Game of the Blues

by Kenn C. Kincaid

  “Yes, Sir,” Dan responded. “What can we do for you, LU-tenant?”

  “You can start by addressing me respectfully, then go out and write some parkers. You’ve been low for weeks. Pick it up, or I’ll find you some detail time.”

  “Lieutenant, this is the Night Run! On the nights the focus is on burglars,” Dan said.

  “The focus is what I tell you it is, and that’s what you do. And, tonight you do parkers and door shaking. If you can’t be productive beat men, I’ll find someone else to run the beat.” He demanded peering over his readers.

  “Okay, Lieutenant Hess,” Dan said, “But, there aren’t a lot of …

  “Have you noticed our burglaries are down almost to nothing?” Ben interjected.

  “You two jokers hit the streets. I want parkers and door shaking. Come morning you better have some.”

  Without comment, Dan and Ben turned away.

  “And, all the doors better be in place!” he yelled after them.

  In the parking lot Dan skipped toward his cruiser singing, “Parkers and doors, parkers and doors, got to get us parkers and doors.”

  “I wish Snaggles’d get over it,” Ben said.

  “Affirmative action hangover. Wants to prove worthy,” Dan said. “Views everything on how it affects HIS career.”

  Hess made the effort, put in the time attending study groups, and took a week’s vacation to cram. However, exams are highly competitive. When the dust settled he was promoted after skipping past six higher scores.

  “Doesn’t mean we gotta be his whippin’ boys,” Ben bellyached.

  “Take a pill. He’s easy. You make him look good, he likes you.”

  “Pills I can handle! Suppositories—are a different matter.”

  They reached their assigned cruiser.

  “Too bad he isn’t more like Captain Kirk,” Ben said.

  “That’s part of his frustration. He’s ours. We’ll deal with it. As for now, he’s dealt us another hand in the ‘Game of the Blues’.”

  1 Glossary of Terms and Professional Acronyms in back of book.

  Chapter Two

  Two Tragic Thefts

  As Dan drove, he speculated how they might play out this hand in the “Game of the Blues.”

  “He wants parkers, does he? Then we’ll GIVE him parkers! If he interviewed victims, maybe he’d get it? Maybe if he hauled the bleeding to the hospital, or explained to widows how they’re gonna eat after their purses are snatched! He’s skippin’ through his own Wonderland.” Dan watched a car pass through the intersection. “Parkers!”

  “Dan, we can’t fight the system. It’s numbers to him.”

  “Parkers don’t beat people and rob ’em. Parkers don’t kill people. Crime on the rampage and he wants parkers? I’ll get him parkers.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll come up with them—somehow.”

  “We’ll keep our eye out. Pick up a couple a night. We don’t have to let it keep us from the important stuff.”

  “Be sure on that! But, Hess needs to learn people are getting hurt. I’ll figure an angle.”

  Dan was the brain of the Duo, an ingenuity to conspire and plot with deviousness bordering depravity. His conniving stings were renowned. Even with laws favoring the criminal, once Dan set his sights on a villain, they felt the obsession. In fifteen minutes, Dan had a plan.

  “Think I’ve solved the parkers glitch.”

  “I’m all ears and more ’n a bit worried, Partner. Can’t we just get along with the lieutenant for once?”

  “Weren’t you just moanin’ in my ear about suppositories?”

  “Yeah, so I gripe about taking out the garbage. It gets to the curb.”

  “You’re dreamin’. Ben, we don’t suffer fools well, let alone ego inflated by-the-book supervisors. You really suggesting we tuck tail?”

  “It’s co-existence!”

  “You’ve gone ‘blooey’ on me!”

  “Of course not! It’s the good guys against the bad guys, and on nights parkers aren’t the bad guys. I vote for burglars and thieves.”

  “Well, we can do that, and maybe, get him off the parkers kick same time.”

  “And, without shoving it in his face—right?”

  “Hear me out.”

  “Your plans tend to bend rules.”

  “Ease up, Ben. Hear me out!”

  “I’m listening.”

  “The plan’s simple. We strategically choose streets for OTP enforcement.”

  “OTPs on nights! That law is for clearing abandoned clunkers on days.”

  “Tell it to your buddy, Snaggles. All I know is 508-12 doesn’t stipulate reason. It says they can’t remain over fourteen hours. That’s the whole point; Day Run versus Night Run. He doesn’t get it.”

  “All you’re gonna do is fire citizens up.”

  “If we’re going to get him parkers, it can’t be helped. The key is the towing.”

  “Towing! OH NO! no, no.”

  “It’ll be temporary. We select streets maximizing opportunity for complaints. Tonight, we mark a street. Tomorrow, we mark another, and tag the first street; and the third night, we mark one, tag one, and tow one. Sooner or later we’ll hit a nerve.”

  “‘Hit a nerve’? Thought your plan didn’t shove it in his face?”

  “Maybe a little, but if we follow procedures…”

  “Partner, I’m telling you up front, I DON’T LIKE IT!”

  “Do it by the book, and his fuming is hot air up a chimney. Snaggles’ll have his blasted parkers, and we’ll have done everybody a service by educating him.”

  “Why do all YOUR plans include ME getting MY butt chewed?” Ben asked. “I’m not up for that right now. You think on it. We’ll rehash it in an hour.”

  They made their business checks between routine radio dispatches of domestic disputes, bar fights, and auto accidents. Around 0300 hours the radio traffic quieted.

  “You thought on it long enough?” Dan asked.

  “What?”

  “The OTP Plan.”

  “Don’t misunderstand me,” Benn said “The way you play the game amuses, but frightens me. We start laying paper; it’s a chain reaction we can’t stop. I’m not comfortable pushin’ fines on people who don’t have a dog in the fight.”

  “Easy, Partner, I’m figuring warning notices first night. After that, they’re not so innocent.”

  “Reckon that dog’ll hunt, but if Hess sees ’em, it’ll kill your plan.”

  “Why you keep putting it on me? Are we partners or not?”

  “I don’t see gettin’ my butt chewed so you can ‘one-ups’ the lieutenant.”

  “Okay, it’s MY plan, but it’s OUR problem. Got a better idea?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You don’t see a problem burnin’ time chasin’ parkers?

  “Of course I do.”

  “Well then, trust me, Partner. It’ll work!”

  “OH, CURSES! Partners we are. By your side should I die.”

  “Then, might as well get started.” Dan said pulling to the curb. Will start on Gordon, do Pitts tomorrow. He slid out of the car. He began marking tires at the first vehicle and Ben worked the other side of the street.

  Minutes into the chore Dan noticed a shadow moving fifty yards ahead disappearing near Gundy’s Grocery. A cardinal rule of patrol work demands partners maintain full awareness of each other. It is critical when separated. Thus, Dan quickly caught the eye of Ben and signaled what he saw. Ben worked around the backside of the grocery, and they closed on the doorway from opposite directions.

  Dan stealthily approached within twenty feet of the figure. Preoccupied it stooped in front of the door. Sidestepping to avoid a bucket, Dan stirred a pebble. The man turned, spotted Dan, and bolted around the corner of the building toward Ben. Extending his nightstick it raked across the man’s shins. The suspect lurched forward rolling into the gutter issuing a stream of curses.

  “Gosh, mister, seems you tripped,” Ben
said. “Let me help you up.” He twisted each arm of the burglar in turn behind him applying handcuffs. Dan joined his partner.

  “What’s your name?” Ben asked.

  “Tim.”

  “Put a last name to it, Tim.”

  “Tim…uhh…Tim Freeman.”

  A search found a five inch “pegged” knife in his ankle high shoe, seventeen cents, a washer, and a leather bi-fold wallet worn through at the corners. The wallet contained several unimportant notes, a four-month-old pay stub, and a social security and welfare card bearing the name of Fred Morgan.

  “If you’re Tim Freeman, why do you have Fred Morgan’s papers?” Ben asked.

  “He’s a friend. He’s sick, so I cashed it for him.”

  “You’re a lousy liar.”

  Dan returned to examine the doorway, while Ben called the dispatch on the belt radio relaying the available data on the suspect. Dan’s flashlight revealed paint flaking from pry marks on the jamb. Both near the bolt. Within minutes Dan returned carrying a dark brown canvas bag. The bag contained several large screwdrivers, a clawed pry bar, hacksaw, cold chisel, hammer, and flashlight.

  “What are you doing with these?” Dan interrogated.

  The man did not reply.

  “What were you doing in Gundy’s doorway?”

  “I weren’t doin’ no door! Twas walkin’ home from Stacy’s when some dudes got t’ chasin’ me. Feared f’r m’ life, I run, and hid from ’em. Then you comes along and I thought it was ’em, so’s I run. And, that’s d’ honest God’s truth officers. Swears it.”

  “Where you suppose the fresh pry marks came from? And, there’s this bag of burglary tools?”

  “Them ain’t burglar tools! ‘Sides ain’t ne’r seen ’em before. You ain’t got not’in’ on me!”

  “Wrong mister two names,” Dan said. “The lab’ll match this pry bar to the door marks.”

  “Ain’t mine. Y’u gots not’in’.”

  “The cuffs, bag of burglary tools, fresh pries, and an unlawful peg knife are big clues trouble’s coming your way,” Ben advised escorting the suspect to the cruiser.

  “Car 508,” the radio called, “you have a Signal Thirty-H [History Record], S-S matches.”

  “508, copy. We’re double, subject in custody. Disregard backup.”

  They transported Morgan to the district station, and secured him in a holding cell to stew while completing their paperwork. On the way to the desk Dan turned the thermostat controlling the room to eighty. Uncomfortable solitude increases cooperation. They went to the front desk.

  “Rap sheet in on Morgan yet?” Dan asked the desk officer.

  “On the side bar. Get it and get. Snaggles’s on the prowl over something.”

  “Yeah, we know.”

  The rap-sheet listed a dropped petty theft charge and an active trespass warrant.

  Returning, Dan lowered the thermostat to seventy-six. They entered without closing the door hoping to clear the stale air. The prisoner sat at the end of a small aluminum table his head buried in folded arms. He was neither sleeping nor crying, but resigned. Ben raised the long narrow window’s sash revealing exterior bars and straddled a gray metal chair backwards. It wobbled from the bent leg causing a “tap-tap-tap.” Morgan sat erect. His face carried the expression of a hardboiled egg. Dan leaned back against the brick wall as if weary and spoke softly.

  “Fred, it’s a busy night. We don’t have time to dilly-dally.” Then seeing Lieutenant Hess passing Dan raised his voice, “You’re a burglar. Tonight’s parker night; so we don’t have time for burglary work.” The Lieutenant continued down the hallway. Dropping the tone Dan reopened, “Simply put, Fred, we have two felony-four charges. Toss in the concealed weapon, and they’re first degree felonies. Your facin’ three to twenty.”

  “But, I…”

  “But I nothing” Dan interrupted pulling a chair to the table its legs scraping across the concrete floor. He sat ninety degrees from the prisoner leveling clear blue eyes on Morgan. Many a suspect mistook them as compassionate. They were all business. “I’d like to clear this up and get you back with your family, but…”

  Ben knew his cue, “BUT, we both know you’re guilty as sin! You’re going down, and with YOUR RECORD, its bangin’ out plates ten to twenty.”

  “Not necessarily, Ben,” Dan said holding his arm out to block Ben’s approach. “If he’d level with us, maybe we could cut him some slack.” Turning to the prisoner Dan said, “No promises, Fred. We’ve got you cold. Do the math. Give me somethin’ to bargain with.”

  Fred hesitated. Dan and Ben sat quiet. Ben’s chair leg tapped.

  “If I’m sent up what’ll happen to my wife and kids? How they gonna make it?”

  “Should’ve considered it before goin’ night shopping,” Ben said harshly.

  “Your kids, Fred, they deserve any break you can give ’em,” Dan added.

  “I can’t do time!”

  “Can’t promise, but we can’t do anything for you ’til we know the score.”

  Fred rested his face in his open right hand, his elbow supported on the table. The room was quiet with the exception of the whirring exhaust fan.

  “Okay. I’ll spill it. I needed food. My wife and kids ain’t had real food f’r weeks, and one of m’ kids’ sick. I know’d ‘twas wrong, but I ain’t had no work. Last worked ne’r three months back for two pennies a brick. Don’t salvage bricks like they use to. Anyway, money’s gone weeks ago. I’m not trying to make what I done right. Just tellin’ what ‘twas pushin’ me.”

  “Aren’t you on the food stamp program?” Dan asked.

  “Sara took sick. Mos’ of ’em went f’r potions. She’s better now, but m’ little one’s caught it.”

  Dan was aware of the custom of selling food stamps off market to provided cash for tobacco, beer, and illicit drugs. Unfortunately, proceeds were less than half value.

  “What about a church association?” Dan asked.

  “Church! You go to church? They might help your family. I don’t know church people. What church goin’ to help the likes of us. Did church when I was a kid. Momma made me go, but I don’t have much use for religion. Sometimes, Thanksgiving or Christmas church folk drop off a box of food. Guess it makes ’em feel good. It do help us for a few days.”

  Dan studied the arrest record. “What kind of beer you drink?”

  “Can’t ‘fords no beer, officer. ‘Sides, don’t much care for it; bitter’n vinegar. I’d much rather do sodee-pop, if’n you’re offer’n?”

  Dan ignored the hint, “Record shows a petty theft and an open trespass warrant. Care to explain?”

  “I took some copper off the site at one of my brick jobs. Foreman told me I could, then went backwards on me. Nobody showed at court, ‘cept me. I was let off. The one last year was when I’d sold this feller a radio. Needed cash. He give me ten and promised ten next day. He welshed on me, so’s I snuck in his garage to get it. Figured I had right, what you call it? Reprocess it?”

  “Repossess.”

  “Anyways, his fool dog, didn’t count on no Doberman, cornered me. He called you guys, and I got jailed.”

  Dan glanced at Ben to get his impression. Ben nodded implying he bought it. They were in agreement.

  “You don’t have a phone? Want us to notify anyone you’ve been arrested?” Dan asked.

  “Sara, she’s got to know.”

  “Who’s Sara?”

  “She’s gonna be madder ’n a saint in Hell. It puttin’ her on her own an’ all.”

  “Sara your wife?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “This address good?”

  “No, 2843 Sidney, secon’, num’r five. Everythin’ else y’u got’s honest.”

  “Be right back,” Dan said leaving the room. He returned with a can of Coke and handed it to the prisoner, “Drink up, won’t be any where you’re going.”

  Morgan popped the tab and dropped it into the can. He didn’t waste time nursing the refreshment. Rai
sing the can he took a long gulp. With a guttural belch, he wiped his mouth on his dirty sleeve. “Thanks, Officer, you …”

  Dan smoothly grabbed the half-empty can, “Good grief man! You gonna kill yourself gulping a pop-tab in my jail! I’ll be writing paper for a week!”

  “Sorry. Be okay if I sip it?”

  “Okay—but, SIP.”

  “A wagon’ll take you downtown in twenty minutes. I think we can write tonight’s mess as misdemeanors. You’ll see the judge in the morning.”

  Ben called for a transport while Dan babysat. Bond would not be set until morning, but the charge sheet read “Criminal Trespass, misdemeanor-four.” Bound would be less. The amount made little difference, but the charges did.

  “Next stop: 2843 Sidney Street,” Ben said as he entered the cruiser. Dan pulled away.

  “How do we remain sane dealing with tragedy after tragedy?” Dan asked driving away.

  “Who says we do?”

  “For real, Ben. Take Fred, perfect example, hunger forcing him to steal. I understand it’s wrong, but we do our job and it makes matters worse.”

  “The system is supposed to rehabilitate by teaching him a trade. In which case we’ve done him a service.”

  “That appeases your conscience? It doesn’t mine. I know better. The bigger offender is the society which forced him to steal.”

  “What’s society got to do with it? It’s a dog eat dog world.”

  “I don’t think it’s supposed to be, Ben. I keep running into this question.”

  “What question?”

  “What causes crime and why’s it on the rise?”

  “You and your itches.”

  “If there’s no God, Fred and the rest of us, are the product of chance, and when we die it’s back to dust. Nothing else—dust. So logically what does our purpose become?”

  “Get as many toys and play with them as much as you can.”

  “Right, and poor Fred was trying to survive. People everywhere, but hope nowhere. Why? As for society, where’s Fred’s neighbors?”

  “I don’t know, but we’ll soon find out,” Ben answered as the cruiser brought them into a former industrial area. Three story row-houses from the turn of the century lined the streets like teeth in a bad smile. Most converted to flats among intermittent litter strewn lots from raised buildings. Disrepair plagued all. By the time they stepped from the cruiser to the sidewalk another police car approached.