Senile Squad: Adventures of the Old Blues (33 page)

The frustrating thing for the officers was that nobody could give a good location over the radio as to their location in the huge complex. Unlike on TV cop shows, it was extremely difficult to find an address or an exact location when an officer is running after a suspect and screaming at the top his lungs for the suspect to stop. The undercover officers could only run toward the screaming and hope to find and assist the officer in the arrest.

Another problem was that there was screaming everywhere. It echoed off buildings, and since the commotion was so loud, there were residents coming out to see what was going on. The officers were yelling to one another, at the bangers, and to the residents to get back inside for their safety—at the same time attempting to provide some coherent information on their radios.

Sergeant Scott who could hear the problems the officers were having finally said, “We’re losing control.” Then Sergeant Scott heard the voices of his undercover officers starting to enter the fray. “There’s some good news,” he uttered as he listened to the radio.

Smitty was also monitoring the progress of the undercovers sprinting to the aid of their fellow officers. Smitty smiled. That was good planning to put those undercover boys in the parking lot, but they are still going to need some help. Smitty tapped his hearing aid/ microphone and broadcast to the Blues, “Looks like the undercovers from the parking lot are finally joining in, stay sharp boys.”

There were acknowledgments from the Blues who were still waiting to ambush the escaping gang members. Smitty smiled and said to himself, “Those punks should be approaching our Blues any minute now.”

Officer Steven Turley was back in the chase. He had recovered from being plowed into during the initial part of the operation. As he approached the apartment complex, he could see that there were various officers cuffing the suspects on the ground. There were officers still in hot foot pursuit in various directions toward the inner parts of the complex. Even with the number of bangers that had been caught, Officer Turley said to himself, “There’s still too many of them.”

Just then he saw the undercover officers rounding corners and trying to tackle the bangers as they ran straight toward them. This obviously surprised many of the bangers who thought they were getting away by running through the complex. They tried to stop in their tracks and change direction. Some fell and were caught, but there were still those able to break free.

Turley got on his radio and said, “Sergeant Scott, this operation has turned to a catch-whoever-you-can pursuit!”

Sergeant Scott replied, “I know, but do the best you can, more cruisers are on the way, but I don’t know if they’ll get here in time.”

Turley acknowledged and started after the two bangers who were about thirty yards in front of him. He looked and couldn’t believe what one of them was doing. The banger was talking into a small radio, and it looked like he was yelling instructions.

Abrahim bellowed instructions in Sudanese to his soldiers over their CB radios. A few had been captured, but with a little luck most of them might slip away. Scanning the familiar area, he turned in the direction his men were headed. From his vantage point he saw why the cops were catching some of his soldiers. Rounding the buildings were cops wearing black vests filing in from the middle of the complex. White block lettering proclaimed
POLICE
on their vests moved exactly where the soldiers were heading.

Abrahim yelled into his CB radio,
“It’s a trap,”
he screamed.
“More cops coming from the parking lot.”
Abrahim could see that more cops meant more of his soldiers were going to get caught. The only way more of his soldiers would escape would be to keep the cops tied up by fighting with them if they got caught. If they are fighting, they can’t be chasing us. Some of his soldiers had to be sacrificed so that the rest could escape.

American cops were used to regular gang members giving up when caught. They didn’t want an assaulting-an-officer charge added to whatever else they were arrested for. Not the Sudanese. Unfamiliar with the criminal justice system, they loved to fight and would punch, kick, and bite—anything to get away.

Abrahim was no exception.
“Fight them
.” He yelled into his radio,
“If they catch you, fight them; this will help the rest of our soldiers escape.”

Over his radio, each soldier repeated it to one another. Abrahim smiled and watched. His directive to battle proved effective. One, then two, then three of his men broke away and ran between the buildings. Abrahim couldn’t help but chuckle. “Fools,” he muttered. “You didn’t bring enough cops!”

The soldier he had with him pointed at an officer who was starting to run toward them. They quickly sprinted away leaving the sound of the chaos behind them. Abrahim knew that officer could not catch them with the lead they had.

A pair of Blues, Kim and Paul, milled around between buildings. “Hey look,” Kim said and glanced down at a long, gray garden hose coiled on the ground beside his feet. Glancing over at Paul, he picked up one end. “Grab the other end and stretch it tight,” he said with a chuckle. “We’ll trip the punks after we spray them?”

Paul nodded and shot Kim a conspiratorial wink.

Smitty pressed the hearing aid-radio in his ear. “Kim and Paul, three of them headed your way.”

Once the bad guys were in sight, Kim pushed the button on his walker and shot a cloud of pepper spray twenty feet ahead of them. Three tall young men raced around the brick corner, glancing back over their shoulders. The Blues saw too. The officers giving chase were a good thirty yards behind the boys. Escape looked within reach. Paul and Kim stepped out. The mocking bangers didn’t see the old men as threats to them and focused on getting away. The boys ran straight into the orange plume.

Eyes and mouths wide open in the melee, they drew in the caustic spray. In a heartbeat, their eyes involuntarily slammed shut, their noses, mouths, and throats seared. The burning chemical pain of two million Scoville Heat Units, a measurement of hot spices, overcame them. Their hands flew to their eyelids to no avail. Still intent on escape they continued running—straight toward the outstretched hose of two grinning Ol’ Blues, Kim and Paul.

Their plan couldn’t have fallen into place better if they’d scripted it. Kim and Paul exchanged an evil grin. Clubba’s punks hit the hose and ran right past them, pulling the rubber from their two sets of hands. “Nuts,” Kim said. “I thought that would work.”

Ten feet later, the bangers could move no more. Pepper spray had worked its debilitating mission. They screamed in their native tongue but no relief was in sight. Kim and Paul smiled again at each other. Maybe their plan didn’t work the way they wanted, but it still succeeded.

Kerry and Tye responded to the cries. Three young males gagged and pressed their palms into their eyes. One dragged a hose along behind him. Pepper spray still hung in the air but nothing as intense as seconds earlier.

Two senior citizens stood by and watched the altercation like it was a Friday night fight; they grimaced and cheered, scowled and smirked as the young men squirmed.

“Watch it,” Tye muttered so only his partner could hear. “You know what happened the last time we came across one of these old folks.”

“Oh shut up,” said Kerry with the darkening contusion. “On the ground now,” he roared at the three men. Two started to lie down. The third shrieked something in Sudanese at the officers. Instantly the young man met the ground hard. “We ain’t playing,” Tye said.

The three were cuffed in minutes, then picked up and ushered toward the designated pickup spot for arrestees. Walking by the same two old men brought renewed smiles and then laughs directed at Clubba’s men.

“You boys enjoy the full effect of that pepper spray,” one gentleman called out.

“Yeah,” the other chimed in, “all the way through your nose, your sinuses, and into your lungs.”

Kerry peered at the three thugs. Mucus flowed in gobs out their noses.

“Oh, hey, that’s the walrus effect,” Tye said. “Look, Kerry, those long strings of mucus hang from their nose.”

“Yep, looks like tusks,” Kerry said.

“Not so tough now are ya, punk?” Kim said.

“Okay, guys,” Tye said. “Get back in your apartments. Show’s over.”

The two older men turned slowly. “Hmph. You’d think they’d be thanking us for delivering those creeps to ’em.”

“Yeah,” Paul said. “You’d think.”

Kerry and Tye exchanged a questioning look. “You hear that?” Kerry asked.

“Yeah.”

Both officers peered at the old men moseying away. “You don’t think—”

“Nah.” Tye shook his head. “One of our guys pepper sprayed them. It just took a little time for it to take effect.”

“Dude,” his partner said with a nod. “That lady with the spoon really laid one on you.”

“Tell me about it; my head’s still throbbing.” He pushed his perpetrator forward. “Let’s go.”

Abrahim and his soldier hit their stride, putting distance between them, the ruckus, and a very tired Officer Turley still trying to recover from having the wind knocked out of him. Escaping was the only good thing about this mess. There were too many unknowns: how many of his soldiers had been caught and arrested, how many had been injured, what were they charged with? Mostly he didn’t know how he’d explain it all to his cousin.

Then as if in answer to his fear, he saw them. Shanese and her sister, holding hands and running for their lives. If I kill her myself, Clubba will still be pleased with me, Abrahim said to himself.

Shanese knew that if she could get out of this hornet’s nest filled with Clubba’s thugs she and her sister would be able to find another place to hide and hopefully survive. Shanese told her sister, “Just run! Don’t look back.” Shanese didn’t know that Abrahim and one of Clubba’s soldiers were bearing down on them from behind. Abrahim pulled a knife from his waistband, and smiled in anticipation of killing for Clubba.

Shanese yelled to her sister, “Just past that old man, and we’re…” Shanese had looked back at her sister when she trailed off mid-sentence by the sight of two of Clubba’s thugs chasing them. One she recognized as Abrahim, quickly gaining on them. Shanese’s eyes widened in terror as she saw Abrahim smiling and clenching a knife in his hand. “Don’t look back!” She yelled to her sister, “Don’t look—” She was cut off by a loud, determined yell from in front of her. “Keep running, darl’en. I’ll take care of these hoods.” Shanese looked forward to see an old man, waving them past with one of his crutches. Shanese didn’t have time to think, she just ran past the man towards the urban neighborhood and hopefully safety.