Senile Squad: Adventures of the Old Blues (17 page)

“Give her air!”

“Hold her hands above her heart.”

“Is she okay?”

“That’s her feet elevated, you idiot, not her hands.”

“Oh, yeah…put her feet up.”

“Get her some water.”

“What are you going to do? Pour it on her face?”

She recognized the Sarge’s voice.

“I don’t know. I’ve always seen people get water,” came the reply.

“Never mind, you knuckleheads.” Her father’s voice sounded like it came from down a long tunnel. “Just back away,” he said. “Back away. Hey, sweetie…look at me. Brittany.”

Head still spinning she tried to do what he asked.

“Honey, look at me.”

Still trying to get a grasp on what had just transpired, she focused on her father’s voice.

“Right here…look at me.”

Squinting to help her concentrate, it took a minute before his face came fully into view. “Daddy?” She pulled herself up and ran a shaky hand through her hair. “I’m okay; I’m back now,” she said and gave him a half smile for reassurance.

He tossed a satisfied look over his shoulder and relief beamed from his face. “There she is!”

One glance at the Sarge’s familiar face, however, brought the upsetting memory back—in spades. “Oh look,” he said. “The color’s coming back to her cheeks.”

Smitty glanced back and forth between the two. “Oh-oh. Round two of angry-redhead mode,” he said. “Mt. Brittany’s about to blow again.”

“Get back,” Brittany growled, unable to do much more. “All of you.”

The Blues shuffled and did as she asked. Sitting up, she pressed her right palm to her forehead. Benevolence beamed from each and every lined, smiling face. Still irritated at the general principle of old men playing cops and robbers for real perched in the back of her brain, but the initial anger had evaporated.

One Blue leaned on a pair of crutches. She shot him a sidelong glance. “What are those? Bazookas?”

The Blue’s face lit up and he opened his mouth to answer.

Smitty silently shook his head in warning.

“Ah,” the Blue began, then stopped and exhaled loudly as though he wanted to tell her what his crutches could do but thought better of it. “No,” he stated. “Just plain old crutches.”

“Thank goodness,” she said and plopped against the back of the couch. “Could I have some water please?”

“Hah!” another Blue spouted. “Told ya! They always get water when someone faints.”

The Sarge just rolled his eyes. “Just get her some water.”

Jake and Monica Thorp gathered in the Chief ’s office in anticipation of their weekly meeting.

“Morning,” the Chief said and walked to his chair. “Jake,” he said, settling himself behind his desk, “you don’t have enough to do.”

“I feel an assignment heading my way,” he whispered to Monica.

“Those old cops at the retirement center,” he began.

“What about them?” Jake asked.

“They’re the current media darlings. Seems everybody loves these guys,” he muttered absently. “And their little protest ‘Hail to the Cheeks’ was of course the high point of my entire week.”

Snort!

“Monica, why on earth do you make that noise every time you laugh?”

“I can’t help it, Chief,” she said. “The sight of those wrinkled butts is burned into my brain.”

Fixing her with a withering stare, he continued. “As I was saying, since this story isn’t going anywhere soon, I want Jake to visit there a couple times a week. Try to smooth things over for me.”

“Okay,” Jake said. “To what end?”

“I’d like to visit again—without the protest. I don’t know what it was all about, but go over today and get to know them. Start building a rapport with them.”

Jake and Monica exchanged a quizzical look. “Today?”

“No time like the present,” Chief Williams said, “but give them the courtesy of calling first. Talk to the Sarge and tell him a little bit about yourself. The fact that you lateraled in after ten years from another large department will go a long way.” He picked up a memo and glanced at it. “See what you can do for me, Jake.”

“No problem, Chief.” He stood to leave.

“Have fun.” Monica cleared her throat in a dramatic fashion. “I hear they like cookies.”

Jake frowned at her. Obviously she knew something he didn’t. “I’ll bear that in mind. Chief, I’ll keep you updated.”

Cookies? What the—

“HUH,” THE SARGE GRUNTED AND HUNG UP THE PHONE. “How about that?”

“How about what?” his file clerk, another Blue, asked without glancing up from his typewriter.

“A representative from the Chief ’s office wants to stop by.”

The Blue’s fingers hovered above the keys, and he gave the Sarge a puzzled look. “Why? Wasn’t last time enough?”

“This is different,” the Sarge continued. “Jake Mitchell, he sounds like a decent guy. I’ve heard he’s a good cop.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Me neither,” the Sarge said. “Not until he became the Public Information Officer, transferred in from the department in Salt Lake City.”

The Blue shrugged a shoulder. “That’s a fairly large department,” he said.

“Yeah. He was a detective,” the Sarge said.

“Why’d he move out here?” the Blue asked. “I wouldn’t trade their weather for ours.”

“Don’t know,” the Sarge said, “but I plan to find out.” He pushed the intercom button. “We’re having a visitor from the Chief ’s office,” he announced, “and there won’t be any protests today.”

In the foyer, the precinct Blues laughed and hooted.

“Don’t worry, Sarge,” one called out. “We’ll be good!”

“That’ll be the day,” he muttered. “Smitty and Brittany back yet?” he asked his clerk.

“Should be soon,” he said.

Once she’d recovered, and with her father’s okay, the Sarge had given the go-ahead for her to get the grand tour of their actual mission and abilities. A person with her language skill was invaluable particularly with the Clubba situation. He was meeting with this cousin on visiting days at the prison. That would explain how he gets the information out and why he was so slippery to law enforcement. Maybe if Brittany paid a visit to the prison to eavesdrop on a conversation or two, they’d be even farther along. “Hmm…” The Sarge leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling—an idea kicked around in the back of his head.

“Tiny,” he barked.

“Yeah, Sarge,” the reply floated in.

“Get with that young lab tech. We need to identify that Sudanese thug—”

“Which one?”

“The one on the phone before he got piss-packed by Pauli. I’m sure the kid got a good video shot of him.”

“’Kay.”

“Don’t they have that facial recognition stuff they use with photos?”

“The whiz kid’s got it all, Sarge.”

“Good. Once you get him identified, come back to my office. We’re gonna schedule an unconventional field trip.”

“Got it, Sarge.”

“Did I hear we’re going on a field trip?” one Blue asked.

“Sure did,” another Blue said and flashed a grin. “Hey, who wants to go on a field trip?”

Hands sprang up across the office. “Me!”

“And me!”

“Ooh, ooh…I wanna go, please!”

The Sarge rolled his eyes and slumped in his chair. “It’s like having a bunch of freaking third graders.”

His phone rang and he snatched it up. “Yeah?”

“Got a guest from the Chief ’s office to see ya, Sarge,” the entrance officer said.

“Send him in.”

Jake strode to the door, stopped, and gave two knocks. “Sarge?” he asked.

“Come on in, Officer Mitchell.”

“Please,” he said walking in, “call me Jake. It’s a relief to get out of the madness at headquarters.”

The Sarge held his hand out toward a chair. Jake seated himself and jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the Blues working away in the precinct. “By the way,” he began, “I only recognized about half of those guys out there.”

The Sarge’s brows knit together in a quizzical manner. “What?”

Jake spread his palms and smiled. “Maybe if you had them stand up and turn around, I’d recognize the rest of them.”

With a grunt, the Sarge sat back in his chair. “Good one, Jake. I like you already. Sorry about the other day. That little protest was meant for the medical staff. We didn’t think it would splat on the Chief the way it did.”

“The media’s still talking about it,” Jake said. “Although I have to admit it was a creative if not revealing expose into the mind of old coppers who aren’t ready to die just yet.”

“You got it,” the Sarge said. “I think some of ’em are too tough to die.”

“True story,” Jake said, “after we left, we had to pull the car over we were laughing so hard. I thought I busted a rib. The doc was acting so weird that I wondered if something wasn’t up before we opened the doors but, honestly, that was the funniest thing I’ve seen in years.” Jake laughed at the memory. “The guys certainly made their point in a very revealing fashion.”

The Sarge joined him in another laugh. “Hope the Chief ain’t too angry.”

“Of course not. He knows nobody can pull jokes like old cops. They’re the worst pranksters around. The media, though.” Jake exhaled heavily. “They’ve really hammered him with it.”

“Yeah,” Sarge said.

“But that’s all part of the job,” Jake said. “Goes with the territory.”

“Make sure the Chief knows we have a lot of respect for him.” The Sarge’s tone became much more serious.

Jake nodded. “I will.”

“So,” the Sarge finally said. “Why come all the way out here from Salt Lake City? I hear it’s beautiful out there.”

“It’s an amazing place,” Jake said. “Great skiing, professional basketball, symphonies…” His voice trailed off and he seemed to be someplace else. He shook his head and shrugged a shoulder. “To be honest, Sarge, I needed a change—total and complete.”

“Okay,” the Sarge said.

“I lost my wife and daughter in a car accident and—”

“That’s terrible.” The news stunned him and he shifted in his chair. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, it was tough,” Jake responded, “but the move was good for me. I have a brother in town: Ben Mitchell.”

“Ben Mitchell?” The Sarge stared at him in amazement. “Mr. Big Bucks? The guy who owns all the call centers and infomercial stuff?”

“Yeah,” Jake said a bit surprised. “You know Ben? Of course you do. He said something about like-minded individuals coming up with the funding for this place, right? Called them,” he snapped his fingers. “What did he say? Oh, yeah…The Bureau.”

The Sarge’s eyes widened; his mouth immediately opened to confirm the title. Thinking better of it, he clamped his lips back together.

The splintering crash of broken glass came from the doorway. Smitty and Brittany were back from their rounds. From the look on Smitty’s face, he hadn’t known there was a visitor.

“Oh, nice one, Dad,” Brittany said, her father’s hand under her elbow. “Bad enough I almost faint around all these cops. Then when I finally get my water, you drop it.” She bent to pick up the biggest piece.

“May I get you another?” Jake asked.

Brittany slowly turned and looked up at the younger man through a veil of red hair. “Oh,” she said and swept the errant strands back with her fingers. She straightened and handed the shard of glass to her father. “Yes,” she said. “That would be great. Thank you.”

The Sarge took advantage of the pregnant pause in the room. It was as good a time as any to get Jake out of the office and fill these two in on him. They needed to keep him—and the Chief—in the dark about what really went on there.

“Turn left and go to the nurses’ station toward the back entrance.” He waved absently in the general vicinity. “They’ll get you fixed up.”

Jake glanced at Brittany and smiled. “I’ll be right back.”

She met his gaze directly. “Thanks,” she said softly.

The Sarge closed the door behind Jake and leaned against it. A heavy breath of air burst through his lips. “Holy crap,” he said. “Are you kidding? I thought she was going to faint that time for sure!”

Her father nudged her forward and down. Both men stared at her.

“You’re joking, right?” Brittany asked.

Both men exchanged a glance. “Well,” Smitty said, “you did look a little smitten.”

Brittany gave them a sidelong glance and pulled her hair back from her face again. “Not funny,” she said. “And not smitten.”

“She’s fine,” her father said.

“I don’t know,” the Sarge muttered. “I wasn’t sure who was going to swoon first: Jake or Brittany.”

“Oh, please!” Brittany crossed her arms. “Hardly.”

“Seriously,” the Sarge said. “Do you know who he is?”

“No and unless this is twenty questions,” she shot back, “spit it out.”

“Okay. Several things,” the Sarge said. “And these are in no particular order: one, he’s Officer Jake Mitchell, the Chief ’s Public Information Officer. Two, he doesn’t know anything about what we do here. Three, his brother is on The Bureau.”

Brittany frowned. “What’s The Bureau?”

The Sarge waved a hand as though he could swat Brittany’s question away. “No time to explain,” he said. “But please don’t say anything about what you’ve seen today. Do I have your word? Brittany? Not one word.”

Brittany shifted to stand up; the Sarge and her father put a hand on each of her shoulders and pushed her back down. Her heels slipped in opposite directions and she plopped back. “This is harassment,” she growled, “and after what I’ve been through, I should report you to the FBI.”

“Yep, she’s feeling better,” her dad said.

She pointed a warning finger at him. “Don’t start.”

A light knock on the door drew their attention. “Here you go,” Jake said and handed Brittany a Styrofoam cup. “In case of future accidents,” he said with a quick grin.

Brittany took the liquid from him. “Thanks.”

“I’m Jake Mitchell by the way,” he said, his gaze lingering on her face.

“Brittany,” she said.

Smitty glanced between the two and cleared his throat. “And I’m Brittany’s father, Officer Smith,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh, sorry, Jake Mitchell.” He stuck out his hand and Smitty shook it. Jake’s eyes widened. “Nice grip,” he said. “I’m in the Chief ’s office.”

“I don’t recognize you,” Smitty said. “How long you been with the department?”

“About two years,” Jake responded.

“Two years? And you work for the Chief? In his office?” Smitty’s tone rang with suspicion.

“I’m no rookie,” Jake said easily. “I was in a lateral recruit class.”

“What’s that?” Brittany asked.

“A special academy for police officers certified in another department,” her father said.

“We don’t have to go through the entire academy,” Jake said. “Just learn the operating procedures of the new department.”

“Where’d you come from?” Smitty asked.

“Salt Lake City,” Jake said. “I was a detective there for ten years.”

“Yeah,” the Sarge interrupted. “Jake’s brother lives in Omaha. Ben Mitchell, the telecommunications guy.”

Smitty’s brows inched up in recognition of the name. “Really? Your brother? Any other family in the area?”

“Nope,” Jake replied.

Brittany glanced from her father to Jake; he noticed and her gaze slid off toward the Sarge.

“Nice to meet you,” Smitty said. “How you liking Omaha?”

An odd look crossed Smitty’s face, something akin to pain. The Sarge glanced down to where Brittany’s foot crushed his toes. The Sarge lifted his gaze and with monumental effort kept from smiling.

“You interrogating him, Dad?” Brittany asked. “He just got here.”

“Sort of a fact of life with cops,” Jake said.

Smitty’s face brightened. “Exactly.”

“I lost count of how many second dates I’ve lost due to that practice,” she said.

“They pass muster or they don’t date my daughter,” Smitty said.

“I get it.” Jake chuckled. “I’m afraid I have to get back; I just wanted to meet with the Sarge. Maybe next time I could get the grand tour?”

The Sarge shifted, his lips twisting in acceptance. “Jake’s gonna meet with us two to three times a week. The Chief wants to make sure everything is going well with the neighborhood watches and the… ah…community service things we do.”

Brittany gave him a disgusted look and shook her head.

“You know, Jake,” the Sarge said. “Brittany comes here a few times a week as well; she brings cookies for the Ol’ Blues. She could show you around.”

“Sure,” Brittany said. “He can help me with my deliveries. Tomorrow too soon?”

Smitty’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Jake pulled out his Blackberry. “Sure. How’s eleven o’clock?”

“I’ll make it work,” Brittany said.

Jake tapped the information in with his thumbs. “I need to get going.” He glanced from the Sarge to Smitty and nodded. “Nice to meet you—all,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said with a final glance toward Brittany.

“Yes, you will.”

The Sarge escorted Jake to the front doors. The younger man turned to him and quietly asked, “Is…ah…Brittany single?”

“Yes, she is. But, Jake,” the Sarge began. “Smitty can be a little rough around the edges, but you won’t find a better cop anywhere. Every Ol’ Blue here loves that girl like she was their own flesh and blood. They don’t come any better than that one, if you get my drift.”

Jake met the Sarge’s direct gaze head on. “I get it,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”

“Eleven o’clock,” the Sarge said. “Might as well take her to lunch afterward.”

“Oh, crap,” Jake said. “Was it that obvious?”

“No worries, kid. See ya tomorrow.”

Jake returned his wave and walked through the front entrance. The Sarge returned his greeting. “I really like that guy.”