The Interstellar Police Force, Book One: The Historic Mission

by Raymond F. Klein

  Jennifer laughed and said, “Cool.”

  The three climbed the six stone steps to the double doors and entered the foyer of her building. There were rows of narrow brass mail boxes recessed into the wall on the left. The wainscoting on the walls was cheap and painted a dark brown color. The tiny checkerboard green-and-white tiled floor was dingy and stained yellow in spots and had several hairline cracks running throughout. As they ascended the stairs to her floor, Jennifer glanced back at her guests, sheepishly, and said, “I moved in here about three years ago. It’s pretty noisy, but in general, the neighbors are really nice.”

  The thick banister was painted the same dark brown as the wainscoting and had many initials, names and swear words carved into it. Their footsteps echoed in the stairwell. When they reached the second floor landing there were two anemic-looking kids sitting on the floor sharing a cigarette. They were in their early twenties, but looked to be in their mid thirties.

  “Hi, Trisha. Hi, Pimples!” Jennifer said to them, as she walked by.

  “Hey, Twink.” They both said in a monotone unison, then gave blank vacuous stares to the man and his dog that were following Jennifer. Genghis could smell a pungent odor coming from both of them.

  “I guess it’s been a little slow for everybody tonight,” Jennifer said, as they continued up to the third floor. As they went further up the stairs Trent looked down at the pair on the floor who were still staring back with blank eyes. She had short unwashed blond hair with very black mascara around her eyes and he was tall and painfully thin. His jeans had holes in each knee, and he was wearing a stained light-blue t-shirt. Both had pale complexions and bruises on their arms.

  At the third floor landing, they followed Jennifer as she turned down the left hallway. She reached her apartment door, inserted the key, and turned it. She turned and faced Trent. “Well, this is me.” She opened the door. “Thanks for helping me out and taking me home. Ah . . . you, uh, gonna come in for a few minutes?”

  “No,” Trent replied, looking around. “I don’t think that will be necessary. You seem perfectly safe now.”

  “Oh, sure, okay!” She then reached down with both hands and rubbed Genghis’s ears. “You be a good boy, Genghis Khan.” She kissed him on the nose.

  “Listen Jennifer, you should be a little more. . .”

  “Twinkie. My friends call me Twinkie.”

  “Yes, ah, Twinkie, have you ever thought about getting a real . . .”

  “Ah!” She put up an index finger. “I have and I like not having a boss,” she said. “I’m an entrepreneur.” Then, as she turned toward the doorway, “I can’t do anything else.” She paused then looked at Trent, “You know, you're one of the first cops that didn’t want something for free. Thanks again.”

  “You're welcome, Twinkie. Just be careful . . . okay?”

  She stepped into her apartment and looked back, “I will. Bye.” As she closed the door, Trent and Genghis glanced in. It was a one room apartment with a pull-out couch. The room was painted a light mauve, with inexpensive store-bought framed prints on the walls and black curtains on the window. The place was very tidy. She seemed to be trying her best to make the shabby little apartment livable.

  Jeff and Genghis walked back down the stairs. Trisha and Pimples were no longer sitting on the floor. No sign of them remained, not even a cigarette butt.

  They exited the building. For being almost 3:30 in the morning there was still a lot of activity around the Compton Apartments. People were out milling about, and the sound of a television could be heard coming from one of the top floor apartments.

  Genghis hopped over the door and into the passenger seat. Trent climbed in and started the engine. “She seems to be a good kid,” Genghis said. “Just a bad situation.”

  “Yes, I guess so,” Trent responded. He glanced over and looked at Genghis. Even in the form of a Doberman Pinscher he could still see the look in his partner's eyes. He had seen that look before on many occasions. “You know, you can’t save every wayward girl.”

  “What?” Genghis said looking back at Trent. “No! I was just thinking that she’s just had a tough life, that’s all. And maybe we could . . .” Genghis’s ears shot straight up. Jeff heard the sirens too.

  They got back to Anderson Road. Red and blue flashing lights were lighting up the night sky and throwing oddly shaped shadows against the sides of buildings. Fire engines, police cars, and other emergency vehicles were parked haphazardly throughout the road. There was a group of bystanders behind police barricades watching the firefighters as they attempted to put out the three-alarm fire. Trent stopped the Thunderbird three blocks down, as they couldn’t get any closer. The building that was ablaze was one of the three they had under surveillance.

  “Son of a bitch!” Genghis muttered, just as the front wall of the building on the right collapsed into the structure with a plume of smoke, dust and flames.

  The bystanders cheered.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The next morning, Jeff got up and found Genghis sitting on the floor, back against the seat of the couch. He was on the computer at the coffee table accessing the police department's computer network. “I made some coffee,” Genghis said, not looking up from the computer. “Kind of difficult to do without opposable thumbs you know.” He put a paw in the air and waved it up and down at the wrist. “But I managed.”

  Jeff walked into the kitchen, picked up his “World’s Number One Dad” mug and poured himself a healthy amount, then took it into the living room and sat on the couch next to his partner. He put his mug down next to Genghis’s “Death Before Disco” mug, reached for the remote control, and turned on the television.

  “Hey, I think I might have something.” Genghis said, while angling the computer so Jeff could see. “Something I realized earlier this morning. Human police procedures and our own are very similar. You know how we will record the crowd at a crime scene, hoping that the perpetrator will be there admiring his or her work?”

  Jeff was taking a sip of coffee as he found the local news where an attractive brunette was standing in front of the charred remains of the building that they had been watching. “Okay, go on.”

  “Well, the humans do the same thing,” Genghis said. “They even have something they call a facial recognition program. Very similar to our Full Body Scanning system. So, I accessed several police recordings of the arson fires, plus news recordings. I took them all and filtered them through the FBS system. And I found one particular human male who was in the crowd at every single fire.” He hit a button and the computer screen divided into several scenes showing different recordings of groups of people. The backgrounds and time of day were all different. He hit another button and all the scenes started to zoom in to one particular man in the crowd. The close-up shots were out of focus for about two seconds until the computer automatically digitized and enhanced. What they saw on the computer was a pudgy man with fat cheeks and one eyebrow that stretched across dark eyes.

  They both stared at the several different shots. Genghis looked at Trent. “Could this be our Colus Valda?”

  “Perhaps,” Trent said, studying the photos. “Let's assume it is. Go ahead and print out hard copies of those stills.”

  Genghis pushed a stack of photos over toward him, “Done!”

  Trent flipped through the pictures. “Now, you mentioned this facial recognition program that the local police force has. Have they come to the same conclusion?”

  “No, it’s very similar to our Full Body Scanning system,” the Doberman replied. “Very antiquated, though! What it does is it takes an image and matches that face to a known database in their library of photos of people that have been arrested. This man is not in their system. I checked. But it uses the same principle. It analyzes the facial features, the size and shape of the head, distance between the eyes and other features, then matches them to the database. Now look at this.” Genghis made a couple of adjustments on the computer screen and it started to c
ycle through different video camera feeds. “They have several surveillance cameras located throughout Old Town, almost one on every corner. I’m taking all those feeds and sending them through the FBS. If our buddy Valda, assuming this man is him, walks in front of one of their cameras, it will alert us and give us his location.” Genghis turned toward Trent. “All in real time.”

  “Brilliant, Mister Khan. I knew there was a reason why I brought you along on this mission.”

  “Oh! Hold on there, Mister Trent. I volunteered for this mission just as you did. We were sitting side by side when the mission was presented to us.”

  Ignoring his partner, Trent continued. “A computer savvy talking human Canine with,” he gestured with his coffee mug, “great coffee-making skills. Yes, yes, you are quite the asset, Mister Khan!”

  “Oh, I am quite the asset, Mister Trent,” Genghis played back. This was something they used to do on occasion during long stakeouts, just to break up the monotony. “I can run faster than you, my senses are much more acute than yours, and to top it off, you're pissed because you didn’t think of it first.”

  “Oh, on the contrary, my fine furry friend,” Jeff said, while taking a sip of coffee and keeping his eyes on the television. “I was thinking of this exact scenario yesterday and was going to bring it to your attention this very a.m.”

  “You are so full of excrement, Mister Trent!”

  Just then something on the news caught their attention. The story of the arson fire was over and the news moved on to another story about a bank robbery. The anchor, a well-groomed man in a tailored suit was in the middle of describing the story. “. . . The brazen robber entered The Old Town First National Bank yesterday afternoon a little after one o’clock. He then ordered everyone in the bank to the ground. Several bank customers complied, but some refused, saying later that his weapon looked so futuristic and fake that they thought it was a training drill of some kind. That is, until he fired it into the ceiling.

  “Bank officials said that the robber was calm and methodical in the way he cleaned out the tills, spending just under five minutes in the bank, and making off with over three thousand dollars. Bank officials also can not explain why the silent alarm system did not alert local police or why all surveillance recording of the robbery strangely stopped recording one minute before the robber entered the bank and resumed recording two minutes after he left.”

  “An Electronic Pulse Interrupter,” Jeff replied.

  “There was one on the inventory list of 964 that we couldn’t locate. Obviously, this particular inmate took possession of it.”

  “Excellent!” Trent said. “We now have a lead on another inmate. Why don’t we take a drive?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Old Town First National Bank was on the corner of Main Street and Third Avenue. Jeff pulled into the parking lot to the left of the building. This was one of the newer buildings in Old Town, purposely constructed to appear to have been built in the earlier 1920's as to keep with the original architectural design of the town. The bank was of a red brick construction three stories tall with large windows framed with black shutters.

  Genghis jumped over the door and met Jeff as he stepped out of the Thunderbird. They both walked up the granite steps to the double glass doors that were set between two large white stone pillars. The bank was open for business as if nothing had happened. The small rectangular vestibule with its shiny white marble floors led to the carpeted round lobby. The long teller station curved with the room and was located toward the far end of the lobby. A small group of patrons was queued between black velvet ropes, waiting to be called. On the back wall behind the tellers, the large chrome door of the vault was open as it normally was during business hours. Desks and small windowed offices lined the left and right of the lobby.

  Jeff Trent and Genghis Khan entered the lobby and started to survey the surroundings. Jeff looked up and saw the bullet hole in the ceiling.

  “Excuse me, sir.” Jeff looked to his left, where a security guard behind a desk was slowly getting up. “Excuse me,” the guard said. “I’m sorry sir, but you can’t bring that dog in here. Dogs aren’t allowed and he’s not even leashed.” He looked down at Genghis, then back to Jeff. “Unless he’s a service dog? Is he? A service dog?”

  Sitting back in the cruiser, Genghis said, “Not a service dog!” Then in a mocking tone, “Then he’ll have to wait in the car, sir.” He looked at Trent. “Why not the next time just say yes! And let's see what happens. How am I supposed to investigate a crime scene if I’m not even allowed to enter a building?”

  “Yes, I agree,” Trent said. “We’ll have to research and figure out what exactly a service dog is.” He looked over to Genghis. “Did you see the impact hole in the ceiling?”

  “Yeah!” Genghis said. “An A-56 Auto Loader. He’s definitely one of ours.”

  “Yes, I’m thinking most likely it’s Bollar. He did have a penchant for armed robberies.”

  “And collecting fingers,” Genghis added.

  Trent started the engine, pulled out of the Old Town First National Bank’s parking lot, and headed back to their apartment. They stopped and picked up four hot dogs from the hot dog vendor they had met on their first day in Old Town. Jeff backed the cruiser into the garage, and he and Genghis climbed the backstairs and entered their apartment. Trent put on a pot of coffee, and Genghis sat on the floor with his back against the couch and switched on his computer.

  “Okay! Let’s say it is Bollar, and we know from the news broadcast that he set the Electronic Pulse Interrupter to disrupt the electronics of the security cameras and alarm system one minute before he entered and resumed operations two minutes after he left.” Genghis made a few adjustments on the computer and started to access the Old Town surveillance cameras that were located in the vicinity of the bank. There were only three, two of which were several blocks away from the bank. Genghis started to view the recordings while Trent brought in two mugs of coffee. He placed the “Death Before Disco” mug on the coffee table next to Genghis’s computer and sat on the couch with his own mug. He picked up the remote and turned on the television.

  After forty-five minutes, Genghis threw in the towel. “Nothing!” he said, with a mouth full of hot dog. Picking up his mug of coffee with both paws he took a long slurpee drink, draining it. “It was brilliantly done.” He stood and slid his hind quarters onto the seat of the couch keeping his two front paws firmly on the ground. “There was only one camera in the bank's parking lot and it stopped recording five minutes before the robbery. I don’t even think the local police got that one. We don’t even know what kind of auto-mo-bile he was operating.”

  Just then the computer emitted an alarm. Trent’s coffee mug froze in place, as both their mouths gaped open. The computer screen automatically switched to an Old Town surveillance camera on the corner of First Avenue and Compton Road. The man they thought to be Colus Valda just walked out of the hardware store with a brown bag of goods. Trent’s hand came up shakily and pointed toward the screen. “Track him . . . track him!”

  “I’m already on it!” Genghis had hopped off the couch and frantically worked the keyboard anticipating the route Colus was taking. He started accessing different cameras. They started to follow him, up First Avenue to a small deli. Ten minutes later, he came out with another bag, this one white, while eating some kind of pastry as he calmly continued walking up First Avenue, seemingly without a care in the world, and leaving crumbs in his wake. At the corner of First and Grant Street he took a left. Genghis quickly switched over to another camera. All the views were high angle shots, and the streets of Old Town were crowded with people. But with the Full Body Scanning system they knew they were tracking the same man with the fat cheeks and the one long eyebrow who was at all of the arson fires. He walked up to a boarding house and climbed the narrow steps to the front door and disappeared into the building. “We got him,” Genghis said excitingly.

  Trent was up and out of the
room, and then back in seconds with the duffle bag. “I got the address,” Genghis announced. They were both downstairs and in the Thunderbird and on the road in less than three minutes.

  They found the boarding house on the corner of First Avenue and Grant Street. It was a three-story brown brick building with six apartments within. They parked across the street one block down, parallel to the sidewalk. Genghis quickly looked around and saw no pedestrians, then said, “Main frame online.” The holographic computer came up before him, and Genghis started accessing a series of different screens. “Okay, scanning the building.” A few seconds later the data he was waiting for appeared in front of him. “Top right apartment. I’m detecting at least two IPF weapons, stun grenades and several other accelerants. Whoa!” Genghis made another adjustment. “He’s not in the apartment!”

  “That’s impossible,” Jeff said. “We got here within fifteen minutes. How did we miss him?”

  “Not sure, let me pull up the schematics of the building.” A second later, “Damn it! There’s a back door.” Genghis took his paw and touched the holographic screen and minimized the schematics screen. “The FBS system is not picking him up. He might be in an auto-mo-bile, in another building, or walking where there are no cameras.”

  Jeff turned and reached into the duffle bag in the backseat and retrieved a couple of different items. “Let’s go take a look!”

  They entered the building and climbed the stairs to the top floor. It was an old, shabby building. There were water stains on the ceiling, peeling wallpaper, and the smell of cooking oils and decaying food. They approached the top right apartment. Trent held up the D30 detection unit and pressed the trigger. It made a series of beeps and tones, then went silent. Jeff looked at the small computer screen, “Nope! He’s definitely not home.” He put the D30 in his trench coat pocket and retrieved a small chrome object that resembled a pen. It was known to the IPF as the “Master Key”, used to electronically unlock bolts, latches, and locks. He aimed it at the locked door knob, activated it, and the door clicked loudly as it unlocked.