Senile Squad: Adventures of the Old Blues (21 page)

“THOSE ARE SOME SPECIAL GUYS IN THAT PLACE.” JAKE pulled away from the retirement home. “I’d be an idiot if I didn’t see how fond they are of you, Brittany.”

“Thanks,” she said with a fleeting lift of her lips.

He checked his rearview mirror. “In fact,” he murmured, “I wouldn’t be surprised if they had some sort of tail on us right now.”

“They wouldn’t dare,” Brittany said. Her face grew concerned, and she glanced back as well.

“Hey, I was joking,” Jake said.

“I know but—” She shook her head, her ponytail swished from side to side. “I wouldn’t put anything past the Ol’ Blues, especially Sarge and my father.”

Jake laughed and turned his attention to the road ahead.

Lunch was pleasant but over too soon. Small talk usually wasn’t his forte, but it was easy this time out. She told him about being a daughter of a cop; he told her about being a cop who’d lost his wife and child. If he read the signals correctly, she enjoyed the time together as much as he had. Jake checked his watch. “Oh man!” he said, “I’ve got to get going, I’ve got—I’m so sorry—I have to go.”

“Wow,” she said. “Where did the time go?”

“I know what you mean,” he said. He paid the tab and drove her back to the Ol’ Blues Precinct. En route back, Jake noted that she kept glancing at her side mirror.

“I really was just kidding,” he said.

She turned a confused face to him.

“I don’t think anyone followed us,” Jake repeated with a full-fledged smile.

She nodded. “Would you like to have dinner sometime?”

The question startled Jake. “Sure,” he said quickly. “That would be great.”

He tried to tamp down the excitement that bubbled up at her offer. He didn’t want to show too much emotion too soon.

“Great,” she said. “This time, I’ll make dinner. Do you like pasta?”

He liked her and that would be enough. “I love it.”

“Great,” she said. “I’ll not only cook for you but you can sample one of my famous brownies.”

The cookie threatened to come back up. “That’ll be something,” he said.

Outside a horn sounded, snapping Jake back to reality. In a quick maneuver, he swerved to miss a truck headed the opposite direction. He’d been so wrapped up in the conversation he’d crossed the middle line. “Wow,” he said. “That was close.”

“Wow,” Smitty said to the Sarge from the backseat of a van disguised to look like a cable repair vehicle. “That was close!”

“I know,” the Sarge said. “He all but went into oncoming traffic.”

“That’s one distracted driver,” the tech and driver Michael Beckham behind the wheel said.

The two Blues exchanged a knowing glance and smiled.

“By the way,” Michael said. “I’ve got to get surveillance finished back at the apartments at Sixtieth and Edna.”

“No worries,” the Sarge said. “You can drop us at the precinct— back entrance please.”

ABRAHIM KOAK’S CHEST SWELLED WITH PRIDE. IN ONLY one week, he’d discovered the whereabouts of Shanese, Clubba’s ex-girlfriend. Not only that, but he’d reported the discovery to Clubba himself. He hadn’t bothered to mention the rest of the story and the odd screaming match with a couple of old dudes in a language he didn’t know let alone understand. He tried yelling back at them in English and Sudanese but they didn’t comprehend his words either. Clubba didn’t need to know how quickly things had escalated, how his homies got drawn into it as well. And he especially didn’t need to know that the old guys had thrown something at him, something horrible and disgusting.

He still wasn’t sure what it had been, but once it hit the concrete in front of him and splattered all over his clothes, the world had collapsed. He couldn’t breathe; his eyes watered and his lunch threatened to come up. In one slick move, he peeled his shirt off and threw it in a bush. Luckily the homeboy who’d lost the girl in the complex at least knew which building she lived in.

He didn’t know who those crazy men were or why they’d hollered at him, but they certainly appeared to know they were up to something. It was almost as though they were guarding the girl. Abrahim shook his head to toss the stupid thought away. Not possible, he told himself. Old people had enough to take care of with themselves; it made no sense that they would get involved with a stranger.

He checked his watch. Nine o’clock. He needed to be at the retirement home in one hour. A free ride down to the prison was on the day’s agenda along with another conversation with his cousin. “This is just too good,” he said aloud. If he proved himself a valuable asset to Clubba, it would pay off big-time. Abrahim gave himself a once-over in the mirror and smiled at his reflection. “Once Clubba gets out, I’ll be his right hand…one of the chief soldiers.”

“Abrahim,” his mother called out.

He walked into the living room and hopped onto a couch. “What is it?”

“What are you doing with this probation officer today?” She tossed a handful of herbs into a pot on her stove.

“I’m supposed to take some old retired guys down to the prison where they do arts and crafts or something with older inmates. My PO says that I get community service hours for doing this.”

His mother shook her head and stirred her simmering stew. “I don’t know this American legal system,” she said.

“It’s pretty easy,” Abrahim said. “If the probation man says I need to do it, then I go.”

“And soon you’ll be off probation?”

“Once the community hours are done,” he replied. “This should about finish it off.”

“Good. You’ve never been so glad about these hours before. If it makes you happy, it makes me happy.”

The chance to move up in Clubba’s organization thrilled him. A knock at the door announced his probation officer’s timely arrival. First stop, the retirement home for police officers. On the drive over, Abrahim tried to tune out the legal lecture about how important it was to successfully complete the terms of probation and finish his community service hours. If that wasn’t bad enough, he started in on how important school was and—the most boring part—getting a job.

Abrahim stared out the windshield and let the PO drone on with no response. He was tired of listening to the fool. He had to put up with it though—at least until the court let him go. Too much could go wrong. Like Clubba had instructed: do what he says and don’t make problems. If Abrahim wanted to work in the organization his cousin was building, he needed to play the game, at least for a little while.

“Hey,” the PO said. “Are you even listening?”

Abrahim jerked his head to the left to face the driver. He wanted nothing more than to hurt the man—and badly—but Clubba’s words came floating back to him. Abrahim could keep a lid on things for a bit longer.

“Sorry,” he said and hoped his voice reflected the feeling. “I’m just thinking about the afternoon with a bunch of old guys.”

“Not only are you going to be with them,” the PO launched into another lecture, “you’ll help them with whatever they need. That means helping them off the bus, helping them sit or stand. If it means fingerpainting with them, that’s what you’ll do. Understand? Whatever they need.”

“I understand,” Abrahim said coolly. And he’d open a new way for Clubba and his friends to contact their soldiers in Omaha. The probation thing was working to his advantage. Little did his PO know but there might be a job in it after all. Just not what the officer of the court thought. It was almost too easy. Abrahim allowed a smile then quickly stifled it.

The Sarge’s intercom buzzed. He pressed the button on the vintage set. “Yeah?”

“Surveillance cameras just picked up Clubba’s cousin getting dropped off at the main entrance.”

The plot was about to unfold, and the main character had just arrived. The whole thing brought a satisfied lift to the Sarge’s lips. “Thanks,” he said and directed his attention to the video screen hidden in his desk. He motioned a waiting Brittany to where he sat.

“This is the guy we want you to follow. Clubba’s cousin. Name is Abrahim,” he said.

She stared at the screen. “Pretty young, isn’t he?”

“Welcome to gangbangers 101.”

She studied the young man intently. “Okay,” she said. “Just to be sure, all I’ve got to do is let him talk to his cousin, listen in, and record through the glasses, right?”

“Yep,” the Sarge said. “That’s it—oh, and be sure to give him a bunch of stuff to do with the Blues. Don’t make it too easy for him; let him work his way to Clubba. That way they’ll both feel that they’re exploiting this little get-together. Guys like them want to feel like they’re the ones calling the shots, taking advantage of the system.”

“From what you said, that Clubba’s carving out quite a name for himself with his message services to the Omaha gangs,” Brittany said.

“That he is. He’ll be guarded,” the Sarge said. “If it appears too easy, they’ll smell a setup. Your glasses will pick up exactly what you’re looking at, so try to sit across from one of the Blues with his back toward Clubba.”

“Okay,” she said and exhaled deeply.

“This is him.” The Sarge brought Clubba’s mug shot on screen. “It’ll seem like you’re looking at the Blue but you’ll actually be looking at Clubba and Abrahim and recording every word.”

“You remember the day you overheard us with the tape of Abrahim?”

“How could I forget?” she said with a wink. “That’s what got me into this crazy club of old guys.”

“Blues,” the Sarge corrected. “We’re Blues.” He glanced at her, his face softening. “Brittany, I can’t tell you how valuable you’ll be on this operation. I’m really glad you’re on our squad.”

“Me too,” Brittany said. “Now let’s go get this little cousin, shall we?”

A large eighteen-passenger vehicle waited in the driveway. Brittany sensed the excited tension drifting through the Ol’ Blue Unit. Never mind that the field trip made them act more like grade schoolers, they understood the real purpose, and it was almost palpable. Standing by the open vehicle door, a large woman affectionately called Boss Nurse rattled off the day’s rules.

“Now listen up, y’all,” she said. “I want no trouble on this trip. Each and every one of you knows how you’re supposed to behave in public. If you got a urine bag, I want to see ’em before we leave. They should be new. I don’t want anyone filling a bag before we get back. We’ll bring extra just in case, but I don’t want to have to change them out until we get back.”

The Blues started to check their piss packs and moved on to check one another’s.

“Tiny’s is almost half full, Boss Nurse,” one of the Blues chirped out.

Tiny shot the man a look that labeled him a snitch. “Is not.”

“Is too. Look for yourself, Boss Nurse.” The Blue pointed at Tiny.

Boss Nurse’s eyes widened and her hands flew to her hips. “Tiny, get back an’ change that thing out right now.”

There was never any arguing with Boss Nurse and Tiny knew it. He turned and shuffled back to the nurses’ station.

Boss Nurse shook her head and glanced skyward. “How on earth do these men use so many urine bags?” she asked mostly to herself, but loud enough for all to hear.

The Blues gave each other sly glances and tried not to smile.

Brittany bit her lip attempting the same thing. She watched in fascination. Every one of these men was undercover. By the way they acted, you’d think it was a frat party—for the most part. Needing a nurse or doctor around all the time—or pretending to—was the perfect strategy. They kept the medical personnel busy and right where they wanted them: taking them on tours, changing diapers, giving baths, or doing a myriad of other jobs. A foolproof plan to keep them in the dark and accidentally walking in on a mission briefing or debriefing.

“Absolutely brilliant,” she murmured.

One of the Blues caught her attention and winked. In the next breath, he called out, “Shotgun!”

He did a two-step shuffle toward the awaiting van.

“Nobody gets on there until I say so,” Boss Nurse said. “Remember who’s in charge and who’s supposed to do as they’re told.”

Brittany watched one Blue after another shuffle by and gave her a wink. Once loaded in for all intents and purposes, they really did look like they were going on a field trip.

Tiny brought up the rear. He had a new urine bag hanging below his robe so that Boss Nurse could see it. Brittany hoped she couldn’t see the bulge in his jacket pocket that looked suspiciously like a water balloon. Brittany ducked her head and struggled for a stern look for Tiny. She caught his attention and shot him a what-are-you-up-to look and glanced conspicuously at his pocket.

He eyeballed her for a moment, then winked.

Her immediate urge was to turn him in but she kept quiet. She was the rookie; he was the trained officer. The driver started the vehicle. “Okay,” she said to herself, “here we go.”

With a wave to the van she spotted the young man from the video, the one who’d be the discreet focus of her attention today. He hung back as though taking in the scene before him, trying to make heads or tails of it.

She waved him forward.

He pointed to himself. “Do I go on the van with them?”

Brittany smiled. “Yes, you do—Abrahim, is it?”

He nodded.

“Right this way.” She ushered him forward and into the waiting transportation. Already seated, the Blues gazed out the windows. Brittany followed Abrahim. Upon approach she spotted Tiny watching them advance.

Brittany gave a small wave to Tiny and this time she winked.