Game of the Blues

by Kenn C. Kincaid

  In the bedroom Dan pulled his shirt off, hung his pants on the bedpost, made the hamper shot with both socks, and flopped on the bed in his shorts. He fluffed the pillow. Soon he dreamt.

  He was shooting from a basketball foul line. Shot after shot missed. Each rebounded off the backboard as two balls, then three, and then four. Shooting and missing, the balls piled up. He waded, knee deep through the balls, ever closer. Under the basket. Too close to miss! The ball circled the basket, stopped on the rim. It laughed at him! It bounced away. Now shoulder high in balls, he found it hard to raise his arms! His voice echoed in his mind, “It’s useless I can’t make a difference!” The balls were over his head.

  “AIR! I can’t Breathe!” His cry woke him feeling ice cold, but, sweat beaded on his brow. Where am I! What’s happening? Oh, just a dream. What a feeling of desperation! I had no will to continue! I just stood waiting for the end!

  Dan took a warm shower, toweled off, and stepped into cotton pajama bottoms. The shower had not soothed or relaxed him. Returning to the bed, he sat on the edge contemplating.

  Man can have no self-esteem without achievement, and there can be no achievement without hope of accomplishment; a secure reward. Is hope then nurtured in self-esteem or security of reward? He watched the second hand race around the clock. Security, hope is linked to security. But where does it come from? checked the alarm setting and laid back. I’m too tired to care.

  Rolling on his side he tucked the pillow under his head and fell asleep again. Once more, Dan was carried away.

  He looked out over a golf course. The fairway of gems sparkled beneath cotton-puff clouds. As a slight breeze massaged his hair, he watched the first player in a green shirt step to the tee and drive his ball. Turning, the golfer walked past Dan.

  “Eee-gads! He’s faceless!” Dan thought.

  The second man in a red shirt and third in a yellow teed off. The third ball, struck poorly, fell short.

  “They have no faces either!” Dan realized. “They’re just shirts!”

  Dan took his turn and hit well, his ball sailed. No one spoke as they walked toward the balls. Dan followed proudly.

  The yellow shirt passed his ball going to Dan’s.

  “I believe that’s my ball,” Dan said.

  Yellow shirt hit it.

  “You hit my ball!”

  “It was no longer yours, as mine dropped shortest, I may claim any other ball. Here it’s in the rules!” Yellow-shirt held a small book open for Dan.

  “Very well,” Dan said accepting the other ball and playing on.

  At the next tee, Dan’s drive landed shortest, so he walked to the farthest hit ball. However before he could strike it, Red-shirt complained. “I say! You’re on my ball, good man.”

  “Not according to the rule Yellow-shirt showed me.”

  “Don’t be daft. That rule applies to the prior hole. Don’t you know? Rules change every hole. Buck up, and use a wedge.”

  “A wedge from here!”

  “Too bad. Ball’s a bit mucked, too.” Red-shirt chirped.

  “It’s the rules!” the others chimed.

  “Who makes these rules? Who decides when they change?”

  “We do,” said the three shirts.

  “But it contradicts the rules set forth by the PGA.”

  “What right do they have to make our rules?”

  “What gives you the right to override the PGA?”

  “We claim the right, because you aren’t wearing a shirt.”

  Dan stood in the middle of the fairway. “It’s no fun! I won’t play!” For the first time he heard a gallery of people laughing. “What are you pointing at?”

  Dan was wearing only his Jockeys!

  An overwhelming wave of embarrassment hit Dan knocking him down. The laughing ridicule faded as he awoke.

  Feeling flushed, he went back to the porch swing, packed a pipe, and smoked it watching the sky. It no longer seemed angry, its crimson cry gone.

  Could it be true hope comes only from the promise of achievement? Yet, there is no guarantee of achievement without absolutes? A caring Creator, having anticipated the problems, established absolute rules to prosper mankind. It has been accepted for thousands of years, and only recently questioned. The absolutes never limited creative freedom, but gave us guidance and protection. No if, ands, or buts! If we’d set aside our pride and arrogance long enough to adhere to the rules of the ‘Manufacturer’s Handbook,’ the world of policing would change. Would there even be a need?

  He finished the pipe, knocked the ash out, and returned to the bedroom. Entering he pulled the ceiling fan’s chain, shoved an eight-track tape in the player, and impulsively picked up the Bible laying next to it. He doubled the pillows and lay back leafing through the Handbook randomly; “…just as they did not see fit to acknowledge God any longer. God gave them over to a depraved mind, to do those things which are not proper…”4

  Truly, this is the key! It is our choice. But the world has chosen to race away from “shall nots” like a robber’s getaway car. Such being, all the police in the world, cannot protect us from ourselves! Has it come to that?

  “…although they know the ordinance of God, that those who practice such things are worthy of death, they not only do the same, but also give hearty approval to those who practice them.5 This writing is ancient. Has it always been this way? He reflected on his childhood. Days lost to this society. How the world was different, less violent:

  Dan heard his mother call. She was in the kitchen standing by the bakers cabinet digging money from a coffee can. Carefully counting the coins, she told him what to buy. He was off to fetch cheese and cold cuts from Marland’s Grocery. It was longer than the five blocks when on a chore, and shorter when he had fifteen cents for a kite.

  Dan bent low on the meat case looking through it watching the slices fall as Mr. Marland worked. Dan chuckled to himself remembering how he bought pickle loaf instead of baloney, because it was his favorite. He could taste the Longhorn cheese, yummy. Nibbling away and kicking rocks ahead of him on the gravel road he meandered home. Nobody bothered him. He’d come in the back door, his mother yelling, “Don’t let it slam! WHACK – too late. Then she’d opened the package, “Danny, its half gone!”

  Dan also remembered his Grandmother walking to the grocery store. If anyone looked at her funny, bystanders rushed to help. Dan felt sadness because today’s people watch muggings unconcerned or flee in fear. Police go door to door searching for a witness, but no one wants to get involved.

  Reclining on the bed, the chords of What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life in the background. Dan thought, so different then; a fearless time when man respected God. He started to close the Handbook but noticed a ruffled page. While smoothing the page he read:

  “Unless the Lord guards the city, the watchman keeps awake in vain.”6

  He closed the book setting it aside. It had comforted him. At least my failures at fighting crime aren’t my fault. I like that verse! I’ll put it on my calling card! minutes later the player ejected the tape, but Dan didn’t hear it. slept as exhausted men do, and dreamed no more. He would need his rest. Dan was destined to encounter his antagonist –face to face!

  4 Romans 1:28

  5 Romans 1:32

  6 Psalms 127:1

  Chapter Ten

  A Sergeant’s Challenge

  Going to his locker, Dan prepared his war bag and joined other officers in the squad room. Thundershowers? The weatherman’s always wrong. Half the relief milled around and Dan sensed a mixed buzz of joviality and foreboding. The ambience of Damocles sword permeated; all was well, yet a certainty something would spoil it.

  The two sergeants at the table tonight were Hallister and Fleischer. Thirty-one years old Hallister received his stripes ninety days prior at Vice Squad. His curly brown hair and unpredictable behavior earned him the name “Squirrely Curly.” Now, as a sergeant, higher command objected to “Squirrely” as disrespectful. The men changed it
to S.C. The only complaint voiced by the beat officers was his passion for arresting criminals made his favorite words, “Lock him up.” Openness offset his occasional pretentiousness. The men gave him a cautious respect.

  “Listen up gentlemen and meatheads alike, important stuff first. Here’s the paper that needs corrected,” Hallister announced handing a few parking tickets and reports back. Clearing his throat, he began again. “Wanted for attempt robbery at Miller’s Pharmacy yesterday is a male, white, five foot six, hundred twenty, squinty eyes, and oval face. He wore a dirty white dress shirt, brown slacks, hemp rope for a belt. Dan, you guys might check Box Town for him.

  “Anyway, he went into the drug store, approached the pharmacist, pulled a gun, and demanded morphine and money. Then realizing he hadn’t concealed his face, pulled a black trash bag over his head which he forgot to cut holes in. The pharmacist jumped the counter and knocked the gun away. An altercation ensued, the bag came off, but he managed to escape. Last seen on foot south on Colerain. He left his fingerprints on the bag recovered at the scene, no match on file.

  “Competing for the bungling bandit award is a male, black, medium height, and weight. He walked through the doors of a Central Trust Bank on Fifth Street downtown yesterday afternoon at closing time. However, that’s the sole thing he did right, because he caught his foot under the doormat ‘tripping him up’. He stumbled into the service table, and knocked his Lone Ranger mask off. Staggering to his feet a bit confused, he waved what the teller described as a dark green water pistol and yelled, ‘This hold is a stiff-up!’ The tellers laughed so hard they had trouble setting off the alarm. He fled on foot westbound Fifth Street.

  “I know you think it’s unnecessary, but from now on you need to turn in your tag jacket logs fully filled out. I know for years we tossed them. No more. Fill them out. The DA wants better accountability.” He paused to allow the men to vent.

  “Ours is not to question why.” He said to regain their attention and waited for quiet. “And that’s it, except for one minor thing. My probation period ends at noon tomorrow. I’ll thank you now for not embarrassing me with initiation tomfoolery, because I’m off tomorrow. So, hit the streets a running, and lock someone up before the sun comes up.” With a gesture of his hand he asked, “Sergeant Fleischer anything?”

  Fleischer shook his head.

  “Lieutenant Hess?”

  “The captain has noticed our burglaries are down compared to last night run. He sends his compliments. But, don’t let it go to your heads…”

  “A-TEN-TION!” The “clack–clack–clack” of heels down the hallway announced Captain Kirk’s approach which brought him in view before all the ties were buttoned up. “At ease, men. Let them nooses dangle, ‘til you hit the street. Do continue, Lieutenant.”

  Hess resumed, “I was just informing them of your compliments on the Burglary patrol.”

  “Yes, Sir, excellent effort indeed! Stays that good to the end, I’ll buy a keg for the relief party.”

  “On the other hand,” Hess said, “I’ve noticed the PFOs weren’t very numerous last week. The scarcity of cars when I make my rounds after 0300 gives me concern. Being past the halfway mark doesn’t mean we let up. We have some impressive stats, and we can end this run on top of every other district. Low burglaries …”

  “More than a start, I’d say!” Kirk replied, “They’re cruising in warp speed.”

  The lieutenant realized the futility of pressing his point with the captain interrupting every sentence, so he yielded, “Anything else, Captain?”

  “No, just came in to put the Channel Three thing to bed.”

  “Very well then, men, clean those ties up and hit the street. That’s all, dismissed.” As the officers stood Hess added, “Don’t pass up any movers or parkers. Make it a balanced sheet.”

  “Go crush the crap out of crime, and don’t get any on you,” Captain Kirk remarked in a strong voice watching their departure.

  On the way to their patrol cars, Gary buttonholed the Duo, “Okay, I’m in. What are we gonna do about it?”

  “Do about what?” Ben asked.

  “Squirrely Curly’s challenge.”

  “Means nothing to me?” Dan said.

  “Nothing! If he respects us enough to toss the gauntlet, we should respect him enough to pick it up.”

  “Don’t think it’s a matter or respect. Hallister a bit cocky over new stripes, that’s all.

  “A rooster’s got to crow once in awhile,” Ben said.

  “Give ’im time. He’ll be alright,” Dan agreed. “It means nothing. Fresh rank always spreads their feathers. ’Sides that, Snaggles is working.”

  “Dan’s right,” Ben agreed. “For once I’m proud he’s staying out of it. It’ll snap back on us.”

  “I figured you’d lead the charge,” Gary said disappointed.

  “Figured wrong. I’m on thin ice with Hess, and Hallister didn’t make it personal. Best I just let it pass.”

  “Amen, amen,” Ben sang.

  Chapter Eleven

  Serge Make It Go Away

  Ben and Dan stowed their gear in the vehicle. Ben took the wheel. “Did you hear Kirk mention Channel Three?”

  “Sure did, been expecting it. Don’t go far. Swing in Whitie’s and get us some starter fluid.”

  “Coffee already, I can’t drink and drive, ’less you’re promising a quiet night.”

  “Rainy nights are slow, ’cept for accidents and sneak thieves.”

  “Sure, after my butt chewing, everything will seem quiet.”

  “Relax! Kirk wouldn’t have mentioned it at roll call if we were in line for a chewing.”

  “You’re buying,” Ben said turning into the restaurant lot. “Might be right on Captain Kirk?”

  “Yeah, to coffee; and on Kirk, I’ll bet you coffee for a week.”

  “You’re too sure. No takers.”

  Ten minutes later the Signal-Two came, and they drove back to the District. As soon as the desk officer saw them he pointed to the Captain’s Office. The door was open, but they knocked anyway. Captain Kirk waved them in, “Take a seat, men.”

  Hess sat to the far side of the desk. Dan and Ben were provided chairs in front.

  “I’m not going to waste time pussy-footing around,” the captain began. “Chief’s office forwarded a complaint from the General Manager of Channel Three, initiated by a night editor. According to it, you two stormed into his office, interrupted their meeting, slapped their newsman in cuffs, refused to discuss the arrest, told him it was none of his business, and hauled their man to the caboose. Over all, cost them some bucks.” He glanced at the lieutenant, “That cover all the bases as you read it?”

  “They’re also complaining of ‘Gestapo rudeness’.”

  “Add ‘Gestapo rudeness.’ Furthermore, they are contesting the charges in court and threatening to sue the city.” He again turned to the lieutenant, “Does that cover all their points of contention?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I see,” Kirk said then paused to light a cigar and give it a few good puffs, “If we satisfy those, then we can put this thing to bed?”

  “I would think so,” the lieutenant smiled.

  Kirk turned his attention back to the officers.

  “Before you say anything, Dan, I remind you, being cops we get few rights. You have the right to know Lieutenant Hess thinks disciplinary action is in order based on all the news people complaints and your recent stupidity attack alienating myself and the chief. He favors we draw and quarter. As far as I’m concerned, a penalty has been assessed on the tie thing and it’s spent brass on the range floor. I can’t speak for the chief. So, care to tell me what went down, or you feel you need representation?”

  “Sure, I have nothing to hide,” Dan said confidently. “I did my job, and Ben had nothing in it but backing his partner.”

  “You agree with that, Ben?”

  “Yes, Sir, I pretty much went along for the ride, and it turned out a good o
ne.”

  “That being the case, you’re excused.”

  “I’ll stick with my partner, unless he objects.”

  Kirk paused, hearing no objection he said, “All right, Dan, what would you like to say?”

  Dan laid the complete story out in detail. When he finished, he looked captain in the eye and said, “Cap’in, fair to tell you, I’d do it again without a minute’s hesitation.”

  “You say, the fireman witnessed it?”

  “Yes, Sir, name is Don. He’s a lieutenant with the Company on Cherry Street.”

  “Officer Daley!” Kirk yelled out to the desk officer, “Get me the number for the Fire Company on Cherry.” After a short pause, the desk officer yelled a number back and the captain dialed it.

  “You’re calling him now?” Hess asked. “It’s close to midnight.”

  “So, they’re getting paid aren’t they? I’m working, no reason the smoke eaters shouldn’t… Hello, this is Captain Kirk at the Fifth Police District. You have a Don on duty, lieutenant I believe, on a fire a while back on Chambers. Sure, I’ll wait. Thank You.”

  Placing his hand over the receiver he turned back to Hess, “See how simple. ‘Fabbo’, he’s in the Rec Room.”

  When Don came to the phone Kirk explained his inquiry, and asked several questions, thanked him, and hung up.

  “Pretty well settles it. Fireman Don backs up Officer Black’s account. Says another fireman saw the whole thing. They’ll definitely testify in court. Seems Channel Three doesn’t have enough ‘macro coil to fire a laser stun’. Their ‘force shields’ are gone and they’re noise is nothing but a smoke screen.”

  “Sir, that’s the fire hose part of the complaint. The unprofessional conduct hasn’t been addressed.”

  Kirk leaned back in his chair taking a slow draw on the cigar. The blue smoke rippled across the ceiling tiles before he spoke. “One phone call verified this officer truthful. Something the news media has never demonstrated. If they win the case in court, I’ll revisit this. Until then, it’s a dead issue.”