9:47 P.M., Thursday, June 13, 2013
“He’ll be on time, not to worry,” Jake chuckled, as Epic 3 and I gazed at the large TV screen streaming James shadow-boxing into the see-through mirror strategically fixed in the mud room.
“Is James going to frisk the Captain,” I said, “that’ll be funny,” querying everyone in the room.
“I gotta see that,” Epic 212 shouted, looking up from his tablet.
As Jake and I rushed around gathering ice and napkins and pushing the liquor cart to the center of the room, someone had earlier mentioned what we all thought the Captain would be wearing to the cookout. Jake thought he’d have his normal blue dress uniform. I suggested Cranbury would keep it casual but stylish, befitting his executive stature; with a black polo shirt, black dress slacks and shoes, and a black, fake alligator print belt. Everyone thought I was hallucinating with such a suggestion. Both Epics’ were sure he’d hang-free with shorts and a tee-shirt. We all laughed at our respective vision of such a sight.
“Here he is,” Jake hollered, pointing to his computer monitor linking the street entrance camera. “Nice ride…the Captain is sporting a black Suburban with what I’m certain are windows that are tinted way too dark.”
We gathered around the monitor to catch a glimpse of Cranbury’s private vehicle. The windows were up so we couldn’t see what he was wearing, but the minute visual through the windshield indicated his collarless shirt to be light blue. The Epic’s high-fived each other.
It was 9:58 PM and Captain Cranbury was on time which Jake thought to be his nature. Guess you didn’t work for the Feds and not be disciplined in some areas.
When the garage door bell rang, we watched James look up at the monitor hanging near the ceiling. He buzzed Jake and asked ‘is this your guest,’ on the wire-mic hanging off his ear. Jake answered affirmative as James buttoned the door opener attached to his belt. The Captain drove into the garage, exited his vehicle and walked quickly toward Enterprise.
“Wow!” I gasped.
“Who would have thought?” Jake bellowed.
“We thought, that’s who,” said Epic 212, pointing to himself and E3.
“Then you’ve seen something similar to this in his past, have you?”
“We found some old school pictures that indicated he had a sports side to him,” Epic 3 said, smiling.
We couldn’t wait for Captain Cranbury to make a closer, physical appearance. We wanted to take-in first hand his baby blue mock tee above some John Daly golf shorts; with what looked like a combination of black, orange, yellow and a hint of baby blue color picking up the same shade of the tee. ‘Spectacular’ couldn’t begin to describe the Captain’s garb.
We switched to the main camera, capturing a full view of the Enterprise door, waiting for the Captain’s expression when observing James for the first time.
The door quickly opened with a loud swooshing sound, somewhat startling the Captain as he stepped back a little. He was definitely surprised to find a large black man staring back at him just inside the swishing door, his eyes were wide open and his manner seemed cautious.
“Lemme see some I.D.,” James spoke in his famous soft monotone, indifferent voice.
Captain Cranbury reached for his wallet – but then Jake’s voice came over the intercom…
“It’s okay James, he’s the guy. No need to search him.”
Both the Captain and James studied each other as James pointed to the stairs. Cranbury was probably six inches taller than James, but he knew James could be a formidable opponent by the size of James’ arm muscles, displayed from his sleeveless shirt. James could grip a basketball with one of his huge hands and when he made a fist, it looked as big as a cantaloupe...besides being attached to five-foot-long arms. Before the Captain traversed the stairs, he took one last glance back at James, who was now throwing jabs at the mirror. The Captain then hurried up the stairs.
All of us gathered inside the double door main entrance, ready to welcome our esteemed guest.
“Hi Captain Cranbury, glad you could make it,” as I reached to shake hands. “These two gentlemen are associates of Jake and me, dear friends as well; please meet Epic 3 and 212. Pay no attention to the code names; this is how we know these gentlemen, so just use the numbers in addressing them, if you please.”
“Sure, okay…glad to meet you both.”
“How’s it going Captain,” Jake shouted, coming towards him with his chef’s apron on. Jake had made a quick change into his own John Daly Loudmouth shorts, after noticing Cranbury’s attire. Jake, the consummate host, puts his dinner guests at ease most of the time.
“Hello Jake, nice place you have here…I love your shorts.”
“Thanks, you’re the first person other than me who I’ve seen wearing these, guess we have similar tastes.”
We plopped down at the bar where E3 was preparing his famous margaritas. The Captain was looking at himself on the big screen over the mirror behind the bar. Interestingly, he didn’t say a word about the now-looped, second-run footage showing him entering the garage, the Enterprise opening and the startled expression on his face seeing James for the first time. E212, sitting at the end of the bar, pushed the peanut bowl down the slick mahogany just enough for it to stop in front of the Captain. He looked at 212 and nodded his thanks, saying nothing.
“We thought you’d get a kick out of meeting our security, James, when you arrived, so we videoed it and that’s what you’re looking at now.”
The Captain began to laugh.
“I’ll have to admit, it was a surprise.”
“Okay everyone, come on up, it’s quite pleasant up here…a nice breeze,” said Jake, suddenly appearing on the big screen from a closed camera shot piped in from the roof deck area.
I told the Captain to follow me as we ducked behind the bar up another metal stairway to the roof. 212 had arrived already, positioned himself in a huge wooden, pillow-covered chaise with his laptop monitor spewing a bright green haze. He motioned Captain Cranbury over to him and asked him to wave his arms over his head, like a football ref signaling a time-out call.
“What’s going on here 212”, the Captain said.
The green colored monitor seemed to have a foggy haze, similar to an out of focus picture, then, all the sudden our entire rooftop was depicted from outer space. The Captain watched himself on the monitor waving his hands over his head. He turned and looked to the sky, folded his arms and shook his head in disbelief.
“That’s amazing!”
“Just a little something extra to aid our efforts when the situation warrants…night vision lenses from the UAV mounted camera.
“You have a drone in your tech arsenal?” Cranbury queried 212 while glancing at Jake who was shrugging his shoulders and smiling. “That’s amazing,” he said.
“Are you hungry Captain?” I asked.
“I could eat something.”
“Ever had Bison or Buffalo steak Captain? Jake has this friend in Charlotte, who raises Buffalo and sells us meat on occasion.”
The Captain had an inquisitive look on his face, probably wondering, ‘do people eat Buffalo.’ Anyone familiar with the meat will testify to its lean, rich quality while avoiding the wild taste you get from deer meat. He looked at Jake, who was forking the grilling steaks, smiling, holding pinched fingers to his lips, like a French chef indicating the delicacy of the offering.
“Buffalo, you say?”
Epic 3, sitting in the same wooden deck sofa with Captain Cranbury, a phone to his ear looking at his tablet, waved his hand at the Captain gaining his attention, saying, ‘don’t worry, you’ll love it.’
We scarfed down the steaks and grilled veggies while reviewing out loud what each person had relative to what each considered critical elements of the case. It was times like this when Jake sometimes revealed his own clue-components, which became incredible enlightenments to the rest of us, to our chagrin. Never mind our sophisticated JakeForum-cloud-board created purposely to
capture the team’s ongoing observations, clues and individual thought processes…it was obviously too slow for Jake.
“We have pictures indicating a greyish coloration on the pavement outside the precinct building’s rear addition,” Jake announced to the group, looking specifically at Captain Cranbury. “I suspect coming from water spillage created by a concrete saw used to cut a hole inside the maintenance building, gaining access to your wire safe inside the main building. Were you aware of that Captain?”
Cranbury tilted his head inquisitively as if unsure about Jake’s inquiry. I hated that Jake sprung new information on someone without me knowing about it first, but if memory serves me well it was instances such as this where he continued to ‘qualify’ the person as well as solicit an answer to the question. Jake told us to always construct your inquiry with as many nuances as could be logically contained. Watching him was like being back in law school or observing a master litigator ply his trade.
“What hole are you talking about…do you mean inside the maintenance building?” “No one has found any hole in our building! People have been inside the maintenance area within the last day or so I’m sure, no one reported any hole.”
“Tell me about the new back door on the main building Captain, when was that constructed? I have a feeling it was earlier this month prior to your arrival.”
Jake handed Cranbury a picture indicating two distinct patches of greyed asphalt. One area was in front of the newly constructed back door and the other grey area appeared near the up-ramp leading to the double doorway, the entryway to the maintenance building seventy-five feet away.
The Captain inspected the pictures showing the two distinct and separate grey patches. Jake explained the grey patches were water run-off from either a concrete drill or saw, the type used to cut or drill sections of concrete for the purpose of making doors or windows in existing concrete structures.
“You’re probably right…one of the officers who still smokes said he liked the new door we had installed just off our break room…I guess the door is a new addition. Do you want me to find out the specific date the door was installed?” he murmured, seemingly embarrassed by the whole thing being brought to his attention.
“No, not critical, what is critical is the contractor who performed the door installation, we’ll need his name.”
“No problem – let me call my duty sergeant who tells me he knows everything that goes on around there. I’m beginning to wonder myself.”
“WAIT CAPTAIN!” Jake shouted, “I wasn’t necessarily asking you to inquire with anyone regarding who had done the construction…we have resources to procure that information…it’s just my thought the hole in the maintenance building and the sawing for the new door were done simultaneously, as noise from the door creation would cover noise from creation of the maintenance building hole. I’m betting this contractor enabled the hole-making to the safe.”
No sooner had Captain Cranbury returned his phone to his loud-patterned shorts, it began ringing, or should I say blasting, The Supremes’ hit tune, ‘Baby Love.’ We had some idea the Captain was hip but no idea of the depth and flavor – now we knew.
His conversation with the caller was succinct and businesslike as he appeared somewhat disturbed. He stood up from the huge wood-slab picnic table and began pacing, increasing the loudness of his voice with each retort to the caller. About this time, 212 handed Jake his tablet...I immediately scurried to peer over his shoulder. What appeared on the screen was the ongoing conversation between Captain Cranbury and his caller…the Irregulars had tapped the Captain’s phone providing us a transcript containing both conversations. Slowly each word appeared from the Captain and the phone number for the 2nd Precinct, the speaking person’s name was not revealed.
I shook my head in disbelief as we read that Detective Jones had been shot an hour ago and had been rushed to Detroit Mercy Hospital, not ten minutes from where we sat. The tablet’s information told us Detective Jones was wounded in the shoulder; he was not critical but was sitting up taking nourishment at the hospital. The Captain ended his phone conversation, looking at us, he said…
“You know, I gather?”
“No offense Captain, it’s what we do,” Epic 3 approached him, standing face to face, both with somber expressions.
Seldom does Jake become quickly agitated, this event was different − he approached Cranbury and Epic 3, speaking in his baritone-like-matter-of-fact, conspicuous-free tone. Jakes eyes locked onto Cranbury...“Clarice will follow you to the hospital and see if Detective Jones can fill us in on what’s transpired…Epic 3 and I will be in contact as our search for information develops. Go now, and give Jones our best…not to worry,”
The Captain left the building in a hurry but I kept close to him jamming gears in my red, rag-top Mini Cooper. The trip was too short for my liking as it had been sometime since experiencing a midnight, high-speed ride through the streets of Detroit. I punched the phone GPS sensing locator so Jake and company would know when we’d arrive at Detroit Mercy.
From the cloud-case board I knew Jake and Epic 3 were heading to the Leo Burris residence as Epic 22, the lady Irregular was writing about where to meet up when they arrive. The stream of information was not only critical to keep abreast of Jakes individual exploits, it was also keeping the whole team apprised of the case progression – and that always had to be a good thing.
Captain Cranbury and I were ushered to Detective Jones’ room by Patty Chen, a quick-witted, knowledgeable assistant I knew from the mayor’s office. As we quickly walked through the hospital’s halls, Patty filled us in on Jones’ condition; 9 mm hole through his left shoulder with no permanent damage. Detective Jones was sitting in a chair eating soup when Patty left his room to meet us at the hospital’s emergency entrance.
We arrived to see Jones waving at us with his good arm as we walked through the door, he was smiling. Cranbury pulled a chair up next to the detective while I paced the room seeking the best signal for the tablet. I winked at Jones, he nodded.
Wanting to keep Jake informed I entered what we knew of Jones condition and advised of the Captain’s pending interview. The screen immediately came back to a visual map of the area surrounding the Leo Burris residence. Two points of interest were indicated with blinking, colored lights. One was Epic 22’s vehicle with footnotes saying that Jake along with Epic’s 3 and 22 were occupants. The red blinking light on the screen indicated the alleyway behind a Burris home...two houses south of the Burris’ home...a vehicle with one unknown occupant. 22 footnoted that Jerome ‘Junk Dog’ White occupied the Burris residence.
Suddenly, a yellow blinking light appeared on the tablet screen indicating that 212 was parked behind 22, footnoting he had ‘big ears’ and was positioning himself in Burris’ next-door neighbor’s backyard. The big ears term was code for our trusty PPLLD (Paradish Parabolic Laser Listening Device), used for those get-close moments when we’re way the hell away from conversation we want to hear. We loved how insanely portable but powerful it was, plus 212 rigged a range booster and laser pointer, also wiring it to his phone which transmitted whatever big ears hears to all the people on our net. How sweet it made long distance listening, and yes, we abused the hell out of being able to do so.
Paradish Parabolic Laser Listening Device – aka ‘Big Ears’
The Captain motioned me to come over and sit with Jones and him. I grabbed a chair pulling it to the side of Detective Jones, patting his good arm, giving him a reassuring smile.
“Clarice...Detective Jones says he’s unsure who shot him as there were four or five guys near his car when it happened. He was pulling up in front of his Uncles home when he was shot.” It now had come to me why Jake headed immediately to Leo’s house; somehow he knew Uncle Leo’s involvement in the case was greater than Burris’ let on. Then again, maybe it was Junk Dog he was after, thinking he might be there.
“Glad you’re okay Detective, the wound doesn’t appear too bad, you’ll be up and
running in no time.” Don’t know why I held back the information about Jakes whereabouts from Captain Cranbury and Detective Jones, perhaps it was Jakes constant reminder, ‘to speak less and listen more.’ I thought it best to keep Jakes whereabouts quiet...so I did.
The tablet began vibrating indicating an incoming text message; I politely bowed out of the two cops company and walked to the hall viewing the message, it was Jake asking about what additional information Jones revealed. I texted him: Jones arrived front Burris home, four or five suspects, none identified, Jones okay, nothing further. Your 10-20 ETA 15 minutes.
With zero to accomplish at the hospital, I said my goodbyes and headed for the car. Needing to be where the action was – where Jake usually is – required more gear jamming – pushing the Cooper speedily through dark Detroit back streets, like Charlize and Mark in The Italian Job movie. Twelve minutes later I pulled to the rear of Jake’s Mountaineer.
“Where you been?” Jake murmured, as I entered the vehicle, slamming the door after stubbing my toe on the street curb. Ignoring his sarcasm, I rubbed my toe while massaging 22’s neck for all her hard work keeping this stakeout alive. She held up some bananas for the taking, I said ‘No thanks.’ She told me to feed Mike a banana, her kid laying in crib behind me.
“The Junk Dog person is still in the house, all we can hear is loud music, no conversation,” 22 informed, she continued, “Leo’s daughter is there with her child, no identity of person in alley vehicle. 212’s moving closer to that vehicle now to see if he can pick up any conversation from the person inside.”
“Holy shit!” I shouted as someone tapped on Jake’s window, scaring the life out of me, it was Epic 8. He’s scary enough in the daylight let alone seeing him in the shadowy darkness of the night. 8 is a tall, husky, bearded and mysterious individual always wearing a hoody with the hood up. Jake said he played tight end football, whatever that is, for Michigan State a few years ago. Another peculiar component of his make-up, and a scary one at that, was that he never talked much and when he did it was in a low, incoherent mutter. He was always looking at either Epic 3 or Jake, as if waiting for instructions. But, when Jake needed muscle, it was always Epic 8 who conveniently showed up. Scary!
The Mystery Maxims of Jake Spade - Case #1 FORGIVEN Page 5
