Read Online Senile Squad: Adventures of the Old Blues by Chris LeGrow - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chris LeGrow
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once again.
Once they settled down, they fixed their attention back on Clubba. The pointing, whistling, and laughing started again. Fury enveloped Clubba. He refused to tolerate the ridicule a second longer.
“Who are you?” he called out to the duo. “I want dey names!” He screamed loud enough so his followers could hear. Jerking his head from the right side of backseat to the opposite window, he continued his tirade. “Hear me? Those two old dudes. I—want—dey—names!”
Over on the sidewalk the short one made a funny sound similar to what a person would hear at a football game during a long pass. “Wooooo-ah!”
Clubba glared at them through the black iron when he saw something fly through the air…a large tubular thing. Full of an amber-colored substance. “Beer?” Clubba asked out loud. Time slowed to a crawl as he tracked the projectile though the air. “What the—”
The bag headed straight for the barred window. The old men leaned on one another, pointed directly at Clubba without any fear. They mocked him with the smiles on their faces. They, too, followed the path of their airborne gift with almost childlike anticipation. They couldn’t seem to stop laughing.
Seeing their antics enraged Clubba. He pressed his face against the bars, opened his mouth to scream more contempt on them, just as the bag hit the bars. Ka-thwap! The impact split the rubbery container open. Clubba caught the brunt of the liquid directly in the face. Wide-eyed, enraged, sweaty, and bleeding, he couldn’t breathe, think, or swallow.
“Whaa-haaa-Haa. Wooooo-haaa-haa!” The sound filtered through the air from the crazy old guys nearby.
The mysterious liquid was a mystery no longer. A heavy concentrated, disgusting odor mixed with a slimy thick liquid doused Clubba’s head, his body, and the entire backseat. He jerked away, gasping for air. Big mistake. The move slid him across the drenched plastic-covered seat; he banged the back of his head on the opposite window bars.
Surprise, pain, and rage shot through him. The sack contained the foulest, slimiest body fluid ever: urine. By the smell it had to be at least a week old. Clubba opened his mouth to yell and draw attention to his disgusting situation, but nothing came out. His stinging eyes, cut eyebrow, and gash on the back of his head combined with the putrid taste in his mouth and throat brought a lurch in his stomach. He gagged, fought the urge to vomit, and swallowed hard…repeatedly. But the impulse wouldn’t be denied. On his back, he coughed up the contents of his stomach straight onto the cruiser’s ceiling. “Guaaagh-ahh!”
Officer Walker settled himself into the front seat of his patrol car. “What a freakin’ day.” He was grateful for the help-an-officer call response. Every cop had either been in a life-threatening situation or knew they would be. Every cop who ever had to radio for help would say the same thing: the sound of answering sirens was one of the greatest on earth.
His brothers and sisters in blue had helped him control the situation. With the area secured, the melee of twenty clamoring officers dwindled to a calm mop up. Three cruisers still had their red and blue rotator lights on. Charlie’s pulse slowed to a normal beat. The perp in the backseat yelled something out of the back window. Walker brushed it off and reached for his microphone. “2 Adam 22.”
“2 Adam 22, go ahead, 2 Adam 22,” the dispatcher responded.
“Transporting one male suspect to Central Headquarters for—” The back of his vehicle rocked and bounced. From his rearview mirror Charlie watched Clubba slide across the backseat, feet in the air and weird noises coming from his mouth. “Ah, nuts!” he muttered under his breath. “Forgot to seatbelt him in.”
Walker reached back and opened the window separating the driver compartment from the caged backseat. “Knock it off or I’ll have to—”
He stopped midsentence, stunned by a sight that defied
Once they settled down, they fixed their attention back on Clubba. The pointing, whistling, and laughing started again. Fury enveloped Clubba. He refused to tolerate the ridicule a second longer.
“Who are you?” he called out to the duo. “I want dey names!” He screamed loud enough so his followers could hear. Jerking his head from the right side of backseat to the opposite window, he continued his tirade. “Hear me? Those two old dudes. I—want—dey—names!”
Over on the sidewalk the short one made a funny sound similar to what a person would hear at a football game during a long pass. “Wooooo-ah!”
Clubba glared at them through the black iron when he saw something fly through the air…a large tubular thing. Full of an amber-colored substance. “Beer?” Clubba asked out loud. Time slowed to a crawl as he tracked the projectile though the air. “What the—”
The bag headed straight for the barred window. The old men leaned on one another, pointed directly at Clubba without any fear. They mocked him with the smiles on their faces. They, too, followed the path of their airborne gift with almost childlike anticipation. They couldn’t seem to stop laughing.
Seeing their antics enraged Clubba. He pressed his face against the bars, opened his mouth to scream more contempt on them, just as the bag hit the bars. Ka-thwap! The impact split the rubbery container open. Clubba caught the brunt of the liquid directly in the face. Wide-eyed, enraged, sweaty, and bleeding, he couldn’t breathe, think, or swallow.
“Whaa-haaa-Haa. Wooooo-haaa-haa!” The sound filtered through the air from the crazy old guys nearby.
The mysterious liquid was a mystery no longer. A heavy concentrated, disgusting odor mixed with a slimy thick liquid doused Clubba’s head, his body, and the entire backseat. He jerked away, gasping for air. Big mistake. The move slid him across the drenched plastic-covered seat; he banged the back of his head on the opposite window bars.
Surprise, pain, and rage shot through him. The sack contained the foulest, slimiest body fluid ever: urine. By the smell it had to be at least a week old. Clubba opened his mouth to yell and draw attention to his disgusting situation, but nothing came out. His stinging eyes, cut eyebrow, and gash on the back of his head combined with the putrid taste in his mouth and throat brought a lurch in his stomach. He gagged, fought the urge to vomit, and swallowed hard…repeatedly. But the impulse wouldn’t be denied. On his back, he coughed up the contents of his stomach straight onto the cruiser’s ceiling. “Guaaagh-ahh!”
Officer Walker settled himself into the front seat of his patrol car. “What a freakin’ day.” He was grateful for the help-an-officer call response. Every cop had either been in a life-threatening situation or knew they would be. Every cop who ever had to radio for help would say the same thing: the sound of answering sirens was one of the greatest on earth.
His brothers and sisters in blue had helped him control the situation. With the area secured, the melee of twenty clamoring officers dwindled to a calm mop up. Three cruisers still had their red and blue rotator lights on. Charlie’s pulse slowed to a normal beat. The perp in the backseat yelled something out of the back window. Walker brushed it off and reached for his microphone. “2 Adam 22.”
“2 Adam 22, go ahead, 2 Adam 22,” the dispatcher responded.
“Transporting one male suspect to Central Headquarters for—” The back of his vehicle rocked and bounced. From his rearview mirror Charlie watched Clubba slide across the backseat, feet in the air and weird noises coming from his mouth. “Ah, nuts!” he muttered under his breath. “Forgot to seatbelt him in.”
Walker reached back and opened the window separating the driver compartment from the caged backseat. “Knock it off or I’ll have to—”
He stopped midsentence, stunned by a sight that defied
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