Senile Squad: Adventures of the Old Blues (32 page)

Shanese couldn’t help it. In spite of Clubba’s men hovering around like vultures, in spite of his reign of terror, in spite of the upcoming and promised beating, she laughed, and for a moment, her burden was lightened.

SMITTY, SUPERVISING THE INNER ESCAPE ROUTES FROM the apartment the Blues had used for surveillance, looked like a television producer with ten screens showing the entire complex. He immediately spotted the cops in the undercover cars. Reaching up, he nonchalantly tapped his hearing aid that doubled as a radio and broadcast to all the Blues. “Gang unit evidently put some undercovers in the parking lot—middle of the complex.”

“Smart move,” Smitty said to himself with a smile. Always good to see a well-planned operation. “Make sure everybody stays put. Let the gang unit deploy and close in on Clubba’s thugs. My guess is that they’ll come in from behind using the houses and bushes as cover. Then for good measure from inside the complex. They’ll run directly toward the undercover officers,” Smitty said, “We’ll slow ’em down for the uniforms to catch up and collar the punks.”

Smitty wondered how he could warn the gang unit that there were way more bangers on the scene than ever before. Nice thought but too late. Smitty lifted his head, and checked again. A gang officer sprang behind a bush and grabbed one of Clubba’s soldiers from behind. The ambush was on!

Smitty tapped the earpiece radio. “Be alert, guys; gang unit’s gonna jump ’em.”

As predicted, ten officers bolted from behind Clubba’s men.

“Police!”
The cry went out in Sudanese.

“On the ground. On the ground.”

Sudanese soldiers scattered. With the officers coming from behind, Clubba’s soldiers ran right toward the apartment complex. Officers were hopelessly outnumbered. Those with a suspect proceeded to handcuff them. Others sprang into the chase.

One officer, Steve Turley, a ten-year veteran, stopped, quickly trying to comprehend the pandemonium exploding in front of him. He grabbed his portable radio, knowing Sergeant Scott was monitoring, and yelled, “We’re way outnumbered. There’s gotta be over twenty suspects running exactly where you said.”

A terrified Sudanese soldier not paying attention thumped straight into Turley’s chest sending his radio flying, Turley wrestled the kid to the ground and cuffed him. Turley hoped his message got out.

Smitty smiled—a familiar adrenaline rush shot through him. “It’s on, boys. They’re heading right for us.” From his position in the upstairs apartment, Smitty observed the undercover officers scrambling out of their cars heading toward the mayhem. “Looks like the undercovers got the message. They’re piling out of their cars and heading straight for you guys.”

Memories of hitting the pavement and running down criminals like they’d done in days gone by flooded every Blue on the detail. Each one had stationed himself at a choke point with the same assignment: pepper spray them when they run by, break off once they pass, and work your way to the vans. Head back to the precinct.

“Grandma,” Shanese yelled. “The bangers are coming. All of ’em. They’re coming!”

“Get out the back door, child, and take your sister. Run! Run now!”

“What about you?”

“Got a plan. You two go now.”

With a nod, Shanese grabbed her sister by the hand and obeyed her grandmother’s directive. She had no clue what the plan was, but she prayed her grandmother would be safe. Guilt for bringing this into her home washed through Shanese but she shook it off. No time for that now. She and her sister ran out the back door.

“Fire!” her grandmother shouted, hoping a neighbor would call 911. Nobody would do anything in this neighborhood if she yelled help. “Fire!” she screamed again.

Shanese glanced over her shoulder and frowned. What was going on? Her sister tugged her forward.

“Come on,”

“But—“

“No buts. Grandma said run.”

Her grandmother grabbed the thick, oversized metal spoon from its drawer. Wrapping both hands around the handle, she backed into the far corner of her kitchen. Sounds from outside floated through the open door where her granddaughters had fled. Screams and yelling and commotion filtered in. Maybe somebody had actually gotten involved and called the cops…if she was lucky. If she wasn’t…her grip tightened around the thick metal, and she took a deep breath. If those Sudanese weasels came looking for trouble, they’d find it.

Smitty watched the scene unfold in amazement. Pepper spray permeated the air; he held a handkerchief to his cover his nose. Curses in English, Italian, and Sudanese floated up through the din surrounding the apartments. One gang officer caught a banger and the fight was on. Five of Clubba’s boys ran straight for the Chelini brothers who sprang into action, yelling in Italian. Before the thugs got to the Chelinis, they ran directly into a cloud of pepper spray. A piss pack hit a straggling soldier and exploded all over the younger man in all its five-day glory.

The targeted teen screamed in Sudanese, grabbed his eyes, and sank to his knees in utter defeat. Two ran toward the trees on the north side of the street; one ran straight into the brick wall of an apartment and fell to the ground knocked out cold. Two officers, Peterson and Gonzales, both of the gang unit, rounded the corner and stopped cold. Officer Peterson grabbed one banger, threw him to the ground, cuffing him as he recoiled from the disgusting stench of urine.

Gonzales approached the second banger who was out cold and followed suit. Clubba’s men rubbed their faces into the cool grass and gave no resistance to the handcuffs. Peterson and Gonzales exchanged an
I’ve-never-seen-anything-like-this-before
look, shrugged their shoulders, and jumped on the next banger they could reach. Once they cuffed one, they moved to the next. Gonzales keyed his microphone. “Need two transporting officers at Sixtieth and Etna.”

Peterson glanced up to catch his breath. Two older men smiled and waved at him. Peterson noticed several others strolling by. One of them winked, “Nice work, kid.”

They sauntered past the noise and commotion as though they’d done it a hundred times…just fading away. Mesmerized, Officer Peterson watched in fascination. The banger under his control kicked him in the leg. He slammed the pepper spray–blinded kid with a bad attitude into the ground face down. “Stop resisting.”

Screams and shouts both foreign and native flew through the police radios. Undercovers in the parking lot didn’t need an invitation. They poured out of their vehicles as fast as they could manage and bolted toward the sound of commotion.

“Where they at?” yelled Kerry Cunningham, a seventeen-year veteran. Nobody knew. Kerry’s partner, the lead officer Tye Mason, himself a twenty-year veteran, yelled to the other officers. “Run to the noise. Stay with a partner. Don’t get isolated. Go! Go! Go!”

The officers ran to the fray; more white-haired men than anyone had seen in one place were hanging around various buildings watching the officers run by.

“Get back inside!” Kerry yelled to one particular gent. The reply caused a brief pause. “Yeah right, sonny; I was doing this before you were born,” the old man with a shiny cane hollered back.

Kerry and Tye ran as fast as they could. Rounding a corner, Kerry met a large piece of metal.
Clang!
Pain, sharp and thick, shot through his head. He fell face first onto the ground and laid there a long moment trying to fathom what had hit him. He turned onto his back. “What the—?”

An elderly woman wielded a very large, oversized, thick metal spoon. “I’m so sorry, officer,” the woman said and tried to help him up. “I thought you was bringing trouble to my door, and I didn’t see the word
police
until you tumbled to the ground cuz it’s on your back.”

“It’s okay, ma’am. Just…put that thing away.”

Tye stopped at the sound of his partner hitting the ground. “You all right?” He drew up beside him and pulled him to his feet, steadying the older lady at the same time. “Holy crap, you’ve got a knot the size of an Easter egg on your forehead.”

Kerry’s fingers flew to the spot. Sure enough it was swelling like a helium balloon; it was going to be a doozy.

“I thought you was one of those no good thugs,” the woman said. “I’m so sorry, officer. Can I get you a glass of water?”

Kerry watched the look of recognition cross his partner’s face as he realized what had happened. He grinned from ear to ear.

“Ma’am,” Tye said, “why don’t you go back inside before you kill one of us?”

“Yes, sir,” came the courteous reply. “I’m really sorry about that.”

Kerry looked over at the woman. “No problem,” he said. “I’m fine and we’ve got to go.”

All tenderness fled the older woman’s face; fiery indignation flared in her eyes. She pointed the metal spoon toward the sounds of the fighting. “Go get those no good thugs right now.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Kerry and Tye spoke simultaneously, turned on their heels and dashed toward the tumult.

“That gramma-lady decked you.” Tye laughed out loud.

“Shut up. There are old folks everywhere around here. Watch out.”

The gang unit and uniformed officers zigzagged through the maze of twenty buildings. Each held four apartments. The insanity of chasing one suspect let alone twenty was a lose-lose proposition, and every cop knew it. The bangers had a month to scout everything out; they knew where to run and where to hide.

“It can never be easy, can it?” Sergeant Scott muttered. Monitoring the radio traffic in a unmarked police van at the original dropoff point, he was pleasantly surprised to hear of the initial successes that his officers were having catching three to five bangers at a time.

As the officers secured the bangers, Scott noted that six of his officers were on the radio calling for medical attention for pepper spray exposure. There were so many he said, “Everyone’s pepper spray cans must be empty.”

Scott said. “There’s twice the number of bangers we anticipated; it’s stretching our ability to nab anymore.” The sergeant told a uniformed officer in the van with him, “Call for more cruisers.”

The officer keyed his microphone and contacted the dispatch center. “We need every available cruiser in the precinct.”

The radio dispatcher replied, “That’s clear, 2 Adam 10, 15, and 16 report to Sixtieth and Etna to assist the gang unit.” All three cruisers advised that they were clear on the call and en route.

“More police cruisers on the way, Sergeant.” The officer said.

“Good,” Sergeant Scott replied. “I just hope they get here in time.”

From a small mound, Abrahim and one of his soldiers were able to get a brief look at the pandemonium of running soldiers and police officers. Abrahim was initially shocked that the police were able to sneak up behind his entire group of soldiers. The panic of the police pouncing on his soldiers sent them all running into the large apartment complex. Now, however, the initial shock had been overcome, and it looked like his soldiers were taking advantage of the many escape routes the maze of apartment buildings provided. They were running in every direction with all this confusion, so he knew the police would not be able to have an organized response.

“Many will escape,” Abrahim said to himself with a smile before he resumed his own attempt to flee.

What Abrahim and his soldiers didn’t know was that there were undercover officers sprinting from the middle of the complex. They heard the radio chatter and could tell that there were numerous fights going on. This fueled their desire to get into the fray, even though they had to sprint one hundred yards through the apartment complex, they dispersed two by two between the buildings.