Senile Squad: Adventures of the Old Blues (30 page)

Brittany reentered the room to the obvious delight of everyone in the room, especially her father, Smitty. She pulled up a chair next to him.

“You’re a great addition,” he whispered to her. “Maybe they’ll make you an honorary Ol’ Blue.”

She smiled her thanks and turned her attention to the issue at hand.

The Sarge looked around the room, waiting until he had everyone’s attention. “Okay, boys—er,” he paused and glanced at Brittany. “And you too.”

She rolled her eyes at him but appreciated the inclusion.

“We’re focusing on the surveillance at the apartment complex of Shanese, Clubba’s girlfriend. Everything’s been going really well there. The boys in the lab got us some terrific video and audio of those Sudanese soldiers of his. Turns out all the guys walking around are Clubba’s gang. Looks like he only trusts his very own soldiers for this particular operation.”

The Sarge turned to Brittany. “We’re gonna need you to translate what these guys say and let us know what’s going on immediately. The boys in the lab have something for you but it won’t be ready until tomorrow. After this meeting I want you to go home and get some sleep. You’re gonna need it because we need you translating as soon as possible. According to our sources, Clubba gets out on Friday.”

“Another sick day coming up.” Brittany said.

Clubba leaned closer to Abrahim.
“You’re sure about this, cousin?”

Anxious to impress his relative—and hopefully soon his boss— Abrahim nodded.
“Every night seven o’clock this Tiny walks around the perimeter of the grounds. A path leads around the back of the building and into a garden area. There’s nothing there. It would be a perfect place to—”

“Silence, fool.”
Clubba’s eyes widened and he held up his hand.
“Keep your mouth shut.”

Abrahim watched Clubba digest the information. Clubba’s fist punched his upper thigh and it alarmed Abrahim. This was to have been good news, not bad.
“Cousin?”
he asked quietly, hoping to redirect his attention to the matter at hand.

“What?”
he asked and blinked.
“Oh, yes. Tell me about my soldiers who watch my woman at those apartments,”
Clubba said with a smile.

Abrahim breathed a sigh of relief and returned his relative’s casual smile.
“You mean the walking corps. As you instructed only our soldiers are around the apartments. Her younger sister is with her and they both stay with an old woman. Possibly her grandmother. Every time she comes out of the apartment, one of the soldiers makes his presence known from across the street. She takes one look and runs back inside.”

“Excellent! I love it when they know I’m coming and there’s nothing they can do about it.”

Abrahim nodded.
“I provided those small radios for the soldiers as they watch. That way if she is spotted, they can instantly let the others know where she is.”

Clubba turned his full attention on Abrahim.
“Good idea,”
he said with an appreciative smile.
“Instant communication is helpful for this operation. Now listen, cousin.”
Clubba pointed at Abrahim
. “I will be out on Friday—two days from now. I don’t want that stupid cockroach getting away. I want at least five soldiers around the apartment twenty-four hours a day.”

“What’s your plan?”
Abrahim asked.
“Her first—or the cop?”

“
First I will visit Tiny,
” he said and paused. “
Then
,” he said through gritted teeth, “
I will finish my unfinished business with Shanese. The thought of bashing both of their faces in has made my time in here tolerable,
” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “
Most tolerable.
”

Abrahim made a mental note to never—ever—cross Clubba. He didn’t want a second of that cold fury directed at him.

From a distance down a blind hallway, Earnest Yates watched Clubba talk with his young visitor. The only word he understood was
Tiny
. Earnest couldn’t help but smile. “A perfect pawn,” he whispered. “That stupid fool will go after Tiny as soon as he’s out of the joint.”

More than pleased with himself, Earnest turned and headed to his cell. Clubba’s thirst for vengeance would serve him well.

BRITTANY’S FINGERS FLEW OVER HER NOTEPAD, translating tape after tape of the Clubba-Abrahim conversations. Only occasionally did she need to go back and listen a second time and never a third. The language came back as though she’d just left Sudan and the people she’d grown to love. These two knuckleheads would’ve been taken to task in a village so fast they wouldn’t know what happened. As it was, they were free to choose however rotten they wanted to be.

It became apparent to Brittany both men were posturing for each other, one currying favor, the other making his presence known and throwing his weight around. They reminded her of a couple of cats sitting outside a canary cage. She fidgeted in her chair and ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. These two so enjoyed terrorizing the girl, her sister, and grandmother, it disgusted Brittany. No human being should have to put up with that. No one.

“Hey, Brit,” Abinya called from behind her.

“Yeah?”

He proffered several communication devices in his hands and held up one. “At first we thought they’d use cell phones for communication like this.” He held one up. “Now they’re using a small handheld CB anybody can buy at an outfitter store.” He held another device up. “They’re much faster. But—” he put it back in his opposite hand, “once we saw them using those simple little CBs, it was easy to listen in and record their conversations,” he said, pride lacing his words. “How’d it turn out?”

Brittany glanced up from her work and paused the recording. “It’s like being right there when they’re talking. You guys outdid yourselves. I can hear them clear as church bells.”

“Awesome,” he said with a quick wink. “Glad we could help.”

She watched him trek out of her work area and leaned back in her chair for a quick breather. In a heartbeat, Abinya was back, standing next to her video screen with a geeky smile. Two more techs, Karew and Thane, hovered at the doorway. “Do they let you guys out much?” she asked the trio.

The three exchanged a confused look. “Let us out where?”

Obviously, sarcasm wasn’t on the technologically brilliant guys’ agenda. “You guys must be the cream of the crop from the
Fortune
500 companies around here. The way the Blues brag you up, I thought maybe you could walk on water.”

Brittany was right, the huge corporations that had originally hired these scientists picked them from the likes of MIT and other scientific organizations throughout the world.

Karew, the short but brilliant audio/visual engineer from India. Abinya, a Nigerian computer/robotics specialist, came to Omaha to work for Ben Mitchell’s company and built all their special weapons. Thane, a freckle-faced, redheaded computer geek, did incredible things with the computer. He never graduated from college. After the first two years he was showing the professors how to use the computers in ways that they never dreamed.

Each had been quickly snatched up by one of The Bureau’s companies and put on this special assignment.

“Us?”

“They’re all very impressed with your work here.”

The compliment brought beaming smiles from the three men. “They brag about us?” Thane asked. “Really?”

“I can’t count the times I’ve heard the Sarge say, ‘Those boys in the lab did it again.’ Trust me on this,” Brittany said. “Being a daughter of a cop, it’s high praise indeed.”

The techs glanced at each other again. “I didn’t think they liked us,” said Karew.

“Yeah, they look over a job that took us hours and all I get is,” Abinya launched into his best impersonation of the Sarge, “Is that all you got? Honestly, I don’t know why we keep you guys around.”

The techs chuckled and Brittany couldn’t suppress a conspiratorial smile. “That’s just how cops talk. They don’t get syrupy or fawn all over people. You’ll never hear ‘Oh that was wonderful work’ or ‘We’re so lucky to have you.’ A cop will understate every time or try to make you think it was barely acceptable when the work was exceptionally well done.”

“Brilliant,” Karew said as though they’d made a brilliant scientific discovery. “They like us.”

“They really like you,” Brittany said.

“Then why,” Karew said, “do they call us dweebs?”

Oh, man, had the Blues been giving these guys the business, Brittany thought. “They probably do think you’re dweebs, but,” she raised a finger for emphasis, “you’re their dweebs and they’ll do anything to protect you.”

The men chewed on that piece of information and nodded at one another. “We’d really better get back to work.”

“Me too,” Brittany said. The men left and she could only shake her head. None of the techs could contain their excitement at having been accepted by the real cops upstairs; they all but fell over one another getting into the hall. Her advice had obviously made their day…or week…maybe even their year! “Where would we be without the dweebs of the world?” she asked aloud. “Losing the battle for the streets probably.”

She arched her back and stretched before picking up the earphones for round two. She worked another three hours and took her translation to the lab. Once they worked their magic, the video was completed with her audio translation. Brittany and the techs carried the DVD to the Sarge and Smitty for review.

Once the recording ended, the Sarge studied Smitty a moment without saying a word. His eyebrows climbed his forehead as if to say
Wow!
The Sarge peered at the techs and then Brittany, still saying nothing. Finally he shook his head and turned to Smitty. “I don’t know,” he drawled, “you think this stuff is worth the money we pay these guys?”

The look on the techs’ faces went from anticipatory smiles to lower than the floor. Brittany shook her head and bit her lip.

Smitty threw his hands into the air. “I don’t know; I’ve seen junior high kids on YouTube post better videos.”

The techs turned their worried looks to Brittany; she winked at the group. “What these two worthless excuses of old crime fighters are saying is you guys did a great job, right?”

The techs focused on the Sarge and Smitty. “Really?” Thane asked.

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” The Sarge all but yelled at them. “Go make yourselves useful and see if you can fix that hair trigger on those wireless Taser darts. I don’t want one ending up in our keisters.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Abinya said with a smile. “Next project,” he said and turned toward the door. His compatriots followed like ducklings in the spring.

The Sarge turned his glower on Brittany. “You translate for everybody?”

“Everybody who needs it,” she said in her sweetest tone.

“Humph. I need a copy of that DVD. Gang Unit gets one too as soon as possible, so they can nail them before they realize they’ve been had.”

His grin reminded Brittany of a crocodile.

“They should swoop down on these punks just in time for Clubba to see his little empire start to crumble on tomorrow’s news.”

“From your lips to God’s ear,” Smitty said.

Jake Mitchell hadn’t had such an excellent evening in, well, he couldn’t remember when. Certainly not within the past two years. He tried to keep his walk steady and simple so his lieutenant didn’t notice anything new. A large envelope marked
URGENT
in red letters waited on his desk. He picked it up for closer inspection.
For immediate delivery to the gang unit
blazed on the front label. Jake turned it over several times. It wasn’t the usual way for a tip to come into his office. Who was he to judge though? He’d drop it to the GU’s sergeant. Let them decide what to do with it; he had better things to contemplate.

He grabbed the package and headed out on his usual rounds. At the gang unit, he spotted Sergeant Scott. “Hey, Sarge,” Jake called to the other man. “Got an unusual package for you.”

“Oh yeah?” The sergeant took the large manila envelope, turned it over carefully, and peered up at Jake. “What is it?”

“Not a clue,” Jake said. “But I’m dying to know.”

Scott took out a letter opener and slid it across the seal to access the contents. Gingerly, he slid the packet onto his desk. “A DVD?” the sergeant asked.

“There’s a piece of paper too,” Jake said.

More information that may help you with Te’quan Koak. From your friend who helped you with the purse snatcher case.

The sergeant turned deadly serious.

“What’s wrong?” Jake asked.

The gang sergeant looked up from the note. “This is the same guy that helped us with the purse snatchers.”

“Great,” Jake said. “So what’s the problem?”

Sergeant Scott slid the DVD into his computer and pointed to a picture on his wall. “Te’quan Koak aka, ‘Clubba,’” he said.

“Okay,” Jake said. “I’ll bite. What’s his deal?”

“He’s been building some sort of gang infrastructure. We really haven’t seen anything like it. He acts like—and is treated like—a leader of his gang, but the whole thing doesn’t mesh with what we see in the gangs here in town.”

Jake studied Clubba’s photo and turned his attention back to the sergeant. “I thought these punks were pretty straightforward. Spray paint their territory, sell drugs, rob, steal, and shoot at people.”

“This guy is different,” the sergeant said. “Looks like the whole Sudanese population in Omaha looks to him as some sort of godfather. He also has a bunch of Sudanese guys who seem to take orders from him, but again not like anything we’ve ever dealt with. Clubba appears to be an associate with other gangs but somehow he has his own too. Really weird. I mean some gangs are cool with others, but Clubba seems to be down with all the major gangs—and I mean all. He must deal in guns or something they all want but only he can get. No clue what that is.”

Sergeant Scott started the video.

Jake stood behind his shoulder and watched too.

“Busted him on a domestic violence charge; strangulation and terroristic threats, he got eighteen months in prison. At his court hearing, his thugs kept giving the woman—girl really— threatening looks.”

“Which means ‘stay quiet,’” Jake said. “I remember a few cases like that back in Utah. Where is she? Anything happen?”

“Not that we know of, but this dude is called Clubba because he likes to use a bat on whoever causes him any trouble.”

Jake winced at the thought. “Ouch. Guess that’s enough to keep people in line, especially if they aren’t familiar with the language and don’t know how to get help in the community.”

“Exactly!” Sergeant Scott said. “Just like the Italians when they migrated here. The mafia kept people in line by whatever means necessary, but this guy is a little different than those thugs were. Clubba likes to personally deliver the beatings; that way everybody fears him. From what little intelligence we’ve gathered, that’s how he likes it, wants it, and it works for him. Very well. Nobody talks about him to anyone—especially us.”

“That bites,” Jake said. “You can’t do anything without decent intelligence.”

“Tell me about it. Only reason we got him was because his girlfriend’s little sister videoed him threatening her big sister for seeing another man. He lost his cool, threatened and strangled her, in the middle of the street, didn’t care who saw him. Between that and the bat in his hand, we got him on all three charges.”

“Nice work,” Jake said. He admired anyone who could take a violent jerk like this Clubba off the street.

“It wasn’t nearly enough,” Scott said. “Let’s see what’s on this.” He clicked the play button. An apartment complex unfolded. “Looks like that one up on Sixtieth Street,” Scott said and leaned in closer to his screen.

Jake pulled up a chair beside him. “Explain what you’re seeing.”

The sergeant pointed. “Look across the street—they look to be Sudanese.”

Jake frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Sudanese are pretty tall generally, very dark complexioned with the rounded foreheads you see there. Sometimes they have tribal markings scarred across their foreheads. They’re each wearing large white shirts too. That’s pretty typical of Clubba’s thugs as well.” Sergeant Scott pulled back and tilted his head. “In fact, I’d say they have the whole complex surrounded.”

“Surrounded?” Jake echoed. “Why would they surround that?”

A long moment passed. The sergeant turned to Jake the same moment Jake turned to him. “The girlfriend.”