Senile Squad: Adventures of the Old Blues (19 page)

The Sarge drummed his fingers on his desktop as she spoke. Once she came up for air, he pointed at the chair adjacent to him and motioned for her to sit down.

She plunked onto the seat.

“Now then,” he said. “If you’re finished little Miss-talks-too-much, I’ll explain the assignment.” He cocked a salt-and-pepper eyebrow at her. “If I have your attention that is.”

She tilted her head and crossed her arms. “Continue.”

“You are assigned to take a group of the Blues to the state pen—”

“Delightful,” she murmured.

“But,” he continued as though she hadn’t interrupted, “your cover is that you’re a civilian volunteer helping these nice little old men. Your real assignment—the undercover part—is to obtain intelligence on this man.” The Sarge held up a photo of Te’quan Koak.

Brittany uncrossed her arms and leaned forward to take the picture from the Sarge’s hand.

“Also known as Clubba—for reasons I won’t go into now,” the Sarge said, “but he’s a real peach. He’s currently an inmate down there. His mother came here as a refugee, but he was born here. He’s gotten himself into an interesting situation with the Omaha gangs. Has all the appearances of an associate.”

“Associate?” Brittany looked to her father in a questioning way.

“Someone who moves freely between different gangs and establishes alliances with each one usually by providing guns, drugs, or vehicles for gang use in their crimes.”

“That alone is an impressive feat to pull off,” the Sarge said, “but this Clubba seems to be onto something bigger. We’re not sure what he’s doing, and the gang unit is pretty concerned about the entire enterprise. They can’t figure him out either.”

“So?” Brittany asked. “Where do I come in?”

“Glad you asked,” the Sarge said. “We’ve got a handle on his contact on the outside—his cousin, Abrahim Koak.” The Sarge handed her a second photo. “He’s on probation and we’ve made arragements for him to serve some community service hours by helping at this little outing. There’ll be games, arts and crafts, and junk like that. There’ll probably be some prison trustees around too.”

“I still don’t get it,” she said. “What do you need me for other than to ride herd on a wild bunch of Blues?”

“You’re central to the plot, my dear.” The Sarge took the photographs back and set them on his desk. “When Te’quan sends out his instructions, he goes through his cousin. It’s all in Sudanese. So far, it’s been like trying to break the Enigma—”

“The what?”

“Never mind. World War II reference,” her father said.

“Oh, wait!” A smile of pure delight washed over her face. “You want me to intercept his messages, right?”

“Crack their code, so to speak,” the Sarge said. “You got it.”

The thought of working alongside her father thrilled Brittany. She’d always admired what he did, and now with the chance to do it too, a growing sense of meaning, one usually limited to those in public service or the military, took root deep inside. “What a rush.” she said.

“Welcome to the club,” the Sarge said.

“Kind of,” Smitty added.

“It must kill these guys not to be of use anymore.” She gazed out into the precinct office dotted with bald or graying older officers on the phones. “They don’t know anything else that gives them meaning, do they?”

“Pretty much,” the Sarge said. “This work keeps the juices flowing, that’s for sure.”

At that moment, Brittany silently committed herself to being a young Ol’ Blue. Whatever she could help them with, she would.

The Sarge loaded her up with proper documentation and what seemed like a ream of other paperwork and sent her to the supply room. “Supply room?” she asked apprehensively. “That didn’t go so well before.”

“It’ll be fine this time.” The Sarge yanked the stogie from his mouth and pointed to the door. “You just didn’t have the right authorization before.”

Once again her father accompanied her. Inside the supply room, she gave Paps the paperwork.

He glanced through each page with a perpetual frown. “Pretty young to be a retired Blue, aren’t you?”

Smitty shoved Paps’s shoulder in a playful gesture. “Give her a break; she’s a rookie just learning the ropes.”

Paps reviewed the papers again then fixed a stern gaze on Brittany. “First,” he said, holding up the paperwork in his right hand, “nobody gets in and no supply goes out without the proper paperwork.”

Smitty rolled his eyes and leaned toward his daughter’s ear. “Here it comes,” he said in a stage whisper, “the dreaded supply briefing.”

“Jerry and I work hard to make sure this area is the model of efficiency. We make it run and it’s our show. All we ask is proper identification, paperwork, returning of investigative property or tools, and,” Paps paused and exchanged a knowing look with Jerry who nodded in encouragement, “some of those cookies you bring the guys upstairs would sure be nice.”

Unsure she’d heard correctly, Brittany blinked at the two men. Comprehension slowly dawned and she smiled. “One dozen cookies will be on your desk tomorrow.”

Paps and Jerry’s faces glowed with obvious delight. “Good,” said Paps. He glanced at Jerry who nodded his head and rubbed his hands together.

Every one of them, Brittany thought, was a little boy at heart.

Glancing around their domain, she noted that the rooms were organized into an administrative section with office supplies, a janitorial section, and a medical section.

“Come this way,” Paps said. “The Sarge wants you equipped with our special audio/visual recording apparatus.”

“Awesome,” Brittany said. “It sounds pretty Dick Tracy.”

Paps chuckled. “Right this way.”

Paps turned to leave and Jerry took his place at the surveillance cameras monitoring the outside hallways that led to the supply room. He gave a nod to Paps who lifted a cup filled with pens and pencils on his desk. Only he didn’t pick it up, he turned it to the right.

What? Brittany realized the mug was attached to the desk. With his motion came a clicking sound that drew her attention to a closet marked “First Aid.”

She tried to follow everything Paps was doing: he walked to the closet and opened it. Inside packages of medical supplies lined the shelves. Nothing out of the ordinary there—certainly nothing requiring a secret entrance. Paps bypassed the obvious items and reached back toward an electrical box complete with
Warning Do Not Touch
in red and a black picture of a lightning bolt in case a person didn’t get the previous message.

Paps stuck his hand into the fuse box and with a quick glance her way said, “We like raisin oatmeal the best.”

ZZAAPPPP!
A spark spit out from where Paps’s hand was. He opened his mouth as if in pain. “Jee-aaagh!” he said. He seemed to convulse.

Appalled, Brittany grabbed her father’s arm. “Do something,” she yelled. “Oh, Paps!”

Her father looked at her with his eyes wide and mouth open, then he gazed back at Paps who jiggled up and down.

“No!” Brittany cried out.

Paps let out a final, “Eee-yaah.”

Jerry ran over and grabbed Paps by the arm. “Ahhh-augh,” he hollered staring up at the ceiling.

Brittany lurched forward to help the two men. Her father grabbed her forearm.

“Aaaahhh!” the two men yelped. Or did they? After a moment it faded to more of a “Ah…hah, hah. Hah.”

Smitty dropped his hand from Brittany’s arm and guffawed. He slapped the desk and bent over.

Brittany stood rooted to the spot. Confusion washed through her. “Wh-what’s…” The realization that she’d been had by the supply cave dwellers resonated through her.

“Oh!” she said on a low deep breath. “You two! I thought you’d electrocuted your—” She stopped short and crossed her arms glancing between the dynamic duo for a long moment. She let the silence hang in the air. Once their laughter died down, she aimed an accusing finger first at Jerry and then at Paps. “No cookies,” she said accusingly. “For either of you.”

The laughter dried up instantly. “Oh, come on,” Paps said. “Nobody ever brings us treats down here.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

Brittany glanced at her father who tried hard not to meet her gaze. “I’ll deal with you later.”

She looked back at Paps and Jerry who actually looked worried they’d lost their treats.

“You about gave me a heart attack,” she said. “And to think I was worried about you two down here alone. No wonder they don’t let you upstairs. They’d have a lawsuit on their hands.”

Paps and Jerry shrugged in unison. “Sorry, Brittany,” Paps said quietly.

“We didn’t mean to scare you so bad,” Jerry added.

“No worries,” Brittany said. “But never again. Got it? If there’s ever a repeat, neither of you will ever see so much as a crumb let alone one of my world-famous brownies.”

The men turned to one another. “Brownies?”

Brittany pointed her finger at them and said, “That’s right, you two. Best around. If I even get a hint of something like this again, you go to the top of my fecal roster. Nothing for you. Zip, zilch, nada! Got it?”

“Got it,” they said in unison. With a glance at Smitty, Paps said, “But did you see her face?”

The laughter boiled over again and everyone, including Brittany, joined in. “Okay,” Paps said at last, his laughter quieting down to a chuckle. “Now that the rookie welcome is out of the way, let’s get you set up. By the way, those sparks serve to scare anyone snooping around too much. As you can see, they’re pretty effective.”

“Scared the crap out of me,” Brittany said.

Paps hit a fuse and the back of the closet opened up. Jerry smiled and directed Smitty to follow. “I stay out here,” he said, “in case a staffer needs supplies.”

Brittany trailed Paps; Smitty followed. Once she stepped through the closet, the tiny aperture opened into what looked like a secret government laboratory. “Wow,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Paps said with a note of pride in his voice. “We get that a lot.”

At least ten men in lab coats were engaged in various projects. One glanced up and saw Paps. “Got the Sarge’s order right here.”

Paps made it a point to hand Abinya, a Nigerian lab tech, a requisition form before touching the item. He took an item from Abinya and walked over to Brittany.

“These are for you.” He held out something that looked like a pair of black glasses?

“Glasses?” she asked. “I don’t wear glasses.”

“They aren’t glasses,” Abinya said with a knowing smile. “This is our audio/visual recording apparatus. It’ll record everything you see. It also magnifies and records anything you look at within about fifty feet.”

“Wow,” she said and gingerly held them up.

“The Ol’ Blues just call it ball drums,” Abinya added.

“Ball what?” Brittany shook her head. “What does that even mean?”

“Eyeballs and ear drums,” Paps said.

Abinya frowned in open irritation.

“Whatever you call them,” Brittany said, “I think they’re totally cool.”

“Thanks.” Abinya smiled. “We think so too. The Blues don’t give many compliments,” he said. “They don’t want us thinking we’re smarter than they are.”

“Tell me about it,” Brittany said. That was definitely the Ol’ Blues she knew.

She slid the glasses on and looked around.

“Just put your finger and thumb on the right lens,” Abinya directed. “You should feel a small button.”

She slid her thumb and sure enough found it.

“It’ll look like you’re adjusting your glasses but recording begins immediately. It’s digital so you’ll have about four or five hours to get everything you need. That should be more than enough for your little trip to the state pen.”

Brittany took the glasses off and put them on again. “These are just so cool.”

Jake stared in the mirror and adjusted his tie. This was insane; he hadn’t been on a date in, what, almost a decade? He tugged the tail through the back loop and sighed. It wasn’t a date. In the two years since his wife and daughter’s deaths, he’d really gotten out of sync with the rest of the world.
So if it isn’t a date what is it?
an inner voice taunted. He blew out a long breath. It certainly resembled a date. Sort of.

Jake straightened the Windsor knot and tilted his head at his reflection. Since leaving the retirement center, he couldn’t get Brittany off his mind. That she was beautiful was an understatement. A flash of her face with that cascade of hair rippling around caught him off guard. He jerked at the tie as if it choked him.