Game of the Blues

by Kenn C. Kincaid

  “Well, they’re happy now. No more fighting. We don’t have to go back.”

  “Fixed their unhappiness did you?”

  “Maybe not, but they aren’t any more miserable.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Okay, would you get over your embarrassment faster, if I used my gift to be more productive for you,” Dan suggested. Ben saw a familiar twinkle in Dan’s eyes, but only grunted in recognition.

  “Your indigestions sounds bad tonight?

  “Oh no! You’re thinking get me fired thoughts! Leave me out of it! We haven’t heard the end of the last caper, and still have a form to the captain due!”

  “I did the form, waiting on the wreckers.”

  “Already? What’d you say?”

  “Kissed it off. I said Hess brought to our attention our parking enforcement did not meet reasonable expectations. We did our best to remedy the deficiency, but inadvertently towed a priest’s car. And, we were instructed by Lieutenant Hess on better methods of meeting our goals, and will comply. Captain Kirk can read between the lines. It’s over, ‘Pard-ner’.”

  “Suppose you did put that fire out. Why light another one so soon?”

  “Okay with me if you’re not interested in catching a robbery suspect.”

  The traffic light turned green and Dan drove in silence knowing the seed was planted. Five minutes passed.

  “How?”

  “How, what?” Dan asked realizing the seed sprouted.

  “What you was about to say?”

  “About what?”

  “Come on, how we gonna do it?”

  “You mean, keep King Kwick from getting hit?”

  “How we gonna do it?”

  “We? The plan you don’t want any part of?”

  “Yeah, you gonna babble all night or let me hear it?” Ben asked. “Starting with Plan ‘A’; how to keep Hess off our case. Then Plan ‘B’; explaining why we disregarded a written denial for stake out. And, oh yes, Plan ‘C’; how I keep my pension when Plans ‘A’ and ‘B’ go sour. Then, I listen to how we nab the bad guy.”

  “You finished?”

  “Yeah, that covers it.”

  “We nab the bad guy,” Dan began, “by being at the right…”

  “Stop! That’s Plan D! Didn’t hear A, B, or C, yet.”

  “Alright, follow this. Plan A; Hess won’t be on our case ‘cause he’ll look good at the Captain’s Staff Meeting tomorrow. Plan B; the lieutenant told everybody at roll call only manpower for one stake-out existed. We can infer permission, a misunderstanding at worst. Everyone heard him call us into his office. Hess reconsidered our request. At least, I understood it that way. Wasn’t his last directive to do some serious police work like ‘a felony robbery arrest’? Door was open. Deskman heard it. Since we’re pursuing the felony arrest as directed, your pension’s secure. That leaves us with Plan D; being at the right place at the right time.”

  “Could’ve been what he meant, but it’s a stretch.”

  “It’s settled then. We have a plan, and we’ll swear by it.”

  “I’m swearing already,” Ben said.

  “And, die professing it,” Dan added.

  “Still sounds a lot like a stake-out.”

  “There’s a big difference. Our action is a response to a directive, and an example of our impeccable timing.”

  “Impeachable timing?” Ben said with raised eyebrows.

  “Impeccable,” corrected Dan, “having no flaws; incapable of going wrong”

  “Like I believe that! I prefer impeachable.”

  “Either way we’re off the hook.

  “What time is it?”

  “Why don’t you get a watch?”

  “I’ve got a watch. What time is it,” Ben reiterated.

  “Look at your watch for once!”

  “Not THE time, the impeachable event’s time.”

  “Oh that. We can probably stay out of service an hour between 0300 and 0600.”

  “Let’s go with 0330 to 0430. Give the bar traffic time to clear out.”

  “Done!”

  Minutes ticked into hours of routine dispatches, and door shaking. Cancelling the OTP plan freed them considerably. They responded to several domestic altercations, a couple street fights, a report of gun shots, two prowler runs, an auto accident, and wrote three parkers.

  “We haven’t checked the expressway yet,” Dan said as he turned down the ramp.

  “We’re looking for hazards and disabled motorists, and not a flashlight, right?” Ben said.

  “Of course.”

  Coming off the end of the ramp they were several hundred feet behind a Roadhaul Truck.

  “Curses!” Ben sighed.

  This driver, Alfred Green, was emphatic, “I’ve been driving Roadhaul fifteen years. Been to every terminal within three hundred miles and I don’t recall any Manning. No idea where he’s out of. You guys can’t keep stopping us on account of him.”

  “You’re stopped aren’t you?” Dan pointed out. “And ‘Mickey’ here says it’s cost you eighteen minutes. Now wouldn’t you rather spend your time on the road?”

  “You’re not making any friends.”

  “Got enough friends. Need my flashlight.”

  Ben returned from a trip around the rig and handed the driver a piece of paper.

  “Inspection’s over. Here’s a warning. Two running lights are out. You’re free to go.”

  They stayed back slowing traffic so the big rig could pull out safely.

  “I did your dirty work. Now, if I buy you a Mag-light, will you quit this?” Ben asked.

  “No. It’s a matter of principle,” Dan answered.

  “Yeah, principle spelt H-E-D-S-T-R-O-N-G.”

  “You left out the ‘A’.”

  “No, you’re the ‘A’.”

  “Oh, good one. Smarts a bit.”

  The truck pulled away, and they called themselves back in service. Swung up the next ramp and into the Northside area.

  “Ready for a picnic?” Dan asked.

  “Riding with you I need a picnic.”

  “I’ve been pondering our meal time. Routinely at this hour few restaurants are open. What’s our choices? Greasy spoons and junk food, which we gulp down between radio dispatches—if we eat at all! I’m tired of eating this way and tonight’s gonna be different. Tonight, we picnic! Pull in the gas station over there.”

  Dan chose a location between two of six converging streets. One of them, a viaduct, housed the precinct on the other end. It stood at the southern point of their beat, and the busiest.

  “Ready for lunch?” Dan asked.

  “Here, at Knowlton Corner? More to this ’an lunch.”

  “Yep, we’re going to have a picnic.”

  “A real picnic? It’s the middle of the night?”

  “It’s my turn to deal a hand in Lieut’s Game of the Blues.”

  “You forgetting you’re walkin’ a tight rope? Chief, captain, all are in Lieut’s corner right now.”

  “You notice Hess has been riding us hard. The ‘noose caper’ bolstered his ego, and he thinks I’m a lame duck. We gotta level the playing field or we aren’t gonna have any peace.”

  “We’re liable to be what gets leveled!”

  “Naw, did my homework. Checked with the F.O.P. attorney. As long as nothing is directed at him or command, and we don’t violate written procedure, we’re good.”

  “He thought it a good idea?”

  “Didn’t say that. Legally he thought it could be justified. Personally he called it ‘most imprudent’.”

  “He gonna defend us if we need him?

  “Didn’t ask.’

  “Didn’t ask?”

  “Didn’t see the need.”

  “Got anything to do with the bag in the trunk?”

  “Of course, it’s lunch. You gonna eat with me, or sit this out?”

  “My better judgment is fighting with my rogue desire to mess with Hess.”

  Ben was parked co
nspicuously at the corner. Dan pulled the duffle from the trunk and removed a checkered table cloth spreading it across the hood. Magnets held it in place. “Being Snaggles thinks it’s a picnic out here and all we have to do is pad his numbers, we’ll picnic,” Dan said tucking the corners of a matching napkin into his collar. He handed one to Ben, “Must protect the tie.” Dan then leaned over the hood to place a candelabrum and discovered it uncomfortably hot. Undaunted, he opted for the trunk and quickly reset the stage. “Well, light ’em, Ben.”

  Ben lit the candles which flickered in the light breeze. Then like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, Dan produced a set of wineglasses and a bottle of ginger-ale. “The plates are in the bag.” Ben reluctantly retrieved two Melmac plates, placing them on the temporary table and stepped back to admire their handiwork. Dan stacked milk cartons into make shift stools.

  “Here’s to crime and job security’ Dan said raising a cup of ginger-ale. “Pass me some chips, Partner.”

  “And here’s to a long career,” toasted Ben. “This sandwich is superb. You make these?”

  “Cannot tell a lie. Picked them up at Red Squirrel on the way in. Wait ’til you see what else we have.”

  Dan removed a jar of gherkins and a container of deviled eggs. “All the delicacies of home.”

  Motorist beeped in recognition as they passed by, and the Duo waved back. Savoring the moment, they fed body and psyche beneath the streetlights. Within ten minutes an unmarked police car approached over the viaduct.

  “’Spect that’ll be Snaggles,” Dan said putting his tie in order beneath the napkin.

  “Okay, I’ll get my butt ready.”

  They watched the unmarked car swing into the gas station and stop. The driver’s door flew open and a fuming Hess leapt out. His eyebrows were raised and his lip twitched. Dan imagined steam shooting from his nostrils. As Hess approached, Sergeant O’Toole followed unable to conceal a smile.

  “What in blue blazes do you two think you’re doing?” Hess demanded.

  “Lunch,” Dan replied.

  “Makin’ buffoons out of my relief!”

  “No, Sir. Not a buffet, a brown bag lunch.”

  “Lunch? It’s a sham! Turning us into a laughing stock! In the middle of town like this!”

  “No ham, Sir, Ben’s got turkey and mine’s roast beef. It’s a picnic lunch. We’ve extra chips. Want some?” Dan extended a paper plate toward Hess who swatted it away.

  “Umm, wind must’ve caught it. Don’t bother yourself chasin’ it. I’ll get it.”

  While Dan picked up the plate Ben joined in, “I’ll split my pickles with you. They’re sweet gherkins.” He held one up to the lieutenant on the end of a plastic fork. Hess ignored the offer.

  O’Toole reached out and took it, “Thank you?”

  Hess scowled at him.

  “Dan returned with the errant plate. “If you two care to join us, you’d be welcome. We’ll make the lemon meringue pie in the cooler go four ways.”

  “I won’t have your insubordination! You won’t listen here; you will in my office!”

  “Sorry Sir, but I have been listening to you all along. And, you’ve inspired me to meditate on the projected relief goals and envision new parameters of implementation.”

  “Don’t get smart with me. You two clean this up. Be in my office in ten minutes! And, that’s an order!”

  Once the lieutenant’s car vanished over the viaduct, Dan turned to Ben and asked, “Did he say I was smart? That’s a pretty big compliment coming from him.”

  “I’m convinced. You’re suffering from insanity!”

  “On the contrary, I don’t suffer from my insanity. I enjoy every minute of it.”

  “You’re right! I’m the one’s suffering! Playing along.”

  “Yeah, good touch offering him a pickle.”

  “How’d I let you get me caught up in this? You’re going to get me fired.”

  “Did you see Pooh Bear? Holding it in? Thought he’d bust a gut.”

  “No wonder. He’s got his own grudges when it comes to Hess. It was his name died on top the promotion list when Hess’ ‘affirmative action’ jumped him. Pooh-Bear ain’t thrilled Hess is in his slot.”

  “Bet his soul bubbled with joy when he took the pickle. Glad we could give him a break. And, since ‘what will be-will be’, we might as well finish our picnic and then play the hand out.”

  Dan and Ben finished their lunch and discussed the impending meeting. Twenty minutes ticked away before they arrived at Lieutenant Hess’ office. They knocked formally.

  “Come in,” a disgusted Hess responded.

  They stepped to the front of the lieutenant’s desk, saluted and barked, “Officer Black - and White - reporting as ordered, Sir.”

  Hess gave a salute, but no courtesy to stand easy, “Suppose you jokers tell me what you were doing?”

  “Just having lunch,” Dan replied.

  “That’s not the way police officers eat lunch and you darn well know it! Your display was total disregard for the profession; demeaned the uniform!”

  They did not respond.

  “Well, speak up; what do you have to say for yourselves before I write this up?”

  “Sir, I would like to be informed of what regulations we have violated,” Dan said. “In the first place, we are permitted to take our lunch after 0200, although not off our beat. We are permitted to do so outside our vehicles, although not more than two patrols at one place. It is night run and few restaurants are available. We are permitted to bring our meal, and we should not be denied common convenience of table and chairs. Further, we were available for dispatches and within our beat boundaries. That is, until you took us out of service.”

  “You want a table? Come in the district and eat.”

  “We prefer to remain vigilant on our beat, Sir.”

  “You two are one ring short of a full circus.”

  “Sorry, Sir, we’ve tried so hard to be worthy of three rings,” Dan quipped.

  “A disgrace to the uniform!”

  “As for disgracing the uniform; the table cloths, napkins, and dinner wear are the sign of a gentleman’s table. All were chosen to avoid spillage and protect our professional appearance. The importance of which has recently been impressed upon me.”

  After a lengthy pause Dan added, “You might want to check with the city solicitor’s office before making a charge, because you know we’ll fight it all the way. The publicity you receive from this will really advance your career. I’m sure command will back you, even if they are laughing in private. Don’t you think? I bet this could even make the newspaper.”

  Another pause ensued as Hess apparently considered Dan’s comments. Then as if someone threw a switch electrifying his chair, he sprang up. His mouth open and he stood motionless pointing a waving finger saying nothing. After a few seconds he sneered, “You two are going to get yours. I promise!”

  Dan and Ben stood silently at attention.

  Hess paced behind his desk staring at the floor and murmuring to himself. His nature drove him to worry over the impact of things on his career, and would command back him or think he over-reacted. Finally, waving a thumb like an umpire at Dan he shouted, “Out!” The finger went immediately to Ben, “You too, out!”

  “Yes, Sir,” they responded executing an abrupt about-face. As soon as they were outside the office door they exchanged glances and smiles with the desk officer. The door had been open, and the desk officer sitting nearby heard all. In passing they shared restrained spastic snickering. Sgt. O’Toole witnessed it, and turned loose a bellowing laugh.

  “O’Toole, what’s so blasted funny?” barked Hess from his office, “You better not be laughing at those clowns!”

  “No Sir, not at them. Oh, noooo Sir, not them.”

  Once in their cruiser they did not restrain their glee as they headed across the viaduct toward the scene of the picnic. Dan keyed the mike.

  “508, we’re two-six from meeting 520.”
>
  The radio crackled with static from officers clicking their mikes; an anonymous cheer.

  “Boy, word travels fast,” Ben said.

  Coming down the other side, they were greeted from the ‘picnic area’ by four squad cars’ and a flickering of beacon lights.

  “Yup,” Dan said, “especially when it’s razzle-dazzle.”

  “Preacher, one of these times I’m going to lose my pension sidin’ you. When that happens, swear to God, my whole screaming family’s moving in with you.”

  “Never happen.”

  “Straight up, I wished I could be as cavalier as you playing the Blues Games,” Ben chuckled. “They give a unique thrill, but I’ve got family.”

  “They work out, Partner.”

  “So far.”

  “We’ve sided each other straight on since we met. You never once let me walk down a dark alley alone, and when your gut says ‘back off’ you speak your piece. It’s the same whether playing the Game or facing some degenerate thug in an alley. The day you don’t, you’ll become the first six-foot midget in the world. ’Cause, I swear, I’ll kick your butt clean up between your shoulder blades.”

  “If I got any left. No call for gettin’ contrary, Dan. You know how we stand; side-by-side should we die. We both go down together. As for the Game, yeah, it worries me, but shucks alive, no Game? What’d be left? Job wouldn’t be any fun without it.”

  Minutes later the radio interrupted their reflections. “Car 508, 508, at 4267 Badgeley Street. See the complainant, possible prowlers.”

  Ben accepted and logged the run, as Dan turned the car in the direction of the call. Ghost Rider’s available. We can expect him to show. So, I’ll make a direct approach, slow, and lights out.

  The building contained four apartments, two on each floor separated by a center hallway.

  “508, do you have an apartment?”

  “Card says prowler in second floor hallway,” the dispatcher said. “No apartment given.”

  They went to the second floor, but found no prowler. There was nothing more they could do. They exited through the laundry area to double check. Halfway back to the car, the dispatcher updated them. “508, we have a return call. Complainant says the prowler’s there now, Apartment Three.”

  “The complainant must have heard us,” Ben suggested. “We’ll have to go back in and set him at ease. What’s one more flight of stairs in a night’s work?”