all watched in silence as the customer at table thirty took the tip of his fork and pierced a small piece of scallop, said something to his dog, and moved the fork toward him. The dog's head emerged from behind the palm fond and sniffed the scallop, then using just his front teeth gently took it off his fork and ate it.

  “WHOAAA!,” the employees erupted. One server handed over a five dollar bill to the other. “Oh! That’s disgusting,” one of the waitresses replied. A couple of them started laughing and clapping. Just then they all saw the man at table thirty and his dog look toward the window.

  They scattered in all directions.

  All Jeff Trent and Genghis Khan could see in the early afternoon sun was their own reflection in the window staring back at them. “What the hell was that?” Genghis asked.

  “Who knows! Maybe someone dropped something.”

  They both finished their lunch and coffee. Jerry came back out, collected the empty plates and asked if he would like dessert. Trent, not being too sure what a dessert was, politely declined. Jerry left the tab in a small leather covered binder. Jeff took out his wallet and paid the bill. They both exited the outdoor dining area through a small entrance way in the four foot wall that led to Third Avenue. They turned left and proceeded back to the cruiser.

  Jerry came back out to table thirty with a new table cloth. He picked up the binder and quickly counted. The exact amount, no tip. “Why do I always get the crazies?”

  Chapter Twenty

  They drove back to the Riverside Mall and parked in a far out-of-the way corner. They managed to get below decks without being seen. Genghis was able to get several maps of buildings that were either abandoned or under renovation. The majority of these buildings were in an area known as Compton Square. So named for the large rundown apartment complex which took up the entire block, from 10th St. to Compton Road.

  They studied the maps for about an hour and came up with three likely candidates. Neither one of the buildings was slated for construction anytime soon, but they were good targets for Colus Valda. Large, out of the way, and secluded. Genghis hacked into the police department's computers and found that the investigators had constructed a timeline for when all the arson fires were possibly set. Between one and three in the morning. The police had also increased patrols in the area. So, Trent and Genghis would have to be careful not to draw attention to themselves.

  They decided to set out after ten pm that night. With a lot of time on their hands, they stayed below. Genghis retrieved more maps of the area and picked a good location to park the cruiser for the stakeout. Trent, in the meanwhile, went into the galley and gathered up IPF-issued pre-packaged food for their long night. Then, the two of them went to the science lab and set up equipment for the night's stakeout. Just after ten, they emerged from below deck. The mall closed at nine and no one was in the parking lot. They lowered the top and pulled out of the Riverside Mall parking lot and traveled west. They were able to stop at Dave’s, just before they closed, for some coffee.

  They drove into the Compton Square district of Old Town, passing the large Compton Apartments. There were nine long rectangle buildings, three stories tall, all crammed into a one block section. Each building was in need of work. Gutters were hanging, paint was peeling, and the roofs needed replacing on all the buildings. There were kids hanging out in the parking lot, leaning against abandoned cars. Laundry was hanging from balconies, windows open, TV’s blaring.

  They traveled on further into Compton Square. The deeper they drove, the less people they saw. Genghis called up his holographic computer screen and gave Trent directions. They turned up Anderson Road and found the three buildings. They stopped for a moment and surveyed the area. The three rundown buildings sat side by side. Graffiti was spray painted on the walls and there was trash littering the area.

  “See that alley behind us?” Genghis said, while looking over his shoulder. “We can park in there. That will give us a good view of all three buildings.” The alley was in between two tall vacant buildings across the street.

  Trent put the Thunderbird in reverse and backed into the narrow alley. A plastic drinking bottle popped, garbage and trash crunched under the weight of the cruiser. Trent slipped it into park and turned off the engine. The alley was just wide enough to open the cruiser doors if they had to. The moon was full, but the alley was deep in the shadow of the two buildings. They could not be seen from the street. Jeff and Genghis were both bathed in the glow of the computer slowly scanning the area for any life signs.

  As they sat drinking their coffee, the computer detected several signs of feral cats, rats, and a couple of stray dogs.

  “I wonder why those canines are out here?” Genghis pondered in between sips of coffee. “Don’t they ha
ve owners?”

  “Got me,” Trent responded, speaking a little quickly. “But you know something? We’ve been up for some time now and I’m not tired. Are you?”

  “Wow! Now that you mentioned it, you're right. I’m not either.”

  “Nope, nope, not tired.” Trent looked around with a little grin on his face, then said, “Not even drowsy.”

  “I could run around the block a couple of times.”

  “Look at the time,” Trent said. “Nope, not tired. Hey, do you think it could be some form of delayed jet lag or something?”

  “Possible! Possible!” Genghis said, flicking his ears.

  They both just sat there sipping their coffee with little slurpy sounds and pondering what could be the cause of their alertness. In the first two hours of their stakeout, only one car drove by, music loudly coming from within. They could feel the booming bass pushing against them as it drove by. After another thirty minutes, the computer alerted them of a human walking and entering the area.

  “Here we go,” Genghis said. “Coming up on our one o’clock, walking slowly.” At first, they could only hear an odd sound as the person walked. Then he came into view, walking down the sidewalk across the street. He was dressed in baggy, dirty pants and a dress shirt that at one time was probably very nice. The shirt was unbuttoned, mostly because it no longer had buttons and flapped in the light breeze revealing a ripped black Nine Inch Nails t-shirt underneath. He was pushing an old grocery cart, overflowing with filled garbage bags. The sound that they heard as he approached was the left front wheel of the cart. It was spinning wildly around it’s base and clattering loudly on the sidewalk as he proceeded by.

  Trent watched intently as the man walked on. Even from across the street he could hear the man mumbling to himself. Genghis quickly accessed a different screen on his computer and scanned the contents of the cart. “Nothing flammable in the cart. Not detecting any amounts of Calbenite or IPF equipment. Some rotting food products, a bottle of a distilled liquid, and clothing, but that’s about it.”

  Trent watched as the man stopped walking. “Most likely he’s just a hobo.” Just then the man unzipped his pants and started urinating on an old beer bottle on the ground.

  “Geez O’ Cow! That’s disgusting,” Genghis remarked. “Couldn’t he have found a facility somewhere!” They quietly watched as the man slowly swayed back and forth. A seemingly endless stream of urine poured from his body. “Oh! Come on, rummy, move on!” Genghis said. “You don’t even see canines doing that.”

  At four-thirty in the morning, they called it quits. The homeless man with the cart was the only person they saw on their first night of the stakeout. They drove back to the Riverside Mall and parked in the same spot they were in early that day.

  They put the top on, rolled up the windows and locked the doors, then went below. The effects of the coffee were finally wearing off and they both proceeded to their respective cabins and slept until eleven o’clock that morning.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Genghis got up and found Trent in the galley fixing something to eat. He was standing in front of a computerized oven wall unit. Removing a steaming dish from the oven, he turned and placed it on the table that was bolted to the floor in the middle of the small galley. “Would you like some? I made enough for both of us.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Genghis said, as he hopped onto one of the chairs.

  Trent got out two plates and slid one toward Genghis. He then grabbed a serving spoon and scooped out the contents and slapped it on the Doberman’s Pinscher's plate. It was something similar to scrambled eggs, but very different. He then placed some on his own plate and sat opposite from his partner.

  They ate in silence for a few moments then Genghis said, “I sent our latest report to headquarters.”

  “You get a response back?”

  “Yeah, just the usual. They’re pleased with our progress, anxious for us to stay under the radar, blend in with the locals, blah, blah, blah.”

  Trent looked at his partner, “You didn’t tell them about the news-paper article, did you?”

  “Hell no! What they don’t know won’t interfere with what we’re trying to do.”

  “Yes, I agree. We don’t need them more worried than they already are.”

  They finished breakfast and Trent went to his cabin and changed into his black, linen suit with white shirt and solid dark, blue tie. He put on the trench coat to conceal his shoulder holster of weapons, then found Genghis in the science lab, checking on the status of the cruiser.

  “Everything is operating normally,” Genghis said as Trent entered.

  “Excellent!” They both proceeded to the stairs leading to the upper deck. “We should go back to Compton Square and start looking around for other possible targets that Valda might find appealing.”

  “Yes,” Genghis replied, rearing up on his hind legs. “We should also get another news-paper,” he said, while activating the wall unit to scan the outside of the cruiser for individuals too close for comfort. “See if we can find any more articles that might be of interest to . . . ” Just then the scanner alerted them to the fact that there were people around the cruiser. A lot of people!

  “What the hell!” Genghis said, “There’s over two hundred people out there.”

  “Is it a malfunction with the unit?”

  Genghis, using his paws, made an adjustment, “No, everything is functioning normally.”

  “Let’s get a visual,” Trent said, puzzled at the present information.

  Genghis made another adjustment, and the small computer screen switched to the outside surveillance cameras. There were four cameras on the exterior of the cruiser. One on the bow facing forward, one on the stern, and one on the port and starboard sides. All had audio capabilities and could zoom in and out and pan with a command entered into the computer. Of course these cameras were now disguised – the front as the turquoise nose insignia of the Native American Thunderbird, the rear as a chrome bolt holding the bumper firmly to the frame, and the port and starboard as side mirrors.

  Genghis activated the starboard camera and confirmed what the computer told them: Over two hundred people were milling about The Riverside Mall parking lot. Genghis panned the camera and zoomed in on a large white van that seemed to be the epicenter of the event. There were large speakers placed on either side of the open back doors. Chuck Berry’s “Maybellene” played loudly through them. On the side of the van was a banner that read “The Riverside Mall Car Show.” It was an event scheduled for every second Sunday of the month.

  “The computer is accessing a lot of info,” Genghis reported. “Two hundred and two humans, seventy-five auto-mo-biles, ages ranging anywhere from thirty to eighty years. It appears this is something they do. Park older vehicles, then walk around like the zombies from the movie Zombies of Mora Tau and gawk at them.”

  There was a section of the Riverside Mall parking lot cordoned off for the car show. The cars were parked throughout the lot in order of manufacturer. The cars ranged from 1928 to 1985. Jeff Trent and Genghis Khan just happened to have parked their 1959 Thunderbird, the previous night, in the designated Ford display area. The cruiser was in the middle of a semi-circle with four other Fords. To the left sat a shiny red and black 1969 Boss Mustang 302 with the hood opened, showing off its chrome valve covers and air filter. Parked next to that was a two-toned white and blue 1956 Fairlane Crown Victoria. On the other side of the cruiser was a very rare, deep blue 1967 Shelby Cobra, 427 Super Snake. Next to that was a classic black 1929 Model A.

  Genghis panned the camera around and revealed two adolescent males, hands cupped around their eyes to shield the sun and faces pressed against the passenger window of their replicated 1959 Ford Thunderbird.

  “Goodnight nurse!” Genghis said. “How the hell are we going to get topside without being seen? This damn hootenanny could go on all day!”

  The sounds of “Maybellene” slowly faded and was immediately replaced with Danny a
nd the Juniors' “At The Hop.”

  The music and sounds of the event echoed throughout the IPF cruiser. Jeff Trent pondered how they were to get out from below decks. He thought for a moment, then said, “What about the Electronic Pulse Interrupter?” He looked down at Genghis.

  “Yeah, that could work,” Genghis agreed. “I could make a few adjustments and send it out toward that audio array. That could get the attention of the crowd and give us enough time to exit.”

  As they proceeded to the science lab, they could hear the violin open to “Twilight Time” followed by the smooth, tenor voice of Tony Williams as he started singing.

  Genghis hopped up, placing his front paws on the counter in front of one of the computers. Trent stood behind him. He started to activate the necessary screens to set the Interrupter.

  The Electronic Pulse Interrupter was a very useful device of the IPF, usually deployed in hostage situations. The Pulse it would send out would disable any surveillance and communication devices within the complex where the hostage standoff was being held. This would prevent the occupants from getting any outside communication or viewing any surveillance equipment that could compromise the movements of the IPF.

  “Okay,” Genghis announced. “In three minutes the Interrupter will send out a six-second pulse. That should get the crowd's attention and give us time to exit.” Genghis and Trent then made their way to the top of the stairs to wait.

  Outside, the crowds were milling about, the two adolescents still had their faces pressed against the windows of the Thunderbird, and The Platters were still singing.

  The feedback sound that emitted out of the speakers was loud and ear splitting. Children screamed, men and women grimaced and covered their ears as they looked toward the large white van where the DJ was frantically trying to stop the sound. Six seconds after the mysterious sound started, it stopped. The Platters song resumed as it was coming to the end, Together, at last, at Twilight Time.

  The speakers went silent for a second, and the DJ shook the cobwebs from his head, then started Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen's “Hot Rod Lincoln.”