Game of the Blues

by Kenn C. Kincaid

  The woman cried out again, “Help us, please!”

  Dan shot like a bullet from a magnum to her side. Blood had left a crimson trail down the victim’s side to the floor. Kneeling he checked the victim’s wrist for pulse. Very weak. Checking the chest wound he saw frothy blood. Not a good sign! sucking sound of the last sip through a straw reached his ear. grabbed some plastic wrapping from the counter to seal the wound. Placing it over the hole, he reapplied the compress with as much pressure as he dared. Bending his ear over the man’s mouth listening for breath, he saw a long nose hair flutter. He’s alive!

  Then came an angelic whisper, “Can you see it? Glorious…never imagined…” The voice faded, the eyes flickered as a candle and went dark.

  Dan gently pulled the edge of the compress away. Blood no longer flowed from a now silent wound. He replaced it. “Keep pressing. The paramedics are on the way.”

  BC looked into Dan’s face. It affirmed his suspicion. He knelt at the lady’s side, “Did you see who shot him?”

  “No,” she shook her head. “I was upstairs. I heard shots. Ran down… saw Henry…lying there. A dark car squealed off through there,” she looked out the main doorway. Hearing approaching sirens, her eyes locked there in anticipation.

  “What’s Henry’s last name?” BC asked.

  “Tolson and I’m Miriam,” she answered between sobs. “I told him not to go. Call the police. He couldn’t hurt them. I begged him. Why’d they shoot him? Only forty seven-dollars in the drawer. He did everything they said. He’ll be okay—won’t he?”

  No one answered her.

  Dan avoided her pleading eyes. How can I answer? How do I explain wanton depravity?

  The paramedics arrived. The “WHAP” of their bags dropping mirrored their urgency. Dan greeted them without moving. “Gun shot. No pulse. Sucking chest wound. Sealed it with plastic.”

  Rick, a paramedic, pulled at Tolson’s night-shirt. It tore open with the sound of a hissing snake. He checked under the compress. His partner, Phil, prepared paddles. Maybe he’s got a chance, dared hope, but noticed raise his thumb inconspicuously in an ever so slight circling motion. He understood the signal, Circling the drain. Lost cause. Phil knelt with the paddles.

  “Clear!” KAZAP!

  Miriam cried out between sobs, “Why! Forty seven-dollars”

  “Clear!” KAZAP!

  Dan put his arm around Miriam’s shoulder nudging her trembling body aside. Both remained fixed on the flurry of action. Serenaded by the sobs of grief the medics worked frantically to resuscitate Henry Tolson.

  “They wouldn’t be trying so hard if there were no hope,” Dan lied to her thinking, too many times I’ve encountered violent death at the door; shoving, pushing, unrelenting. Almost never is it repelled!

  After several minutes the medics stopped, silently shook their heads, and rose from the body. Their extraordinary efforts were inadequate to bar the door; powerless to call him from beyond. Dan counted the eyelets in the medic’s shoes not wanting to face the eyes around him. His stomach quivered, and he stood emotionally empty. He no longer tasted nectar of peppermint. Taking Miriam’s hand a tear slid down his cheek denying his stoic facade.

  “I’m sorry.”

  The sounds of the medics preparing to leave, bounced off the walls of an empty cave. She collapsed sobbing into Dan’s chest. Dan first felt the stab of this ice-cold knife when it killed the sweetness in his life. Felt it when his wife informed him, “I’m going to leave you soon. I have cancer. I will not get better.” He had suffered it many times, each time it twisted less. Once more, in a place known for sweet refreshment, death carried in its sour misery.

  A silent awkwardness fell on the normally jovial officers. Their work turned all business.

  “Don’t stand around,” Dan shouted at two other officers who had arrived. “Go out and catch those gristle-gutted mongrels of Hell!”

  They did search. Every available car searched for witnesses, door to door, from flat to flat. They stopped suspicious vehicles and identified the occupants, filled out field interrogation reports, and executed endless paper work. When it ended they had nothing, but a description of a ghost in the night. In time, Homicide Squad responded and Dan and Ben were relieved.

  “You were right earlier tonight,” Ben said. “Tragedies wear on even us. Life shouldn’t be like this. It’s, as if it’s cursed.”

  “My Dad used to talk about it that way—cursed.”

  “Preacher, I don’t mind tellin’ you, these times make me feel it’s hopeless. What kind of curse is it?”

  “I’m thinking man’s curse is the lies he believes. Like the drunk who believes he had two beers?”

  “Cursed or not, Dan, we’re here, and we must dance the best we can.”

  “All that door-knocking, and nobody saw anything. I want a name to write on a bullet.”

  “Whatever the curse, we don’t have enough bullets.”

  “Ben, we keep volunteering to have our guts pulled out through our noses. Muddling around in the dark tripping over ourselves. We need to switch on a light.”

  “Better be as bright as the sun. I’ve done too many warehouse searches with my flashlight.”

  “We agree there’s an overbearing force of darkness. So there must be a force of light.”

  “Let me guess, the light switch is God.”

  “Possibly.”

  “And, is it’s broke?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Getting to deep for me.”

  “Well Ben, if we believe there’s no God, doesn’t all life become equally valueless?”

  “You’re the one took that road. You tell me?”

  “Having only yourself to rely on makes you a bit self centered.”

  “I hear that.”

  “Thanks! Anyway, I realized I had nowhere to go, no future. Life’s purpose was becoming the present thrill. Ben, I’m coming in for the thrills. And they’re dark encounters.”

  “Umm huh. And that’s where you are with the itch thing.”

  “Started struggling with my principles, I guess. If I stay on that downhill road long enough, I could be Tolson’s killer. Scares me!”

  “You feel responsible for Henry Tolson? I can’t buy it.”

  “Not him specifically, but our collective choices are the root of our suffering. Everyone chooses the trail he takes, but not what or who he encounters on the trail.”

  “How you figure, Dan?”

  “Simple, what did the killer believe?”

  “Don’t know, we didn’t catch him.”

  “I think it safe to say the killer believes only his needs matter. And with society’s tendency to live without restraint. What can we logically expect?”

  “Crime and violence?”

  “More important, why did he feel that way?”

  “How would I know? But, I know God doesn’t want us to be that way.”

  “Whose god Ben? Society’s god is no longer the Creator. It champions evolution and bank vaults of gold.”

  “Watch your mouth. You’ll get a ruler across your knuckles.”

  “Oh, struck a nerve did I, Sister Mary Ellen Ben?”

  “What time is it?”

  “You’re right. It’s getting late. Enough ‘phi-los-so-phise-ing.’ Let’s head in.”

  The watch ended with little evidence conveyed to the detectives. The Duo headed toward the district in silence.

  “Did 509 ever show up?” Dan asked.

  “Don’t recall seeing him. Keep in mind Martin’s off, and Sleep-out’s running nine.”

  Officer “Sleep-out” Lewis was approaching retirement with fourteen months to go. He took the stance it entitled him to be “selective.” Dan defined it “slacker.” The scuttlebutt at coffee meets complained he routinely napped in the park, tagging him “Sleep-out.” Supervision, aware of Lewis’ attitude, relieved him of his beat and routinely assigned him duties other than street patrol. Tonight a hole existed.

  “Don’t care if
he has put his time in! He can still take his runs and do his own paper,” Dan complained.

  “He probably would have taken it, IF he’d heard it.”

  “Probably asleep in the park, eh?”

  “Be my guess.”

  “Well, let’s go roust Sleep-out up. Wouldn’t want him to miss dismissal! Swing by the garage first. Let’s make it memorable!”

  Ben drove to the maintenance barns and Dan borrowed a small hydraulic jack and some bricks. From there they went to Mount Storm Park. With their lights out, they rolled to a stop prior to the parking area. On foot, they located Sleep-out parked between some trees. His head reclined against the headrest.

  Carefully slipping up behind the idling vehicle, Dan jacked the rear axle up as Ben slid bricks under it. With the tires a fraction of an inch off the pavement, Dan and Ben snuck back into cover.

  “You figurin’ on waitin’ for him to wake up?” Ben asked.

  “The deadbeat doesn’t rate our time!” Dan pulled a hand full of Cherry Bombs from his pocket. “Been savin’ these from last July. Perfect occasion.”

  “They could blow the floor pan out.”

  “Don’t much care. Just came from his beat where Mrs. Tolson had more ‘an her floor pan blown out!”

  “He’s parked on a slight grade. Toss ’em careful,” Ben warned. “Snaggles ‘d love to kick it back in our faces.”

  “Be just like Snaggles. Fire me, retire him. Ready?”

  “I’ll light. You toss.”

  “If, I blow somthin’ up, he can explain it. Time he took heat for something.”

  Ben fired fuses and Dan tossed them as fast as he could. The firecrackers landed beside Sleep-out’s cruiser exploding like giant popcorn echoing off the hillside. Sleep-out erupted flooring the gas pedal. The engine roared, the rear tire whined as it spit loose gravel, but the cruiser did not move. He slammed it into reverse. Metallic noises sounded, faded, and the wheel whirled in the opposite direction. The door flew open and Sleep-out rolled out on the ground with his weapon drawn. He keyed his mike. “Officer needs assistance – under fire!”

  The dispatcher having recognized Sleep-out’s voice was unrelenting, “Car 509, 509, your location. 509, are you alright. 509, respond!”

  The quiet returned. Thick bluish-white smoke lingered. The smell of gunpowder heavy, eyes stinging, and ears ringing, the Duo laughed heartily.

  Sleep-out realized he was the recipient of a “Dansting.” He snatched the mike from his shoulder, the rubber band holding it to the lapel broke snapping back into his cheek. Dropping the mike, he let go a string of vulgarities.

  “Car 509, 509 forty-four location.” The dispatcher persisted, “Attention all cars, no location on 509, last contact was 2143 hours at White Castle.”

  “509, disregard, all under control!” Lewis finally broadcast.

  “It’s just a bad dream,” Dan added to the broadcast.

  Lewis came at the bushes swinging his night stick.

  Dan and Ben stepped out and faced him, “Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Ben said.

  Up against two sizable opponents, he retreated back to his car venting his anger with streaming curses. Running out of strong words, he got back in the car and tried to drive away. Reminded of the problem, he soon found the cause.

  “I don’t suppose you donkey farts intend to unblock it?”

  “After that scathing!” Dan said. “Not in my lifetime! Let it be a lesson.”

  “I don’t need none of your advice!”

  “I ain’t advising! I’m tellin’ you! Take your runs and patrol your beat, or I’ll file charges with internal. There’s a dead man down there on your beat. A woman’s torment and misery you can’t change now if you wanted to! Had you been patrolling, maybe she wouldn’t be laying in a bed of tears? Think it over! Maybe it’ll help keep you awake on patrol.”

  Dan turned and walked back to his vehicle. Ben followed.

  “You think it would’ve made a difference? If – if he’d been patrolling?” Ben asked Dan.

  “Doubt it. Be foolish to think we’re all that effective. We’re too few to be everywhere. Sometime yes, sometimes no, and that’s why we do it.”

  They went into the station and stowed their gear. Gary intercepted them leaving the lockers.

  “Hey Preacher, I’ve got someone you should meet. You ever go fishing?”

  “Some, but mostly see it an excuse to burn time.”

  “I’m not talking pier fishing for bluegills. I’m talking real fish; Walleye!”

  “Never been,” Dan said flatly.

  “I think you’d like it and I have the deal of deals. The fish are running hot right now! Tonight I thought of you and Ben. What do you say? Checked the line-up. Your three-day weekends are coming up. A professor friend of mine’s already in. You guys ‘d get along great with him.”

  “Sorry,” Ben declined, “Wife’s got me committed to a family picnic, and there’s no way out. Wasn’t for that, I’d go. Dan you ought to. It’s fishin’ at its best. When they’re runnin’.”

  “Gary, I don’t have any big lake equipment.”

  “Taken care of. All it’ll cost you is for the headboats, hotel, and food. We drive up to Port Clinton Friday. Takes three and half hours. If Erie isn’t rough, we rent a skiff for the afternoon. That gives us all day Saturday, and early Sunday, and we drive back late Sunday.”

  “Fall in,” Fleischer bellowed.

  “I’ll think on it,” Dan said heading for the line.

  Eleven tired gloomy men formed a sagging line. The sergeant looked the men over and counted heads, “What was all that with 509,” he asked looking at Dan. “He on his way in?”

  “Think he’ll be a bit late.”

  “He’s got car problems, Serge,” Ben added.

  “I heard the radio. I want to know IS HE OKAY, or need I send someone?”

  “We just left him, and far as I know he’s okay,” Dan answered.

  “Blood pressure’s up a little bit though,” Ben chuckled.

  “Don’t need to hear anything that’s not police business. Do I have to send Day Run to fetch him?”

  “The wrecker ought t’ handle it,” Dan replied. “Guessin’ twenty minutes. He’s kind of up in the air over that run he missed.”

  “Wrecker! Is there going to be paper on this?”

  “No need when we left.”

  “Fine! Keys in? Radios charging? Reports and tags? Jansen, hair and mustache. Kirby, clean that weapon. Black and White, did you get Lieutenant Hess his parkers?”

  “Not yet Serge, but we’re working on it,” Dan said.

  “It’s your butts on the line, not mine. I won’t be in the middle. You like your job? I’d hate to see you out driving a bread truck.”

  “What’s to like or not like? It’s a life,” Dan replied.

  “Then consider what it’s worth.”

  Dan’s eyes made contact with the sergeant’s, “Tonight — ‘a life’ is worth forty-seven dollars, Serge.”

  A cold silence, like at the closing of a casket, overcame the room.

  “It’s a job, men. Don’t take it personal. It’ll eat your insides out.” He paused, “God made tomorrow for the creeps we didn’t catch today. And if we never catch ’em, He’ll sort ’em out for us.” Fleischer paused again then said. “Go home and get some rest. You’re dismissed.”

  Dan glanced at the clock going out the door. 7:06. Route one. The minutes past the hour determine the route. mentor taught him as a rookie to create five differing routes home. Picking one at random reduced the chance of some vindictive thug tailing him. He laughed it off until the first time a car followed. Dan’s never forgot. Not even on nights he left grieved.

  Chapter Three

  Benevolence Verses Disdain

  “See you tonight,” Ben said in the parking lot.

  “Give your wife a kiss for me.”

  “I’ll tell Alistia you asked about her, but it’s time you get a wife of your own.”

&nb
sp; “I had one, once.”

  “Partner, Charlotte’s been gone over nine years. I’m not prying, but you need to move past it. Time you had more an’ Trouble to go home to.”

  “Not that it wouldn’t be nice, but when Char got snatched away…” Dan looked away watching a raccoon lingering on the wooded hillside. “Don’t have that kind of caring in me. It went with her.”

  “You can’t feed me that malarkey! You care. I saw it tonight. I see it with every victim.”

  “I do my job.”

  “Fine! Deny it. But, the right woman could chase your demons away. If you’d go half way… AHHH, forget it.”

  “Women are a dime a dozen. It’s a different matter finding a life mate. You found a good one with Alista. After two years of college, she supported your foolhardy idea policing was better than a lawyer.”

  “Shucks man, she wanted a paycheck and a marriage certificate. Easy bargain.”

  “Maybe, when I can understand why Charlotte had to go like that.”

  “Cancer’s cancer, it just happens,” Ben said. “There’s no ‘why’ to it.”

  “People die before their time? You say, ‘Just happens’!”

  “How can we know if it’s their time or not? Sakes alive, you know death’s not a respecter of age.”

  “Yeah, guess not. Give Alistia my regards.”

  Dan turned back to the locker room and found Gary. “I’ve thought on it enough. Count me in. I need to get away from all this.”

  “Great!”

  “We might want to reconsider a charter. I can afford it.”

  “I’m for it. Be on our time schedule instead of tied down to a headboat. I’ll check with the Professor.”

  “Good. And while I got you, been thinking on the Sidney caper. You come up with anything?”

  “No, but I’m gonna check on them every night.”

  “I have an idea. You want to hear it?”

  “Of course.”

  “Considering yesterday was payday, I can spare a few bucks. Figured I’d buy ’em some grub at Top’s. That’s if’n you’ll help me deliver it.”

  “You talkin’ right now?”

  “They need it now, and there’s no time like the present, I’m told.”

  “Let me call Sharon.”

  “You gonna wake your wife?”