Read Online Senile Squad: Adventures of the Old Blues by Chris LeGrow - Free Book Online Page B

everything he had seen thus far in his fifteen years of law enforcement. Dark chunks of disgusting slime dripped from the roof onto Clubba who lay on his back. The slop dribbled onto his hair and upper body. He was covered in it. Eyes bulging, he heaved again launching another mouthful toward Charlie.
    “Oh, n—” Walker bolted into action, trying to slam the window between them shut. He was quick but not quick enough. His left shoulder and the front of his uniform dampened with the second round of regurgitation. “You stupid piece of—”
    There were bad smells in his line of work, but this was the worst. The vile odor washed over him and cut off his words. His head reeled and he fought his own almost overwhelming urge to cough up his cookies as well. No way; not on the job. Charlie scrambled out of the cruiser trying not to breathe until he got fresh air.
    The silence on the radio hadn’t gone unnoticed. “2 Adam 22, your disposition; 2 Adam 22, respond!” The dispatcher’s tone held a note of agitation.
    Officer Turley came running. “Hey Charlie,” he said, “are you all— whoa! What the—”
    “Just get out of my way,” Walker growled.
    “What ha-happened?” Turley asked.
    From Turley’s strained tone, Walker knew his compatriot was struggling not to laugh.
    With the area subdued, six officers came over and surrounded cruiser 22. Two of them, Emery Johnson and Tyson Bradley, partners since joining the force together four years ago, glanced inside the cruiser. “Hey,” Johnson said, “isn’t that the big bad boy, Clubba?”
    “Looks like,” his buddy Tyson chimed in. “He’s so bad that when he gets arrested he pisses and pukes himself.” The chorus of cops snickered and whooped in merriment. Everyone except Charlie Walker. He plucked at his shirt in a futile attempt to prevent spreading the contents of Clubba’s stomach to any other part of him.
    “You’re dead,” Clubba said lying in the filth on the plastic-covered seat. “And those two old men. You’re all dead cuz I’ll break every bone in your bodies.”
    “Not where you’re going,” said Officer Turley standing just outside.
    “Shut up!” Clubba kicked his feet against the back door.
    “Temper, temper,” Turley said.
    “I’ll beat the shiiiii—uaggh!” He stopped midthreat. A chunk of vomit had dripped from the ceiling and landed in his mouth.
    “Maybe he’ll get eighteen months the way things are with the overcrowding in Lincoln,” Turley said to Walker.
    “I’ll take what I can get for this guy,” Walker said. He shot a disgusted look at his shirt and plucked it between index finger and thumb, holding it as far away as possible. “Jeeze,” he said and swallowed hard.
    Dutch Louis, the area sergeant, arrived and immediately issued orders. “You two—” he pointed to Tyson and Turley leaning against Walker’s trunk. “Get this goof,” he pointed at Clubba, “into biohazard coveralls and transported to Central Headquarters. See if he’ll talk to the detectives. If not, book him.” He inhaled sharply.
    “Ch-Charlie,” he said and pointed at Walker in an obviously lousy attempt at not laughing. “Get that cruiser to city maintenance for decontamination; I’ll drive you back to the precinct for the bodily fluids contamination report.”
    Charlie nodded and walked toward his cruiser. “Ah…never mind,” Louis said turning his head to pull in a deep lungful of clean air. “Get cleaned up and call it a night. Go home. I’ll take care of the reports.”
    “Thanks,” Walker said glumly.
    Louis scrunched his nose. “Mother Mary, Charlie. You stink!”
    The two old men slowly walked side-by-side away from all the commotion. The larger man, known as “Big Brock,” a twenty-five-year beat cop, was also known as the “squad gorilla” by the Sarge. In his day, men cowered when he glared at them. Though the years have bent his spine and softened his countenance, his dominating personality would never