Early Warning (Book 1): Martial Law

by McLean, Angus

  I decided I better roll with it for now and see what happened, but with one eye out for the first opportunity to get the hell out of there. Steve looked apologetic and I shrugged my shoulders; what can you do? To be fair to him, he never actually told me I was under arrest, but I followed him anyway.

  Thirty-Two

  The others were all struggling with the cops and some of their mates tried to join in, which only filled the air with more pepper spray and sent them reeling back, coughing and spluttering.

  I was pleased to see that Stew Patten was one of them that had been grabbed.

  We made our way through the vehicle gate and round the back of the station, where there was a drive-in cage that accessed the old cell block. The cells were no longer officially in use, with all prisoners supposed to be transported up to the district HQ at Manukau, but down here in Pukekoke they did things their way.

  The door was opened and we were ushered into a cold concrete corridor with cells branching off it. This was an old-school cell block with barred doors and big keys, no fancy cameras or electronic locking systems.

  Besides me there were six other prisoners, including two women. One of the guys was a pie addict with a bushy beard, another was about my size and fitter looking, the third was a skinnier guy with a mullet hairdo and a Led Zeppelin T shirt, and then there was Stew Patten. The two women were put in a cell across the corridor from us and the four men and I were shown into a larger holding cell. It had steel bench seats around the walls, all marked with graffiti.

  From the way the Led Zeppelin guy moved away from the others and sat by himself, I guessed he wasn’t part of their group. The other three stood together, huddled in a corner and talking in hushed tones.

  The door was clanged shut and Steve looked through the bars, catching my eye.

  ‘I’ll try and find out what’s going on,’ he said quietly and I nodded my thanks. I had no desire to be there any longer than I needed to be, particularly with these numbskulls.

  He followed his colleagues up the corridor, a barrage of abuse from the two women echoing off the walls behind him, and I turned away from the door.

  Led Zep was sitting on a bench seat with his arms folded, looking mighty pissed off. I sat along from him, choosing to keep my own counsel for now. With any luck we’d be out of there shortly.

  ‘So are you a cop?’ Led Zep said.

  ‘Na,’ I said. ‘I used to be, not anymore. Long time ago.’ It wasn’t long at all, but he didn’t need to know that.

  ‘So how come you’re in here?’ he persisted. ‘Weren’t you the one who got his ass kicked out there?’

  ‘I am.’ I nodded, keeping the other three in my peripheral vision. ‘And I’m here because the boss out there doesn’t like me.’

  He gave me a curious look.

  ‘He’s a fuckwit,’ I said. I couldn’t think of a better explanation.

  ‘Fuck.’ Led Zep let out a sigh. ‘I only came down here to find out what the hell’s going on. They’re not saying much on the radio and we lost our power at home. The supermarket’s got fuck-all food unless you want Chinese noodles three times a day.’

  ‘It’s not good,’ I agreed.

  I saw the little group begin to move and looked up to see they were fanning out in front of us. Patten was at the end and slightly back, like the brave leader he was. The fit guy was right in front of me. He was about thirty and unshaven, with a crewcut and a few tats on his bare arms. He was clearly the muscle in the crew, and it didn’t surprise me. So-called passive activists like Patten had always been backed up by thugs who were there for the fight, not the cause.

  ‘So you shot our friend Richie,’ the thug said, flexing his fingers.

  ‘No,’ I said evenly, ‘that was the Superintendent out there. You know, the one with the gun?’

  ‘We all saw you do it,’ he said, gesturing towards his two mates. Patten had a sly smirk on his face, knowing full well what was about to happen. The fat guy was huffing and puffing and already looked flushed. ‘So now we’ll even the score, one to one. Man to man.’ He eyeballed me. ‘Unless you’re only brave when you’re hiding behind your badge?’

  I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. I’d had about enough of this, but now was not the time to get into a debate. And there was as much chance of this being a one on one as there was of the fat guy running a hundred metres.

  The options weren’t looking great and I mentally willed Steve to hurry up and get back here. I was about to speak when the smell of smoke hit me. I shot a look across the corridor and could see smoke in the cell opposite. The two women were standing over a crappy thin mattress that had been on the bunk in their cell, and the mattress was smoking. Like us, they obviously hadn’t been searched, and I knew from experience that a fire in a cell block would only take a few minutes to be a huge problem.

  ‘Tell them to put that bloody fire out,’ I snapped at Patten. ‘The smoke’ll kill us all.’

  He shrugged and smirked a bit more, so I turned my attention to them instead, telling them the same thing.

  ‘Fuck you, arsehole,’ one of them shouted back at me, already coughing from the fumes. ‘They’ll have to let us out.’

  I was about to respond when I caught a flash of movement from the corner of my eye. The thug had obviously lost patience and decided a blind shot was a good idea to get the ball rolling. I raised my arm just in time to avoid a broken cheekbone, but the punch was hard enough to knock me sideways on the bench seat. I went with it, scrambling away from him until I could get to my feet. Exposing my back allowed him to land a couple of good hits but I got up, pushed off the wall and spun with my arms up, blocking another swing.

  The thug was in close, determined to cause some damage, and he seemed to have some skills.

  The problem with guys like that is that they’re used to hitting either a punching bag or someone smaller than them, or their girlfriend. They’re not used to guys that are prepared to fight back and have few boundaries, and that was the category I fell squarely into.

  I took the next hit on my forearms and pushed forward, not giving him room for another shot. As he started to back pedal, I landed a solid left jab to the side of his head and followed it with a right jab to his gut. He took them, kept his feet and danced away from me.

  I was shoved from behind and went off balance, allowing him to step in with a good hook to my jaw. I stumbled, hit the wall and took a follow up hook to the other side of my head. Lights popped and for a second I nearly went down, until he came in again and threw a shot at my face. He was over confident from his previous hits and the punch was loose.

  I ducked, pushed off and grabbed him round the waist, driving him back across the cell. He slammed into the wall opposite with a loud explosion of air from his lungs. I pulled back and went for gold, throwing fists and elbows at his face and head as fast as I could.

  He took several hits and started to slump, and I would have dropped him quickly if the fat guy hadn’t had other ideas. He crashed into me from behind, body slamming me into the thug who hit the wall again and went down.

  The fat guy was throwing punches at me now but he was too close to get any power into them. I wriggled away, shoving him off me and turning, ready to face the new threat. That was when Patten got me with a cheap shot, a kick to the back which threw me forward into the fat guy.

  The smoke was stinging my eyes and the air was pretty acrid already, which coupled with my panting and the fat guy squeezing me, made it pretty hard to breathe. I could hear Led Zep shouting for help somewhere in the background, and the two women were going to town too.

  The fat guy started trying to bite my ear as if he was a South African rugby player and I shook my head to try and get away. Fuck it, enough was enough.

  I threw knees and hands at him until I got free and I stepped back, slapping away his grabbing hands. I lined him up and landed a right jab straight on his nose, spraying blood and giving it an audible crunch as the bone snapped. He fell back against
the wall, grabbing at his face and wailing, all the fight gone out of him.

  I spun, catching Patten sneaking up behind me again, and I gave him a hard shove in the chest that sent him back into the wall. I was turning back to the other two when the cops arrived, fighting through the smoke that was clouding the air. They went to the women’s cell first, throwing the door open and unleashing an extinguisher with a huge cloud of white powder that clogged the air even more.

  The thug was picking himself up off the floor and I could see blood on his face. As he came up he brought a knife out of his pocket, a cheap plastic box cutter that probably cost him five bucks at a hardware store. He thumbed the blade out until a couple of inches was showing and steadied himself.

  ‘Give us a hand here!’ I shouted to the cops. ‘He’s got a knife!’

  The thug lunged forward and I stepped back and to the side, slapping his hand away and continuing to move, trying to get behind him. He slashed at me with no technique, just big swings that would open me up if any of them connected. I jumped back, stumbled over the fat guy’s legs and cracked my head against the concrete wall as I landed sideways on the bench seat.

  Led Zep had scrambled away into the corner, trying to stay out of the way, too scared to intervene. Patten was dancing away, staying in the background, and the fat guy was still down, spitting out strings of blood.

  ‘I’m gunna cut you up you fuckin’ faggot,’ the thug panted, slashing again. I pulled back but felt the blade nick my cheek as it swished past.

  I got both hands up, just missing his wrist, and instead I kicked out. I booted him hard in the ribs, knocking him backwards, and I lunged up to catch him while he was off balance. He slashed again but I was ready this time, and I caught his wrist as the knife went by. I locked onto his wrist and hand, wrenching and twisting hard so his hand bent like a gooseneck. He squealed but wouldn’t release the knife, and he kicked at my shins.

  Patten came in and gave me another sneaky punch in the back, distracting me just enough for the thug to get some leverage back in his hand. Patten gave me another hit and I knew that if he came into the game properly then I would probably lose.

  The thug was twisting, trying to get free, and he threw an awkward left overhand at me. I ducked aside, missed it, and came back up with a straight-knuckle strike aimed at his throat. Unfortunately for him he was starting to come forward at the same time, bringing extra force to the impact as my knuckles slammed into his Adam’s apple.

  He gasped and dropped everything, clutching for his throat with his eyes bugging out, and he went down in a sitting position on the floor. I left him to it and spun on my heels, seeing Patten backing away with his hands up defensively.

  The clang of the door keys behind us was the only thing that saved him. Led Zep bolted out of the cell and somebody grabbed me, pulling me out after him. The corridor was filled with smoke and extinguisher powder and I could hardly see a thing. The two women were coughing their lungs out by the exit door, where a cop was wrestling with the key.

  ‘There’s three guys still in there!’ I shouted, my eyes stinging from the smoke.

  The cop who’d grabbed me ducked into the holding cell and I went after him, grabbing the fat guy by an arm and helping him up. He was mumbling and spitting blood but got to his feet, and I pushed him out into the corridor. I felt people bumping against me as we headed for the light of the open door.

  Patten was hustled out by the cop and, even though he was being saved, he still had the cheek to tell the cop to get his hands off him. The cop shoved him up against the wall and told him to shut his mouth and get moving. I grinned to myself and stood aside to let the activist get past.

  ‘There’s another guy in there,’ I said to the cop, my throat raspy.

  He shook his head. ‘He’s dead,’ he said.

  I felt my guts drop to the floor. That was a game changer, right there.

  We got out into the fresh air of the yard, and I saw the two women huddling around a hose, washing their faces and hacking like a pair of lifelong smokers. I wondered if the crazy bitches knew they had nearly killed us all. Right now I had bigger things to worry about, and Patten wasn’t about to let me forget it.

  ‘He killed my friend,’ he was snarling at Darroch, pointing at me. ‘He beat my friend to death in there and I saw the whole thing.’

  Darroch had donned a stab vest now and had his Glock holstered on his hip. Standing with him were Steve and the cop who’d pulled me out. He turned and looked at me.

  ‘Is that so?’ he said. ‘Constable, is that true?’

  The cop remained non-committal. ‘There is a guy in there and he’s dead,’ he said. ‘I’ve closed the cell door to preserve the scene. I don’t know how he died, though. Maybe smoke inhalation.’

  Patten nutted off then, yelling and waving his arms around. The fat guy roused himself enough to give his two cents’ worth as well, although he was difficult to understand with a broken nose.

  Led Zep was standing to the side saying nothing, and I caught his eye. ‘What do you reckon mate?’ I said. ‘You saw the three of them attack me in there, you saw that guy with a knife. Here.’ I showed the cut on my cheek to the cops. ‘He cut me there.’

  Darroch looked to Led Zep, who had no desire to get involved at all. Eventually Led Zep gave a bit of a shrug. ‘They did attack him,’ he said. ‘Mostly the guy in there and this guy.’ He indicated the fat man.

  ‘Sounds like self-defence to me then,’ Steve piped up, and Darroch gave him a withering look.

  ‘Get him inside, I’ll come and deal with him in a minute.’

  Steve ushered me back inside where the breeze was clearing the corridor. We walked past the holding cell and I paused, seeing the thug lying half slumped against the wall. There was no question that he was dead and I was pretty sure I was responsible. The funny thing was, although I had butterflies in my stomach, I felt no remorse about it. He had tried to kill me and I’d defended myself, nothing more. The fact that he’d died was his own fault; I knew within myself that I’d had no choice. It could just as easily have been me lying there, probably with a knife planted in my hand.

  We walked on and Steve took me through to the meal room, a large airy room with a kitchen attached. It was at the back corner of the building and the wide windows gave a good view of the station’s car park and up the driveway past the gate.

  ‘You want a drink?’ Steve asked, heading towards the kitchen.

  I nodded, looking past him out the window. I could see that the crowd from earlier had returned, or maybe they’d just never left, and were gathered at the gate. Steve saw them too and he stopped mid-stride.

  ‘Oh fuck,’ he said. ‘Gun!’

  Thirty-Three

  Steve ducked down before I realised what was happening, and a second later the window above the kitchen sink shattered, accompanied by the crack of a shot. I ducked down and another shot flew through the empty window frame, exploding a framed picture on the wall into a thousand pieces.

  I could hear shouts from outside and the rattle of the gate and fence as people started to climb over. Steve crab-walked over to me and we made for the door, hearing another shot blow out more glass behind us.

  ‘What the fuck are they doing?’ Steve panted. His eyes were wide and he was on the verge of panicking. I remembered now that he was a Youth Aid officer; his job involved meetings and talking to families and social workers, not dealing with mobs of people who were trying to shoot you.

  ‘They’ll be in the station in a minute unless we do something,’ I croaked, my throat still scratchy. I’d never got that drink. ‘Where’s your gun safe?’

  ‘It’s empty,’ he said. ‘They’re all in the cars.’

  ‘Which are out.’

  ‘And I think the boss grabbed the last Glock.’

  Another shot sounded outside and there was more shouting. Risking a glance around the doorway I saw that Patten, the fat guy and the two women were over at the fence now and there was thre
e or four climbing over. They were stuck at the top due to the single strand of barbed wire, but that wouldn’t hold them up for long. I could see one guy with a rifle at his shoulder and another guy further along, loading what looked like a bolt action rifle.

  I looked back at Steve. ‘What about exhibits?’ I said.

  Every Police station has an exhibits store of some sort, and in a rural area like this, more often than not it doubled as a store for recovered or surrendered firearms. All of these were supposed to go up to Manukau, but of course Pukekohe did things their way.

  ‘Down here.’

  Steve led the way down the internal hallway to the Resource Room, where he grabbed a set of keys off a hook. I wondered where Darroch, Led Zep, the Watchouse ladies and the other cops had got to. Steve unlocked an internal door and it opened up to a small exhibits store with shelves that were full to bursting with items in Kleensaks and plastic bags.

  One section of it resembled a wine rack, but instead of bottles the slots contained firearms. I could tell at a glance that most of them were probably crap, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  I started sliding them out, and quickly realised that my assessment had been right.

  ‘Anything decent?’ I asked Steve. ‘And anything with ammo?’

  ‘Here,’ he said, grabbing a wooden box off a separate shelf and handing it to me. ‘This was found at a search warrant last week. Couldn’t ID an owner.’

  I took the box and opened it. Inside was a blued Ruger GP100 .357 Magnum with a four-inch barrel. It had a black leather Bianchi holster and a pair of loaded speed loaders with it. It was a quality weapon. I opened the cylinder and loaded it with one of the speed loaders, shoving the empty with the full one into my pocket.

  ‘Find a couple of shotguns that work,’ I said, threading the holster onto my belt.

  I was buckling up when Steve handed me an over/under Nikko 12-gauge. It was a skeet gun with probably 28-inch barrels. He fumbled around for some ammo while I checked our backs. I could hear the odd shot coming, the rifles mixed with the lighter pop of a pistol, which I presumed was Darroch with his Glock.