Game of the Blues Read online

  Copyright © 2008 by Kenn C. Kincaid

  All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, magnetic, photographic including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher. No patent liability is assumed with respect to the use of the information contained herein. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors or omissions. Neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Unless otherwise indic6ted, Bible “quotations” are from the New American Standard Bible: 1995 Update. LaHabra, CA: The Lockman Foundation, 1995, S.

  Print ISBN 0-7414-4960-9

  eBook ISBN 0-7414-9021-8

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  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to my wife Shirley, who with fortitude, and faithfulness stuck it out through the stress and difficulties of being a police officer’s wife. Placed in a position by close association, yet being so removed, she could never comprehend, forever bares the scares of the burdens of trying to understand an undisclosed evil’s effect on one she loved so dear.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To God who declined to forsake me, though I embraced the ways of the world so long.

  To my parents who brought me up in the way that I should go, and their patient prayers during my rebellious war with God, that I should return to Him in my old age.

  To Christians in my life whose faith supported, instructed, and rebuked me to the end that I grew spiritually; specifically Pastors Roy Evans, Michael Diggs, Guy King, and Bob Smith.

  A special acknowledgement for the tireless effort of numerous proof readers, and to the suggestions of many. A special thanks to Joseph Thek, author and editor, whose tireless efforts and ingenuous “ferret” were instrumental in turning an idea into a completed work.

  Good people do not need laws to tell them to act responsibly, while bad people will find their ways around the laws.

  Plato

  Ah, me, it’s a wicked world, and when

  a clever man turns his brains to crime,

  it is the worst of all.

  Sir Author Conan Doyle

  “It is the nature of criminal violence to escalate. When it reaches the point Police Officers cannot protect themselves, how then will they protect us? If there is a cause there is a cure. If crime can be restrained, it can be reduced. If it can be reduced, why not eliminated?”

  Officer Dan Black, Game of the Blues

  SECTION ONE

  Chapter 1 FORUM OF ROLL CALL

  The Game of the Blues

  Chapter 2 STREET ENCOUNTERS

  Two Tragic Thefts

  Chapter 3 LIFE AFTER PATROL

  Benevolence Verses Disdain

  SECTION TWO

  Chapter 4 FORUM OF ROLL CALL

  Preacher’s Nooses

  Chapter 5 LIFE ON THE STREET

  A Potpourri of Pleasures

  Chapter 6 LIFE AFTER PATROL

  Must It Make Sense?

  SECTION THREE

  Chapter 7 FORUM OF ROLL CALL

  Full Moon Nights

  Chapter 8 STORIES FROM THE STREET

  Canines, Crazies, and Clowns

  Chapter 9 LIFE AFTER PATROL

  Broken Ambition and Hope

  SECTION FOUR

  Chapter 10 FORUM OF ROLL CALL

  A Sergeant’s Challenge

  Chapter 11 STORIES FROM THE STREET

  Serge Make It Go Away

  Chapter 12 LIFE AFTER PATROL

  Who Plays By The Rules, Anyway?

  SECTION FIVE

  Chapter 13 THREE DAYS OFF

  Rousting Out Counterfeits

  Chapter 14 THREE DAYS OFF

  Fishing for Truth

  Chapter 15 THREE DAYS OFF

  Confronting the Counterfeiters

  Chapter 16 HOME ALONE THOUGHTS

  Convictions Come Home

  TRIBUTE - To the Fallen Heroes

  EPILOGUE - How Quickly We Forget

  GLOSSARY OF TERMS

  DISCLAIMER

  The general nature of police work creates the possibility actual events encountered by real life police officers could resemble an incident or character in this book. However, no character, event, or place in this book is intended to be depicted or understood as a real life person, encounter or situation. This book is a work of fiction, for the purpose of developing and presenting the author’s theme.

  Many of the stories, places, and/or events in this book are based in part in factual experience to give authenticity to the reading. Such has no bearing on the fictitious nature of the events, names, descriptions, actions, outcomes, and characters portrayed. The inclusion of a real place in the book does not change the fictitious nature of the events and characters associated with it. The author has exercised “literary license” to transform any factual foundation to fiction and exaggeration for the benefit of expanding the theme.

  Chapter One

  The Game of the Blues

  “HUSH! If he hears you, he’ll loose the hordes of Hades on us.”

  “Well, it has been. For awhile, anyway,” Officer Dan Black replied.

  “Curses! You don’t say it out loud! It’s a jinx.”

  “To say the streets are quiet? Nonsense! I’ll treat. Donuts and coffee at Daily-D?”

  “Won’t listen, will you? Not believing the Devil’s real, doesn’t make him less troublesome, Partner,” Officer Ben White warned.

  “Oh, I believe in a dark force. You and I’ve seen too much to deny it.”

  “Then why poke him with a stick when he naps?”

  The cruiser neared Daily Donuts, but a hundred feet ahead at the red light a brown Pontiac poised to dispel the quiet. The light changed. The shiny car made an abrupt right turn.

  “Follow Him!” Ben said, “Something about that turn.”

  Dan filled his lungs with a sucking sigh. “Are you nuts!”

  “GO!”

  Pressing the gas pedal sharply, the cruiser jerked left taking the southbound expressway ramp. Dan glanced at Ben. His attention was locked on the Pontiac. Dan felt the uneasy anticipation in the uncertainty of police work. It was adrenaline stirring. “Don’t need donuts anyway.”

  “Casting aspersions on me?” Ben said rubbing his stomach.

  “Asperse you! Never!” Dan replied accelerating the cruiser. “Such an act could jinx the quiet.”

  “Jinx! You’re chasin’ our jinx!”

  “Be out of our district in a minute, Ben. We could peel off.”

  “Shiny new car trying to fade away. Gut feeling.” Ben snugged his seat belt. “I finish what I start!”

  “Okay, Partner, we’ll ride it out.”

  Traffic was light. The Pontiac maneuvered into the high-speed lane and Dan closed the gap staying in the entrance lane. When close, he read the plate aloud, “Ohio, KJV-316.”

  Ben checked the hot sheet. “Bingo!”

  “Bingo’s a dog’s name.”

  “Bingo. On the list…”

  “Where? Before you tell me they�
��ll be in Kentucky!”

  Ben keyed his radio alerting the dispatcher. “508, 508 following a Brown Pontiac KJV-316 south I-75 approaching Lincoln Park, request theft confirmation.”

  “I’m not waiting!” Dan said moving behind the vehicle and flipping on the bar lights. The Pontiac sped up.

  “Go rabbit go!”

  “I warned you. There’s your cursed jinx!” Ben shouted over the siren before keying the radio. “508, we’re in pursuit of two occupants of a new, dark brown Pontiac Lemans. Occupants believed male, dark shirts. Now passing Lincoln Park exit. Alert Northern Kentucky.”

  “Appears to be swinging east to Fort Washington Way.”

  “I’m bettin’ Suspension Bridge.”

  “Why? It’s a dead end. He’s running scared – lost. And now, we’re taking Second Street.”

  “Whatever he’s doin,’ he’s doin’ it in a hurry.”

  “WATCH HIM!”

  The Pontiac swerved off the ramp across the median back onto the parkway. The cruiser’s front wheel caught the median. The jolt knocked flashlight and tag books to the floor.

  “You tryin’ to kill me or just jar my brains?” Ben shouted making the sign of the cross.

  “That crossing stuff’s from the same empty box as your jinx,” Dan quipped maneuvering around a bread truck. The vehicles continued east. When the suspects took Martin Street ramp, Dan backed off. “He’ll crack up for sure at this speed!”

  “Whaaaaah!” Ben bellowed as they flew around the high circular ramp. “Hail Mary full of grace! This is fun.”

  The ramp rose high. Its sharp circle stretched over the parkway. At the posted speed it felt like an airplane on takeoff. At the fleeing vehicle’s pace it struck the railings. The impact cradled the vehicle like a pinball in a chute catapulting it through the curve and across the bridge where it came to rest.

  “Better’n Coney’s Wild Mouse!” Dan commented while breaking.

  “We’ve got him! He’s stalled it!” Ben shouted.

  “Don’t think so! He’s moving again.” Sparks flew as the concrete retaining wall grinded away at the fenders. The tires spit smoke propelling it forward against the resistance. “Love those fireworks. Hate the smell.”

  “Taste of rubber ruins it for me,” Dan coughed.

  “Curses! Pin the fool in!”

  Before Dan could maneuver his bumper into the Pontiac it jumped away making a radical left turn and sped down the opposite ramp.

  “508, it’s a full turn, back on the parkway, west toward downtown, hittin’ 70,” Ben radioed.

  The driver attempted to turn onto Fifth Street ramp at the last moment locking up the breaks. The Pontiac fishtailed and skidded into the hillside.

  “508, he’s crashed just past Holy Cross Prayer Steps.”

  Safety necessitated Dan passing the impact site. Quickly backing, Dan watched the occupants flee up the steps. “Those fools goin’ to church?”

  “’Bout time for confession.”

  “Too late. Their soul belongs to us, now,” Dan said.

  Ben keyed the radio, “508, occupants fleeing up the stairs to Holy Cross. One in blue jeans and black T-shirt; other in yellow pants, dark brown shirt.”

  “103, on Gregory; I’ll cut them off at the top,” Officer Weldon broadcast.

  When Dan stopped at the crash, Ben sprung out of the car giving chase. At the foot of the stairs he paused looking up the twelve-story rise. Seeing the suspects four stories ahead, he stopped and radioed. “508B, they’re a third of the way up. Might jump the rail into the wooded hillside. Is there a canine available?”

  “K-Four, I’m west on the parkway at Kemper.”

  Dan caught up with Ben at the bottom of the stairs. “What you waiting on? An elevator!”

  “I’m the sprinter. You’re the cross country runner.”

  “You started it!”

  “Me! It’s your jinx!”

  “I’ll fetch ’em for you,” Dan said taking the stairs two at a time.

  “Well, if I didn’t have family, I’d have time to work out too!” Ben yelled after him turning to the crash scene to begin the paper work. The new Pontiac’s steering column was hot-wired. The car was a total wreck.

  “508A,” Dan radioed, “I’m on step thirty—figure them –at eighty.”

  “K-Four, I just turned on Paradom. I’ll start down from the top. Put me Signal Thirty-five [on the scene]1, with 103,” the radio crackled.

  Within a minute, Harry Gordon and his dog, Beacon, appeared on the top step. Dan could hear the dog’s ferocious barking.

  “K-Four, ask 508A if he wants me to close in?”

  “508A, Hold off, unless they jump for the woods.”

  The chase slowed with each few steps, and although Dan closed the gap, he no longer two-stepped.

  “508A,” Dan radioed breathing hard, “They’re two-thirds…to the top…they gave out… I doubt they’ve stopped to pray.”

  “We give!” one shouted up to Gordon. “Don’t sick the dog on us!”

  “Then climb up here!” Gordon replied.

  “Can’t; leg cramps!” the man shouted. “Besides, we’re afraid of the dog!”

  “Okay I’ll give you a couple minutes. But, you jump the rail—dog’s coming!”

  Dan, having regained some stamina, narrowed the gap. Since the suspects had surrendered, every few steps Dan paused. Five more minutes allowed him to approach within a dozen steps. “You’re under arrest!” he shouted. “Hands on your heads!”

  They complied.

  Gordon kept the dog on standby as Weldon approached from the top. He stopped ten steps away. Dan reached the hundred and twenty-fourth step, and took the suspects into custody.

  The subjects were Maurice Hendeson and Keandra Billings, both twenty-four years old, and each having previous theft records. Neither gave the arresting officers any trouble. Dan ascending the remaining steps, then turned and shouted back down to Ben, “One-hundred and fifty!” He then stepped onto the sidewalk.

  “First time doing the steps?” Gordon asked.

  “Yeah, and I’m swearing off ‘til Easter. Rather take the two hours everybody else does.”

  “508B, tell 508A I’ll be processing the scene. He can take his time coming back down.”

  Dan looked at Gordon, “Always foolin’. Even your dog knows I ain’t goin’ back down ’em!” Dan keying the radio, “508A, inform my partner I’ll be double with 103 processing the prisoners.”

  “508B copied.”

  The comments initiated the crackling of “mike clicking” as several officers signaled good naturedly. Ben remained at the wreck for twenty minutes before meeting Dan at the District One Station. After notifying the owner and processing the arrest they started back for their own district.

  “You know they don’t count?” Ben kidded.

  “What don’t? They’re good arrests.”

  “Not the collars, the prayer steps. They don’t count unless you pray on each one.”

  “Based on what?”

  “It’s a Catholic church. I was raised Catholic. Ought t’ know.”

  “Who cares? It’s all a bunch of papal bull anyway! ’Sides, if I’d stopped to pray on each step, I wouldn’t ’ve caught them.”

  “I heard they ran out of steam and surrendered.”

  “Prayer didn’t make any difference in the carnage in ’Nam, didn’t have any power over Char’s cancer, and I have real doubts about your steps.”

  “You’d certainly be the authority, Preacher!” Ben said sarcastically.

  The catalyst for the nickname, “Preacher” originated in a rumor Dan left the church pastorate to be a cop. Dan had graduated with an engineering degree and pursued a career for three years. Returning from Vietnam he found it uninspiring and joined the Police Department at age twenty-five. Dan’s father was a preacher, and the reason for Dan’s familiarity with the teaching. However, struggling with his faith from an auto accident which took Dan’s parents as a teenager, his tour in �
��Nam, and losing his wife six years later, Dan walked away from the church. He found excitement with the police department, but found no peace. Dan never discusses his past except with Ben. Any who pressed were rebuffed with, “If I had another way of making a living, would I do this?”

  “We never got our coffee and donuts. It’s on the way in,” Ben said changing the subject.

  “Donuts! I had to fetch your prisoners! Couldn’t make it up one little flight of stairs.”

  “Little!”

  “Riding shotgun makes ’em your prisoner. You chase.”

  “Whipity do! Noticed you slowed down fast enough.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Neither spoke for the next three intersections. As Dan approached each traffic signal, he lingered providing time for the light to change. He anticipated someone might come through against the red.

  “What’s your take on it Ben, really? People gather every Easter by the hundreds to climb a hundred and fifty steps and pray. You really think it does any good?”

  “Don’t hurt none.”

  “From my experience, life’s a matter of you and me passin’ through time and circumstances.”

  “I think God watches over good people.”

  “Okay then, we’re good folks on rudderless ships. And, God watches.”

  “Doesn’t God stir the winds? Dan, what’s itchin’ you? Your moods been yo-yoin’ last three shifts.”

  “Oh, I’m pondering something.”

  “Can’t believe you’ve put your mind to a matter and can’t solve it in three months.”

  “How long we been chasing bad guys, Ben? Over fourteen years? I’m almost forty. What’ve we accomplished? Haven’t stunted crime any.”

  “It’s a job. Sometimes it’s even fun, and we’re over half way to retirement.”

  “Then what?”

  “We take it easy; enjoy life.”

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know. What’s the point?”

  “That IS the point, Ben. We die! And then what?”

  “I’m not real sure. Church says I pay my dues in purgatory, and then live forever in a blissful heaven.”

  “My Dad use to say something about ‘absence from the body is presence with God’.”