“If they left it on empty again, I swear, I’ll pick their lockers and fill their hats with cottage cheese,” Ben said. “I might have to pick up their slack, but I don’t have to like it.”
“Sounds like something I’d do,” Dan laughed.
Their beat car was near the stoop. Twice this month the previous relief failed to gas it. Dan and Ben stored their gear, and were seated in the car before Dan spoke again. “Did Hess seem a bit friendlier than usual tonight?”
Ben turned the ignition and the engine came to life. The fuel gage read “Three-quarters.” Putting it in reverse he asked, “What about Hess?”
“He didn’t shout as much. Maybe he’s being cagey. You think he knows I tossed the airplane?”
“Based on our last parley, No!”
On the way out of the parking lot Gary Follert waved them over. “You guys up for Box Town after your consultation?”
“Always,” Dan replied. “If it gets busy, it may take two cars.”
Ben waited behind the wheel. Dan slid out and accepted a square cardboard box. He wrestled it past the prisoner screen onto the back seat, and they were quickly en route.
“Partner, did you notice the similarity between Hess’ plan and our stake-out request last week?” Dan asked.
“Matter of fact. Milton warned us I-74 would get hit this week.”
“Is it a coincidence Hess turned it down ‘cause our snitch is ‘untested’ and tonight comes up with this R-P-R?”
“Was it Shakespeare who said, ‘Something smells of fish’?”
“Don’t try to be literate. It doesn’t work for you.”
“Okay, it’s fishy!”
Box Town visits began five years ago, after Gary was assigned his beat. The railroad yard under the Hopple Street Viaduct became his responsibility, including the hobos and other homeless camped there. The viaduct overhead spared the cardboard city from most of the rain. Delivery drivers from nearby warehouses discarded large appliance boxes, and the inhabitants appropriated them as needed. The boxes offered protection from wind and kept the dew off. Although dampness destroyed the boxes’ rigidity in a week, they procured a new one and discarded the old on the campfire.
They did their best to live off the land and handouts. The citizens of Box Town policed their own closely and evicted the true scoundrels and violent. Whether by nature or preference, they kept to themselves. Occasionally pressed by some privation, some occasionally migrated into the nearby city committing a crime of chance.
After several dealings with the Box Town people, Gary approached Dan asking for advice. “I arrested one of those box campers under the viaduct for stealing food. The mini-market manager wouldn’t let me pay for it and demanded prosecution. Then he’s a no-show in court. I’m spinning my wheels. You have any ideas how to turn such a handicap into a resource?”
“Not off hand, but the way Ben and I got a handle on the housing area was walkin’ and talkin’. Get to know ’em, develop rapport. Not all of ’em are deadbeats, I’ll bet.”
“You know Mr. Free, the guy I was telling you about, he was grateful. Thought I got him off the hook. He said if he could repay, to let him know. What’s a homeless bum gonna do for me?”
“Cooperation and information, maybe?”
“Walkin’ and talkin’ makes some sense. Since they seem to always need food, what if we could get something together for them ever so often?”
“We could work it a couple nights a month. See what comes of it.”
It wasn’t rigidly scheduled but a couple times on the Night Run they managed to drop in. Williams and Vaught carried it over from the following relief, but the other relief had no volunteers.
When Dan and Ben arrived at Box Town, Gary stood at the fire talking with Mister Burl. Two dozen men and women were in the camp. It was seldom they encountered anyone under eighteen. Burl, the camp king, officiated with a scepter called the Dragon’s Tooth: a polished fang shaped root crowned with lion’s head carving. He settled all disputes in camp, and his word was law.
“Good evening, Mister Burl, how goes things in camp?” Dan asked.
“’Tis fair to midlin,” he replied then turning he waved his scepter in an arching motion and spoke to the inhabitants. “Perk Ye ears Ye ‘road-dawgs’. These ‘white tops’ get glad handed in this camp. They be ‘true-dos’, and ‘overstands’ y’ur lot.”
“Mister Burl, you’re a mystery to me,” Dan said. “You have savvy, you have means, and you could easily live a normal life?”
“Oh, but I do.”
“Well, it’s still a mystery to me.”
“It’d be no mystery, if’n you’d chosen to chase rails at nineteen. Back then no-one hassled y’u. A Bo-chaser ‘d run y’u, but not wit’ anger. Could jump a ballin’ jack, top, bottom or inside. Find a ‘pay-house’ or ‘pogey’ along the tracks anytime, for a meal. I’ve been sea to sea chasin’ m’ giggles, and eyeballed it all with ne’r want for more. I’d not trade f’r y’ur treasures neither.”
“Can’t argue against what I don’t understand, but those days are gone. Aren’t they?”
“Indeed, countries changed. Barrel houses be scarce and the ‘yeggs’ ’re many. Violence binds the hearts of the common people, and fear closed their doors to us. It’s only been in the last few years my kind‘ve known want and hunger. Your visits are an open boxcar on a cold day.”
“It’s not much. Maybe it’s a start.”
“We ain’t got time to gab all night, Dan,” Gary said. “Burl, there’s two boxes of sandwiches and apples in the cruisers.”
“Any tiger milk?” asked Burl.
“Ain’t never been, don’t start expecting.”
“Pays t’ be careful here,” he acknowledged turning to two men standing nearby. “Smokey, you and Plug fetch ’em ‘nose-bags’ out of the ‘bubble cans’.”
Two men hustled toward the cruisers. Burl noticed Dan’s gaze following the one with a mangled arm. “Midnight creeper got him years ago. He does fine.”
The two men pulled the boxes out, carried them over and sat them by the campfire. Dan, Ben and Gary walked through the cardboard dwellings handing out sandwiches and fruit. The sandwiches were peanut butter and jelly. They kept well in the heat. For the first time tonight, each of Dan’s handouts contained a small New Testament.
Knowing Burl’s custom, they fed everyone else before offering the king a sandwich.
“Thank you, what have we?” he said peeling the bread back. “Peanut butter; one of my favorites. Goes well with stone stew. Would you like some?”
“I appreciate the offer,” Dan said picking up a small cup and dipping it in a steaming pot. He blew it cool and drank. Ben and Gary followed. While the empty boxes burned on the fire, they sipped stew and talked individually with the indigent tribe. The inhabitants distrusted outsiders, and had their own culture. With kindness and fair dealings over time the officers earned acceptance with the regulars. The newcomers respected Mister Burl’s authority. Within thirty-five minutes the officers returned to their patrol assignment.
“You know, Partner,” Ben said, “that stone stew’s BLAND! Might as well drink hot water.”
“What else have they to offer?”
“If you weren’t serious it’d be funny. That’s really sad.” Ben scanned the interior of an all-night-market as they circled through the parking lot. “Those visits make me uneasy.”
“I understand dogs makin’ you uneasy, but circlin’ an all nighter?”
“No, Box Town.”
“I don’t get it?”
“It confuses me. A few of them are like Fred, wanting to work, but hard times blindsided them. If they got a break, like Fred’s grocery job, things could be different. I can relate to that, but the majority have skills, could work, and some were professionals making more ‘an us. They’re content livin’ in a box! Don’t have to, so why do they?”
“It’s not the fault of Box Town, but the result. The product of, uh, how can I say it poetically? Uh… lives dashed against the reefs of a daily grind; hopes carried away by raging tides of empty meaning; broken people washed up on a deserted beach.”
“That’s, just existing!”
“Sometimes I feel stuck on a rudderless ship in a stormy sea. Be honest Ben, ever want to surrender and drift irresponsibly? Just existing?”
“Are you nuts? I’d shoot myself before I’d let my family live like that! You have?”
“Well, not so much Box Town, but the life of no responsibility.”
“Kinda enjoy my life the way it is, thank you.”
“I yearn for a cabin way back in the woods like Thoreau’s. Let the world march into the River Wesser, as long as I have my Walden Pond!”
“You wouldn’t be happy livin’ alone in the woods?”
“I’m not so sure, Ben. Thoreau speaks to my heart when he says ‘for what is the use of a house, if you haven’t a tolerable planet to put it on’. In case you haven’t noticed; society’s growing more and more intolerable.”
Is that why you took up policing; to make this planet tolerable? You’ve been smoking Mary-Jane in your pipe.”
“It should be more than tolerable. It should be a joy.”
“That’s not reality. There’s good and bad in everything. You put up with the bad to enjoy the good stuff.”
“Ben, what you don’t see is Box Town people feel totally insignificant. They see themselves only as a gear in the time machine propelling life toward suffering and death. Their hope for a utopia has evaporated, and they’re crushed by lack of purpose. Box Town is built on the ashes of destitute dreams and dehydrated hope.”
“I see; you understand them, because your dreams were bashed. Your own pity party? So, why haven’t you joined ’em?”
“A valid point.”
“And, your reason is?”
“Well, as tantalizing as my Walden Pond is, I rejected it for the same reason as Thoreau. How’d he say it? When he came to die, he’d discover he hadn’t lived. I guess I’m too much like him. Afraid I’ll miss some great joy. If I surrender, I’ll never discover the purpose for which I struggled. To die never having had a purpose is unacceptable to me.”
“I got news for you, Preacher. A lot of what you think you’re missing is your own fault.”
“I won’t argue that. Maybe that’s why I’m so hung up on my itch: why am I here and where I’m going?”
“Again with the itch!”
“Maybe so, Ben.”
They patrolled quietly for several minutes before Ben spoke again. “Something else I didn’t get. I saw ’em.”
“Saw what?”
“Little black books. Them hobos don’t read. What’s that about?”
“Never know, but IF the Handbook has the answers. Maybe, I shouldn’t be the only one reading it.”
“Great, you’ve found your purpose and cured the itch.”
“No, not yet, anyways.”
“Then, what’s with passin’ out Bibles? Seems to me a bit hypocritical.”
“Not so. There’s a big difference. Hypocrites profess as true what they don’t believe. I’m up front. I’m not sure, but I think this Handbook of Life might have the answers.”
“You’re one confused puppy dog!”
“I think there’s a good chance the Handbook reveal our purpose. What better place than Box Town to test the theory?”
“Test it!”
“Oh come on, the Handbooks aren’t radioactive.”
“You’re finally comin’ unglued!”
“What’s it gonna hurt?”
“Give me a break. Let me see one of them Handbooks,” Ben said reaching for Dan’s pocket.
“Hey, don’t get personal!” Dan said batting his hand away.
“Pocket’s empty!”
“You really want one?”
“Sure, I got a right to be as fulfilled as them hobos.”
“Since you’re beggin’.”
“I ain’t beggin’! Forget it.”
Dan extended his hand. A small book flipped up from the palm.
“How DID you do that?”
“Do what? And, it sounds like beggin’ to me.”
“Never mind,” Ben took the book and opened it to the front. “As I thought! It’s a New Testament Bible!”
“I know what it is. I’ve been given ’em out all night.”
“That beats all. You, who swore off God, now passing out Testaments!”
“So, we aren’t on speaking terms, so what? If the instructions are in there, I wan’a look at ’em.”
“Uhhh? I’m not detective grade, but you’re either sandbagging’ me or gone ‘gonzo.’ What you expect those books to do? You see any evidence Box Town visits are changing anything?”
“I don’t know. How can we know if ANYTHING we do helps?”
“Take it from a guy who’s lit a bonfire of candles. You’re just doing personal penance again.”
“Okay Ben, I’ve wrestled with my motives. Do I really care? Tell me, Ben, how much is enough? A greedy nature encourages hoarding, because we never feel it’s enough. I fear poverty, and it causes me to be stingy. I have to fight it.”
“Sometimes I feel guilty,” Ben admitted, “Like I’m playin’ them for cooperation. Even so, I have to take care of my family first. Who else is gonna do it?”
“Good question, ’cause you can’t count on God, if He don’t exist.”
“Since I do, I should be more charitable? What a pile of manure you’re spreading.”
“Not saying you’re family shouldn’t be first. I’m pointin’ out a simple reality: We’re all days away from Box Town. My nature tries to deny it, but I know it. Like squirrels in September, I’m bent to stockpile wealth and become materialistic.”
“So your charity allows you to overcome guilt for pursuing the American Dream; financial independence?”
“Au de contraire, my biggest fear is climbing too high, because if ever providence knocked me to the bottom, it’d kill me. I’d just lay there in my own little box.”
“You’d get back up no matter what knocked you down. Wouldn’t be tolerable to be around, but up you’d get.”
“Just to show you I’ve been reading it, the Handbook I’m not in control of much, anyhow.”
“Who’s it say is?”
“God.”
“Then why’s it so messed up?”
“Haven’t read that far.”
“Car 508, 508,” barked the radio, “domestic fight, 3910 Turrel Street, first floor.”
“Okay on Turrel,” Ben acknowledged. As Dan turned the car unhurriedly Ben remarked, “Hilda and Sam at it again. Bet he stayed out too late, came in too drunk.”
“You left out her side,” Dan added. “Out ‘boozin’ with a ‘floozy’.”
“No takers. With them two, it’s always too late, too drunk, and out with a floozy.”
Sam Purdy sat on the bottom porch step. Hilda Fickens stood inside the screen door waiting and watching. When the patrol car pulled to the curb, Hilda bolted out the door and began flailing at Sam’s head. Too drunk to flee, Sam cowered trying to block her with the eggbeater action of his arms.
Sam appeared in his late forties, but wasn’t over thirty-six. His five-feet-eleven frame carried 125 pounds. Thin blond disheveled hair hung below his bony cheeks framing a week’s growth of patchy beard. His unkempt hair sharply contrasted with his carefully waxed handlebar mustache. The beard and mustache glowed of auburn highlights. Sam’s dirty stained T-shirt hung loosely: Torn neck to navel, one sleeve ripped off, the other stretched. A pair of faded blue jeans with the left knee ripped out, and black work shoes with no socks completed his dress.
Approaching, Dan thought, He is the love of Hilda’s life?
A couple years younger, Hilda stood five-foot-three and weighed 140. A red sock tied her bleached blond hair in a ponytail. The attempt to match colors with a red tank top and red underwear, which showed pink through the white denim jeans, failed miserably. The unbecomingly tight jeans bore patches in the seat, crotch, and knees. A pair of torn flip-flops miraculously clung to her feet. Her toenails displayed bright red chipped polish.
Nearing, Dan could see Hilda was attacking Sam with a large plastic fly swatter. And she is the love of Sam’s life. What a package! took both officers to intervene and separate an irate Hilda without doing or receiving harm. Once they settled her down on the far side of the porch, Dan went back to check on Sam. “You okay, Pall? What’s got Hilda riled?”
“I schwear Offisher, I ain’t done noshin. I wussh down to Murphy’s and hads me two – countsh ’em,” he held up three fingers. “Jush two beerssh. I schwears.”
Hilda’s hearing was never an issue. Sam’s statement rekindled her anger. She raced halfway across the porch shouting. “Out wit’ some fluzzy, Thinks I don’t knows?”
Ben managed to keep her at a distance, but he couldn’t stop her raging.
“You two timin’ two faced tail tuckin’ egg suckin’ belly crawlin’ c’yote,” Hilda yelled, unconcerned about neighbors. “Y’u run off and left me here in dis hot‘r’n Hades house to go flam dang some floozy! I slaves for y’u! I washes y’ur clothes! I cooks y’ur food! I lives like a slave, and what ’s I get f’r it? He runs off, stays out all night, and get soused with some floozy!”
“I dids no such a things, t’ere ain’t no osher womas I tells you,” he replied somewhat sobered by the excitement.
“Then how’s come y’u don’t n’er spend time wit’ me likes y’u used ta? If’n y’u ain’t got no floozy? Y’u ain’t ne’r here. Might as well not be married.”
“Hilda, we aints never gots married—no hows,”
“Same if, Officer. Common wed, whats we is. Same ’s married, taint it, officer?”
“No church ceremony?” Dan scolded Sam. “How long you been together?”
“Ne’r on sheven years,” Sam admitted holding up three fingers.
“Should be long enough to know. Why not have a church hitch you for real?”
“Church!” Hilda shouted across the porch. “Don’t go t’ no church! And, I’ll tells y’u why. He don’t keep no job, ne’r can he keep ’is word, and I ain’t makin’ no oaths to no God that ain’t gonna be kept. Common law’s good ’nough for ’im.”
“Welsh I don’t wansh be common laawsh no mor’,”
“Me ne’thers,”
Dan, seeing a chance to settle things for the short term, cut their argument off. “Enough’s enough. Both of you!”
“Enough of ’is trash, be right,” Hilda agreed.
Ben ignoring Hilda, turned his attention to Sam. “If you aren’t married to Hilda, you can’t stay here. You have some place else you can go for a few days?”
“Shure. I cans go live wisch my brosher over on Vicsher Shreet.”
“In that case,” Dan said, “I can divorce you two, but you, Sam, will have to go over to your brother’s and stay. You understand?”
“Fine witsh me.”
Dan turned back to Hilda, “You want a divorce too? You’ll have to pay your own bills?”
“I pay the bills anyhow. He don’t have no real job. ‘Sides, he drinks up ’is money. Yeah, what I got t’ do?”
Ben looked questioningly at Dan who winked.
“Hilda—Sam,” Dan began solemnly, “you both know I’m ‘ordinated’ by the state—right?”
They had no idea, but nodded.
“Very well, then. Hilda, put your left hand palm down on Ben’s badge; and yours, Sam, on my badge – left hand Sam – left hand – easy – don’t fall over. Now raise the right one—the other right one Sam—left on badge, right in the air. Very good, Sam. Now hold it.”
There they stood on opposite ends of the porch, positioned side by side, yet separated by fifteen feet. Hilda’s one hand spread on Ben’s chest the other in the air like some frail Statute of Liberty. Sam stood similarly, swaying and waving as if bidding friends a bon-voyage. Dan craned his neck to face away to avoid the stench of Sam’s alcoholic breath. There they posed in view of numerous curious neighbors attracted by the commotion.
Dan couldn’t resist the theatrical nature of the circumstance. Taking hat in hand, he began in a loud voice, “Dearly beloved we are gathered in the presence of these witnesses,” waving his arm across the crowd, “for a most ‘unsolemn’ occasion. If any have reason these two should not be ‘dis-unioned’, speak or forever hold your peace.”
“Huh?” Ben asked.
“You have reason?”
“No, not me.”
Speaking to them in turn, Dan instructed, “I, say your name…”
Dan waited while they answered in unison.
“Having lived in common law marriage with, say the other person’s name…”
Again Dan waited for them.
“Having given true and earnest effort to compliance of that common law…”
They repeated the phrase.
“And here-to-with, having failed for reasons other than my own…”
Again they repeated the phrase as best they could glaring at each other and becoming noticeably louder when saying “other than my own.”
“Declare I, to disavow, decease, and descend my love for thee.”
Each stammered their version of the last phrase, and Dan sidestepped having them face each other across the porch. That made Hilda nervous.
“I ain’t a gonna kiss no dog face varmint!”
“No, no, no kissin’,” Dan assured.
“Oh, alright then,” she said resuming her Statute of Liberty pose.
“By the power vested in me by the governor of this state; this common law marriage is ‘dis-unioned’.”
Dan immediately looked Sam in the face, “Get your clothes, we’ll take you over to Victor Street.”
Sam, scurried, as best he could in his condition, gathered some clothes, and shoved them in a large paper bag.
“I’m ready.”
After they dropped Sam off at his brother’s and called back in service Ben asked, “Common law divorce? That’s not in the Procedure Manual. Where do you come up with this stuff? What in God’s green acres is ‘Declare I disavow, decrease, and dispend my love?”
“Not sure that’s exactly what I said.”
“Close enough.”
“You fussin’? Next time, you face to face it with the lizard breath drunk. Gag a maggot I tell you!”
They both chuckled then fell silent for a few minutes reflecting on the absurdity of it all. But, Ben couldn’t let it go. “Where’d you get that ‘disavow’ phrase?”
“Not from any book you’ve read.”
“What does it mean? I hope the onlookers couldn’t hear you.”
“Had to ‘dis-unionize’ them somehow. It sounded pretty authoritative to me.”
Another pause ensued before Ben broke in chuckling.
“I heard it with my own ears. Tell me the crowd couldn’t. Tell me it’s okay for me to show my face around there again.”
“Honestly,” Dan said, “their relationship reminds me of what my granddaddy called ‘two ticks and no dog’. No wonder it don’t work.”
“Partner, what scares me the most is you don’t even have to think stuff up. It just happens, doesn’t it? Comes natural to you. I know you’ve got more marbles than most, but they’re floatin’ loose.”
“Oh, shucks, Ben. You’re jealous ‘cause the voices only talk to me.”
“Surreal thoughts just hover around waiting on your summons. And what’d we gain with all the theatrics?”
“How often do we get dispatched to the Hilda-Sam fights?” Dan asked.
“Once a week or more.”
“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 conspicuously 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?”
“Looking at your tummy, you might want to run up them.”
“Me!”
They arrived back on the second floor. Again they found no disturbance. At the door with a brass “3”, Dan tapped gently with the nightstick. He didn’t want to wake anyone else, so he spoke softly, “It’s the police. Did you call?”
The response was a rustling from behind the door drawing their attention to a sheet of aluminum foil sliding out under it. “Sign in with your badge,” whispered a voice behind the door.
Gary joined them at the top of the stairs in time to see the foil flapping under the door. They exchanged questioning glances. “What’s up? I’ve checked a radius of two blocks. Didn’t see anybody.”
Dan pointed to the sheet of aluminum. Gary shrugged his shoulders with raised eyebrows. It disappeared back through the crack.
“Car 508,” beckoned the radio.
“508,” Ben answered.
“Complainant on the phone again. Says they’re trying to break the door down.”
“Tell him it’s us!”
They waited in silence.
“Says, he doesn’t believe it’s the police, because they won’t sign in?”
Now hearing a hissing they looked down to see mist coming through the bottom door crack.
“What’s he doing now?” Dan asked.
“Smells like bug spray to me,” Ben answered.
Dan keyed his mike, “508,You still have him on the phone?”
“Affirmative.”
“Tell him to put his bug spray away and open the door.”
The hissing stopped, and the foil reappeared as the radio broke in, “He says he wants proof you’re the police.”
Dan unpinned his badge, bent down and made an impression of it in the foil. “There,” he said disgustedly, “I signed in. Now open your door.” The foil retracted and seconds later the bolt turned.
The door opened a crack as the man peeked out, then he quickly open it half way guarding the opening. “Come in, quick. They’ll sneak in behind you.”
As the officers stepped in, the occupant waved a yard’s length of foil behind them in the hallway as if shooing flies. Closing the door, he shoved it in the threshold crack. They were greeted with windows and doors covered with aluminum foil. Foil hung in narrow strips from the ceiling, on furniture, and covered baseboards. The occupant, a gaunt elderly six-foot man, wore plain white linen pajamas. His chest was wrapped in foil, as were his upper arms and thighs banded. The aluminum foil turban made it hard to keep a professional front.
“Sir, what’s your name?” Dan began.
“I can’t tell you. They might hear it.”
“What name do I put on the official log sheet?” Dan whispered.
Putting his fingers to his lips, he took the pen and wrote “Craig Birdman,” on Dan’s pad.
“Tell us about the prowler.”
“It’s the Gamensoots,” he said seriously speaking slowly and distinctly. “They want to take me back. I told them I like it here. I don’t want to go.”
“And where is it they want to take you?”
“Back to Zormetts, It’s the fillings in my teeth.” Birdman opened his mouth to point to the fillings. “Down here we use gold. Back there they trade amalgamates.”
“How long have you had this problem?”
“They started coming last year.”
Ben slipped into the bath, bedroom, and kitchen to check for medications, while Dan carried on the conversation. When Ben came out he indicated nothing unusual. Dan, being senior on the run, would have to make the call. Did the man pose a danger to himself or others? If so the law provided for a hospital evaluation. However, no sign of violent behavior existed, only irrational hallucinations.
“Seems you have everything under control. I think they’re scared off for the night.” Dan said stepping toward the door.
“No, NO! You can’t go! They’ll come back out.”
“You’re doin’ a fine job keepin’ them away. Just keep up the good work.”
“This only irritates them,” Birdman said holding up the roach spray. “It’s like your tear-gas. Once they’re in, they’re hard to see. Got to catch their reflection in the foil.”
“I know,” Gary chimed in. “They chased me around last year, but I outsmarted ’em.”
“How’d you do it?” Birdman asked attentively.
“Yeah,” Dan said, “Tell us, we’re anxious to learn.”
“Well, uh, uh…”
“We’re all ears,” Ben coached. “Tell us, so we can help Mr. Birdman.”
Finally Gary said, “I snuck over to the professor’s when they weren’t around. He knows all about Gamensoots, and Zelenboots, and the Gorbbucons. Had to stay with him a couple days but he fixed it so none of ’em want anything to do with me.”
“I can understand that,” Ben quipped.
“What’d he do?” Birdman asked excitedly.
“Don’t know. He’s the scientist. But, I know it only works on people who are good and don’t want to hurt anybody. If that’s you? Possibly we could go see him.”
“Will you take me, Officer?” the man asked like a child begging parents to go to Disneyland.
“Well it’s late.” Gary pointed at his watch. “But if we hurry, I think we can catch him. Grab your robe.”
You sly Devil. I need to remember you can be clever, thought.
The man hurried into the bedroom, and returned one arm in the robe’s sleeve, the other searching. Gary opened the door and stepped into the hall with Birdman. Dan and Ben followed. Ben turned to lock the door, and the owner yelled, “Wait!” He disappeared into the room returning with a large streamer of foil trailing behind him. “Just in case.”
Finally, Ben secured the door and gave the keys to Gary to hold. Birdman hurried outside. At the cruiser, Gary patted him down. “Makin’ sure no Gamensoots are hanging on you.”
“Oh, thank you. Sneaky aren’t they?”
After Mr. Birdman was seated in the rear, Gary turned to Ben. “You guys follow me up to State. Don’t expect any trouble, but you never know.”
“Got you covered, and we’ll radio ahead for you.”
Gary arrived without incident, and Mr. Birdman hurried into the hospital Receiving Room. His flapping robe exposed the bands, and his head still bore the turban. The nurse looked up and Gary spoke first. “This is Mr. Birdman, he’s having trouble with those pesky Gamensoots. Thought maybe the professor could help him out.”
“I believe you are in luck. He’s still here.”
The patient voluntarily checked himself in for observation without difficulty. Outside Dan patted Gary on the back. “That may not be the most kosher Medical Hold, but it beats having to fight them.”
Gary opened his cruiser’s door and as soon as he sat, Ben yelled, “Gary, watch out! Behind you!”
Gary rolled out of the seat. His reflexes sent his hand to his holster. However, not seeing a threat he asked, “What?”
“One of them Canonspots,” was about to get you,” Ben laughed.
“They’re Gamensoots! And I told you, I’m immune to ’em. But you better watch out. They’re real.” He laughed diabolically sliding into his cruiser.
The Duo cut through the Clifton neighborhood en route from the hospital to their beat. “This area is such a smorgasbord of eccentric people, Birdman would blend right in,” Dan quipped.
“Except, his actions aren’t eccentric. They’re irrational,” Ben said.
“That’s relative to your point of view.”
“Oh yeah? He’s the only one with that point of view.”
“But, if there really are Gamensoots, his actions are rational.”
“Rational? I don’t believe so.”
“But, he does. And, then there’s Gary’s confirmation. See? It’s point of view.”
“Right, and your point?”
“The point is; he’s acting logically based on what he believes true. The fact he’s wrong is irrelevant to his behavior. All our actions are based on our beliefs.”
Crossing the viaduct the radio summoned, “Car 508, 508, in the vicinity 2874 Henshaw Ave, noisy dog complaint, anonymous, neighbor wants to get some sleep.”
“508, copied.”
Ben leaned his head back as if he could see beyond the roof, “I believe I see a solar storm from Venus and Mars aligning.”
Dan chuckled. “If you’re right there’s no hope, but I believe it’s just the full moon.”
“Too crazy a night for a just a full moon.”
“Then it’d be rational for you to go ahead and shoot yourself.”
“But what if I’m wrong?”
“Oh, well, — Hey, where’s Gary?” Dan asked knowing the run was on Follert’s beat. “We’ll give him a minute to disregard.”
“Don’t expect he will. Caught a dispatch leavin’ the hospital.”
“I didn’t hear one.”
“You were in the car. He’s got government business?”
“So, what’s so important?”
“He’s on a dumpin’ complaint, if you must know.”
“Don’t matter anymore. We’re here.”
With the cruiser’s windows down, they honed in on the howling. Dan pulled to the curb in a middle class neighborhood. “Close as we’re gonna get.”
“What time is it?” Ben asked logging the arrival.
“Time for all the doggies to be asleep.”
They walked toward the howls and came to a fence at the rear of a brick four-square house. An Alaskan Malamute stood on top of a shed doghouse arguing with the moon.
“Why doesn’t this ever bother the owner?” Dan asked.
Ben shrugged his shoulders and they went around to the front door. The doorbell brought no response. “Must be broken.”
“Broke? I can hear it ring.” Dan rapped loudly with his nightstick. The lone response was renewed efforts of the dog.
“Stick must be broke too,” Ben chuckled.
Additional attempts to raise the resident only excited the dog.
“You want to tackle him while I cuff him, or do I wrestle him while you cuff him?” Dan asked.
“Sorry, I don’t do dogs! ’Sides the cuffs won’t fit.”
“Suppose, if we ask nice, he’d ‘paws’ for awhile?”
“Silly talk isn’t solving anything. What’s more, it’s close to our stake-out time. We better get the Dog Warden up here.”
“You get a hold of some secondhand weed? No Dog Warden’s gonna get out of bed without a court order.”
“If we don’t get this mutt shut up, there won’t be a stake-out. Neighbors ’ll be calling all night.”
“Well then, we might as well camp out.”
“Maybe not, you see what I see?” Ben said referring to a patrol car approaching.
“Bet it’s the Ghost Rider.”
“Shame on him ’cause he’ll inherit the howlin’ hound.”
They walked back to meet the car at the sidewalk. The vehicle pulled to the curb, and Gary stepped out. “I heard the run. Stayed off the air to see what you had.”
“Well Gary,” Dan said, “Thanks to you, we don’t have anything. You do. It’s your beat.”
“Is that it?” Gary asked, hearing the howling.
“He’s mean, with big nasty fangs,” Ben said. “Good luck on shutting him up. We’ll be goin’.”
“Nooo problem. Got just the thing.” Using his flashlight Gary searched through his war bag perking Dan and Ben’s curiosity. “I know it’s in here. Know I got some.” Dan and Ben waited patiently for his secret weapon. After several minutes Gary set the hook. “Found it!” He closed the door and started toward the dog carrying nothing but a flashlight.
“What?” Dan exclaimed, “That’s your big secret? You gonna hypnotize it with a flashlight?”
“I gotta see this,” Ben said. “Change your name to dog charmer.”
“Oh no,” Gary replied, “I got these.” He turned opening his hand revealing a small pill canister. “Dog-gone-doggie-downers. You mean THE DUO doesn’t have any in their war bag?”
“How you planning on stuffing them down his throat?” Dan scoffed.
Ben laughed. “He’ll take your hand off!”
“No problem. I have PBJs leftovers from Box Town,” Gary said.
“That’ll do. Pooches love peanut butter,” Dan noted.
“Take notes, Dan,” Ben suggested. “Gary’s writing a new page in the Procedure Manual.”
Taking a sandwich and peeling back the top layer, Gary laid three capsules on the peanut butter. “That’ll do it. Maybe, one more.”
“You still got to feed it to him!” Ben reminded.
Ordinarily, they’d let the dog howl, and have Day Shift contact the owner. However, Gary saw a chance to get one up on his companions. The sandwich assembled, they all walked back to the fence.
Dan called the animal, “Here doggie, doggie, here boy.”
He stopped barking and glared. Gary launched the Mickey. The dog charged off his house to investigate, and was snapped back at the end of a chain.
“Just great! We’re short.” Gary said.
“What you mean, WE, Kemo-Sobie? You made the pitch,” Dan said.
“My toss ain’t short! The chain’s not regulation length.”
“Regulation length, doggie-poo!”
“Should have known. White boys can’t shoot,” Ben said. “Here, I’ll give you a boost over the fence.”
All this activity renewed the frenzied howling.
“I’m not getting that close! ’Sides, the chain doesn’t look very strong. You go. You have longer arms.”
“What’s longer arms got to do with it?”
“You don’t have to get as close.”
“I don’t do dogs!”
Gary looked at Dan hoping he’d have a better suggestion.
“Let’s review, uh, your beat, your idea, your Mickey Finn, your pitiful pitch,” Dan said raising a finger with each ‘your’. “Use your stick. Shove it over to him.”
“Yeah, remember your training. It’s an extension of your arm,” Ben chuckled. “Let me give you a boost.” Ben again made a stirrup with his hands.
“Come on! GO! Or, forget it. We got a stake-out to get to,” Dan urged.
Gary conceded reluctantly. Half way to the bait, the dog realized his domain was invaded. He became furious and strained against the chain. Howls became fierce snarls and growls. Stalactite fangs caused Gary to hesitate.
“It’s further back to the fence than the bait,” Dan encouraged. “A couple more steps!”
Gary’s nightstick nudged the bait into range. Jaws clamped around the stick and a fierce tug of war ensued.
“Let go of the stick you demon dog!” Gary screamed yanking with both hands. “Nooo! Release beast!—Release!”
The dog snapped at the stick for a better bite and it jerked loose. The sudden lack of resistance sent Gary sprawling backwards into the fence. The hound dispatched the sandwich in gulps. While he licked peanut butter, Gary clambered over the fence.
As they retreated, Dan noticed a robed man standing on the porch next door. Just walk away. Don’t even look at him. But, he saw the circus! Ignoring him might make it worse. man motioned for them to come closer. Swell, no escape.
Gary also saw the man and went to the porch, “Are you the one who called?”
“Officer, this goes on every night. Is there nothing more you can do?”
“No sir, not unless you’re willing to go to court and testify.”
“But, officers, can’t you testify to its viciousness? Why do you need me?”
“In the wisdom of our Justice System I cannot testify to your sleep being disturbed. It’s hearsay, not firsthand knowledge. I can only testify to my own sleep being disturbed, but it hasn’t been because I’m working.”
“That’s asinine!”
“No argument here. We don’t make the laws; just try to figure out how to enforce them. Sometimes, a citizen has to take a stand.”
“Maybe, you’re right,” the man replied scratching his chin. “When I complain about crap in my yard, that neighbor tells me I’m over-reacting. When the dog barks all night, every night, I’m exaggerating. His retaining wall is collapsing taking my hillside with it, but it’s my problem. If my son’s ball goes in his bushes, the boy’s unruly. And, the icing on the cake; if I poison that howling hound, I’d be the one arrested!”
“You’ve got it figured. Some people get the idea the world turns around their birthday. Sometimes the courts can educate ’em, but more often, not. Unfortunately, the courts are crowded. A little common sense would make life easier and keep us out of court. You want to sign the complaint go to the clerk’s office. List us as witnesses: Officers Follert with a T, Black, and White.”
“You’ll win,” Dan said.
“Not sure what,” added Gary. “He’ll get a fine. Dog’ll still be there.”
The complainant slapped his arms against his sides in disgust, turned and went inside his house. The officers returned to their cruisers, and the dog continued to howl.
Reaching the sidewalk Dan remarked, “All that hullaballoo, and what did we accomplish?”
“Not much, but Gary’s ‘show-n-tell’ was fun to watch,” Ben said.
“What’s wrong with you two? Listen. It’s already quieter, isn’t it?”
Dan ignored the question with his own, “You get the downers from Doc. Pherson?”
“I’ll answer yours after you answer mine,” Gary said. “What ‘stake-out’ you going to?”
“It’s a shot in the dark we worked up. We’d bring you in, but it’s shaky. If it goes bad, a third man kills our alibi. But, our next caper that won’t get you fired, you’re first in.”
“Fair,” Gary said. “Doc. Bowser on the parkway. Tell him I sent you. We can split the take. Let me know how it goes. Good luck.”
In route to the stake out Ben casually remarked, “Isn’t it great to live in America where everyone can have a lovin’ pet?”
“You’re a big fearless cop. You have to get over this thing with dogs.”
They patrolled for a half-hour before feeling comfortable with laying off the air for the stake-out.
“All’s quiet. Want to check on YOUR bow-wow buddy?” Dan asked.
“Nope, Gary’s problem. Let sleeping dogs lie.”
Dan accelerated heading for the Stop-N-Go Market. He parked the cruiser a block away behind Dutch’s Custard shop, and walked over. The short clerk, Lehra Oama Armadondase, had adopted the name Larry. Their many coffee stops and patrol checks gave Dan and Ben good rapport with him.
“Good friends, officers, you come in,” Larry greeted.
Ben walked to the counter, and Dan phoned the dispatchers to take them out of service.
“Larry, we have some news. We have solid information someone might try to rob you tonight,” Ben said.
“I close store!” he responded grabbing the keys from the counter drawer. “I no stay!”
Ben grabbed his shoulder to stop him. “We’ll stay with you.”
“What? Okay, I stay.”
“Yes, you stay. We stay too.”
“You stay. I stay,” Larry said courageously.
“I will hide outside,” Ben explained. “Dan will take a post inside.”
Dan looked around, “I’ll hide in the cooler box. I can see and watch your counter.”
“Cooler cold, not good you stay.”
“Got a jacket; it’ll be perfect. When the robber comes in, you cooperate, and when he turns to leave duck below the counter.”
“I go home. You duck counter,” Larry suggested.
“If the robber sees a stranger at the counter he’ll get scared off. Then he might come back some night we aren’t here.”
“You give me gun?”
“A gun would put you in danger. You’d never have a chance to use it. We need you to act the same as every night. We’ll be here. You’ll be safe. Stay calm and duck under the counter when he leaves.”
“I do same as last night? Robber not come last night.”
This guy’s too nervous. I can’t get through to him. “Ben, don’t think he’s getting it. See if you can explain it.”
“Until the man takes money, or shows a gun, no crime,” Ben said. “You no argue. Do what robber say. When robber goes to door,” Ben pointed, “duck under counter.”
The clerk seemed to identify better with Ben. He had Larry walk through the scenario for practice. “I think he’s got it, Dan.”
“What are you going to do when the robber comes in?” Dan asked.
“I do last night. He go, I duck like this,” Larry disappeared behind the counter.
“Right!”
“I top rate. Robber go. Larry duck,” he said disappearing under the counter once more”
“It’s doable. Should work,” Ben said to Dan.
“Should, but Burns echoes in my mind.”
“Burns?”
“Burns’ infamous warning, ‘The best laid plans of mice and men, go oft awry, an’ leave us naught…’”
“Oh that.” Turning, Ben continued, “Larry stay calm. It’s a waiting game.”
Ben and Dan took their posts. Larry went to his counter. Each customer increased Larry’s nervousness. After twenty minutes he resembled a spectator at a ping-pong match; glancing door to cooler. Thirty-five minutes later, Larry left the counter going into the cooler, “Robber come. You shoot robber man?”
Great! He’s losing his nerve again. Best we scrap it. “Looks like we were worrying about nothing,” Dan said. “It’s past time for the robber. We get lots of bad tips. Happens all the time.”
Larry relaxed and returned to his counter. Dan picked up his clipboard and mug shots, and turned for the cooler door as the next customer walked in. The customer was dressed casual with his shirt tail hanging out. He selected items without consideration. It caught Dan’s attention, and he alerted Ben by radio, “Something’s not right with this last guy.”
The man came to the back of the store. At the end of the center aisle he pulled a stocking mask over his head, drew a revolver from under the shirt tail, and started for the counter. Dan was out of position.
Blast it! Can’t step out, might force hostage crossfire! Dan thought as he keyed the radio whispering. “Ben, it’s a go. Male, five ten, 165, blue T-shirt, jeans, red bandana.”
Larry saw the mask and dove under the counter. “Robber! Robber!”
Dan had to wait. Stepping out would position the clerk in his line of fire. Larry’s cries did not alarm the perpetrator. The robber walked to the counter, peered over, but saw no one. Larry had doubled up at the waist and crawled into the cabinet. The robber jumped over the counter, grabbing Larry and yanking him to his feet.
“Open it. Give me the money. Drop-box too!” he demanded shoving a paper bag at Larry.
Larry hurriedly stuffed the money from the register into the bag shouting with a breaking voice, “No key! Box no open! No key!”
“Open it!” demanded the thief pointing his gun at the night safe.
“No key! Take wallet! No key!”
The bandit grabbed Larry’s wallet, and shoved the billfold into the bag ripping the paper. Bills fluttered to the floor like maple seedpods. Throwing Larry aside, the bandit scooped them up and headed for the door. Seeing opportunity, Larry dove back under the counter shouting. “Cops shoot now! Shoot! Shoot now!”
The hostage problem alleviated, Dan stepped out. “Halt! Police! Drop the gun!”
Rotating, the bandit raised his weapon. Dan put tension on the trigger. The hammer started to rise.
“Drop the gun. I WILL SHOOT!”
The crook paused, and then raised the weapon. Dan fired twice. The impact spun the bandit into a display of detergent boxes. Both boxes and bandit went sprawling across the floor. The gun hit the floor and slid to Dan’s feet. Broken boxes released detergent on the floor. The thief kicked in a futile attempt to right himself in the slippery spill.
“Thanks Bucco,” Dan said stooping to retrieved the weapon.
The perpetrator regained his senses rolled halfway down the aisle onto clean floor. He sprang to his feet to flee. In three strides he encountered Big Ben’s huge form in the doorway; weapon in one hand, night stick in the other. “You’re kiddin’ yourself.”
The thief tried to stop abruptly and the soap powder, on the soles of his shoes, sent him sliding into a wire cage of rubber balls. Grabbing the cage for support, it pulled over on him collapsing backwards onto the floor. The bandit pushed himself into a sitting position facing Ben, looked at the blood on his shirt, and started whimpering.
“You gun wielding bullies are all cry babies,” Ben scoffed.
Dan checked the perpetrator’s wounds in preparation of taking him into custody. “Come on, Bucco, too late for teary eyed remorse.” When Dan touched the man’s injured arm, he collapsed backwards. His head fell against one of the large balls and then bounced from one to the next. Two bounces later, he lay on the floor. Dan radioed for paramedics. While waiting, he dressed the wound with bandages from the store shelves.
They also notified the dispatcher and their supervisors. The rescue team arrived within minutes, and shortly later two backup cars. The medics revived the culprit with an ammonia capsule. He coughed and sneezed.
Dan’s search found no identification. After reading the Miranda warning he asked, “You want to tell us who you are?”
“I got nothin’ to say, Copper.”
“Where’d you get the ‘roscoe’ – it stolen?”
“Talk to my lawyer.”
“What’s his name and number?”
The man did not reply and remained uncooperative.
Sergeant Fleischer arrived and Dan briefed him. “We need to tie the loose ends up and do the paper.”
“Sure, Watkins can transport and Harkins can secure the scene until Robbery Squad shows.”
The Duo returned to their cruiser and headed into the station. It took the rest of the shift for Fleischer to finish the “shots fired” paper work. Their part complete, they sat in the briefing room, “Pretty slick work,” Dan commented.
“SLICK! Slick you say? I never saw such a bungled mess.”
Gary walked by on his way to stow his gear and remarked, “Heard you guys had some excitement. Appreciate you looking after my interests.”
“You’re welcome. But how’d we do that?” Ben asked.
“Keeping me out of it!” Gary walked on snickering.
“Well, tonight was serendipitous. Wouldn’t you say?” Dan remarked.
Ben looked at Dan’s blood stained shirt sleeve, shook his head, rolled his eyes, “‘Serendipitous’, sweet surrender, where do you get these words?”
“Well, it was.”
“Yeah, that Burns guy had it pegged.”
“Better’n most plans. Think it was the timing.”
“TIMING! What timing?”
“Well, one thing I can’t figure,” Dan said. “I had the draw on him, and he tries me anyway?”
“Maybe he’s suicidal.”
“Or unbelievably desperate. What’s wrong with people? Look at what we dealt with tonight. First we visited Box Town, Sam and Hilda at each other’s throats, a foil fanatic, unreasonable neighbors, and Bucco Bandit.”
“I’m telling you the Yen and Yang are out of balance in the universe.”
“Simpler than that, Ben. A rebellious people deny the true identity of good and evil.”
Ben winced, “Not that again.”
“Yep, gotta be.”
“All societies have laws, Dan. Need them to maintain order.”
“There’s the issue. Society makes laws, but they keep changing. Look at the speed limit. Expressways were seventy, then with the gas crisis fifty-five. Same road. So is it wrong to go sixty, everybody does?”
“That’s kinda a gray area, Dan.”
“That’s what I mean. No absolutes. People assume everything’s a gray area. Toeing the line would be easier if we could find it! I tiptoe down a thin blue line which separates evil from good. Lean as far as I dare—just don’t fall! The world’s paintbrush is gray. Where does black end and white begin?”
“Okay, there must be a line for the sake of order, if not justice. But we don’t make the rules, just enforce them.”
“That’s the point, Ben. Who can draw the line? Who defines right and wrong?”
“Not us, that’s for sure.”
“And rightfully so, it takes a God to decree absolutes. All else is social politics, which people feel free to violate. And, if we arrest them, who they mad at?”
“Us.”
“What upset them?”
“Getting caught, of course.”
“If they step in a ditch, fall and break a leg, do they get mad at the doctor?”
“Of course not.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Beats me.”
“The difference is gravity, Ben. Gravity is a natural law. It’s accepted as absolute, but moral law isn’t.”
“Now wait a minute. It’s different. Step off a cliff and you incur immediate consequence. Ignore a moral law and nothing happens.”
“I think not. Consider your guy-girls from the taxi. Would you agree it’s against moral law?”
“I’ll give you that, but other than themselves, who’s it hurt?”
“I suspect everybody. No disease can be confined in a segment of culture. AIDS is a perfect example. As for other moral laws, there’s unwanted pregnancy, hardship of single parent homes, and mental problems incurred from rape, incest, abortion. I could go on. Are these not consequences? Less immediately identifiable, but society as well as individuals incur consequences?”
“Okay, preacher, I give. I haven’t had this much fun since parochial school debating ‘Can God make a rock He can’t pick up?”
“Well, sorry, funs over. Here comes Serge.”
As Fleischer came down the hall he sang out, “Fall in!” The men sauntered into place. “Come on. Get with it. You want to stay here all day too?” The men assembled into a winding line.
“Harkins, paperwork on your DOA is messed up,” Fleischer began. “Check with the coroner and get it straight. Henderson, neat, complete report, on a messy accident. Martin, you kept the canine boys busy with four PFOs—good work.” The sergeant paused for a moment and then said, “Oh yeah, Officers Black and White went to the circus tonight.”
“Yes, Sir,” Dan replied, “Front seat tickets for Bucco Bandit’s soft-shoe clown act.”
“Hess hasn’t heard. He went home early. I’ll put a copy of the paper on his desk. He’ll have it first thing before the Captain’s Meeting—if I ever get finished. He won’t be happy with the shots fired, but the arrest will sure put him in a good mood.”
“It ought to. It’s the felony robbery he wanted. ‘Sides it’s a righteous shooting.”
“And we stapled our parkers to it,” Ben added.
“Did we have parkers tonight? Dan, not on a serious police work night.”
“Shucks man, never will get this job down.”
“Enough,” ordered the sergeant. “You fell into another pile of your own manure and once more came up smelling roses. For your benefit I’ll leave a note with the report telling how Lieutenant Hess’ personal guidance has helped …”
He stopped short as Gary’s gnarled nightstick caught his attention. “How’d you… Naw, don’t even want to know. You’re spending too much time with them.” Before anyone spoke he shouted, “Dismissed!”
Dan passed Fleischer on the way out. “Thanks, but please, do us no favors!”
Fleischer chuckled. “You two whine like puppies pulled from the litter, but I know you really love the streets.” He walked away smiling.
Ben was parked next to Dan. “Well Partner, if nothing else we earned a couple days off until the hearing.”
“Yeah, now the news media hype starts. I’m a heartless racist despot killer,” Dan groaned.
“Ignore ’em. Their heads are up their butts. Keeps ’em blind, deaf, and ‘ig-nor-ant’.”
“I know, but it grates on me: The activists ignore truth and paint it racial. It’s intentional divisiveness.”
“You got plenty of hang-ups,” Ben said. “But, racism isn’t on the list. Wait ‘till it comes out I was there. They’ll label me worse: a lying hypocritical betraying Uncle Tom.”
“Wouldn’t matter which of us shot him. Him being black is the catalyst.”
“I can deal with the activists, but city council never sticks up for us.”
“Ought to expect that, too. Politicians chasing votes never serve truth. It’s all conniving for a vote. I’ll give you a real worry. Present trend is the affluent are moving to the suburbs in herds turning the city core predominately uneducated, poor, and minority. One day city council is going to have to cater to a core of activists and discontents to stay in the gravy.”
“Can’t do anything, but get worse, can it?”
“Worse! I predict at some point a good policeman’s going to pay the price. The truth will be buried, a scapegoat provided, a cop indicted and his life ruined for trying to serve society.”
“Try to put it out of your mind. We have two days, let’s take advantage of it.”
“I’ll concentrate on how few years I have before retirement. Maybe I can beat the hangman.”
“Good advice, expect you to take it.”
The car doors shut and they departed for their respective homes. Dan drove north and Ben south. The clock sent Dan home the long route. Murphy’s law.
No matter. I’ve got two days to recover. The hearing will be routine. They’ll have read the reports, looked at the security video, and interviewed Larry. On and on with redundant questions about how we happened to be there. A hunch –a tip –we decided to sit on it while we drank our coffee or just fate? Asking over and over why we HAD to shoot the poor misguided, but good, man. The second guessers offering their unqualified opinions!
Then, they’ll dismiss us. Order us to report to the ‘shrink.’ That’ll waste another couple hours. Maybe I’ll let him tiptoe inside my brain instead of the cat and mouse go-around. Let him tour the whole wax museum of horrors. Scare the ‘heebie-jeebies’ out of him! That might be fun. Teach him right, too!