Game of the Blues

by Kenn C. Kincaid

  “Probably not. It’s good isn’t it?”

  Ben did not reply.

  “Doesn’t matter. Young gave us plenty.” Dan pulled away and drove quietly.

  It was fifteen minutes before Ben spoke, “I really believed I had a good spot.”

  “Getting up high was smart. I give you credit on that.”

  “On top of that, figured the rubber smell would cover my scent.”

  “Makes sense. But, sometimes our logical lets us down?”

  Neither spoke for awhile and again Ben broke the silence, “I don’t think I’m going to live long enough for this one to die.”

  “No sir. Not even your grandchildren ’ll live that long.”

  “That wasn’t fun for me.”

  “It was for us! That’s why I keep you around. You’re full of surprises. Unfortunately, they’re usually far less memorable. And, that’s as close to an apology you’re gonna get, except I’ll buy coffee.”

  “I accept both.”

  On the way they passed Morgan’s Irish Pub. ‘Last call’ past, the bar was closing, and out straggled the patrons. One of the subjects staggered around the parking area. Dan and Ben pulled to the side to watch. He wobbled his way through the lot fumbling unsuccessfully to unlock a Chevy, and then a Ford. After trying several vehicles, the man unlocked a Plymouth.

  The other patrons demonstrated no affect from the night’s imbibing and quickly dispersed, while the officers’ attention focused on the obvious drunk. The door not fully closed the dome light flickered as he fidgeted within the vehicle looking for something.

  “Go on start the car already. Can’t make a case just sitting there,” Ben mused.

  “You want to take him for ‘public intox’?”

  “No, it’s citable, and he’ll be back in his car drunk before tomorrow. Let’s wait.”

  “Might go to sleep on us in this drizzle.”

  “If so, won’t kill nobody, and we can impound his keys ’til morning.”

  They watched him for five minutes. Then the windshield wipers and headlights intermittingly alternated off-on-off-on. Shortly the vehicle moved forward in the empty lot toward the sidewalk, but stopped at the walk and backed up. Finally, it pulled out onto the roadway. Dan tailed the vehicle for several blocks without noticing an infraction.

  “Partner, he’s driving pretty good,” Ben observed.

  “His driving doesn’t seem affected, does it?”

  At the next intersection the vehicle rolled through a stop sign.

  “That’s enough to stop him. It’s borderline, but I’d like to know how a guy who can’t stand up ten minutes ago, drives so well.”

  “Me too,”

  They activated the bar lights and the vehicle pulled to the curb.

  “License and registration,” Dan requested.

  The driver fumbled in his wallet and produced the documents.

  “James Corbin? Knew an actor by that name.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Still livin’ on Cherry?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Smells like alcohol. You been drinking?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Not even two beers?”

  “Earlier today, maybe.”

  “I’m going to ask you to step to the sidewalk for a few minutes, Mr. Corbin.” On the sidewalk, Dan patted him down and conducted sobriety tests. Ben stepped to the side and queried the plate, “508, Wants on Ohio plate EPH 518.

  “Mr. Corbin, you’re coordination seems a bit wobbly,” Dan announced. “Can you account for that?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Are you on any medications? Have any physical impairment?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Mr. Corbin, any idea why your coordination is so jerky?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe I’m just tired.”

  “You came from Morgan’s. Have any alcoholic beverages?”

  “Had a couple drinks. Ginger ale mostly.”

  “We’re going to take you in and run a breath test.”

  “Whatever you say, Officer.”

  “We’ll have to call a wrecker, unless you choose to allow us to drive your car into the station.”

  “It’s okay with me, go ahead, drive it in.”

  Dan took Corbin, and Ben followed in his vehicle. Ben parked in the abandoned gas station across from the district, as Dan turned into the district and escorted Corbin to the test room where he sat staring at the floor while Dan prepared the machine.

  Ben joined Dan as he was instructing Corbin, “Take a deep breath and blow in this mouthpiece until I say stop.”

  Corbin blew hard and long.

  “That’s good.”

  Dan verified the results and looked at Ben quizzically, then reached over and checked the calibration log. “It was calibrated three hours ago, but look at the print out.”

  “Try a vial with a different batch number.”

  Dan reset the machine. Corbin blew again and the reading of “.000” repeated.

  “Sit tight for a minute,” Dan said to Corbin nodding to Ben.

  “Okay,” Corbin said with a slight smirk.”

  Dan and Ben stepped out in the hall.

  “Triple ought! This guy’s not drunk and the pat down found no drugs.”

  “That’s a record,” Tony chuckled from the station desk.

  “We’ll have to take a urine sample or turn him loose,” Ben said.

  “Considering probable cause is weak. I’m not foolin’ with no bottle. Think we ought to cite him for the roll through?”

  “No, he cooperated and we put him through enough.”

  “I love it! The Duo does zeros,” Tony chuckled. “Get back out there. The streets aren’t safe without you.”

  “You have his keys?” Dan asked Ben ignoring Tony’s chiding.

  Ben produced the keys, as they reentered the test room.

  “Mr. Corbin,” Dan said. “The test shows no alcohol in your system. We’re sorry to have troubled you. You may want to see a doctor. Find out why your coordination is off. Could be medical.”

  “I’ll think on it.”

  “Here’s your keys with our apologies. We aren’t citing you for the stop sign you rolled through, so you’re free to go.”

  “No problem,” Corbin said standing.

  “We’re sorry to have inconvenienced you,” Dan said as they escorted him to the front counter and released the gate.

  “Think nothing of it.

  The door closed behind him. Tony was laughing as Gary came in the back with some recovered property. “What’s so funny? Can hear you in the parking lot.”

  “Our Dedicated Duo just ran the drunk of drunks. Set a new record with triple zeros.” Tony said amongst chuckles.

  “That’s interesting,” Gary said. “I just heard from one of my snitches Morgan’s has a decoy club.”

  “Gotta be!” Ben cried as the Duo sprang through the gate to the window. They watched Corbin walking away laughing. He unwrapped a piece of chewing gum and dropped the wrapper.

  “Gotcha back!” they both exclaimed.

  He crossed the street and entered his vehicle failing to use the nearby crosswalk.

  “Gothcha again.” They dashed out the back door to give chase.

  They were at the end of the driveway in time to see Corbin’s car pass. Dan pulled him over again at the bottom of the viaduct. It was no longer raining when Dan approached the driver’s window. “Your license, please.”

  “I don’t understand. You just told me to go home.”

  “Indeed, and with an apology. Now you’re getting a couple tickets based on aggravated stupidity. Your premeditated decoy pool might eventually kill somebody by keeping us from stopping an intoxicated driver.”

  Corbin did not reply. Dan wrote the prior stop sign violation and the littering while Ben completed the jaywalking. Dan returned to the violator.

  “Are you married?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Have any kids?
”

  “Yes, Sir, two. What’s that got to do with the tickets?”

  “They’ll help remind you of your foolishness. The decoy was imaginative, so imagine your wife and kids at home and a burglar breaking in. They call the police, but the officers assigned your area aren’t available because they’re tied up on decoy drunks. Closest car is now twenty or thirty minutes away instead of five. Make a difference to you then?”

  Corbin sank into his seat, but did not answer.

  Dan handed him the license and copies of the citations, “Listen up. There’s a payout for the stop sign you rolled through earlier, and a fine schedule. The littering and jaywalking are warnings. Take ’em home an’ tape ’em to your mirror, and think about it. Three fines would be as tacky as your decoy game. I suspect your buddies still believe they can get away with it. You believed you could. You were wrong and it cost you. Tell your buddies, we’re wise to ’em. Next one gets hit with the book and jailed. Drive careful now.”

  Dan returned to his cruiser. “Hope there’s no more surprises tonight,” Ben commented.

  However, back on patrol, the Devil kept spinning disks and the Duo were obliged to dance.

  “Rain quit, and here comes the fog,” Ben noticed.

  “I hate fog almost as much as you hate dogs!”

  “Impossible! And for the record, it’s them don’t like me. I’ve learned to be indulgent.”

  The half-open window of the cruiser drew the moist air in revealing a distinct odor. “Smells like smoke,” Ben remarked sniffing the air. The smoke crawled toward them with the foreboding of a corpse from a grave. “It’s pretty strong.” He keyed the mike, “508, we’ve got smoke in the area Langland and Pullan. Notify a Fire Company.”

  “Car 508, do you have an address?”

  “508, negative, just smell smoke.”

  “Fire Company responding to the area,” the dispatcher radioed setting a quadrant search. When the cruiser turned onto the next street, both officers saw flames licking up the sides of a house.

  “508, we have a working fire at 1545 Donaldson Place. Frame house small patch of flames on the side. Hasn’t been burning long.”

  Ejecting from the rolling cruiser, Ben shouted, “Clear the occupants!” He grabbed a garden hose hoping to slow the fire’s spread. Its spray hit the charred siding and sizzled morphing into white smoke. The billows tasted of old paint and quickly engulfed Ben. He was forced back to breathe cleaner air.

  Dan, fast on Ben’s heels, went to the door and banged with his nightstick, but raised no one. Realizing his partner’s attempts to alert the occupants were failing, and his small spray was proving ineffective, Ben joined Dan.

  “Time to go in!” Dan said, knocking the glass out of the kitchen door. Reaching through and unlocking it, they rushed in. Immediately the heat burned their throats, smoke stole their breaths, cotton and creosote tastes gagged them. They fell to their knees.

  “Upstairs! You take the front! I’ll check the back!” Ben choked.

  They took the steps on hands and knees. Yelling “POLICE, FIRE GET OUT. POLICE” At the top they went in opposite directions shouting, “Fire! Fire! Get out!”

  A door opened and a woman emerged holding a towel to her mouth coughing and gasping for breath. She cried hoarsely, “My kids! Save them!” Dan pulled her to the floor, “This way!” Instead, she turned toward the front bedroom. Ben was crawling back with a three-year-old cradled to his chest with a sling made from a sheet. Seeing the mother he shouted, “How many others?”

  “Two —older—other room!” she coughed out.

  “Go with Ben. I’ll get them!” She hesitated. “NOW! Dan ordered. He heard sirens, It’s about time.

  She still hesitated and Ben asked, “Husband?”

  “No, works nights.”

  Ben grabbed her arm and pulled the terrified woman away. She crawled away looking over her shoulder.

  Dan bumped his way down the hall squinting through tears. The chilling stillness broken by crackling timbers feed a feeling of abandon. Ash coated his skin, and tongue. Looking back, his flashlight beam was eaten by the smoke. Getting too thick. Can’t go back!

  He moved on placing his hand against the bedroom door, Not hot! checked the knob and entered. boys of about ten slept in separate beds unaware of the danger. My ears are getting hot. ‘Bout out of time. tried the light switch. Hallelujah, still works. Smoke was entering the room through a transom over the door, but it wasn’t thick. Dan swiftly crawled to the window looking out over the front porch. Outside firemen pulled hoses and ladders off the trucks like darting humming birds.

  Rushing to the farthest bed, Dan shook the child. The boy woke seeing a stranger’s puffy ash smeared face hovering over him in a cloud. Petrified, he swung his arms and kicked at his rescuer. His screams woke the second lad who went to his brother’s defense. Dan found himself pelted by little fists and feet from both sides. They only hurt when they found his shins. As the smoke thickened, so did the boy’s efforts to fend off their attacker.

  Losing precious time! Dan thought stepping back. Each breath burned like whiskey on a raw throat. Holding his breath, he grabbed the boys pulling them toward the window. “FIRE! FIRE! GET OUT!”

  Now on their feet, the yells alerted the lads to the smoke. They ran for the door. Dan blocked them. “Go out the window!”

  “Momma and Sissy!” the bigger boy yelled pushing for the door.

  “ALREADY OUT. GO OUT THE WINDOW!”

  The boys ran to the window. In their panic, they failed to unlatch the sash. Dan rushed to their side and forced the latch. The window was stuck. “Get back!” he said shoving them aside. Grabbing the desk chair, he smashed the glass. The noise alerted the firemen below and they scurried to raise a ladder. By the time the first boy ventured onto the porch roof a fireman was there to help.

  A gleeful mother below shouted, “My boys! My boys are safe!”

  Soon both boys were at their mother’s side and Dan descended the ladder. The fireman extinguished the flames and doused hot spots. The medics washed Dan and Ben’s eyes, irrigated their mouths, and dressed minor wounds. They relaxed breathing an oxygen supplement. After a few minutes the Fire Marshal arrived and asked the medic, “How you ‘Blue Warriors’ doing?”

  “Nothin’ major. Just, swallowed some smoke. We’ve been suckin’ oxygen for twenty minutes.”

  He asked them a few more questions then turned to Dan, “Feelin’ better?”

  “Yep,” Dan said, “Only a nasty cotton mouth.”

  “I like it better when you pull ’em out and I do traffic,” Ben added.

  “We’ve got the burn under control,” the Fire Marshall advised. “If the alarm had come any later it’d been a total loss.”

  “Any idea what started it?” Dan asked.

  “It started in the first floor outer wall. Old timber spreads fast. My report says ‘suspected tube and knob wiring defect.’ You guys were lucky. A few more gulps of smoke and you could’ve passed out.”

  “You tellin’ us we shouldn’t have gone in?”

  “No, the risk comes with the job. I’m saying you must have someone praying for you.”

  “I keep tellin’ people to light them candles,” Ben said.

  The Fire Marshal nodded and returned to his duties. Having knocked the fire down, the firemen began rolling up hoses. The medics reexamined the officers and released them. No longer needed, Ben slid behind the wheel, and they drove away. Turning the corner, Dan broke out in song. “Whoa-oa-oa! I feel good, I knew that I…”

  “Whoaaa! That’s pitful!”

  “Hurts some to, I need a drink. Then with less gusto he continued, “Yeaaaa, I knew that I would, so good, so good, cause …”

  “Who originally sang that?” Ben cut in.

  “James Brown, I do believe.”

  “Well, I DO BELIEVE, you should let HIM sing it.”

  “Whoa-oa-oa! I feel good…”

  “While I was doing oxygen, you must’ve been sucki
n’ on laughing gas,” Ben cut in. “Will some food in your mouth stop the noise? ‘Belly Bombers’ or chili?”

  “You offer delicacies too difficult to choose,” Dan mumbled.

  “Won’t matter. Our tongues won’t taste it.”

  They visited White Castle’s and ordered several cheeseburgers and drinks. Ben drove behind the Shamrock Pub for a well-earned break.

  “Take advantage of the roof overhang,” Dan suggested.

  Ben backed into the dock. “I sure hope it’s late enough the accidents don’t start.”

  “You kiddin? With bars closed and the rain, it’s a ghost town.”

  “Did you get fries? There’s just one order.”

  “Yours.”

  “Right,” Ben said as he watched a fourth of Dan’s small burger disappear in one bite.

  Conversation lulled as they ate, discarding wrappers in the sack. Finished, Ben wadded the bag tight and slid out to toss it in the nearby dumpster. As he did, he noticed the rear door of the Pub was ajar. “We’ve got a PFO, Partner.”

  Dan jumped out calling it in. “508, PFO, Shamrock Pub, 4126 Hamilton.”

  “509, I’ll cover,” Martin offered by radio.

  Flashlights in hand they cautiously entered noting a box of assorted whiskeys at the door

  “On your toes,” Dan said. “Looks like they’re still in here.”

  Quietly continuing to the small office they found the switch panel and flipped on the lights. The room was ransacked, but no culprit. They moved with deliberation into the dimly lit main bar area. Their flashlights revealed coin boxes pried from the pinball and cigarette machines, but they found no culprit.

  “Car 509, Signal Thirty-five. Where do they want me?” asked Martin by radio.

  “508, we’ll meet him at the rear door,” Dan radioed. They backtracked to meet him, “Think the culprits are still here, but we haven’t found ’em.”

  “There’s an old trap to the cellar under the rubber drain mat behind the bar.”

  They checked it. The mat was still in place and the trap locked. Dan felt two empty beer bottles on the bar. One’s still cool and moist. “Not open long.”

  “You’re arrival could have scared ’em off,” Martin suggested.

  “Doubt it. We were sittin’ on it for several minutes before we found it. The only place unsearched is the pool room on the south side.”