Senile Squad: Adventures of the Old Blues (3 page)

Ben slowly looked at those around his conference table and said, “Those Ol’ Blues are amazing. An idea started then, and now with your help, I think we can bring it to fruition.”

Ben let the silence drag out in a long pause. With everyone’s attention focused on him, he leaned back in his chair. “I think we can use some of those retired officers to shore up police services.”

“What?” Frieda asked.

“How?” Bud asked at the same time.

“Glad you both asked.” Ben smiled and pointed to the binder everyone held. “Inside you’ll find fifty names of retired officers with anywhere from twenty-five to thirty-five years of experience. They didn’t want to retire, but due to their age, illness, or injury, they were forced to. These guys loved their work; they knew the streets and the criminals like nobody else. I’ve been researching them over the past six months and selected several for this project I’m proposing. Most of these officers are living on pensions. Some are in independent living or the basements of family members who still love them but don’t understand them. These guys need to be needed.”

“Why are there so many in need?” Bud asked. “Aren’t their pensions enough?”

“Or families?” Frieda chimed in.

“Lots of officers are doing fine,” Ben said, “but it’s such a stressful occupation that too many end up with family issues—children not speaking to them, savings accounts decimated by child support and alimony payments. Law enforcement rates of divorce, alcoholism, and drug use are triple that of the rest of us. Some of these guys are in bad shape. If they don’t have a hobby and a little money—well, let’s just say they have a much higher suicide rate as well.”

“So where do we come in?” Al asked.

“Imagine,” Ben said and leaned forward, warming to his topic, “if we could harness that knowledge and experience to provide them the camaraderie they’re missing—”

Looking at the back of his handout, Steve interrupted, “These are blueprints.”

“Exactly,” Ben said. “I haven’t been this excited in years. We can create a living center strictly for older, retired cops. A place built for their needs, designed around the only thing they knew all their adult lives: police work. I envision private rooms for those who need skilled care, complete with doctors and nursing staff, social workers if required. Everything that any other retirement home offers but specifically designed to look like the precincts of the late sixties and early seventies. All the familiar sights and sounds. These cops will feel like they did when they were young officers again.”

“Wait a minute,” Bud said and turned to his wife. “Remember that news story last week where they went to retirement homes and everybody—even Alzheimer’s patients—who were exposed to the music of their teenage years came to life?”

Frieda’s blue eyes widened with excitement, and she laid her hand on her husband’s arm. “Yes. Just the sound of the music started them dancing. Their families cried when they saw their grandparent’s reaction. They thought it was a miracle!”

Bud turned back to face Ben. “It was like the old folks went back to a time when life was sweet and their zest for living came back.”

“I love it!” Pam said. “What a great service to these men who served the community for all those years! They’ve been beat up, spat on, and every other disgusting thing you can think of. They did the job that regular people wouldn’t.”

“Or couldn’t,” Tyler said softly.

“The public will love it too,” Bonnie said, excitement laced her words. “Imagine. All that experience in one place. They could even provide some sort of advisory board. A think tank for community crime prevention.”

The room was abuzz with possibilities. Ben smiled. This was what made everything worthwhile: the synchronicity of this group and the possibilities they created.

“They could hold weekly briefings with the police or neighborhood organizations and provide advice on addressing their concerns,” Pam said. “Who knows, maybe some real solutions to some of the city’s problems could be addressed. I love this idea!”

“Where were you thinking we’d build this?” Steve asked.

“Turn to page twenty-eight,” Ben said. “I think we’ve got the perfect site out west.”

Pages rustled and the room went silent.

“The old veterans’ retirement home?” Frieda asked. “The one on Maple, just outside the city limits?”

“That old place?” Bud said. “That was built—what—eighty years ago?”

“Exactly—but think about it. The structure is solid and well-built, the grounds are huge, and it would serve our purpose perfectly,” Ben said. “We’ll retrofit the entire thing with the latest medical equipment and staff. There are so many offices out there, we can offer a branch to the state’s Health and Human Services for no cost plus a wing for medical staff. We’ll open it to the local universities, medical schools, and their student internships.”

“That ought to get the government on board,” Steve said with more than a little sarcasm.

“Exactly,” Ben said. “Turn to page fifty-five. The final phase will be to implement our real project.”

“I thought the retirement center was the real project,” Steve said and flipped through the pages of his handout. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Ben said. He planted his hands on the table in front of him and leaned forward glancing from person to person. “Below this retirement home is the real purpose: helping the police fight crime.”

Bud gave a low whistle. “Holy cow.”

“I can think of a few more colorful words,” Al said leafing through the last of the blueprints.

Ben unfolded the potential of the Ol’ Blues to the rest of The Bureau. “These old cops can do things the current officers can’t. They can conduct surveillance, obtain evidence, and walk right up to gang members, criminals, and not even be noticed.”

There were some questioning looks about the last statement. Ben read the questions on their faces and simply said, “Nobody notices the little old men in the parks or walking on the street. These Ol’ Blues, as we call them, simply collect evidence and send it to the Omaha Police anonymously via their tip line. The officers just follow up on the information and then—what do they call it? Oh yes, cuff ’em and stuff ’em.”

The Bureau members looked wide-eyed at each other. One by one, their faces went from shock to agreement. Some even nodded their heads.

“Platts,” Ben said addressing the two real estate magnates in the group. “Can you get the state to sell us the property?”

Pam exhaled a long breath. “Wow—”

“Mom and Dad will be back from Palm Springs in a couple weeks,” Bonnie said. “I’m sure they’ll be glad to help. If anyone can convince the state, they should be happy to get rid of the old facility, it’s Mom.”

“That woman could get Eskimos to invest in ice,” Tyler said.

“Good,” Ben said.

“I love this idea, Ben,” Pam said.

Nods of agreement started coming from every member around the table.

“This will take a lot of financial and political capital,” Steve said. “Is everyone willing to do what it takes to see this through? Something of this magnitude will take everything each one of us has: workers, money, connections. You all willing to give it?”

Before anyone could answer, Steve DeGoff held up his hand for attention and said, “Last week I was parking my car by the farmers’ market downtown, and I had forgotten to bring quarters for the parking meter.”

Bud laughed and said, “All your money and you didn’t have any quarters.” This drew snickers from The Bureau members.

“I know, I know, it’s what happened next that has caused me to be in complete support of this endeavor. I was patting myself down trying to find some coins I could put in the meter. I must have really looked pathetic. Then a gentle tap on my right elbow got my attention. I turned and there was this humble Sudanese woman with a kind smile. She obviously couldn’t speak English, but she reached into a beaten-up purse, which had an old rope for straps, and pulled out three quarters. She looked at me, then made a gesture with the quarters in her hand to my parking meter. I was humbled that a woman of such meager means took the time to help someone like me. I could tell she was very poor; however, she was willing to share what she had with me. I tried to tell her no, but she persisted, and then when I wouldn’t take the money, she put the coins in the meter for me, looked at me with a lovely smile, and walked away.

“Her sweet face burned into my memory. I haven’t seen her since, until this morning when I opened the paper.”

Steve held up the newspaper he carried into the meeting, and on the front page was a photo of that same Sudanese woman who had showed him such kindness. Under the photo in bold print was the headline:
Blunt Force Homicide Victim: No Suspects Arrested.

Murmurs all around. “The article said she was found this morning. That makes a total of five identical murders over the last two months. Police have no suspects at this time.” Steve looked at Ben with a tear in his eye and with a determined sound to his voice and said, “Ben, I’m completely behind this project.”

“Service is the rent you pay for living in a free country. Isn’t that the saying?” Frieda asked. “This is our rent.”

A long pause passed while each person considered the conversation.

Bud and Frieda exchanged a pointed glance as did the Platt sisters and the Long brothers.

“You got me—” Pamela began.

“Us too,” Bud said with a nod at Frieda.

“Us,” Bonnie said. “All of us. We’ll start working on the governor’s backing.”

“I’ll take the county commissioners,” Steve offered.

“Like there’s a downside for any politician,” Dan said. “Nothing will be required of them and they’ll get full PR in the media. What’s not to like?”

“I’m sure they can’t wait to get their pictures taken at the ribbon cutting,” Pamela said.

“Politics aside, Ben,” DeGoff said, “what do you need from me?”

“Access to the same micro-electronic technology you give the military,” Ben said. “All of it constructed, delivered, and set up on the down low. No one—and I mean no one—can know about the real purpose of this place.”

Steve gave a low whistle. “You got it.”

“What I visualized is the same type of system to locate, track, and destroy targets—only we won’t be using drones,” Ben said.

“Bud and Frieda,” he said, turning to the couple. “Can you guys get the building codes, especially for the covert renovations? If your company is willing to insure the facility, the building regulators will be happy to oblige everything else.”

The Williamses exchanged a pointed glance to each other, nodded, and spoke together. “Will do.”

“This is great,” DeGoff said. “A win-win proposition all the way around. At the least we’ve got a fantastic retirement home. At the best, we have a milestone in local law enforcement.”

“How soon can we get started?” Bud asked.

“How’s today sound?” Ben shrugged out of his navy suit coat and rolled up his sleeves.

“Apparently,” Steve said, “you’ve thought of everything. Does that include a name?”

“You bet.” A smile tickled the corners of Ben’s mouth. “The Ol’ Blues.”

Frieda, Bud, and Ben, the senior member and driving force behind The Bureau, stepped out of their cars and into the summer sunshine in front of the old veterans’ home in northwest Omaha. “I cannot believe,” Frieda said, “how easily we were able to sneak those specialized renovations into the reconstruction of this place.”

“Shh,” her husband said and elbowed her playfully. “Covert means we don’t talk about it outside the conference room.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said with a bright smile.

They approached the front door slowly to allow a CNN reporter to finish her taping.

“CNN?” Bud asked.

Ben smiled and slipped his sunglasses on. “Good media attention is always a plus.”

“…this facility, though not completed yet, will be outfitted with the latest technology and innovations,” the CNN reporter said. “Medical staff will meet the needs of the occupants and provide the officers with the best care available. The increased space will be available for the medical schools, nursing, social work, and psychological programs. Here—” she pointed at the south wing, “are the separate wings for each program including one for the Nebraska Health and Human Services office. You name it; they’ve thought of it,” she said into the camera with a bright smile.

“Those offices required extensive electrical retrofitting, and don’t even get me started on the steam, air conditioning vents, and all the other conduits,” Bud said quietly.

Ben led the group around the reporter and her photographer.

“We were lucky this place was built with a Cold War mentality and its nearness to what was then the Strategic Air Command’s nuclear command post south of Omaha,” he continued, referencing the old days before new tech warfare.

“Those walls are so thick, they’d stop an atomic bomb. Justifying all the changes was easy. Those old things gave us the opening we needed for any extra work,” Frieda said. “The state didn’t question a thing.”

“The state and city inspectors seemed impressed with what they called ‘above and beyond code’ improvements,” Ben said. “Remember when the EPA gave Omaha an unfunded mandate for sewer and wastewater separation?”