Game of the Blues

by Kenn C. Kincaid

  “I’ll do it tomorrow,” Walter promised. “Now can I go? My heart’s broken.”

  “Time you lovers pay the cabbie,” Dan said. “One at a time. Billings you first.”

  He turned slapping a ten in the cabby’s hand, “Keep it,” he said and stomped away in his high heels.

  “Your turn,” Ben said to Guildenstein. He sulked over to the cab, handed the cabbie four dollars, and dug in the clutch for a quarter.

  Dan cleared his throat. “Math not your best subject? Your half is seven dollars thirteen.”

  “Oh, what’s wrong with me? I’m just so…”

  “Cut the act. It’s just us guys now. And you probably meant to give him a larger tip than Billings, huh?”

  “You’re SO right, Officer.” He said laying a twenty in the cabby’s hand. “Sorry, the witch put us through this. Just no polish in some people.”

  The cabby smiled and nodded. Brokenhearted Brenda strutted to the door disappearing into the club.

  “Thank you,” the cabby waved the bills. “You guys got class. Wouldn’t pick ’em up, but you know I gotta.”

  “Yep, no discrimination of fares,” Ben said.

  “And, nine out of ten, I get stiffed. Glad I saw you.”

  “Serve and protect, we do our best,” Dan said turning to walk back to their cruiser. Bringing his hands to his chest, mimicked in a female voice, “Oh, Lordy, what a fright! I so fretted during your trip inside, sweetie.”

  “Don’t you sweetie me! I got my ‘tush’ pinched four times ‘tween the bar and the door!”

  “Next time, stuff your vest down your pants.”

  “Next time you’re step-an-fetch.”

  “I’m noticing you’re worrying a lot about your derriere these days, ‘sweet-buns’.”

  “Cut it out,” he said with a feminine lisp.

  “Now you ARE scaring me” Dan declared sternly masculine.

  “Alternate lifestyle? Why? What’s the pay off?”

  “Don’t ask me. I can’t figure what draws people into such opprobrious conventions.”

  “‘Opprobrious,’ that’s the ‘word for today.’ I read the paper too, you know?”

  “Then you know what it means?”

  “I saw it. Didn’t memorize it!”

  “Reproachable, confused, outrageous, those words too big?” asked Dan.

  “If you’re so smart, tell me what’s wrong with ’em?”

  “Who says it’s wrong?”

  “I do. Dan, it ain’t natural!”

  “You mean guys liking guys?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Don’t think they really do, Ben. Have you noticed in all our encounters with them, they’re mismatched? I don’t think any are REALLY happy.”

  “Eech! Not natural!”

  “Implying it isn’t in line with nature, or just abnormal?”

  “Both.”

  “Ben, you’re assuming nature has purpose? And sex is part of it?”

  “Everyone knows it’s supposed to be a man and a woman thing,”

  “That’s JUST your opinion.”

  “It’s ‘w-a-aay’ too weird for me. And whose side you on, anyway?”

  “Personally, I think their behavior is fueled by human desperation, just like crime. After all, we’ve been bombarded by scientific data that the universe is overwhelmingly hostile. We’re creatures seeking comforts and delights, in an uninhabitable universe! They’ve convinced us it can’t last long. Thus, self-gratification dawns immediacy, and where and how we find it loses restraint.”

  “But we’ve been around for millions of years; adapting, inventing, life’s getting better.”

  “Things are getting better, are they? What a wonderful contradiction to the cry of doom. We’ve so advanced now we’re polluting everything, using up the oxygen, and poisoning the water. The planet’s predicted to be spinning out of control, freezing over, burning up, or destined to collide with a giant meteor. If human life is an accident, we’re doomed! It struggles in a hostile environment, faces extinction, has no future, and is meaningless.”

  “Nobody believes that stuff, do they?”

  “Hemingway must have. Do I remember him saying, ‘a short day’s journey from nothingness to nothingness’? A lot of people loved his philosophy.”

  “Yeah, Dan, but he committed suicide, didn’t he?”

  “At least you haven’t given up! I think the masses are jumping on the ‘live for today, tomorrow we die’ bandwagon. Feels good, I want it, I deserve it, so I’m doing it, because what difference does it make in the end?”

  “Yeah, the ‘Me Generation’.

  “Uh-huh, and they take pleasure wherever they find it. And, some find it in homosexuality. Must there be honorable pleasures and reprobate ones?” IS there a difference?

  “You’re getting to deep for me. It’s simply against God’s church,” Ben added unable to cite a better source.

  “If there IS a God. BUT, what if, I’m just a chance merger of atoms? My chemical makeup determining what’s pleasurable for me. I have no moral laws. There are no ‘norms’, only individual preferences and differing pleasures.”

  “Weird people do weird things. That’s it, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Okay, but another answer might be it is evil. There’s a war going on in the supernatural realm. We can’t see it, but it’s there: A supernatural dark force sparing against goodness. Despair against hope and joy. Given God and Heaven, we are not temporal beings without hope. Remove him from the picture and we are. We live and act in accord with our beliefs.”

  “You’re depressing me. Will earth last long enough for me to play with my grandkids?”

  “I don’t expect it’s going anywhere, until whatever started it stops it.”

  Ben shook his head and sighed, “Your itch is sure getting deep. Next time I get to church I’ll light a candle for you.”

  “Better make it a bonfire on the altar.”

  “What time is it?”

  They were just coming up on an intersection when a red Cougar sped through. “He’s flying,” Dan said. “My up. Get a clock on him.”

  Ben turned the cruiser to pursue. As soon as they ‘clocked’ the car, Dan activated the beacon lights. The driver of the speeding vehicle pulled to the curb. They made a routine approach. Dan crossed over to the driver, with Ben making the first contact from the curb by flashing his light on the driver. Dan then pecked on the driver’s window. It hummed down.

  “Sir, I suppose you have a good reason for flying down the road?”

  “Well, Officer, I have a reason, but doubt you’ll think it a good one.”

  “Even so, I’d like to hear it.”

  “I’m late and my wife will be madder than Jesus with the moneychangers.”

  “Honest, but not good enough.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Your registration and pilot’s license, please.”

  Dan cautiously observed the man retrieving the registration from the console. He handed Dan the documents.

  “Sit tight. I’ll be about ten minutes. I’ll try and provide you a good reason.”

  Dan returned to the cruiser. Ben followed. Seated, Dan read the documents, asked the dispatcher for a records check, and sat quietly. After a short time Ben noticed Dan wasn’t writing.

  “Finger cramps?”

  Dan handed the license to Ben, “Wouldn’t you know?”

  “Expired,” Ben guessed.

  “Nope.”

  “Another smart-aleck. Thinking on lockin’ him up?” Ben asked looking at the license.

  “Nope.”

  “Don’t tell me! You asked for his pilot’s license?”

  “Yep.”

  Ben laughed uproariously. “Not only a numb-skull, but you’ve put foot in mouth.”

  “I deny the first charge. Plead guilty to the second.”

  “Not a problem. All the info will be on record.”

  “I know, but …”

  “Oh yeah, scruples
. ‘Chew ’em out’ or tag ’em, but both is crass?”

  “Yep.”

  “Your hole. You dug it. For sixty in a thirty-five, I’d tag him anyway.”

  “You got a point, but you don’t have to go back up there.”

  “He’s not in a position to say much.”

  “Eatin’ crow can be a silent meal, but it still tastes bad.”

  “Car 508, 508, No wants on Ralf Snoopes. One traffic contact; stop sign violation two years ago.”

  Ben roared again. “You stopped ‘Snoopy’ and demanded his pilot’s license!”

  Dan snatched the documents from Ben, “I’m buryin’ this nightmare.” He slid out and went back to the driver.

  “Sir, do you have proof of insurance?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Snoopes said handing Dan a card.

  “Snoopy, you realize the Blue Barron swooped out of the moonlight on you?”

  “Just what I was thinking.”

  “And, at twenty over the posted I can arrest you, impound the car, and your wife will be bailing you out.”

  “No Sir, I suspect I’d spend the night.”

  “It’s against my better judgment, but I’m not pulling the trigger.”

  Dan handed the documents toward Snoopes, and as he reached for them Dan pulled them back.

  “Ever I get you in my sights again—no mercy; crash and burn. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sir, thank you, Officer,” he said in a sincere tone, “I was driving foolish.”

  Dan returned the documents to Snoopes.

  “If ever you have an urge to go flying up there,” Snoopes said pointing to the sky, “look me up.” He slipped a business card from his visor and handed it to Dan.

  Dan returned to the cruiser.

  “You’re right,” Ben said. “It won’t die a quick death.”

  The radio crackled another plea for police services. Ben’s fun would have to wait. “Car 508, see complainant at the phone booth Mad Anthony and Boyd reference robbery.”

  The location was minutes away and they responded in silence. As usual, on their beat, they were first to arrive. The streets were empty and they found no complainant.

  “508, Signal Thirty-five, U-T-L,” Dan reported to the dispatcher.

  Within seconds the dispatcher added, “508, updated info, complainant at phone booth Mad Anthony and Spring Grove.”

  Ben drove the additional block finding a man in his fifties, nervously pacing by the phone booth. Ben pulled behind a four door Oldsmobile next to the phone booth. The man rushed to the cruiser’s door before Dan could exit. He addressed them with hurried speech.

  “That whore took my wallet! I want her arrested!”

  “Whoa! Hold on. We’ll get to that, Sir. Take a breath,” Dan said opening the door and quickly exiting.” First, what’s your name?”

  “Joe Townsend, they took all my money!”

  “Slow down. Someone took your wallet? Okay, where’d this happen?”

  “I was at the Step Up Café mixing with ALL the ladies. I had several invites, but this one was ‘hot tamale’,” he whistled. “We talked. She invited me to her place. I said ‘Why not?’ So, we left in my car. We get to the room. She goes to make drinks and ‘WHAM!’ I’m clobbered from behind. Took off with my wallet. Three-hundred dollars in it!”

  “Can you give us a description?” Dan asked.

  “Yeah, this tall,” he motioned to his shoulder. “Wore a black leather mini, and a cream knit blouse. Long blonde pony tail tied with a pink scarf.”

  “Where’s this place of hers?”

  “Didn’t go there. To avoid her babysitter, she suggested we go to the Low Rates Motel on the parkway.”

  “She have any tattoos?” Ben asked.

  “Yeah,” matter of fact, a butterfly tattoo on her inner thigh,” he pointed to above his knee.

  “Um-Huh. Lime green with yellow hearts?”

  “You know her? I want her arrested!”

  “Okay Mr. Townsend,” Dan continued, “But you’ll need to testify.”

  “Sure, I gotta get my money back.”

  “Now, Mr. Townsend…”

  “Joe, call me Joe.”

  “Alright, Joe. Gloria and her friend will find a hole for now. We’ll find her in a couple days, easy enough. Where you want the court notify sent?”

  “Not home—my wife’d find out. Maybe my, uhh…” Joe stopped and fidgeted for a few moments, “Court? What’s chance my wife findin’ out?”

  “No reason to think she would, but court records are public,” Ben said. “Usually they don’t.”

  A long silence followed. “I can’t risk court! My wife gets wind of it I’m sunk!”

  “Sir, we can’t make that decision for you. However, you can be sure there’ll be more victims until someone does,” Dan said.

  “Why do you think your wife might hear? She work in the court system?” asked Ben.

  “I can’t risk my wife hearing. I’m reporting it to you. You’re the police! You’re supposed to stop her.”

  “Without your testimony our hands are tied.”

  “Sorry, officer, gotta do what’s best for my marriage. I can’t worry about the next guy, that’s your job,” he said heading back to his car.

  “In future choices of recreation, might keep your marriage in mind,” Dan recommended. They watched Joe drive away.

  “A pick-up, and the ‘No-Tell Motel’, and it’s our fault?” Ben said.

  “Certainly. Fault the wall mason, never the cannoneer.”

  “Car 505, 505, auto accident, auto and pole, no injury, Hamilton Avenue at Glen Parker.”

  “505, okay, responding.”

  Ben recognized the dispatch was on their beat, and with Joe driving away, they were free. “We’ll take the run,” he informed the dispatcher. Disregard 505.”

  “505, copied disregard.”

  The accident required little investigation. A northbound truck swung wide in the turn, and the oncoming vehicle swerved to avoid it. The innocent driver hit a telephone pole. He reported no injuries. They cleared the street, and completed the paperwork quickly.

  “What time is it?” Ben asked.

  “Much too early to secure. Paper’s caught up. Want to burn time sitting on a light?”

  “Let’s gas up first,” Ben suggested.

  They headed for the garage. After a short drive down the parkway they turned into the maintenance facility. Seeing the mound of trash in the collection bay, Dan was reminded it was sweeper night. The still quiet radio and the clear night presented a perfect opportunity for practicing their night shooting.

  “Up to a rat challenge?” Ben asked.

  “Certainly. Buck a kill?”

  “Right on.”

  The street sweepers went out nightly throughout the city. On Tuesday’s they ran a Clifton route. This temporary dump station in the rear of the maintenance barns saved time over the longer trip to the incinerators. Refuse attracts rodents, and this dump station had its share. The rats made challenging targets for 22 caliber pellet pistols. On sweeper nights, after bar traffic died away, the quiet streets gave an opportunity to hone night shooting skills. Wagers were cast in similar fashion to “Name That Tune.” Flipping a coin determined first pick, and started the haggling. A dollar bet froze the challenge. A fully silhouetted target almost immediately brought a dollar challenge, whereas a bobbing head encouraged haggling.

  “I can hit that rat for two bits,” Dan said.

  “Fifty.”

  “It’s yours.”

  Ben took aim, fired, and made the kill.

  “You ever feel like we’re fighting the battle of the Alamo against the overwhelming odds of escalating evil?” Dan asked.

  “Sure do. Take that one for fifty,” Ben said.

  “A buck.”

  “He just climbed out in the open for you? Not fair.”

  “Always whining,” Dan shot. “Now I’m up fifty.”

  “Yeah, the Alamo. Just how I feel sometimes. Can’t wi
n. Hanging on for reinforcements, which ain’t comin’.”

  “Worst part is all the depravity. Floods me every day. Where’s fairness? The triumphant good? Ben, are we even making a difference?”

  “On top the pickle bucket, for a buck,” Ben said taking the shot.

  “Easy shot. You’re up fifty. We make a difference. It’d be worse without us.”

  “When are the citizens going to realize crime’s their problem too?”

  “Probably never. Never worried ’em before, why now?”

  “The more I research this evolution stuff, the less logical it is. I reckon I’m rethinking the God angle.”

  “Interesting, you’ve declared God dead.”

  “I know. Not sayin’ I was wrong. It’s just not coming together like I expected.”

  “It’s been a long haul. As a cop you’ve developed a legalistic process of evaluating. You’re proof oriented.”

  “Whatever, logic favors a superior intelligence behind it all.”

  “God always did have my vote.”

  “I know, but look at the mess it’s in!”

  “Shhh. Not so loud you’re scarin’ off targets.”

  “Life reflects God set it all spinning like a giant top, but He doesn’t seem to care if it topples and falls.”

  “Maybe you don’t understand Him,” Ben said. “Who understands our job, except another cop?”

  “Maybe, but He don’t seem involved anymore.”

  “He still pokes his finger in, but it’s through the Church. You gotta go to Mass, do the fasting, try and be good an’ all. Then when you mess up, confess, do penance, and be absolved.”

  “Makes it kind of hard to stay on His good side, don’t it?”

  “Yeah, it’s constant maintenance.”

  “Who’s that turning in?” Dan asked seeing another cruiser approach.

  O’Toole pulled alongside them and asked, “Can three play?”

  “A buck’s top wager,” Dan answered, “and we will take your money.”

  “I can afford it, but I’ll need the loan of an air gun.”

  Dan explained the game, and they waited a few minutes for the targets to reemerge. The first target was no more than a half form against a dark background.

  “I can hit that rat for a buck,” O’Toole said without hesitation. Smirking and anticipating his first dollar, Dan handed him the air gun. O’Toole took aim, “whap.” He hit the target.