Typo Squad, page 4
part #1 of Typo Squad Series
The gun didn’t want to cooperate and neither did his eyes, but he lined up the shot as best he could and fired off several rounds. Justin called that the range was clear, and Dick suddenly felt hands on his arms and shoulders, steadying him.
“I’m okay,” Dick muttered. “I’m all right.”
He stepped out of the stall, all eyes on him.
“So your tic . . .” the cadet with the glasses began.
“. . . is that typos have the same effect on me that alcohol does,” Dick finished. “You sweet kid, you.”
Anna came out of the stall with Dick’s target in hand.
“As you can see,” she said, holding it up, “tics can be managed.”
There were six shots in the dead center of the target’s head. Dick nodded at his marksmanship, and promptly passed out.
He woke up some time later on the bed in one of the holding cells on the top floor of the Typo Squad building. He had no idea how much time had passed, but the window above his head looked out at the moon hovering in the night sky.
“Hey there,” Thea said from the bed across the cell from him. He saw her fold over the corner of a page in a book and sit up from a reclining position. “How you feeling?”
“Fine.” Dick swung his feet down from the bed to the floor. “One benefit of my tic is that I don’t suffer hangovers.”
Pain suddenly exploded in his head and he groaned out loud, falling sideways back on the bed. He held up a finger. “Okay, that was a lie. I didn’t used to suffer hangovers.”
“When you were . . . younger?” she asked with a teasing grin.
“Shut up, you.” Dick massaged his temples.
“Well, hangovers aside, as tics go, yours isn’t too bad.”
“No, I suppose not,” he said, moving his fingers from his temples to his forehead. “That kid, the cadet who pisses himself when he sees a typo. Now that’s rough.”
“Too true,” Thea said.
She gave him a little time for the effects of his typo hangover to pass. When he was finally sitting upright and his color was back, she spoke.
“Well, your first official day back on the force is over. We’ve got a rental car waiting in the parking garage for you, and you’ll be staying at the department’s condo until you get settled. Unless you prefer commuting to and from your cabin in Parts Unknown.”
“No, the condo will do just fine,” Dick said, rising. “Although I’ll probably need blackout curtains to sleep.”
He took a few steps toward the open cell door when Thea said, “What happened in Chicago?”
He turned to her. “Excuse me?”
“Chicago,” Thea repeated. “You kept muttering it in your sleep.”
“Oh.” Dick shrugged. “I don’t know why that would be.”
“So nothing happened in Chicago?” Thea pressed.
“No,” Dick said. “I’ve never even been to Chicago.”
“Then I wonder why you’d be talking about it in your sleep.”
“Maybe I was thinking about the musical,” Dick said. “It’s got some really catchy numbers.”
Thea stood. She looked ready to pursue the topic, but then her expression softened. “You know, one of the first things partners need is a sense of trust.”
“Oh, are you my partner now?” Dick asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes. Tanka made the decision while you were dreaming about Chicago.”
“Well, then.” Dick extended his hand. “Sorry you drew the short straw.”
Thea shook his hand firmly. “On the contrary,” she said. “I think there’s an awful lot I can learn from you. Starting with what happened in Chicago.”
Dick used their clasped hands to pull her in close, and she gasped.
“I admire your determination,” he said softly. “But let this go. For now.” He released her hand and added, “Please.”
She nodded. “All right. For now.”
“Thanks,” Dick said. “Partner.”
She smiled. “Hey, we’re all going down to Merriam’s for a drink tonight. Why don’t you join us?”
“Merriam’s?” Dick asked, surprised. “That old dive? We always used to get drinks down at The Galley.”
“Yes, I’m well aware of Typo Squad traditions,” Thea said patiently. “You’ll be happy to know that we still go to The Galley, but it’s closed on Saturdays now. The owner became a Seventh Day Adventist or something.”
“Ah.” Dick thought for a few moments. “Is Shwiski going to be there?”
Thea shrugged. “He’s part of the team.”
“Ugh,” Dick said. “I hate that guy. But yeah, okay. I’ll see you guys there.”
CHAPTER FOUR
When Dick arrived at Merriam’s bar, he found that Big, Thea, Anna, Ewan, Scott, and Tanka had already secured a corner booth near the back. The place was dim and looked to be on the verge of becoming a full-fledged dive. There were the dried corpses of long-dead flies on the unused pool tables in the middle of the room, and a dusty glowing jukebox played some old favorites in the background.
Dick sat down next to Anna. “Evening, all.”
Everyone at the table greeted him, except for Scott, who stared fixedly at a glowing sign for one of the local beers. After a few moments, a waitress came to the table. She was short and very blonde, with a torn AC/DC T-shirt that revealed most of her enormous breasts.
“Ho-ly Moses!” Big exclaimed. “Would you lookit the size of those—”
Anna elbowed him hard in the ribs.
“—earrings,” he finished breathlessly.
“Funny,” the waitress said, smiling. “Most often people comment on the size of my tits. What can I get everyone?”
“Rum and Coke,” Tanka said.
“Make that two,” said Anna.
“Tawny port,” said Ewan.
“Too-ney poot,” Big mimicked. “That’s not a drink, that’s a porn star’s name.”
“So is Big, I imagine.” Ewan smiled.
“For you, sweetheart?” the waitress asked Dick.
He waved her off. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Hon?” she asked Scott.
“Water,” Scott said simply.
“And you?” she asked Big.
“Your finest Kentucky bourbon, my dear,” Big said, cracking his knuckles dramatically. “And you might as well leave the bottle.”
The waitress nodded. “And for you?” she asked Thea.
“Chardonnay,” Thea replied.
“Do you have ID, hon?” the waitress asked. There were grins all around the table and Dick stared at Thea for a moment. She did look incredibly young, though Dick noticed how much prettier she looked dressed in civilian clothing, with her red hair out of its tight ponytail.
Thea handed over her wallet and the waitress examined it. Her eyes got a bit wider and she smiled, looking back at Thea.
“Whoa. You’re a member of Typo Squad?”
Thea nodded. “That’s right.”
The waitress looked around the table. “Are you all Typo Squad?”
“Yes . . .” Dick replied hesitantly, looking around at the others.
The waitress turned and called across the room to the chubby bald man behind the bar. “Joe! Hey Joe! C’mere!”
The man finished wiping down the bar with a grayish rag and ambled over. He had an open, cherubic face and a welcoming smile.
“What’s goin’ on?” Joe asked the waitress amiably.
“These folks,” the waitress said, apparently bursting with the news, “are Typo Squad.”
“No,” Joe said, wide-eyed. “Are you really?”
“We are,” Dick said, still hesitant.
“Well then your money’s no good here,” Joe said excitedly. “You guys do a hell of a job, I tell you. Hell of a job.”
Everyone at the table exchanged glances.
“So . . . you believe that typos exist, then?” Dick said.
“Oh, I know they do,” Joe said, stepping up to the table and leaning forward on his elbows. “My wife’s cousin, Lanny. He was never right in the head. If you gave Lanny a ladder, you’d have to write ‘stop’ on the top rung.”
Everyone laughed except Scott.
“Ol’ Lanny never learned to read or write worth a damn,” he continued, “but then one day he got it in his head to try and impress his folks by making them an anniversary card. He used crayons. Mind you, he was about thirty-five at the time. They say he misspelled ‘happy.’ Never even got out of the gate, did he? Of course Lanny couldn’t read, so it didn’t harm him none. But then he gave the card to his folks and they both dropped dead on the spot. Drove poor Lanny ’round the bend, and they had to put him away.”
“I’ve been part of Typo Squad for most of my adult life,” Dick said, “and that may be the saddest goddamn story I’ve ever heard.”
“Yeah.” Joe shrugged. “Well.”
“Where did Lanny end up?” Dick asked. “Did they put him in Fula Ord?”
Joe cocked his head. “You know Fula Ord?”
Dick didn’t reply immediately. He looked as though his thoughts had momentarily drifted elsewhere. But then he refocused and nodded. “Oh yeah. Lovely place. The paper slippers there hardly ever rip. Even if you’re chewing your own toenails.”
Joe chuckled. “Yeah, that’s Fula Ord all right.”
Dick extended his hand and Joe, surprised, shook it.
“Glad to meet someone who believes,” Dick said. “Most people treat us like we belong in Fula Ord. And that typos are right up there with Sasquatch and the Loch Ness Monster.”
Joe snorted. “Look, you just keep doing what you’re doing and keeping us all safe, okay?”
“Will do,” Dick said.
Joe left and headed back to the bar. The waitress lingered for a few moments, staring at Dick with a knowing smile. After she left to get the drinks, Big looked at Dick with a lascivious grin. “Oooh, I think she likes you,” he sang.
“Seems like most of them do,” Thea said with a wry grin.
“Same old Dick,” Anna said. “How is it being back?”
“Weird,” Dick said. “But in a good way.”
“Maybe you should go back to the mountain,” Scott said sourly. “If it’s, y’know, too weird for you.” Once again, he was roundly ignored.
“Not quite like the old days, is it?” Ewan offered.
“All of your days are old days,” Big said quickly.
“Christopher, isn’t there a moon upon which you should be exerting a gravitational pull?” Ewan replied, unruffled.
“Hah!” Big barked. “That was a good one. I’ll give you that one, gramps.”
“I’m eternally grateful,” Ewan said patiently. He turned back to Dick. “As I was saying, not quite the same as when you were taking down those errorist cells, eh?”
Thea suddenly leaned forward. “Oh, I wish I could have been part of Typo Squad in those days,” she said wistfully.
“Those days are not as glamorous as they sound,” Tanka said. “We lost a lot of good people. Though not nearly as many as we would have if not for Dick.”
“My hero,” muttered Scott, loud enough for the whole table to hear.
Tanka opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment the waitress returned with a tray of drinks, including a shot glass and a bottle of bourbon that she placed in front of Big. He grabbed the bottle and admired it.
“Oh, I like this place,” he said. “I like this place a lot.” He poured himself a shot and hoisted it to eye level. “Gentlemen, ladies, if I may? To Typo Squad. Lapsus calami.”
Tanka stared at him for a moment, and then uncharacteristically grinned. He raised his own glass. “Lapsus calami.”
The rest of the crew raised their glasses as well, even Scott, while Dick unbuttoned his shirt pocket and pulled out the handful of dirty, beaten-up index cards. Under the table’s overhead light, it was clear how yellowed with age they were and how many times they had been taped back together. He raised them and touched them to everyone’s glasses as they clinked together. “Lapsus calami.”
He laid the cards out on the table. Written on them in black marker were various typos: MAINTENENCE. SIEZED. WITHDRAWL. Dick studied them and a drunken, easy grin spread across his face.
“Have I mentioned recently how much I envy his tic?” Big asked Tanka as he threw back his drink and poured another.
“Do you carry those with you while you’re on duty?” Thea asked, a note of concern in her voice.
“They’re strictly medicinal,” Dick said easily.
“You could at least update the cards,” Tanka said. “Those things are filthy.”
“They’ve always done the job,” Dick said lazily.
“You could copy the same typos onto new cards, is my point,” Tanka said patiently. “I don’t know why I bother sometimes.”
“I don’t know why you bother at all,” Dick said.
“Can’t you just have a drink like a normal person?” Tanka said.
“I suppose I could if I were a normal person,” Dick said. “But let’s face it.”
“Yeah, true enough,” Tanka said.
Everyone sipped their drinks.
“Feeling better, are you Dick?” Tanka said.
“Feelin’ fine,” Dick said, with an emphatic nod.
“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Tanka said. “Because I’ve got some news for you.”
“Lay it on me, boss.”
Tanka pointed at Thea. “This little firecracker is your new partner.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dick said. “She told me.”
“Oh,” Tanka said. “Then never mind.”
Dick looked sideways at Thea. “Not that I really want to train a partner.”
“Hey!” Thea said indignantly, giving Dick a shove for good measure. “For your information, I don’t need training.”
Dick blinked a few times and tried to focus. “Have you ever had a partner before?”
“Well,” Thea said. “No.”
“Then you need to be trained,” Dick said. “It’s a whole different thing.”
“It’s not so bad,” Big interjected, throwing back a shot of bourbon. “I had to train a partner a couple of years ago. Oh man, you should have seen her. She looked like the business end of a bulldog.”
“She and Big were practically twins,” Ewan said quietly, taking a sip of his drink.
“And furthermore,” Tanka said, with a long and meaningful look at Scott, “I’m reinstating you as field commander.”
“Hey!” Anna cried. “Congratulations!”
Everyone looked delighted and hoisted their glasses, but Scott slammed his glass down on the table so hard it cracked. “What?” he cried.
“You heard me, Shwiski.”
“That’s bullshit!” Scott shouted, standing up and gripping the edge of the table. “You can’t do that! I busted my ass to make field commander! And you just hand it to him on a silver platter because, what, he’s famous?”
“Shwiski,” Tanka said calmly, though Dick could see a familiar pink hue creeping out of his collar. “Do I have to remind you you’re addressing a superior officer?”
“But he’s—”
“The new Typo Squad field commander, so you’d better start getting used to it,” Tanka cut in, his voice rising. The few other people in the bar were looking over with interest.
Scott’s eyes bulged and he turned a deep shade of red as he looked from one team member’s face to another, as if hoping someone would jump in and make a case for him. Everyone looked uncomfortably at their drinks.
“Fine,” he said bitterly, looking down. “Fine, then. Lieutenant Tanka, consider this my resignation.”
“Have it your way.” Tanka shrugged.
Scott looked up one last time as if still seeking a sympathetic face, but everyone continued to look away. Without another word, Scott grabbed his jacket and stormed out.
An awkward silence followed until Big finally said, “Hey look at that! Something else to celebrate!” He hoisted his glass again, and everyone happily followed suit.
Dick watched as Scott yanked the front door of the bar open and slammed it just as hard closed. “You really made that asshole field commander?” he asked Tanka.
“I always choose assholes for field commanders,” Tanka said, leaning his glass toward Dick. “Congratulations.”
With their new friend Joe honoring his word that their drinks were on the house, the team ordered round after round of increasingly expensive liquor. Except for Dick, who kept pace by referring to his cards every now and then.
Eventually everyone at the table lapsed into a drunken silence, listening to the jukebox and the undercurrent of conversation. Dick leaned his face on his hand, his elbow propped on the table. Big was throwing back shots of bourbon with machine-gun regularity. No one was feeling any pain.
“So,” Thea said suddenly, “you guys all worked with Dick for quite a while, right?”
There were nods all around.
“Since Dick is disinclined to do so, maybe one of you could tell me about Chicago.”
The table fell into sudden, shocked silence. Everyone stared at Thea, and even Big had nothing to say. The moment spun out interminably, things growing more and more uncomfortable.
“Young lady . . .” Tanka said sternly, but Dick cut drunkenly across him.
“Chicago isn’t a place,” Dick said, and then chuckled. “Well, I mean, obviously it’s a place, but the Chicago in my life is a person. Chicago Manuel. My stepbrother.”
All eyes were on Dick.
“Y’see,” Dick continued, his eyes half-lidded, “my parents divorced when I was a kid, and my mother married Chicago’s father. Chicago and I were almost the same age—I was a year older—and we became as close as any two real brothers. We went to school together.”
Dick smiled wide at the memory.
“When I was in fifth grade, they came around to do the testing to see who had the potential for Typo Squad. I was chosen. The following year, when he was in fifth grade, Chicago was chosen as well. Isn’t that something? He and I didn’t share genes, but as it turned out, we were both chosen.”
