Eclipse of the Blue: For Greater Glory

By D.E. Gray

For the Retired Blues Crew, a small group of retired LAPD police officers that meet once a month to share old war stories and enjoy each others company, accepting retirement was a hard pill to swallow.

Once considered savvy street warriors who risked life and limb protecting the good citizens of Los Angeles, they were now the forgotten heros whose past heroic deeds were now only remembrances visited through their colorful story telling during their once a month get-togethers.

Like all things in life, they were all expendable and the guys in the Retired Blues Crew had been replaced by a new generation of street warriors. To the old dogs who were put out to pasture, the new centurions were taking their places with new technology and a confidence that bordered on disrespect for those who had paved the way before them.

The argument that the old days of crushing crime without the benefit of all the new-fangled gadgets was more rewarding than the technology of the future was a misconception of the new breed that were now in charge of protecting the citizens of Los Angeles. For the select group of old story tellers, they needed to add one more chapter in their lives, something for the street warriors of the present to remember them by when their time finally came and they were reduced to second class citizens too old to do the job anymore.

This small tight knit group of old street warriors had enough and it was time to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that they werent too old to out-smart and out-wit the hightech rouges who have now taken their places. Proving that computers and gadgets could never replace the wisdom and experience that the old dogs were blessed with wouldnt be an easy task, but they were determined to challenge the new breed and beat them at their own game. They knew whatever it was they were going to do couldnt replicate anything like the violent movies you see were people die, get hurt or cars get wrecked and buildings are blown up, after all they were cops or at least they were once.

That being said, the old dogs had to pull off the perfect caper and they had to do it without claiming any of the bragging rights they so much yearned for. It would have to be for no other reason than For Greater Glory. In that one of their own had been diagnosed with cancer with less than six months to live, they only had a small window of opportunity to get it done. Since he was the architect behind the perfect crime referred to as Operation Blue Eclipse, their success would depend on how well the plan was executed with no room for error. If all went as planned and after all was said and done, the Retired Blues Crew would truly know who the best of the best was.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9781479733859

D.E. Gray

D. E. Gray began his law enforcement career in 1967, spending twenty-eight years as a Los Angeles police officer, twenty-six of those years working as a motorcycle officer. After his retirement from the LAPD in 1995, Gray was hired by the Escondido Police Department in North San Diego County. He spent another fourteen years there, much of it as a uniformed street cop. After Gray’s retirement from the force in 2008, he authored his first book titled The Warrior in Me, a memoir following his forty-two-year career at both agencies. After writing his first nonfiction book, The Warrior in Me, Gray decided to write his second book titled True to the Blue. Even though his second book is a work of fiction, it is based in part on a true story that includes actual events that the author experienced or witnessed while on the job. Many of the characters portrayed in True to the Blue are patterned after real people who have either worked or crossed paths with D. E. Gray during his forty-two-year career as a seasoned street cop. After experiencing a forty-two-year high working at the two police agencies, Gray realized that he and others like him were being replaced by a new breed of cop, many of whom never had to think outside the box or, more accurately, outside the police manual. The new breed of cops had new cars, new weapons, newer equipment, newer training, and even more modern, newly built police stations. This gave Gray the idea for his third and newest book titled Eclipse of the Blue: For Greater Glory. This story follows the lives of twelve retired LA police officers who band together to commit the perfect crime, proving to themselves that they aren’t too old to outsmart and outwit the newer generation of cops that have taken their places. This story is part The Sting and part Mission Impossible with a surprise ending that will have you rooting for the twelve former cops who call themselves “The Retired Blues Crew.” D. E. Gray once again decided he had another story to tell. This time it would begin where his second book, True to the Blue, left off. He titled it Conflict in Blue: The Marissa Ortega Story. Marissa Ortega is the daughter of deceased police officer Sergio Ortega, who was fired from the Los Angeles Police Department for a bogus charge of filing a false police report, a charge he was later cleared of. Marissa, now an LAPD officer herself, has a score to settle, not just with the notorious Avenues Street Gang, who delivers terror to the citizens of Southeast LA, but with the LAPD itself. She soon finds herself and her partner on a Mexican Mafia hit list after three Avenues Street Gang members die, one of them the little brother of a Mafioso, after the conclusion of a violent police pursuit. Even though she is on a Mafia hit list, Marissa sets out to find the gang member who killed her uncle back before she was born and who is now back out on the streets with EMERO status and who is now considered a parolee at large. Things get worse when the hit on Marissa and her partner by gang members goes awry, and instead, her aunt Nina is murdered, and her partner’s wife is murdered by accident. Marissa eventually teams up with Bryce Stevens, a detective assigned to the Robbery-Homicide Division of the LAPD. Together they devise a plan to trick an Avenues Street Gang member into becoming a confidential informant, hoping he will lead them to the individual who killed her uncle and to the gang members who killed her aunt and her partner’s wife. Conflict in Blue: The Marissa Ortega Story has thrills, suspense, humor, and romance. Gray presently lives in North San Diego County with his wife, Suzanne. ***  

Book preview

Eclipse of the Blue

For Greater Glory

D. E. Gray

Copyright © 2012 by D. E. Gray.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012919340

ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4797-3384-2

Softcover 978-1-4797-3383-5

Ebook 978-1-4797-3385-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

115713

Table of Contents

Part 1 The Retired Blues Crew

Chapter One

Elton Ward / No Respect

Chapter Two

Grady Lewis / Time To Vent

Chapter Three

Ronda Mckenzie / The Kiss-Off

Chapter Four

Dexter Carlson / Warriors—Not!

Chapter Five

Sam Jefferson / Perfection Lost

Chapter Six

Freddy Ortiz / Is This All There Is?

Chapter Seven

Tom Wilson / Who Can You Trust?

Chapter Eight

Skylar Dorsey / Puss N’ Boots

Chapter Nine

Kermit Cox / Fall From Asd

Chapter Ten

Rex Arnett / A Dire Consequence

Chapter Eleven

Mary Boonliang / Among Morons

Chapter Twelve

Elton Ward / That Was Easy!

Chapter Thirteen

Stan Huff /Aka Sherlock Holmes

Part 2 Operation Blue Eclipse

Chapter Fourteen

Retired Blues Crew—It’s All Or None

Chapter Fifteen

The Assignments Begin

Chapter Sixteen

Team Freddy Ortiz

Chapter Seventeen

Team Tom Wilson

Chapter Eighteen

Team Grady Lewis

Chapter Nineteen

Team Ronda Mckenzie

Chapter Twenty

Team Elton Ward

Chapter Twenty-One

Team Kermit Cox

Chapter Twenty-Two

Team Skylar Dorsey

Chapter Twenty-Three

Team Dexter Carlton

Chapter Twenty-Four

Team Mary Boonliang

Chapter Twenty-Five

Team Sammy Jefferson

Chapter Twenty-Six

Team Rex Arnett

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Team Stan Huff

Chapter Twenty-Eight

August 23Rd Reflection

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Operation Blue Eclipse Briefing

Chapter Thirty

Operation Blue Eclipse In Motion

Chapter Thirty-One

Covering Your Tracks

Chapter Thirty-Two

Rhd The Investigation

Chapter Thirty-Three

Shit Rolls Down/Uphill

Epilogue

Endnotes

Introduction

45732.jpg

This is the city, Los Angeles, California, 468 square miles in

size. It’s the second largest city in the United States behind that of Houston, Texas. It has the second largest population of 3,792,621 behind the city of New York. The city of Los Angeles is guarded by a sworn police force of 9,925 officers.

Back in 1853, a group of volunteers formed what was then referred to as the Los Angeles police force. It wasn’t until 1869 that the first paid force was hired consisting of six officers, and by 1900 the force grew to seventy officers, one for each of the 1,500 people living in Los Angeles.

Over the years since 1853, and the founding of the Los Angeles Police Department, untold numbers of former police officers have honorably retired. Today there are approximately 7,561¹ retired LA police officers still living.

It has been told to every new police recruit who has graduated from the Los Angeles police academy, once you become a police officer, you will more than likely lose all your old friends, and eventually your new friends will all be police officers. The truth in that statement was never more evident than with the groups that have been formed by retired police officers in an effort to stay connected to one another once they have left the department. These groups can be identified by the names they have chosen for themselves:

The Inland Blue Line, Temecula, California

West-End Inland Empire Blues, Upland, California

Central Coast Fuzz That Was, Central, California

Valley Retired Blues, West San Fernando Valley, Los Angeles

North Valley Retired Blues, Glendale, California

The Old Blue Running Team, Los Angeles, California

LAPD Retirees of Long Beach, California

Prescott Blue Line, Prescott, Arizona

Sacramento Area Blue Line Association, Sacramento, California

Rogue Valley L.A.P.D. Retirees, Grant Pass, Oregon

Coeur D’Alene Northwest Blue Line, Coeur D’Alene, Idaho

Northwest Coast Blue Knights, Washing State

Coachella Valley Blue Line, Coachella Valley, California

Sierra Blue Line, Dayton, Nevada

Sin City Blue Line Group, Las Vegas, Nevada

Tehachapi Blue Line, Tehachapi, California

Santa Clarita Valley Silver Foxes, Canyon Country, California

Lake Havasu Retirees, Havasu, Arizona

Black Hills South Dakota Retirees, South Dakota

Ozark Blue Line, Springfield, Missouri

ULAPRABH (The Unofficial Los Angeles Police Retired Association of Black Hills), South Dakota

This is the story about one such group. It’s a story about eight men and four women who all have one thing in common . . . , the LAPD blue uniform they once wore for a department they left behind. Now that they are all retired, they have found one more fixation that they share. They are now looked upon as dinosaurs by those who have taken their places. These eight men and four women have turned to each other for moral support forming their own exclusive group. They call themselves

The Retired Blues Crew

Los Angeles, California

*     *     *

This book 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 real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

*     *     *

Prologue

For the Retired Blues Crew, a small group of retired LAPD police officers that meet once a month to share old war stories and enjoy each other’s company, accepting retirement was a hard pill to swallow. Once considered savvy street warriors who risked life and limb protecting the good citizens of Los Angeles, they were now the forgotten heroes whose past heroic deeds were now only remembrances visited through their colorful storytelling during their once-a-month get-togethers.

Like all things in life, they were all expendable, and the guys in the Retired Blues Crew had been replaced by a new generation of street warriors. To the old dogs who were put out to pasture, the new centurions were taking their places with new technology and a confidence that bordered on disrespect for those who had paved the way before them.

The argument that the old days of crushing crime without the benefit of all the new-fangled gadgets was more rewarding than the technology of the future was a misconception of the new breed that were now in charge of protecting the citizens of Los Angeles. For the select group of old storytellers, they needed to add one more chapter in their lives, something for the street warriors of the present to remember them by when their time finally came and they were reduced to second-class citizens who were too old to do the job anymore.

This small tight-knit group of old street warriors had enough, and it was time to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that they weren’t too old to outsmart and outwit the high-tech rouges who have now taken their places. Proving that computers and gadgets could never replace the wisdom and experience that the old dogs were blessed with wouldn’t be an easy task, but they were determined to challenge the new breed and beat them at their own game. They knew whatever it was they were going to do couldn’t replicate anything like the violent movies you see where people die, people get hurt, or cars get wrecked and buildings are blown up; after all, they were cops—or at least they were once.

That being said, the old dogs had to pull off the perfect caper, and they had to do it without claiming any of the bragging rights they so much yearned for. It would have to be for no other reason than for greater glory.

When one of their own had been diagnosed with cancer with less than six months to live, they only had a small window of opportunity to get it done. Since he was the architect behind the perfect crime referred to as Operation Blue Eclipse, their success would depend on how well the plan was executed with no room for error. If all went as planned and after all was said and done, the Retired Blues Crew would truly know who the best of the best was.

*     *     *

Acknowledgements

Much of what I have learned over the years has come with the help of my lifelong partner for the last forty-five years. Without my wife Suzanne’s encouragement, I would have never made it as far as I have. She has been by my side through thick and thin, and without her, this book would have never been possible.

My desire to write my first book, The Warrior in Me, was in part a labor of love, wanting to leave something for my two sons, Sean Tavis Gray and Geoffrey David Gray, to remember their mother and me when we were gone. Hopefully with the addition of my last book, True to the Blue and my present book, Eclipse of the Blue, my grandsons, Nicholas Gray and Lleyton Gray, will also share in those memories.

It can’t be said enough that many of the people I know have unknowingly contributed to this book by the mere fact that we have crossed paths with one another on one or more occasions during the forty-two years I have worked as a police officer for two law enforcement agencies. Regardless if you were a police officer that I worked with, a person I have met, or someone that I arrested, some of the ideas that I have incorporated into this book have come from people such as yourselves.

PART 1

The Retired Blues Crew

Elton Ward, age 66. Retired on service pension. Years of service, 30. Last assignment, Central Traffic Division, Motors.

Grady Lewis, age 57. Retired on service pension. Years of service, 33. Last assignment, SIS (Special Investigative Section).

Ronda McKenzie, age 49. Retired on service pension. Years of service, 27. Last assignment, Bunco Forgery Division.

Dexter Carlson, age 58. Retired on a 70 percent disability pension. Years of service, 31. Last assignment, Rampart Division Patrol.

San Jefferson, age 42. Retired on service pension. Years of service, 20. Last assignment, Pacific Division Patrol.

Freddy Ortiz, age 49. Retired on service pension. Years of service, 28. Last assignment, Metropolitan Division, K-9 Unit.

Skylar Dorsey, age 42. Retired on service pension. Years of service, 20. Last assignment, South Traffic Division, Motors.

Tom Wilson, age 57. Retired on service pension. Years of service, 21. Last assignment, Foothill Division Patrol.

Kermit Cox, age 53. Retired on service pension. Years of service, 25. Last assignment, ASD (Air Support Division).

Rex Arnett, age 43. Retired on a 60 percent Disability Pension. Years of service, 16. Last assignment, LAPD Bomb Squad.

Mary Boonliang, age 33. Retired on a 40 percent disability pension. Years of service 5. Last assignment, Communication Division.

Stan Huff, age 63. Retired on service pension. Years of service, 39. Last assignment. Robbery/Homicide Division.

Chapter One

Elton Ward / No Respect

May 17th, 8:39 AM

Elton Ward accelerated his Harley Davidson motorcycle into the number one lane of the eastbound Ventura Freeway easily passing the black Porsche 911 Carrera convertible that was going over eighty miles per hour. He looked in his rearview mirror and could see the female passenger’s long blond hair blowing back from the wind over the seat’s headrest as she leaned forward to apply her bright red lipstick while looking in her visor mirror. For Elton, riding a full-dress Harley was an extension of his life. He had been riding motorcycles since he was seventeen years old when he bought his first motorcycle, a 650 cc Triumph. Back then, since his parents would never approve of his owning a motorcycle, he was forced to hide it at a friend’s house, safely parked out of sight in a garage. He was all too aware that had his dad found out; he would have been kicked out of the house for disobey his father. Even so, Elton’s dad eventually did find out, but by that time Elton was just two weeks away from reporting for duty to begin his enlistment in the United States Marine Corps. The timing was perfect since his dad was more worried about Elton getting killed in the senseless Vietnam War than crashing on his motorcycle on the heavily traveled roadways of the San Fernando Valley. Oddly enough, Elton never saw action in Vietnam; and, for whatever reason, Elton was stationed in Okinawa during most of his enlistment.

By the time Elton was twenty-two years old, his enlistment ended, and he applied for the Los Angeles Police Department. After being accepted and spending less than two years assigned to a patrol division, by some quirk, he made it on the LAPD motor squad. It was a dream come true for a young cop with barely two years on the job. It normally took five to ten years for a tenured patrol officer to make it on the elite motor squad, but since the LAPD motor squad was being depleted by retiring World War II and Korean vets, the department was forced to draw on the younger generation to fill those vacancies.

Elton loved being an iron horseman² as they were called back then, so much that he rode for twenty-eight years before retiring as the number one motor officer in seniority with over 300 motor cops below him. Sure he had a few accidents, a few broken bones, a ton of close calls, but nothing that ever made him want to give up riding. Even with all the years he rode the big Harleys, he never really considered himself an expert motorcycle rider and thought that it was more luck than experience that kept him from getting killed.

The exhilaration that he got from the powerful V-Twin 1584 cc engine on his own full-dress Electra Glide Classic was far superior to his old 1200 cc police bike he rode years ago on the job. Elton was wondering how long it would be before he would be too old to ride the big hogs that were so much a part of his life. He loved the deep rich sound of the Harley mufflers as he shifted through each gear, catapulting the giant machine down the blacktop highway that connected him to his intended destinations. As far as Elton was concerned, all the other motorcycles were just kiddy bikes, and those god-awful café racers they called crotch rockets were nothing more than suicide instruments for a bunch of immature thrill seekers who thought they were smarter than the machines they were riding and the motoring public who never saw them because they were too busy talking on their cell phones, drinking their café lattes, or putting on their makeup.

Today Elton was meeting with his cop buddies, a small group of retired LAPD officers who formed a group they now referred to as the Retired Blues Crew. The group decided to meet on the third Thursday of every month at Charlie’s Restaurant in Van Nuys to talk about old times and the fun they had when they were wearing the LAPD blue uniform.

Elton could see the Van Nuys Blvd off-ramp a quarter mile up the freeway. Traffic was getting heavy, and he started to make his transition from the number two lane to the number five lane. Once he safely got over, he began his deceleration to the bottom of the ramp. Elton could see eight vehicles at the bottom of the ramp, four in each lane stopped at the red light for Van Nuys Boulevard. When he applied his brakes a mere fifty feet from the rear of the last cars in line, he was startled when his Harley began a slight sideway slipping motion. He abruptly eased off the brake pedal and looked down at the roadway. The large transmission spill covering both lanes of the freeway off-ramp disappearing under the stopped vehicles wasn’t readily visible until he was right on top of it. Instinctively, Elton took his foot off the brake pedal and gave his bike more gas to straighten his Harley out of the skid. Once his Harley was back on track, Elton’s instincts kicked in, and as he tensed up and held his breath, he steered the iron beast down between the rows of stopped vehicles with only inches to spare on each side. Elton could feel his jacket sleeve brush up against the rearview mirrors on two of the vehicles he was passing. His years of riding told him that the only way he was going to stay upright was run the red light at the bottom of the ramp and clear the transmission spill. While Elton wanted to turn left to go northbound, he knew running the red light making a left turn would put him in danger of being broadsided by any cross-traffic that might be traversing the intersection. Elton decided to take the less of two evils and run the red light turning right. If there was a car in his path, it would be more of a controlled sideswipe or a modified rear-ender rather than a deadly broadside. With any luck, Elton would avoid both such scenarios and make it safely to his destination.

When Elton made it to the bottom of the ramp, he made his right turn at about twenty-five miles per hour. He could feel his rear tire slide to his left slightly while a southbound white BMW coming toward him slammed on his brakes and sounded the horn. The Beamer, only a few feet away, was forced to violently slow from forty miles per hour to roughly five miles per hour to keep from colliding with the rear of Elton’s Harley. He could see the young male driver in his rearview mirror flipping him off as he pulled his Harley to the right allowing him to pass. Elton exhaled the air in his lungs amazed at the fact he safely made it. He could feel his body go completely limp but felt good knowing his years of riding and experience may have very well saved his life.

As Elton approached the next intersection, he activated his right turn signal and made his right turn going north on Hortense Street. Once there, he could safely turn around and head back up Van Nuys Boulevard to Charlie’s Restaurant to meet with the guys. Hell, this might even be a story worth telling since most everyone has heard all his other stories.

Before Elton could stop his Harley at the Hortense Street intersection, he came face-to-face with two emergency lights in front of a police motorcycle. The red and blue lights were a lot brighter than he remembered when he rode for the city. The bike was one of those BMW police bikes that Elton likes to refer to as a rocket ranger. The motor cop, wearing a much different style helmet than Elton did when he was riding, looked like some space-age robot from a Star Wars movie. Elton thought it was amusing that the wraparound helmet with its dark pull-down sun shield, covered his entire face, something that was frowned upon when he was riding motors. Back then, the department wouldn’t let any cop, motors, or patrol so much as wear mirror-reflecting sunglasses, fearing a citizen’s complaint.

The cop motioned Elton over to the curb while negotiating a U-turn and ending up behind his Harley. Elton watched as the tall, lean motor cop dismounted his high ride and stood there looking at Elton, or at least he looked as though he was looking in Elton’s direction, his face not yet visible through his helmet visor. The cop began removing his leather gloves from his hands by tugging at each finger, until all ten fingers were free and both gloves were off. The motor cop carefully placed his gloves on his motorcycle seat and then flipped the sun visor on his helmet up revealing his face.

The young cop looked to be about six feet three inches tall and couldn’t have weighed any more than 160 pounds. To Elton, he looked like death eating a cracker.

Shit! Is this kid old enough to drive? Elton said under his breath. He was wondering if he ever looked that young when he became a cop.

Well, old-timer, the young motor cop began.

You ran that red light back there when you made your right turn off the freeway. You also made your right turn from the wrong lane.

Elton looked right at the young cop and again under his breath replied, Who the fuck are you calling me old-timer?

I’m fully aware of that officer, Elton replied.

I’m sure you can appreciate the fact that the off-ramp is covered with transmission fluid. I couldn’t use my brakes, or I would have gone down and collided with at least four of those eight cars stopped at the light. That would have been a lot more paperwork for you, having to take a long form injury traffic accident report, Elton humorously explained. "You’d have to impound my bike and do a follow-up to the hospital. Your day would be shot, and your sergeant would be all over your ass for not writing enough greenies³," he joked.

Well, Pop! the young officer shot back in a not so jokingly reply.

"I really wouldn’t have to do squat. As longs as it all happens on the freeway off-ramp, it would be the Chip’s⁴ jurisdiction. So why don’t you just break out your driver’s license, and we can get on with business," he said.

Elton gave a half-assed smile, brushing off the pop reference. He looked at the nametag above the pocket on the young motor cop’s uniform as he reached for his wallet, pulling out his driver’s license and retired LAPD ID card and handing both pieces of ID to him.

You know something, Officer Byrd, is it? I rode motors for twenty-eight years until I retired, Elton confessed.

We motor cops had a little more respect for the motoring public. We never referred to anyone as old-timer or Pops. It was always ‘Yes, sir’ and ‘No, sir.’

Officer Cornelius Byrd looked at Elton’s driver’s license and ID card and sternly replied, I’m going to cite you for the red light violation and warn you for the turn from the wrong lane. Then with a big grin, he added, We wouldn’t want my sergeant on my ass for not writing enough greenies. If you ask me, I think you’re getting a little too old to ride a motorcycle. Why don’t you leave the glory to the younger breed?

That hurt, Elton thought to himself. He looked in the rearview mirror on his handlebars and had to agree. He didn’t look anything like he did when he was riding motors back sixteen years ago. Just the same, he never really thought of himself as old. Now that he was sixty-six, people who were seventy-six were getting old. He always thought he was in pretty good shape too. His 195 pounds looked pretty good for his six-feet-one-inch frame. Hell, he knew he could kick Byrd’s ass with one hand tied behind his back if he had to.

Elton watched as Byrd wrote the ticket and couldn’t help to think that someday if this skinny little bastard lived long enough, he would reflect back on what an asshole he was when he was younger. Even so, it was time to teach this little twerp a lesson.

Just as Officer Byrd finished writing the ticket, he turned facing him, holding out his ticket book and pen for Elton to grab and sign and at the same time began to explain, Here you go, Pops, if you’ll just sign this—, and then Byrd’s jaw dropped almost to his knees.

Elton, at that very moment, dug out one of the wettest, gooiest boogers from his nose that even he hadn’t seen in a long time. Elton immediately grabbed Byrd’s ticket book and pen before Byrd had time to react. Byrd looked on with disgust as he watched Elton roll the mucous secretion between his thumb and index finger while grasping the shaft of the pen with his wet, gooey fingers. What made it worse was that Byrd gave Elton his $69 Waterford Glendalough lacquer roller ball pen to sign the ticket with. Byrd was given the pen as a gift from his mother when he made motors. He was always worried more that he might lose it, and it never occurred to him that the expensive writing instrument would be cleverly boogered by an ex-LAPD motor cop.

Elton learned that lesson early in his career. He always carried two pens, one for writing his citations and reports and one he gave to all his violators to sign their citations with. He called the violator pen his booger pen and never touched it without wearing his gloves. Who knows where those people put their hands or what they touch just before we stop them, Elton would tell the other motor cops. He often thought that it was the real reason he rarely got sick. Elton hated germs and took every precaution to avoid them.

It looked as though for a few seconds, Byrd was going to let him go, but Elton knew that cancelling a ticket generated more paperwork than writing an arrest report, and the scrutiny officers had to go through explaining to their captain why they had to cancel the ticket wasn’t worth going through the department’s written procedure. If an officer screwed up on a citation, it was easier to just go to court and have the judge dismiss the ticket in the interest of justice. Since he didn’t make a mistake on the ticket, Byrd wasn’t going to cancel the ticket because his pen got boogered.

Elton gripped the pen loosely with his thumb and index finger and slid it up and down the shaft while he calmly read over the citation. He then poked the end of the pen in his right ear, digging around a little until he pulled out a small piece of yellow earwax clinging on the top. Elton signed the ticket placing Byrd’s pen on top of the citation and then handed the ticket book back to Byrd.

When the traffic stop was over, Elton continued on his way to meet the Retired Blues Crew while Officer Byrd drove to the nearest gas station to wash his hands and sanitize his boogered pen. It took several months before Byrd was able to write a ticket with his $69 Waterford Glendalough lacquer roller ball pen without the thought of Elton Ward’s booger incident. As luck would have it, Byrd eventually lost the pen after an altercation with a sixty-four-year-old former female roller derby queen who almost kicked his ass.

*     *     *

Chapter Two

Grady Lewis / Time to Vent

May 17th, 9:17 AM

Elton arrived at Charlie’s a little late and a lot pissed off. It wasn’t because he got the ticket. Hell, he probably deserved a lot of tickets in his lifetime, but it was the lack of respect and the way he was treated by Byrd, who was considered a public servant and sworn to protect and to serve the good citizens of Los Angeles. Elton would soon learn that he wasn’t alone. Sitting across the table from him was Grady Lewis. Grady retired in 2006 after thirty-three years on the force. His last assignment was SIS ⁵ Division.

Grady came on the LAPD in 1965 after a three-year hitch in the United States Navy. He was first assigned to 77th Division Patrol and then the elite Metropolitan Division before earning a spot on the controversial SIS squad in 1983. By the end of Grady’s career and according to an LAPD report, the SIS unit had killed fifteen suspects and injured fourteen in a fifteen-year time span. During that same period, the unit conducted 900 surveillance operations and arrested 700 suspects, including 300 armed suspects.

Grady who was a Black Afro-American still had a menacing presence about him. He stood six feet three inches, weighed in at 220 pounds, with cold black eyes and a shaved head. He looked twenty years younger than his actual age, which was probably because he spent two hours a day running and working out with free weights. Now that he was retired, he sported a solid gold earring on his left earlobe.

Grady was married for twenty-two years to Anthea Williams until they divorced. They met each other when he was a young copper and she was a civilian record clerk at 77th Division. They had two children, both girls, Leshia and Kamisha, both grown and now out on their own. Raising two girls wasn’t easy since Anthea did most of the work herself while Grady went off and played cops and robbers. He couldn’t blame his wife one bit for wanting out of the marriage and was forewarned by her on many occasions that she was unhappy since she felt as though she was alone most of their marriage anyway.

Grady wasted no time relating a story to other members about a recent experience that happened to him. Dexter Carlson, who spent his whole career working patrol, was seated on his right; and Ronda McKenzie, who retired as a D-III⁶ from Bunco Forgery, was seated on his left. Elton and Sammy Jefferson were sitting directly across from him.

All were listening intensively as Grady’s story unfolded.

The Story

December 9th, 2009, 2:52 PM

Even though Grady hated banks, to him they were a necessary evil. Simply, he needed someplace safe to keep his money. It wasn’t that banks were all that bad; they weren’t. It was because Grady had killed three bank robbers while he was assigned to SIS. Sure those assholes deserved what they got, but killing a human being is something you don’t easily forget, even when you’re trying not to remember. For Grady, visiting banks always brought back old memories, and it always took hours, sometimes days, before he was able to erase them from his mind until . . . well . . . the next time he would walk into a bank.

Grady pulled his car into the Mercantile Savings and Loan parking lot, parking in a stall at the far end of the lot. Grady’s instincts still intact, he cased the bank parking lot for anything that looked out of place. He would always look for suspicious suspects who might be a lookout or a getaway wheelman for a bank robbery in progress. Grady was well aware that if an asshole needed a lot of money fast, he would more than likely go to a place that had an abundance of money on hand, and what a better place to go than a bank. Maybe Grady’s thought process was a little too extreme, but after years of working the SIS unit, it couldn’t be helped.

Grady cautiously walked across the parking lot toward the two glass front doors of the bank. Like most old retired cops, he seldom ever carried a concealed weapon even though he was allowed to. There just wasn’t anywhere to conceal his .45-caliber SIG Sauer P220 and wear his tight muscular tee shirts; besides, he carried a gun off duty for thirty-three years and now he liked the freedom of not being burdened with one.

Grady walked through the front doors, stopping momentarily for another look around. The bank had approximately twelve customers and an equal number of employees. Several people looked in Grady’s direction, probably wondering if he was there to rob the bank. Everything looked kosher, and no one looked out of place except maybe Grady with his menacing appearance, gold earring, and his large-frame sunglasses. Grady walked over and got in line behind four people who were waiting their turn for a teller. In front of him was an elderly gentleman,