Senile Squad: Adventures of the Old Blues (20 page)

And she had every one of those Blues wrapped around her perfect pinky finger; of that there was no doubt. Obviously she held a special place in the Sarge’s heart. Her father, Smitty, guarded her like a centurion. Jake tossed the blue tie on his bed and grabbed a red one from the closet. Although, he thought with a smile, from what he’d seen, she didn’t need much protection.

The whole day could turn out to be exactly what it appeared to be: a tour. Show up, be shown around, and that’s the end of it. Or, a shiver snaked up his spine. He was as nervous as a sixteen-year-old on a first date. “Jeeze, man,” he said with a frown. “Get it together.”

He was still trying to accomplish that directive on his drive to the office. Although uneventful, when he arrived, he had the startling feeling that he’d been daydreaming the whole way. He didn’t remember a thing. With a shake of his head, he bolted into his office. He needed to sweep the cobwebs out of his head. The job demanded minute attention to detail, and he couldn’t be mooning over anybody. All overnight noteworthy police incidents waited in his inbox for his review. Those deemed worthy were sent as news releases for reporters to sift through.

Several officers worked on special reports focusing on categories of Omaha crime such as burglaries or robberies. Those were enough to stir things up for a couple of weeks in the media. The purse-snatching ring was a particular source of pride for the department. The gang unit cleared that series in record time. Only two weeks and they’d brought in ten guys from the same high school. That was some phenomenal police work. He made a mental note to stop by their office and get the lowdown on how they cracked it so fast. There should be some good stories there.

Jake took the stairs to the Chief ’s office. After a quick knock on the door, he stuck his head inside. The Chief and Lt. Thorp were deep in discussion. “Anything that needs my attention?” Jake asked.

“No,” the Chief said and glanced at his watch, “but it’s only 9:30 in the morning.”

Jake shrugged. “One never knows.”

“How’d the visit go with the Ol’ Blues yesterday?” the Chief asked.

Thoughts about the retirement center brought Brittany’s image to mind. “Beautiful,” he said.

The Chief shot a sharp glance at Lt. Thorp.

“Really?” Lt. Thorp asked. “Beautiful?”

Jake snapped back to reality. “Uh, yes…it was a beautiful facility. I only got to talk with the Sarge for a short time though.” Firmly grounded in reality, Jake remembered the message he needed to deliver. “Oh… and Chief, the Sarge said to tell you they think very highly of you. That little protest was for the medical staff who force them to wear the robes. He was sorry the media took it to you afterward. He really liked the fact that you sent me out there as a liaison. As a matter of fact, I’ll be…ah…going out today for a tour at eleven.”

The Chief made a disgusted face. “Wasn’t the butt cheek tour enough for you?”

Monica snorted and threw a hand over her mouth and nose in a losing effort to control her laugh.

The Chief glared at her. “Monica I swear, I’m going to get you checked out for a deviated septum or whatever else makes that noise!”

Monica glanced at Jake and then back at the Chief. “Sorry, Chief,” she said around a giggle and directed her attention outside as if the Omaha skyline fascinated her.

“Thank you,” the Chief said and turned back to Jake. “The tour?”

“Oh, yes. It was quick look around. The Sarge said I should come back today—see the whole thing.”

The Chief leaned back in his chair, his eyebrows lifting. “Oh. The old Sarge is giving you the five-dollar tour, huh?”

Heat crept up Jake’s neck. “Yes, well, no…ah not exactly.” He struggled to finish his sentence and cursed every cop’s ability to ferret out details.

Monica turned from the window to zero in on Jake’s evasiveness. “So who’s giving you the tour?”

Jake shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, one of the Blues’ daughters who goes there regularly. The Sarge asked her to show me around,” Jake said and struggled to tamp down his growing nervousness.

Lt. Thorp’s eyes lit up and an impish grin grew wider. “Smitty’s daughter.”

Jake opened his mouth to speak, but the Chief beat him to it. “The redhead?”

Dang nosey cops. Didn’t take them long to sniff out the source of Jake’s agitation. He shook his head in an effort even he knew was doomed to failure. “It’s not like that.”

The Chief locked his hands behind his head, leaned back in his chair, and put his feet on his desk. “Oh, really?” he asked with a grin to match Monica’s. “And how is it, Jake?”

Lt. Thorp mimicked the Chief ’s action and leaned back in her chair. Crossing her arms over her chest, she cocked her head and considered Jake. “Yes. Tell us how it is.”

“You know, Monica,” the Chief continued with a knowing look at his lieutenant, “this gives a whole new meaning to the word
liaison.
”

“Oh, definitely,” she said emphatically. “Totally agree.” She joined the Chief in focusing her attention on Jake with a direct we-knowwhat-you’re-up-to look. At least they were both smiling.

The back of Jake’s neck flared red hot and despite his best efforts, his face followed suit. If he were the cussing sort, this would be the time and place to use it.

Snort!
That sound could only come from one person.

“Come on, you guys,” Jake said, “don’t put the horse in front of the cart. I mean, oh, crap! You know what I mean.”

Snort!

“Dang it, Monica. I’m with the Chief on this. You’ve got to get that checked out!”

“You know, Jake,” the Chief began in a more instructive tone, “if you really want to make a good impression on her…”

Jake glanced at the Chief awaiting a great piece of advice.

“You may want to pull up your zipper.”

The Chief and Lt. Thorp roared with glee.

Jake’s eyes widened at the announcement. Turning on his heel, he reached to pull up his zipper and walked out of the office, which made him bump his head on the office door with a thump.

Snort!

Jake continued out the door trying to maintain whatever dignity he had left. Entering the lobby of the Chief ’s office, he struggled to zip his pants and caught the attention of the Chief ’s secretary. Fingers hovering over her keyboard, she stared at Jake as if he were a bug under a microscope. Walking and zipping were not only difficult but downright dangerous. He halted in front of her desk.

“Sorry,” he muttered and turned his back on her.

A loud
zzziiippp
filled the emptiness. Without so much as a backward glance, he walked through the glass doors and stalked toward the elevator. If there were any justice in the world, it would be a short wait. Seconds passed. Naturally, it was stuck somewhere. A quick peek over his shoulder revealed the secretary still rooted in place and still watching him. The doors opened with a soft ding. Jake strolled in as nonchalantly as possible, smiled, and waved. After pushing the button to garage level, he went to lean back but misjudged the distance. A dull thump on the back of his head reminded him of the mistake.

An exasperated sigh flew through his lips, and he raised his gaze to the ceiling. “This is high school all over again.”

BRITTANY’S ALARM BUZZED—REPEATEDLY. REACHING her arm out from under the cover, she slapped the snooze button. She’d had better nights. First she couldn’t get to sleep; then she’d tossed and turned all night, her emotions veering from anxiety to pleasure.

The alarm sliced through her thought. She cracked one eye open. 9:00. Paps and Jerry…cookies, the tour…Jake! She sprang out of bed and scampered to the bathroom. The mirror revealed a total mess: hair sticking out—everywhere. She grabbed a couple of ties and doubled them around a quick ponytail and over that came her old reliable baseball cap. Rifling through her closet, she searched for something to wear that didn’t look too desperate or carefree; no time for cute or pretty.

She placed one shirt under her chin then tossed it on the bed; she grabbed another, which ended up on top of the first. After the third shirt, she froze, “The cookies.”

The third shirt would have to do. Shoving her arms into the holes, Brittany dashed to the kitchen. The whole procedure was routine; she’d done it so many times, she had the recipe memorized. She measured and dumped each ingredient into her mixer and turned it on. A little instant cake mix was her secret ingredient. It never failed to improve the texture and bring out the flavor her cookies were famous for. One bite made every Ol’ Blue’s face light up.

Cookies in the oven, she shoved her feet into a pair of black flats. While brushing her teeth, the timer on the stove rang. “Coming,” she said knowing full well no one could hear her.

Any other day, she would’ve tasted one cookie. Today wasn’t just another day. There simply wasn’t any time. She slid them off the pan into a container lined with parchment paper and scurried out the door. They’d just have to cool en route.

Ten minutes before the eleven o’clock tour, Brittany pulled into the parking lot at the Ol’ Blue Precinct. “She’s here,” Smitty said.

The Sarge stopped pacing in his office. The door opened and before she could greet them, Smitty stepped in front of her. “Where have you been? We haven’t even showed you what you can show him yet.”

“Here.” Brittany shoved the cookies at the Sarge. “Get these down to those two crazy guys in the supply room. Tell them any more shenanigans and they’ll never see another one.”

“What,” the Sarge asked, “are you talking about?”

“Just do it; they’ll know what you mean,” Brittany said.

The Sarge turned to do as requested and Brittany grabbed her father’s arm. “Just show me what he can see and what I can tell him.”

“You’re a lot like your mother,” Smitty said. “She could take over a crisis situation really well too.”

“Dad!” She snapped her fingers in front of him. “The tour?”

They turned toward the lobby. Brittany stopped at the information desk. “Page me when you see Officer Mitchell, got it?”

The man blinked at her, clearly not used to taking orders from anyone out of uniform. He glanced up at Smitty who shrugged. “Just do it,” he said. “Makes life a whole lot easier.”

The officer nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Smitty pulled Brittany aside and turned her to face him. “Just think about what you knew about this place two days ago.”

Had it only been two days? “Two days ago I thought this place was a bunch of nice old men doing nice things for Omaha service organizations.” She frowned and shook her head. “Now I’ve been roped in with a bunch of crazy, piddle-pack-throwing, geriatric crime-fighting geezers…some of whom wear diapers.”

She ground the last words out through gritted teeth.

Two Ol’ Blues heard her. One elbowed the other. “Piddle packs.”

They started to laugh and Brittany rolled her eyes. “Don’t you two have a poor criminal to zap with your Taser canes?”

One smiled at her, held his cane up, and pressed a button just below the collar of his walking cane. Fifty thousand volts arced between two metal prongs at the tip. A sizzling
ZZZAAAPPP
electrified the air.

Brittany turned to her father and made a face. “See what I mean?”

Smitty shook his head at the two Blues indicating Brittany wasn’t as impressed with their toy as they were. They turned and walked in the opposite direction.

“It’s not easy to forget what this place really is,” she said. “Once you see it, you can’t undo it.”

As if on cue, the Ol’ Blue gave one last jolt to his cane.
ZZZAAAAPP
. “I love this thing!” he said and turned the corner.

Brittany blew an exasperated breath out and looked up at her father. “Seriously? How do you people keep it as secret as you do?”

“They’re just showing off for the new girl,” Smitty said and patted her shoulder. “You’re gonna love this place—and what we do here. I promise.” Glancing around he pointed to the opposite wall. “Show him the different station desks. Have the officer at the information table tell Jake what everybody does. They’re all trained for exactly these types of tours. Civic leaders are popping in here all the time. We’re used to it.”

“But I’m not,” Brittany said.

“So let the Blues take the ball and run with it. Take the heat off you and put it on them. So,” he said, “what are you thinking about the handsome Officer Mitchell?” He paused for effect.

Heat suffused Brittany’s cheeks. “I don’t think anything.”

“Hmm,” her father said. “If you say so.”

“I say so.” She pressed her palms to her face hoping the flush was gone. “Okay,” she said in a breathy voice. “I think I can do it.”

“Smitty?” The information officer interrupted them.

“Yeah?” he replied.

The intercom speaker announced, “Would the special tour guide come to the main entrance?” he asked. “There’s a snappy fella walking into the building.”

Brittany scanned the speaker directly above her head. It was like being surrounded by twenty of her favorite uncles.

Jake came through the front doors and into the large entryway that split into the medical wing, the student wing, and the state offices. Impressive, he thought once again, that the facility not only provided a place for retired officers but met a combined medical, social, and educational need not only for the Blues but for students and citizens as well. All nicely packaged under one roof.

At the precinct doors, he paused, took a deep breath and walked through. Like so many others, he was once again taken by the design and authenticity of the interior. It was not only like stepping back in time, but carried an air of legitimacy that swirled around the occupants.

“So you finally got here,” Brittany said.

The nostalgia of the past evaporated into the reality of the present. Standing in front of him was a beautiful woman, hands on her hips, pretending to be impatient about a two-minute tardiness.

“Sorry,” he said with a quick grin. “The Chief and Lt. Thorp had some last-minute instructions.” He spread his hands out in front of him. “What can I say? When the Chief wants to talk, I have to listen.” Especially if his zipper was down. Jake made a mental note to thank him for that piece of advice.

“So,” Jake said. “About that tour?”

Brittany smiled and Jake realized how incredibly gorgeous she really was up close. The smile lit her eyes and seemed to come straight from her soul. Oh yeah, he was smitten.

“All right, then, Officer Mitchell, follow me.”

“Jake,” he said. “Call me Jake.” He reached out his hand and she shook it. He liked the softness of her fingers.

“Right this way.”

Jake figured at this point he’d follow her pretty much anywhere, but she only led him through the offices and corridors of the precinct. Jake spoke to several different officers at several different stations. He knew a canned story when he heard one—he’d gotten those sorts of rehearsals from so many perps he’d lost count. Jake feigned attention but his mind wandered. The stuff coming from the Blues was as dry as the Mohave Desert. Nodding and murmuring approval, he kept stealing glances at Brittany. She’d caught him a couple times, and he would’ve sworn she smiled when he quickly deflected his gaze.

At the end of the tour, she walked him to the Sarge’s office. “Hey,” Jake said. He stopped and gazed around. “Hey wait; I remember this place. Isn’t this where protective fathers bring their lovely daughters and then unceremoniously dump their drinks on the floor?”

Brittany met his gaze directly. “Oh you remember that, do you?

He chuckled at the memory. “I’ve got to admit it wasn’t one of my more gracious entrances.”

She smiled too, though whether at the memory or at him he wasn’t sure.

“It was perfect though,” he said. “I have to admit I enjoy surprises and seeing you with your hair in your face, trying to maintain your dignity was the most pleasant introduction I’ve had in a long time.”

“Always happy to help out,” she said.

“Thanks for the tour.”

“Cookie anyone?” The Sarge and Smitty stood behind the Sarge’s desk, a large stash of cookies in front of them.

Jake whirled to face them; Brittany followed suit. He’d been so wrapped up in whatever she said, he hadn’t noticed the two older men sneak in.

“Paps and Jerry in supply said to tell you, ‘Touché.’” The Sarge said to Brittany.

She tilted her head and frowned first at the Sarge and then at her father. “Touché?”

Jake noted a distinctly sour look on both men’s faces, but no one gave away anything; Brittany was clearly stumped.

“She must have been in a real hurry this morning,” Smitty said to the Sarge.

“These the cookies everybody raves about?” Jake asked and moved toward the pile. “All the Blues seem to love them.”

The Sarge and Smitty both smiled. That same feeling he’d gotten on the “Hail to the Cheeks” day filled Jake’s chest.

“They are,” the Sarge said and pushed the plate of cookies toward him. “Help yourself, Jake.”

He reached for one but before his hand touched anything, Smitty stepped forward.

“You must be hungry,” he said. “It’s about lunchtime, isn’t it?”

Jake swiped one of Brittany’s sweets and looked at her.

Eyeing her father suspiciously, she said, “I’m pretty hungry too.”

Jake bit into the confection as she spoke; it all but stuck in the back of his throat. It was the nastiest thing he’d ever put in his mouth. It was all he could do to keep from spitting it all over her.

The Sarge and Smitty exchanged a bland look and focused on Jake. He returned their attention, still trying not to choke or regurgitate.

“Well,” Brittany said cheerfully. “How about that lunch?”

“Lead on,” Jake managed to get out around his constricted throat. He pointed toward the door and coughed. “After you.”

Brittany breezed out in front of him with a wave to the Sarge and her father. They both returned the salute.

At the Sarge’s office door Jake turned back. The two Blues were falling all over one another and trying—unsuccessfully—in an increasingly futile attempt to keep their laughter quiet. Once again, he’d been had. He broke the rest of the cookie in half and threw one piece at the Sarge and the other at Smitty. They both grabbed their chests as if they’d been shot. Jake pointed at each of them signaling that revenge would be his. He didn’t know when and he didn’t know how, but it was a promise he intended to keep.

Once the couple headed out, Smitty turned to his superior. “I think you’re right about that kid, Sarge. I like him too.”

The Sarge wiped his eyes and shook off another chuckle. “Any guy who could swallow that awful excuse for a cookie and keep it down and not embarrass Brittany is definitely a guy she needs.”

“Yeah,” Smitty agreed, “and he’s a Mormon too?”

“Salt Lake born and raised,” the Sarge said.

“I always respected those young guys who left home and family for two years. It shows commitment. I find that refreshing in a young man.”

“Oh, really,” the Sarge said.

“Yep. That’s why I wasn’t against Brittany joining that church.”