NECESSARY MEASURES

by Alexander, Hannah

  “Who’s hurt?” He braced himself. He couldn’t bear to lose a raider.

  “Two of the suspects.”

  “I’ll call an ambulance.” Suspects. Not his men. He couldn’t rejoice yet but he allowed himself a brief smile.

  ***

  Beau stood in front of the bathroom mirror and practiced his smile. No changes. It still looked like a lascivious leer. Today he would concentrate on not smiling. It would be hard.

  He was a closet romantic. He loved weddings. He loved the tearful smiles, the pageantry, the candles, the music. Most of all he loved the joy of hope. Every time he attended a wedding he imagined how happy his parents must have been on their special day, how beautiful Mom must have been walking down the aisle in clouds of white, how Dad must have gazed at her with utmost reverence and awe.

  Tears came to Beau’s eyes as he thought about it—though Mom was dead he could still feel the power of the love his parents had shared. It was the power of their love that had given him his sense of connection in this family from his earliest memories—that and Brooke’s voice, which was presently raised in complaint about the fit of Dad’s tuxedo.

  “Those are too tight! You can’t wear them, Dad. I won’t let you! You look like some gigolo.”

  “Don’t go there, Brooke. I don’t see what I can do about it now.”

  “But why are they so tight? Did the shop get your order mixed up with Archer’s? You know he has a flatter stomach than—”

  “Watch it.”

  “I didn’t mean you’re fat, I just meant that Archer’s so much younger than you so he still has—”

  “Brooke!” Beau called through the open door of the bathroom. “Shut up or Dad won’t let you catch the bouquet.”

  “What would I do with a bouquet?”

  “Never mind. Just leave Dad alone. He looks great.”

  “Thank you, Beau,” Dad said from the other side of the wall.

  “Oh yeah?” Brooke said. “You haven’t seen him in the past ten minutes have you? Come in here and take a look.”

  “I’m brushing my teeth.”

  “I hope you’re not wearing your jacket. I stopped Dad just in time to keep him from wearing his good shirt to cook breakfast.”

  “You didn’t try to cook it, did you?” Beau called to her in alarm.

  The ensuing silence twanged with her irritation.

  Dad’s soothing bass voice came with gentle humor. “I cooked a good breakfast and it’s staying warm in the oven. Now if Brooke will stop reminding me that my waistline has expanded along with my timeline—”

  “That wasn’t what I meant,” Brooke protested. “I just think they ordered the wrong size.”

  “Maybe it was supposed to be Hardy’s tux,” Beau said. Lauren’s brothers had both been ushers initially.

  Beau crossed the hall and strolled into the master bedroom. “Or maybe they confused it with the one for Mr. Netz. Archer called him to take your place if you didn’t get back from St. Louis.” He studied the tux with feigned disinterest. He hated it when Brooke was right. It wasn’t that Dad looked bad in the tux but the color was wrong for him. Jessica normally had great taste but she obviously had grown accustomed to working with flashy colors on stage. Dad looked like a pine tree in his Christmas green tux. It was supposed to be charcoal.

  “I don’t understand why those people didn’t just do the deposition and get it over with,” Brooke complained. She sat on the dressing chair beside the bureau, wearing blue jean cutoffs and a T-shirt, painting her toenails dark red. “Now you’ve got to go all the way back up there and fight it again. Who wants a malpractice suit hanging over his head? It’s a frivolous suit. Anyone with half a brain knows that.”

  Beau patted Brooke’s arm as if she were a small child. “Sis, we could be talking a jury trial. The plaintiff’s attorney will try to keep anyone with more than half a brain out of the jury box.”

  “They can only do that so many times.”

  The muted buzz of the telephone, still set for night-ring, floated from Dad’s bedside stand. He answered.

  He listened while Brooke continued to apply the polish and Beau sat on the corner of the neatly made king-sized bed that Mom and Dad had shared for years.

  “How many did they get?” The sudden tautness of Dad’s voice alerted Beau and Brooke in concerted attention. “Officers wounded?”

  Brooke fumbled the open bottle of polish and it dropped to the floor. She stared at Dad, hand suspended in midair, her artificially darkened eyes opening wide in agitated excitement, ignoring the bottle. Beau leaned over and picked it up before it could spill its sticky contents on the carpet.

  “The sergeant’s there? You are aware he’s the best man at a wedding today? Of course I understand the gravity—” He sighed. “Yes.” He checked his watch against the time on his bedside clock. “I’ll be there.” He replaced the receiver and gave a low groan.

  “Dad?” Brooke said softly. “How many did they get?”

  Dad frowned and turned slowly to look at his daughter. “How do you know what I was talking about?”

  Beau caught the bare flicker in Brooke’s eyes before she replied. “Simple. The only person I know who is a sergeant and is also a best man today is Tony Dalton. Officers wounded? What am I supposed to think?”

  “Last time I checked you weren’t a member of any local police force, young lady, and the police should be the only ones with foreknowledge about a drug raid.”

  Brooke didn’t reply.

  Dad reached for the top button of a pair of slacks that were far too tight—just as Brooke had said. “I have to change, you two. Finish getting ready. Brooke, you and I will talk about this later. I have to make a detour by way of the hospital.”

  She groaned. “But Dad, if you go to the hospital you might not get out in time for the wedding.”

  “You’re right. We’ll need some help clearing out the patients. Beau, why don’t you come with me?”

  Yes! Beau tried not to gloat. “Sure, Dad.”

  “Me too,” Brooke said. “I want to—”

  “No, you get ready and go on to the wedding,” Dad said.

  “What? No Dad! That isn’t fair!”

  “Save a place for us.”

  “But why does Beau get to go with you—”

  “Because,” Beau said, “I don’t scream, throw up, or faint at the sight of bleeding people.”

  “Neither do—”

  “And I know how to stay out of the way and keep my mouth shut—most of the time—in the exam room. Save us a place, Brooke. I’ll try to make sure Dad makes it on time.”

  “But—”

  Dad put his hand on the edge of the door and pointed her out of the room. “Later. I’ll give you all the gory details as soon as I get them. Just get to the wedding. Go early if you can.”

  “No way. Archer was crazy enough to ask Evan to take informal pictures before and after the wedding today. Do you know what kind of pest he is when he’s trying to catch the perfect shot?”

  Dad gave Brooke a kiss on the forehead and nudged her out the door. “Just get dressed and get to the church. After this is over you can tell me why you suddenly know so much about secret police business.”

  ***

  Even blind, Tony could feel the stares of officers and hospital staff alike as he sat in the center of the ER bustle in his wedding slacks and ruffled shirt, sans bow tie and coat. He didn’t care. He was relishing this moment.

  Three of the detainees from two of the meth-lab houses had engaged the officers in gunfire and two had been wounded in the process. Another had attempted escape after he was handcuffed. He’d fallen into a hole in the yard and had sprained or broken an ankle. Two had inhaled damaging amounts of fumes from their own production in their panic and one had attempted to swallow the evidence and was now getting her stomach pumped. Did she appreciate the fact that the nurses were trying to save her life? Oh no. She swore at them all the way through the process—only garbled once the tub
e was in place.

  To Tony’s joy no officers were wounded. In all they had made fourteen arrests. It was just possible that the major artery of drug flow in Dogwood Springs had finally been severed thanks to the recent increase of cooperation from private citizens.

  A familiar stink hovered in the department, of course, although Tony’s decontam people had done their job. Most people would not even recognize that particular smell for what it was but he could have gagged at the odor.

  He spoke softly into his voice-activated recorder as he downloaded orders to be carried out later. One reason Henry was his temporary right-hand man again was because of the wedding and Caryn’s insistence that she be allowed to attend without being called in to take notes.

  Another loud complaint streaked through the central section of the ER. Tony suppressed a smile. He probably shouldn’t be enjoying this so much but the success was giving him an endorphin high.

  “Sergeant,” Henry said.

  “Yes?”

  “You’d better take this call.” The man’s voice sounded strained. He placed a cell phone into Tony’s right hand.

  Tony took the phone and held it to his face. “What is it?”

  “You’re not going to like this.” It was Wilson.

  “Are the houses all secure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  “Our main target got away.”

  “Simon Royce?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But he couldn’t have escaped. I ordered four officers on that man. I received report that he had been subdued.” Simon Royce could not have gotten away from—

  “Prints didn’t match the guy we brought in. It wasn’t him.”

  Disappointment mingled with frustration mingled with rage. He had to control himself. “The photos. We have the photos—

  “Not the same guy.”

  “Okay, that means Royce is still out there somewhere.” It did, didn’t it? Tony couldn’t bear the thought that he might have gone to all this trouble to catch a man who wasn’t even in the area. Evan had mentioned that Peregrine’s physical appearance had changed drastically but the kid had a good eye for detail and he’d seen the pusher. Tony was going to stick with that hypothesis.

  “The houses are secure?” Tony asked.

  “All covered. We’ve got twelve guys booking, five teams securing evidence.”

  Tony slumped back in his chair. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

  ***

  Archer stood at the open window of his office at the church and listened to car doors slamming and voices of church members greeting one another as they made their way in their wedding-day best toward the entrance. As he had expected, people were arriving early to get a seat. Evan Webster was wandering around the parking lot with his tiny camera, taking candid shots of the early arrivals. The guests took his antics with good grace.

  Except for Evan’s clownish attempts to get his subjects to smile, Archer and Jessica had managed to tone down the festivities in honor of the recently deceased. Jessica’s sister Heather would be singing an extra song to commemorate Hardy’s life and heroism. It would be hard on the family but he also knew it would mean a lot.

  He looked at his watch. It had moved forward two minutes from his last check. Heather wasn’t here yet. Neither were Grant or Tony. Why not? It was nine-thirty and the wedding was scheduled for ten.

  Someone knocked at the door.

  “Yes?”

  “Archer? It’s Caryn. I need to tell you something.”

  No, Lord. Oh please, no. He walked to the door and opened it. Caryn wore a dress of light blue silk and she was wearing makeup. He concentrated on these things because he didn’t want to think about why she was here.

  “Tony and his men made a big raid a few hours ago.” The excitement in her voice and life in her eyes were beautiful to behold. He hadn’t seen them in quite some time. “Big raid. They called in units from all over the county, got all kinds of stuff. There was apparently some gunfire and a couple of accidents. None of the officers were injured but Tony might be late. He’s at the hospital.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Hyper as all get-out. He won’t be okay for weeks considering the paper work we’ll have to complete. He doesn’t need illegal drugs to get high. A raid like this will last him for months.”

  “Then maybe he’ll agree to the clinical trial.”

  “Wouldn’t it be great?” She sounded almost like the old Caryn.

  “I’ll see about delaying the wedding as long as possible.” What else could he do? Tony would get here as soon as he could.

  ***

  Tony clenched and unclenched his fists as he forced himself to remain seated in the staff break room. Peregrine had done it again. He’d evaded capture. One of the suspects had admitted, just moments ago, that Simon Royce—aka Peregrine—had been with her last night teaching her the latest meth recipe. When the batch was completed he had slipped out into the darkness and walked away.

  Had he taken any of the meth with him? No. He had given himself an injection and left with instructions to sell the rest and hold his share of the proceeds until he returned for them. The suspect had volunteered the information that she thought Peregrine was drinking as well.

  Tony felt comfort in the fact that their prime suspect had at least been in the vicinity as recently as last night.

  A quick call got his best officer on the telephone again and Tony ordered him to go under cover. He named the others he wanted involved and insisted they wear bulletproof gear.

  Three two-man teams could cover the places Peregrine was known to frequent. Maybe he’d slipped up. Maybe he’d stopped somewhere before he got out of town. Sloppy as he’d grown lately that was always a possibility.

  “He has a couple of girlfriends he’s been seen with in the past few months.” He gave his team leader the names and addresses. “Check them out. Look up our informants.” Most of the people who worked closely with Peregrine were now being booked. “Keep in close contact with the booking officers. They may get more information from our suspects.”

  “Sergeant, he’s going to be dangerous.”

  “That’s why I want you to use extra caution. Put out an APB, notify all local agencies. Do you know if he had access to a car?”

  “That hasn’t been established.”

  “No reports of stolen vehicles?”

  “None. I’ll check again.”

  “Be sure everyone has a copy of the most recent picture we have of him and don’t forget that description of the light-colored four-by-four Dodge truck he might be driving. I want this guy stopped before he kills somebody. Don’t give him time to find a new hideout.”

  “We’re on it, Tony. Get to the wedding.”

  Tony hung up and prayed. And prayed some more. If Peregrine was tweaking he would be as dangerous as a small troop of officers.

  Were they missing something? Did he have contacts they didn’t know about?

  Pressing this guy into a corner could be dangerous and Tony didn’t want his people injured. He also didn’t want any citizens injured with possible fallout.

  He felt the face of his Braille watch. The wedding was almost ready to begin. Typically a best man should be somewhere in the vicinity of the altar when the ceremony took place. He knew Archer would appreciate it if he made an effort to attend church today.

  ***

  Archer was pacing so fast through the office he nearly tripped over a chair. Had to calm down. This could still work. All was not lost. Even though Tony had apparently encountered a roadblock he would be here. The wedding would take place. Next week was going to be wonderful with no interruptions. No trips to the hospital. He expected to suffer severe withdrawal pains from his cell phone—for perhaps five minutes. Dad was filling the pulpit for the next week and Jessica didn’t have a show for eight days.

  Christmas madness would implode on them when they returned home but for a week they would have
peace.

  The parking lot continued to fill. Archer checked his watch again. Would the world end if Jessica walked down the aisle fifteen minutes later than planned?

  Better check and see.

  He strode through the fancy reception room—the decor of which the reception committee and the kitchen committee had battled over for the past two years—and knocked on and opened the door to the bride’s dressing room. He stepped into the hushed carpeted haven of floral bouquets and ficus trees.

  “Oh no you don’t, Pastor!” Mrs. John Netz honed in on him the moment he stepped over the threshold and charged after him like a mama water buffalo protecting her calf. “You’ll see her soon enough.”

  A bright flash alerted him and he turned to see Evan grinning at him from the hallway, glasses reflecting the overhead light, making it impossible to see his eyes, just his white, slightly crooked teeth. He must have lost his contact lenses again. Of course he would be thrilled at catching a pose of his pastor being barred from the bride’s dressing room.

  Archer turned back to the self-appointed guard. “I understand how you feel, Mrs. Netz, but I’ve received word that there might be a delay.”

  “Nobody delays a wedding for more than five minutes without bringing bad luck on the bride and groom during the honeymoon.” She gave him a look over the tops of her glasses. “You don’t want that to happen, do you?”

  He was just about to reprimand her for believing in luck instead of the blessing of the Lord when he saw the twinkle in her eye. He grinned. “Would you please just tell Jessica that Tony’s been delayed?”

  “Archer, the photographer’s on a tight schedule today. We might have to go on without him.”

  “I’ll do it!” Evan rushed forward eagerly. “I’d love to do it for you.”

  Archer held a hand up to control the young man’s excitement. “Jessica’s sister hasn’t arrived either and she’s the maid of honor as well as the soloist. The photographer should have taken minor holdups into consideration.”

  Mrs. Netz pressed her lips together and nodded. “We’d better pray they get here.”

  Archer had already been doing that. He walked down to the church foyer where family and friends in their finest clothes rushed over to greet him and compliment him on his tuxedo and the high polish on his shoes and the healthy flush of his face.