Senile Squad: Adventures of the Old Blues (25 page)

Paps and Jerry said, “Touché.”

She covered her face with her hands. Oh, no…they obviously thought she’d done it on purpose, and they’d been so looking forward to their favorite. She picked up the partially eaten cookie and her eyes widened. Jake! He’d eaten one! Well not the whole thing, but he hadn’t said a word. He just swallowed and took her to lunch. Her heart softened and she pressed her hand on her chest. What a nice guy; he’d rather put himself out than hurt her feelings. He was definitely a rare bird.

Although, how he managed to keep a straight face was beyond her. “Oh my, I’ve got to call him and apologize.”

The last word came out in a strangled chuckle. The image of Jake downing his bite of salt-laden dessert, while mortifying, was too funny for words. She reached for her phone, and it rang in her hand. She put the phone to her ear unsure if someone was on the other end or it was an electronic screw-up.

“Brittany?” Jake asked.

She smiled and laughed. “Jake, you sweetheart.”

“Wow, I was only expecting something like, ‘Hi, how are you?’ Definitely not sweetheart!”

“I just tasted a cookie from this afternoon,” she said. “They’re horrid. I’m so sorry. I must’ve mixed up the salt with sugar. I all but puked.”

Jake’s deep chuckle vibrated through the air. “I know the feeling but I didn’t want to embarrass you. When you walked out of the office, the Sarge and your dad just smiled at me. I knew they’d already tasted the stuff and were watching for my reaction.”

“Sounds typical,” she said.

Jake swiveled his chair and looked out his office window. “And in the interest of full disclosure, I didn’t eat the rest of it. After you walked out, I broke it into two pieces and threw them at those jokers.”

“Good.” Brittany laughed along with Jake. “Those two troublemakers deserved it.”

Jake set another dinner date with Brittany; she’d take care of the menu and he’d go to her apartment. Maybe dating was like riding a bike. Satisfaction filled Jake from head to toe. He hung up his phone and settled back in his chair. “Yes!” he said and lifted both his fists in the air.

Snort!

The all too familiar sound snapped him back to reality. Jake gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes. His lieutenant must’ve sneaked into the office while he was on the phone.

Snort!

Jake jerked upright in his chair. “Dang it, Monica!”

“Welcome back from Brittanyland,” she said.

“Dang it,” he muttered under his breath.

A HERD OF NURSING STUDENTS FOLLOWED THE resident who followed the lab-coated doctor on morning rounds. Nicki Jensen hung at the very back of the pack and caught one of her compatriots, Sharon, a second-year nursing student, staring a little too long at her. Nicki tugged a hank of hair forward in an attempt to cover the left side of her face.

“You okay?” a much younger Sharon asked.

Nicki nodded. In truth things were anything but okay. Some days she wasn’t sure she’d last until spring graduation—and a full-time job. Some men were cut out to be house-husbands. Hers wasn’t one of them. The stress of recently losing his job grated on Jeff. It didn’t help their relationship either. Steeped in self-pity and simmering anger, no amount of compassion or understanding could soothe him. With full-time school and two little girls to tend and raise, Nicki needed a babysitter; the role naturally fell to him.

In actuality, the girls took care of each other. Ages four and five, they did a pretty good job of it. They played in their rooms and could obtain the food they wanted. They also played just outside the apartment in the courtyard grounds. Jeff left the door open and called it “watching the girls.” Nicki shook her head. Life was a like a snowball rolling downhill threatening her with disaster as it gained steam.

“Mrs. Jensen,” the resident’s voice pulled her back to reality.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “What?”

“Your patients are waiting,” he said with a nod at the west end of the wing.

Nicki blinked and looked around. Everyone else had gone on to their assigned duties. “Yes, sir.”

She liked the geriatric rotation, enjoyed talking with the retired officers who seemed to appreciate that she took her time with them. Some of the younger kids dashed from one bed to another without ever seeing the person these patients used to be. Nicki loved their war stories the most, but she didn’t want any in-depth discussions today. She tugged her collar higher.

“Hey, Nicki! What’s up?” Fred Kinney, one of her favorites, called to her.

She hung just outside the door and forced a smile. “Not much, Fred. How’s it going for you?”

“Old and tired,” he said. “Not necessarily in that order.” He gave her a sly wink.

She chuckled. Same routine but he never thought it got old, and she had to admit, it was a great line.

“Why are you standing around out there?” Fred’s roommate, George Johnson, asked. He was bedridden but his eagle eye never missed a thing.

Nicki straightened and shook her head. “I need to head over to the lab,” she lied.

“Sure you’re not avoiding us?”

“Avoiding you?” she echoed. “Why would I do that?”

“Don’t know,” George said, “but you are.”

“No—”

“Then come in and sit a spell,” George said.

“Do you need something?” she asked. If she went into that room, they’d ferret out what had happened and she wanted no trouble— especially from the police.

“No, but—”

“Then I have to go,” she said already easing into the hall. “I’ll stop by later.”

“Well that was odd,” George said to Fred.

“No kidding,” Fred said. “Something’s definitely going on.”

Each doctor, nurse, phlebotomist, or aide who entered the room got peppered with the same question: “What’s wrong with Nicki today?”

Each query brought the same response: “I don’t know.”

Nicki managed to stay busy and away from most of the rooms during her shift. Keeping her distance from her classmates was easy; anything that needed to be done outside patient rooms, she volunteered for. And the doctors? She wasn’t sure if it was her that they never actually noticed or nurses in general. Steering clear of them was no problem. She checked her watch—almost supper time. Maybe the residents would be too busy eating to be bothered with her.

Hovering at the first door, she asked, “Anybody need anything?”

As though on cue, each waved her on and shook his head. The second door went the same way. Nicki almost believed she was home free.

She finished her rounds, then passed George’s door en route to the nurses’ station, his soft voice drifted toward her. “Come in here, child.”

His voice sounded so much like a caring grandfather, Nicki blinked back tears. She shook her head. No time for breakdown.

“Nicki,” he said and motioned her forward.

How she ever thought she could keep anything away from these trained investigators, she had no idea. True to their roots, they could spot evasiveness in a heartbeat. Investigation was in their blood. She took a few steps into the room.

“Look at me, Nicki.”

She complied, still blinking away the emotion that threatened to spill over.

“You know I was a detective for almost nineteen years, right?” George asked.

Nicki didn’t trust her voice. She nodded.

“In domestic violence,” he said.

Nicki took a deep breath.

“I’m used to people keeping things from me after an incident,” he said conversationally. “Back in my day it was called wife beating, but it’s still the same old game with different titles.”

George motioned her forward and she complied but hovered back several steps from his bed.

“Dang,” he said. “That looks about three days old; did he hit you over the weekend?”

Nicki pulled her hair over her left ear and neck. Even through the makeup, the bruise had spread from the front of her ear, along the jaw; finger lines reached back toward her neck where Jeff had slapped her on the side of the head.

“Not unusual for a victim not to want anyone to know,” George continued. “He slapped you with his right hand, didn’t he?” Without waiting for confirmation, he kept talking. “My guess is that you have a couple bruises on your back or your back side where he either punched you or kicked you as you ran away.”

Despite her best efforts, a lone tear trickled down Nicki’s right cheek. She waved her hand and shook her head. “You don’t understand,” she said. “Things are just really difficult right now.” Nicki reined herself in and once again tamped down the twin feelings of shame and disgust simmering just below the surface.

“Please don’t say anything,” she said fixing a direct gaze on George. “My husband hasn’t worked in over six months. I’ve never seen him like this. He just doesn’t want to do anything—not even watching our daughters. We got into an argument about him needing to do a better job of that and he just snapped.”

“How many children?” George asked softly.

“Two girls,” she said slumped in a chair beside his bed. “He seems more interested in drinking beer, watching cable, and playing video games than in them.”

“Tough to lose a job,” George said. “Sorta punctures the male ego.”

Nicki smiled at him. “Yeah, but it doesn’t excuse his behavior with his daughters.”

“How old?”

“Four and five,” she said. “They kind of watch one another. I leave food they can open and easily eat just in case…”

George eyed the bruise with a growing frown.

Instinctively she put her hand to the side of her neck. “He’s never hit me before. Ever! I don’t know what got into him: drinking or depression or—I don’t know. Everything’s going wrong for him. I graduate at the end of the semester. I’ll be working and that’ll help.” She laced her fingers in front of her to keep them still.

“Help with what?” George pressed.

“With the stress,” she said. “I’m sure things will get better then.”

“Perhaps,” George said and took her hand in his.

“Don’t say anything,” Nicki whispered. “If my instructors find out, they’ll have to report it and I can’t deal with a police investigation or Child Protective Services swarming all over us to see if my girls need to be removed. Please,” she said again searching the Ol’ Blue’s countenance for a shred of empathy or compassion. “It would be more than I could bear.”

George nodded and released her hand. “Why don’t you freshen up,” he said indicating the bathroom.

When she returned, he gave her his “cop stare.” “I’ll let it go this time,” he said. “But anything else…all bets are off.”

Nicki nodded. “I understand.” She took in a steadying breath and headed to the door. “Thanks, George,” she said. “I always feel better talking to you.”

Tugging her collar and hair over the bruise so no prying eyes would discover her secret, she headed out the door.

“Come back anytime,” George called after her. He waited until he heard her one door down. He picked up his phone and punched in a number. “Hey, Sarge, this is George; I have a little operation that needs my attention. I’ll need two additional Blues to accompany me. One to push my wheelchair and the other will need a walker for my backup.”

“Okay,” the Sarge said. “Anything else?”

“Probably a doctor’s visit as my cover and transportation, of course.” George ticked off his mental list. “I think we can take care of it in an afternoon and be back within a couple of hours.”

“What’s the assignment?” the Sarge asked.

“A husband who thinks it’s all right to slap his wife around…one of the students here.”

“Awesome,” the Sarge said. “Delivering a little tuneup?”

“Yeah,” George said. “Sort of furthering his education. Shouldn’t take more than three hours.”

“Consider it done.”

“Thanks, Sarge.”

Sarge hung up the phone and yelled to nobody specific. “Hey, I need a pusher for George in C Wing and one backup.”

With no hesitation from anyone in the precinct, one hulking Blue, a Samoan named Big Al Afasa, six feet four and two hundred forty pounds nicknamed Tinkerbell or “Tink” waved his hand in the air. “I’m in. I’ll be the pusher.”

“I’ll be backup,” Harry called out. “I’ve been waiting to use that new walker.”

“Done and done!” The Sarge barked. “Get to supply for the clothes and any special equipment for that walker. I hear they have some new Taser darts; no wires!”

The Blues exchanged a glance and pretended to punch each other in the chest. “Let’s go!”

“Oh yeah. I’m all over that.” Both men headed out of the precinct.

“Wait!” the Sarge barked. “Almost forgot.” He shoved two sheets of paper in the air. “Requisitions for the equipment and clothes.”

Tink grabbed the paper. “How could you forget?” he asked. “You recruited those two sticklers.”

“Don’t I know it,” the Sarge said with a chuckle.

In the supply room, Paps and Jerry checked over the papers and the two Blues. “Who gets the wheelchair?” Paps asked. “I see you’re both walking just fine.”

“George in C wing,” Henry said. “Looks like a student nurse who got smacked around by her husband. George wants to have a little chat with him.”

“Great,” Jerry said with a smile.

“This walker is equipped with the wireless Tasers,” Paps said. “Why do you need it?”

“I’m backup,” Harry responded.

“You’re Taser happy from what I hear,” Paps said. “One of these days you’re going to hit somebody and fry their pacemaker.”

“Look, Paps,” Harry said, “can’t we just get our clothes and gear and get outta here?”

Paps threw Jerry a you-want-to-take-this-one look.

Jerry glanced over his reading glasses at the two Blues and picked up the phone. “Need confirmation on the walker.”

Everyone could hear the Sarge’s bark through the phone. “I filled out both forms, yeah, clothes, wheelchair, and specially equipped walker. Yeah wireless Tasers—and don’t forget transportation. Oh, and have the boys in the lab put a doctor’s visit in the nurse’s computer schedule.”

“Clear,” Jerry said and hung up the phone. “Rig ’em up, Paps.”

Harry and Tink exchanged an are-these-guys-for-real look and got dressed. The best part of the job was through the special exit, past the phony electrical box and into the lab where the techs outfitted them with the latest equipment.

“Now where, Tink?” Harry asked.

“Down here,” he said and motioned his partner forward. “It’s a special tunnel that’ll take us to a specially outfitted van. You’ve never done this before?”

“Nope; I usually go out the front.”

“Then you’ve got a treat in store,” Tink said with a nod to the driver and aide. “They’ll take us out a special underground route that opens into a fake garage. We and the equipment will stay in the back here.” He knocked on a false wall that concealed them from any probing eyes. “Between that and the tinted windows, no one will ever notice us.”