Elena didn’t hesitate. “I’m angry. I mean… I’ve never been this angry.” It felt strangely good to get that out, and there were a lot more things on her mind she wanted to get out too. Rosemary and Vincent both listened intently as she went on. “All we ever wanted was to live in peace, and they’ve taken everything from us. He might be dead right now, and if he’s not then he will be before this is over, because there’s too many of them and they won’t stop until he is.” She picked up her drink but could only stare into it. The words, however, were flowing pretty freely. “It’s way past wrong that they can do this to us, that they can just take everything like this. I hope he kills them all, and I’m glad that I –“
SMACK! Elena was jarred by the hand that came across the back of her head. She hadn’t felt such a thing since Armando. She didn’t know what to think or how to react, but she looked toward Vincent and saw his own anger, and his finger pointing in her face. “You want to live through this, you don’t let your guard down for one bloody second. Hear me?” Vincent felt sick at what he had just done, but he anything less than a real lasting impression would be a disservice to his friends.
Rosemary was pretty stunned herself. “Ordinarily I’d be screaming bloody murder right now,” she said. “But he’s right, even if he is being a royal prick about it. You have to turn yourself in sometime, and they’re going to put you through the wringer like you never imagined.”
Elena put her hands to her head and looked down. Fatigue was catching up with her. “I just wish I knew what to do,” she said. “He wants me to leave it between him and them, but how can I live with that?”
A glint began to show in Rosemary’s eye, one that Vincent had seen before. Every time he had seen it in the past he didn’t know whether to be happy or scared, but one or the other was always in order. Rosemary reached out and took Elena’s hand. “Let me show you to your room. You need sleep, and you need it now. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”
Rosemary led Elena up the stairs while Vincent waited. She returned shortly afterward, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. “What are you thinking?” Vincent asked her.
“I’m thinking I can help,” she replied.
“It could be too late to help already.”
“If they had found him, there wouldn’t be any hesitation in announcing it. We’d know already,” she said. “I can take care of Elena from here, but I need your help too. Gather up his friends, the people he works with, and any witnesses to any situation he’s been involved with, and get ready to bring them to me.”
Vincent cracked his first smile since arriving. “All right, now you’re startin’ to scare me. What’s on your mind exactly?”
“I’ll tell you what’s on my mind,” she replied. “One, I’m on their side. And two, I miss the spotlight.”
For the first time in years, they talked.
* * *
They finished their talk, and Vincent left, heading back toward Bourbon Street. It was late now and he had to get there before closing. There was a ton on his mind. This situation wasn’t just getting bloody, it was getting deep. He was so lost in thought that he almost pulled into the lot before noticing the police cruiser parked in the middle of it, with someone bent over the hood.
The cruiser’s flashing lights weren’t on, probably because they didn’t want to make targets of themselves. Vincent passed on by the lot instead of pulling in, then he took the next left. He pulled into an adjacent lot behind the pub, and parked in a spot where he could see what was happening and decide what to do.
He didn’t like what he saw. He recognized the young man bent over the hood as one of those who was present the night Elena had almost died in the parking spot right across the fence from where he now sat. Sergeant Byron Palmer had the young man’s arm pinned behind him. Jack Hayward was squared off against a gathering group of patrons, his hand on his weapon. He was screaming at them that they’d better start giving up information, or he was going to bring the law down on them like they’d never imagined he could.
Enough was enough. This wasn’t just Randy’s fight anymore. Vincent reached under his seat and took out his Government .45 in its holster. He undid his belt and strapped it on, then he got out and made his way through the parked cars toward the scene.
It was time these sons of bitches got a taste of their own medicine.
* * *
“You people gonna talk,” Jack Hayward screamed, “or do I start slapping cuffs on you?” Hayward faced the angry crowd with his hand on his gun.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” one of the patrons yelled back.
“THERE ARE THIRTEEN COPS DEAD, DO YOU GET WHAT THAT MEANS?” Hayward screamed. “We know they’ve been here, and as far as I’m concerned you’re all complicit.” Then Jack unsnapped his gun and drew it. “But maybe I’m still not making myself clear enough.”
Alicia stepped to the front of the crowd. “You’re seriously threatening us?”
“Here’s how it works, little lady.” He pointed toward the edge of the crowd, off to his side. “Those guys over there are closing my flank. That’s a threat.” The men he was referring to stared at one another with astonishment, as Hayward pointed to another man in the crowd. “That man has his hands in his pockets. That’s a threat.” Then he turned his attention to Alicia. “And as for you, you’re showing defiance to an officer of the law. That’s a threat too.” He leaned down closer to her. “Thirteen of my partners have died tonight, and you’re on the side of the man who did it. So you just ask yourself, do you want to roll the dice on who I feel most threatened by right now?”
At that moment Jack Hayward heard a very ominous click, the kind that could only be a safety switch. “I’ll tell you exactly who you need to feel threatened by,” Vincent said. “If your buddy makes a move, I’ll take care of you first and then him. So both of you empty your hands right now.”
Byron Palmer apparently didn’t hear that part, because he made a move anyways. He released the young man on the hood of the car and swung his weapon toward Vincent, but before Vincent could react there was another weapon being pointed at Palmer. The man with his hands in his pockets had taken them out, and in one of them he was holding a .38 snubnose revolver. “You do what the man just told you,” he said, then he flashed a smile at Alicia. “Sometimes they’re being paranoid, sometimes they’re not.”
Both cops had a sudden flash of wisdom and they put their weapons on the ground.
Vincent picked up both weapons and set them on top of a nearby car. “Now both of you, face down on the ground.”
“Don’t you even think it –“
“I SAID FACE DOWN ON THE GODDAMN GROUND RIGHT GODDAMN NOW!” Vincent was seething, and he was completely serious about pulling the trigger if they didn’t do it. “You are under citizen’s arrest, refusal to comply with a lawful order will be considered a threat, and I’m not gonna tell you again!” He put his front sight on the center of Hayward’s considerable mass, and then they both complied. As Vincent removed their own cuffs from their belts and applied them, a few cheers went up from the crowd. Then Vincent pulled them to their feet and made them sit on the hood of their own car.
“I don’t have the words to tell you what a mistake you’re making right now,” Hayward said.
“You just misrepresented people’s actions as threatening,” Vincent replied. “That’s not a pretend threat, it’s a real one, and that’s how it’s going to be dealt with. Now I need to see your drivers licenses.” Hayward began to protest, but Vincent was done screwing around and simply stuck his gun into the cop’s ribs. Then he took out his wallet, extracted the license, and did the same with Palmer. He wrote down the information, makng sure to get their home addresses. Any cop can tell you, that sort of info comes in handy.
Then he reached inside the cruiser and popped the trunk release. When Hayward began to scream about that, he said, “This is a search incident to an arrest. You know what that is, right?” Inside the trunk was a
big black duffel bag. Vincent unzipped it and fished through it. The duffel was full of tactical gear and spare ammo, and Vincent quickly found what he was looking for. It was a folding combat style knife, of a type that typically sold for fifteen dollars at the Indian smoke shops. It had a curvy blacked blade that was 4 ½” long, was made of a kind of steel that would never hold an edge, and clearly hadn’t held one in quite a while.
“Gentlemen, what kind of knife is this?” Vincent asked. They had no answer, so he gave them some help. “Is it the throw-down variety?” Still getting no answer, Vincent addressed the crowd. “For those of you who don’t know, a ‘throw down’ weapon is something they plant on you after they shoot you without justification. Sort of like what happened to one Arnold McCasliin.”
“That’s a back-up utility knife, you moron…” Hayward growled.
“Really? When’s the last time you sharpened it?” Vincent drew the edge across the back of his arm, pressing hard enough that anything with an edge would have cut deep, but no blood appeared. “This thing ain’t fit to be used as a tool or a weapon, it’s only good for looking like one. And I see you picked a folder this time. You must have wised up after havin’ to explain why McCaslin supposedly pulled a straight-blade knife from inside his belt, even though he had no sheath for it.”
“His shooting was every bit as justified as yours will be.” Hayward’s commanding tone fell a little flat, but it did get a rise from Vincent, who replied through clenched teeth.
“You know somethin’ Jack, I don’t think everybody here has heard the story of exactly how justified that was. Why don’t we tell it to them?” Hayward was a little short on responses, so Vincent faced the crowd and spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.
* * *
The Tale of Arnold McCaslin, Part One
(as told by Vincent Quigg)
Arnold McCaslin was part of the college hippie crowd. Rode a bike everywhere and went to meetings on saving the Earth. Nothin’ wrong with that, most people outgrow it anyhow. But like a lot of them, he was a little snobbish to people who drove, especially if they drove somethin’ big. It just so happened at that time that the department had a big Blazer in the fleet, and on that day Hayward was drivin’ it.
So Hayward is stopped at a stop sign, and McCaslin comes ridin’ up alongside. He gives him a dirty look, and then blows on through the sign like it ain’t nobody’s business. He was guilty of runnin’ a stop sign, but people on bikes do it all the time ‘cause it never gets enforced, plus a lot of them figure they’re sacrificin’ to save the planet so the rules are different for them.
That wasn’t what Hayward’s problem was with anyhow, it was the snotty I’m-better-than-you look that McCaslin gave him. You just don’t look at a cop like that, let alone a cop like Hayward, but then everyone here already knows that. So Hayward flipped his lights on and stopped him next to the park.
Hayward started off by reaming him for running the red light, and McCaslin got a little indignant. He told Hayward that bikes aren’t the same thing as cars, and he couldn’t believe he was bein’ put through this. Hayward told him he better shut up and start showin’ a little respect. McCaslin replied that respect was a two-way street, and that’s where everything went south.
Hayward launched into the whole interrogation routine. Where you comin’ from, where you goin’, what are you doin’ here, all that happy horseshit. He said he’s askin’ simple questions, and McCaslin replied that “none of your business” is a simple answer. So Hayward started accusin’ him of acting nervous. Now I’ve been to the same interrogation school that Hayward was, and I know the purpose behind all this. It’s to badger a person into feeling and acting scared so you’ve got somethin’ to accuse them of, and to push them to where they get angry and make mistakes. And in this case it worked a little too well.
Hayward accused McCaslin of hiding something, like drugs or weapons, and said he wanted to check his pockets and look inside his coat. McCaslin couldn’t believe he was even askin’, and he said he didn’t consent to warrantless searches. Hayward started demanding to know what he had to hide, and McCaslin said, “Dude, I know my rights!”
That answer was a little on the cliché side, and Hayward started laughin’, but not just cause it sounded funny. He was laughin’ at McCaslin too, looking down on him, giving him a smirk that said buddy, you’re scum and we both know it, and it’s up to me to figure out exactly why you’re scum and get some proof. With the way he stared at McCaslin, he was callin’ him a lowlife.
Then Hayward told him that only guilty people stand on their rights like that, and that’s when McCaslin finally lost it. He screamed at Hayward, “You wanna see what’s in my coat? Then here!” Then he ripped his coat open, and when he did that, the man sitting on this car right here had the excuse he needed. He drew his Glock, pretty damn quick for a cop, and shot Arnold McCaslin through the ribcage.
The shot wasn’t placed all that well, and it didn’t even put him down right away. McCaslin had a look on his face like this had to be some kind of nightmare he was going to wake up from. Then he realized it wasn’t, and he just sat down on the sidewalk and started to cry.
Some of the people who were watchin’ the whole thing started yelling at Hayward that he had no goddamn right to do that, and his answer was to warn them they better keep a safe distance. He warned them at gunpoint in order to make sure none of them got close. Then when his buddies all showed up, they escorted everyone way back, because no one ever gets to talk to the shooting victim. No one gets to say goodbye, no one gets to see off their loved ones. The reason for that, you see, is to make sure no one gets their own look at the scene, and no one gets to hear the side of the person who just got shot before they die. In this case, they had to make sure no one was able to see for themselves if McCaslin really had a weapon hidden in his coat or not.
An’ that’s exactly what they did…
* * *
“…Ain’t it, Hayward?” As Vincent finished relating the tale, the anger level of the crowd of bar patrons was elevated to nearly that of lynch-mob category. “I used to be a deputy over in Spokane County. I been there an’ I done that, and I know what I’m talking about.”
“If you used to be a cop, how come you’re not now?” Hayward asked.
“I treated people like human beings, and that just didn’t sit well with the establishment.”
“What a nice reason,” Hayward said. “You ever thought about how you might have contributed to the line of thinking that you don’t have to follow commands from a cop? That you can argue and resist on the scene instead of settling it in court later? Do you realize you’re part of the problem that led to what’s happening tonight?”
“The problem is all you, Hayward,” Vincent replied. “But in the current circumstances, I’m going to take a page from your book. From here on forward, my policy is, if you point a weapon at me or any other citizen without clear justification, then I have no choice, I must shoot. And when the smoke clears from that, I’ll have to make the same decision about surrendering that Randy had to make.”
Hayward wasn’t liking this a bit. Nobody talked to a cop like this and got away with it. “If you think this’ll get the results you want, you’re going to find out how very wrong you are.”
The young man holding the revolver held it up. “He’s not the only one making that his policy.”
“Count me in,” Alicia said.
One by one, hands began going up in agreement. As Hayward watched, he was very disturbed to see that a significant number of those hands were holding pistols.
Vincent was pretty surprised by this development himself. He felt torn at that moment, needing the support on one hand, and not wanting to see others risk throwing their lives away on account of his actions on the other. It gave him a new insight into why Randy had insisted everyone stay out of his fight.
Hayward felt his sense of power slipping. It was a feeling that made him sick to his stomach, so he tried to sei
ze a little of it back. “You might have caught us at a bad time, but once this is over there’ll be plenty of opportunity to set you all straight. Every one of you who is part of this is going to pay. Do you really think you can humiliate us like this?”
“Well tell me how it feels on the receiving end,” Vincent replied. “This is exactly what you put us through at every opportunity, but now you people have pushed things past the breaking point. As for makin’ us pay, maybe you’ll get that chance. But I’m bettin’ that by the time Randy gets finished, you won’t be around to make good on that.”
Everyone had said their piece, so Vincent locked their guns in the trunk of the patrol car, uncuffed the two cops and sent them on their merry way. They left without further comment, but none was needed. They meant to have revenge for this, and everyone knew it. But whether they’d get that chance was very much in question, because things had just changed again.
They weren’t in charge anymore.
Chapter 13
The Doctor’s House
Randy’s mind began swimming into the early stages of consciousness. Having no memory yet of when he’d last gone to sleep, he felt certain that he was at home, safe in his own bed. Then the nagging sense began to return that things had changed since he’d last been in that particular happy place, with Elena lying beside him, and feeling secure that all was right in the world. The sluggishness with which his brain was awakening reinforced that sense. He could almost see Elena beside him, right where she always was when he opened his eyes, but as his uneasiness grew with his ascent from sleep, the image of her faded and then vanished. Randy finally opened his eyes. Elena, of course, was not there.
He was lying on a couch in a strange house. It was midday, judging by the amount of sunlight filtering through the curtains on the large front windows. It was a big front room with a fireplace.
A woman was sitting in the easy chair across the room from the couch. She was in her sixties, wearing spectacles, and holding Randy’s Glock in her lap. She gave him a smile as he noticed her. “Please don’t move,” she said, and Randy realized that wouldn’t be a hard request to go along with, as his arms were behind him and he was wearing handcuffs. “I’ll get the doctor.” She got up and disappeared down the hall.
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