Senile Squad: Adventures of the Old Blues (14 page)

At home, Jake plopped on his couch and shook his head. The media would run that footage for at least the next week. He figured it would show up as an Omaha Press Club skit. His phone rang. Before he could say hello, hysterical laughter came from the other end.

“Hey, Ben,” he said to his brother. “Let me guess. You saw a promotional clip for the six o’clock news with a bunch of pantless old men in police shirts.”

“Yeah! You should’ve seen your face!” his brother said. “Can’t wait to see the full report!” A renewed round of guffaws came through the phone. “Oh, man! Jake what have you gotten yourself into?”

Jake sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I know the Chief stepped in it today, Ben, but he’s a good guy. I like him and this work has been good for me. It forces me to think about a million other things besides myself.”

His brother was quiet for a moment. “Just say the word and you can work for me any time. You know that, little brother, right?”

“Sure but being the personal bodyguard of my big brother isn’t my thing. Not right now anyway.”

Ben had moved to Omaha twenty-five years ago and made his fortune developing call centers. In the eighties, the Midwest had been the perfect place for telemarketing startups: good work ethic, no accent. Anyone anywhere could understand the telemarketers. Ben’s telemarketing empire laid the groundwork for both inbound and outbound phone sales. Cable was a natural expansion, and Ben expanded to serving inbound infomercial calls. There wasn’t a day that went by that Jake didn’t see Ben’s handiwork on some channel. It had made him millions; he was currently a soft-spoken billionaire. It was Ben who’d talked Jake into moving to Omaha and joining OPD.

“You know, I had no idea I’d see you on national television.”

“Ha, ha,” Jake said.

“Seriously,” Ben said, “that was the funniest, most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever seen. It was great!”

“Glad I could make your day.”

“Actually,” Ben said, “I should probably come clean. I’m part of the committee that made the facility a reality.”

“What?” Jake gripped the phone a little tighter. “Then this was your fault. I’m tellin’ Mom!” he said in his best indignant tone. He chuckled. “Sounds like something you’d get yourself into, though. It really was impressive. There are so many cops who just retire and lose their zest for life. The next thing you know they end up dying soon after retirement. Jeez, listen to me get all sappy. Tell me about your committee.”

Ben paused a moment.

“Come on,” Jake said, “out with it.”

“We call ourselves The Bureau. It’s just a group of like-minded individuals with similar resources. We get together once a month and discuss various issues and what we can do to facilitate a solution to the problem.”

“Like-minded and with similar resources, Ben?” Jake asked. “More like a billionaire social club. Mighty small club.”

“Actually,” Ben said, “Omaha has more millionaires and billionaires than most places. We don’t show it off like people in other parts of the country. It’s not the Midwestern way.”

“I’ll give you that, Ben. If I wasn’t your brother, I wouldn’t know you were loaded.”

“Thanks. I think. We started this over a year ago, decided to design and fund the facility you saw today.”

“It was incredible,” Jake said.

“That’s what the rest of the world sees too,” Ben said. “But there’s much more—” Ben stopped talking abruptly. “We’re very proud of what we’ve accomplished there.”

Ever the cop, Jake noted the brusque shift in Ben’s conversation. It was more than weird, but this wasn’t the time for questioning; he was his brother after all. But, still, it bothered him. A lot. Jake decided to stow the information in his mental file and wait until the time was right.

A plasma TV perched in a corner of the commons area. Twenty-five inmates surrounded it; three guards watched through their security monitors. Chaos erupted.

“Diapers! Some of them cops wearin’ diapers!” The inmates fell back into their chairs and hollered with laughter.

“Tonight at six and ten o’clock, watch what made the new Chief of Police freeze—” the news anchor read the teleprompter without cracking a smile as the camera cut to the wide-eyed, open-mouthed stare of Williams and followed his line of sight into the Ol’ Blue Precinct, “when he received a bare-all welcome at the new retirement home for police officers.”

“Oh,” one inmate yelled from the back of the room, “you know I’m watch’in that!”

“Oh yeah!” another chimed in. “Prime time viewing.”

The news spread quickly. Nobody would miss this.

DR. WICKER, HIS STAFF, AND SEVERAL STATE WORKERS milled around inside the staff lounge, their attention focused on the television. Slumped in a wooden chair, elbows on the table, and chin resting on the palm of his right hand, Dr. Wicker shook his head. He spoke through his fingers, almost afraid of the upcoming news program.

“This is going to be a disaster,” he said. “An unmitigated disaster.”

“Nah,” Nurse Betsy tossed out. Known as Boss Nurse by most everyone, she shrugged the imminent broadcast off.

“If you’re trying to comfort me,” Dr. Wicker said, “it’s not working.”

“It’s not that bad. I know these Ol’ Blues can be difficult to deal with sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Wicker interrupted. “How many times have they literally run us out of there? And always due to—” he sliced his index and middle fingers through the air, “quote, police business, unquote.” He slumped further into his chair. “Betsy, I honestly think they don’t realize they aren’t cops anymore. They treat us like we’re in their way, that somehow we keep them from doing their job. It’s absurd.”

“It’s all they got,” Betsy said. “Let ’em have that at least.”

“Yesterday,” he continued as though she hadn’t spoken, “during rounds, one of them actually threatened me with arrest.”

Betsy’s face ignited into a full smile. “No, they didn’t.”

“Yes. Obstruction of justice if I didn’t get out of his way.”

“What the devil?” Betsy asked no one in particular. “Guess it’s hard to give up the power. What else could he have been talking about?”

“No clue,” Dr. Wicker said.

The new nursing instructor Jaiden Walsh spoke, “We knew going in that this was going to be a facility like nothing we’d ever seen.”

“True,” Dr. Wicker said, “but what we didn’t know was how stubborn these old guys can be. One time I entered the precinct office to visit a patient and was told he was busy. Would it be possible to meet with another officer from the same unit? I tried to explain that I had to see that particular officer who was my patient.”

“And?” Betsy asked.

“And was told to take a seat. I’m a doctor. I don’t take seats and wait to see a patient!”

“Well, I just started here,” nurse Walsh said, “but I’m sure that if we just work with them, they can and will be quite amicable.”

Dr. Wicker rolled his gaze to the ceiling. “Give me strength.”

“Um,” nurse Walsh interjected, “they do take particular interest in humiliating the students. They call them rookies and always insist on getting shots in their buttocks instead of their arms.”

“What’s the problem?” Dr. Wicker asked.

“Some of the newbies,” the instructor said. “One poor CNA student gave me such a pleading look, and before I could say a word, the cop stood up, spun around, and spread his robe—or whatever they’re calling them these days.”

“Indignity bottoms,” Betsy said.

“Anyway, he spread it wide open exposing his bare backside and anything else that happened to be hanging around. ‘Okay, rookie,’ he said, ‘gimme your best shot.’”

Wicker exchanged a glance with Betsy.

The instructor held up her hand. “I’m not done. Each and every other patient,” her voice dripped with sarcasm, “started whistling, clapping, or cheering. They fell all over themselves and one another trying to line up for the same thing.”

“O…kay,” Betsy said. “They can be tough.”

“They’re wantonly ridiculous,” nurse Walsh said. “That student burst into tears and ran out the front door. I haven’t seen her since!”

“Bet she won’t have to put up with that at the Metro or Clarkson nursing programs,” Betsy said. “You’d best warn those kids in the acceptance interview that these guys will try to crack them. They need to be tough nuts.”

She stood to leave, stopped as though something had grabbed her thoughts. “And next time they pull that garbage, use a bigger needle. They tried that with me too,” she said and held up an index finger. “Once.” What could only be called an evil grin on her face, Betsy gave a curt nod. “Humph,” she added a satisfied grunt. “Haven’t tried it since.”

Betsy turned up the television volume. The nightly broadcast brought the two anchors into view. “When we come back,” the good-looking young man said into the teleprompter, “we’ll show you the video that has all of Omaha in an uproar.”

A young woman with piercing blue eyes smiled. “Hail to the Cheeks in a moment,” she said coyly.

“H-Hail to the Cheeks,” Dr. Wicker muttered and covered his face.

“It won’t be that bad,” Betsy said. “They can’t put bare butt cheeks on television.”

A teaser shot of the Ol’ Blues, their exposed wrinkled backsides covered by a superimposed yellow happy face to shield delicate viewer eyes, faded to a commercial.

“Uh…” Betsy didn’t move her head; she shifted her gaze to Dr. Wicker and started to laugh. “That was their butt cheeks on TV.”

Behind a Formica tabletop, Wicker plopped his face into his folded arms. The Boss Nurse’s smile widened. “I stand corrected.”

“Oh, dear.” The words came out as a muffled moan. It was all he could manage.

The evening crew of guards checked in and headed to their assignments. In Clubba’s wing, the CO’s brows knit in confusion at the crowd gathered in front of the television.

“Is there a fight on?” he asked a departing day shifter.

“Glad to get out of here,” the second man said. “And no. No fight.” He jerked his head toward the commons. “You’d better see that.”

In the middle of a large group of inmates, Clubba laughed and joked in preparation of seeing the police look stupid. Earnest liked the back of the group; that way he watched the interaction of everybody there. From that he could gather what was going on with each. This time there was no one flashing a gang sign. No one offered anyone else a dirty look. No one dissed anybody’s girl or group or anything else. They all focused intently on what had embarrassed the police chief today.

“Good evening,” the news anchor said cheerily. “There have been numerous occasions for the local police chief to attend public gatherings. Some of them include appearances for civic groups. Others are more formal as when new officers are sworn in. Earlier today the Chief was a guest in a very special facility.”

“But I doubt it was the reception he’s used to,” his female companion said with a smirk.

“They callin’ it ‘Hail to the Cheeks!’” an inmate hooted.

“Our onsite reporter, Rob Carson, was there for all the details. Rob, what happened down there today?”

A young man in his twenties stood outside the new police officers’ retirement home. “That’s right. The Live-at-Five news team were inside this facility earlier today. As the Chief walked through, he got quite the surprise from some of these “Ol’ Blues” as they’re calling themselves. According to sources at the facility, these men don’t like wearing the hospital gowns—you know, the gowns everyone that’s ever been to a hospital knows about. The ones that don’t close in the back.” Not a wisp of amusement touched the reporter’s face. “It seems that the medical staff and caseworkers compromised with the men by allowing them a police uniform shirt. That’s just a shirt; the bottom half of the gown had to stay. It appears that the retired officers were very unhappy with the situation as you can see.”

The reporter ducked his head and the channel ran footage of the Chief opening the doors to the Ol’ Blue Precinct.

“Things started off quite well, as you can see. When the doors opened, it was like a time capsule. They even had typewriters and officers talking on the phones to neighborhood watch groups and other civic organizations. Everything went smoothly…for a few moments. Once the sergeant of the precinct saw the Chief of Police at the door, the Ol’ Blues made their protest.”

Tape rolled, showing the Sarge calling attention and all officers regardless of which way they were facing standing at attention.

“And I have to add this scene even caught me off guard,” the reporter continued. “I doubt it was what the Chief had anticipated in response to his visit.”

Whatever the reporter said after that couldn’t be heard over the din in Clubba’s wing. Every inmate pointed and laughed so loud that the volume could have been on high and they still wouldn’t have heard. The sight of the old cops melted them into gales of hysteria. The camera panned back to the Chief in his frozen salute.

“Needless to say,” the reporter said, “the Chief was stunned.” The tape rolled and caught Chief Williams, eyes wide, mouth frozen in an open
oh
.

The group toppled in renewed laughter. The volume of the TV had no meaning. The camera panned back to the precinct. A very short man faced the camera at full attention.

The revelry stopped abruptly for Clubba. The recognition was immediate. His fingers curled into a fist, and he hit his thigh in reaction. He wanted nothing more than to pound the little man into oblivion.

Two inmates sitting beside Clubba stopped mid-laugh and moved off to the side. Most looked at each other, shrugged, and went back to watching the television as though they were used to Clubba’s antics.

Earnest, too, had an instantaneous realization. Clubba’s response interested Earnest who turned his attention to the cop, Tiny. His time was coming.

“We’ll turn it back to you,” the reporter said.

In the newsroom, the anchor tried to maintain his composure. His companion was losing hers. “Thank you…” she finally said. “We’ll be—” Her mouth opened but nothing else came out. “We’ll—”

High fives reigned in the commons area of Clubba’s wing. Other inmates still chuckled, and even the guards got a good laugh at the Chief ’s expense. Clubba, however, wasn’t laughing. It didn’t escape Earnest’s notice.

There was something in that newscast that really got to Clubba. The kid might be a decent ally once Clubba got out. He needed to know what it was about the group of Ol’ Blues that made the man react so strongly. After all, a young man with that much anger could be quite useful.