The Bay Bulls Standoff

by Chris Ryan

  “Why are they doing that?”

  “I’d say they’re taking turns warming themselves up down at the town hall. Few beers last night, did ya?”

  “Dutch, what did I tell you on the phone? Shut up. I’m not going listening to you all day. I’ll drink how much beer I wants. Now that’s the end of it, all right?”

  “I just like riding you.”

  “Well, ride someone else, not me. My fucking head is killing me. Joe, who ever thought this would last four days?”

  “Sharon, I knew when this started that them getting Leo out of that house was not going to be easy. It would be a monumental task.”

  “How the hell are they going to get him out?”

  “Again, that’s one of those million-dollar questions.”

  “There seems to be a lot of them since this all started.”

  “Where’s Brenda? Didn’t take her this long to go get the mail in Witless Bay.”

  “She’s giving her grandmother, Mrs. Annie, a run out to Bidgood’s for a few groceries. We’ll all be out to Bidgood’s for groceries before this is over.”

  “Ridiculous that senior citizens have to leave their community to travel out over the highway for groceries. I know the few convenience stores around have some things, like bread and butter. And canned stuff. But meats and chicken and the like can only be gotten at a supermarket.”

  “And, Dutch, a lot of seniors don’t drive or don’t have a car.”

  “You’re right on that.”

  “I still can’t believe that Foodland is closed. What about inconveniencing customers? What about the twenty-five or thirty people working there? The big question is will they get their cheque for this week? Not their fault that Foodland is closed. And I know there are young people working there raising children that can’t afford to lose a week’s pay. I guess the Department of Justice will have to step up to the plate and pay them. That would be the right thing to do.”

  “Yes, but how long will they have to wait?”

  “I’d expect Foodland to pay them up front and then go after the government to be reimbursed. To me, that would make the most sense.”

  “Stuff that makes the most sense in Newfoundland is not always practised in Newfoundland. Especially when dealing with government. And we all have many cases from experience that we could put on the table for discussing.”

  “Where do you think Leo is at in the house?”

  “I’d say he’s in the basement.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not? Down there with the door sealed, with rags or tape. That grey stuff, duct tape. I wouldn’t be shocked if he had a hidden room down there, waiting for the day that this would happen. This is like a mini-Waco. You remember the shootout in Waco, Texas, don’t you?”

  “I remember a little about it.”

  “David Koresh. A raging madman. Leader of the Branch Davidians, a fanatical religious group. The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives, the FBI, and the Texas National Guard had a shootout with Koresh and his followers, which started on February 28, 1993, and ended fifty days later on April 19. With eighty-six people dead. I believe they ended it by bombing him out of his bunker. He had a bunker built into the side of a hill. Kind of like a big foxhole. A cave.”

  “You can’t compare this to Waco, Dutch. Waco was many years in the making.”

  “Leo was twelve years in the making.”

  “You can’t say that, Dutch.”

  “Why can’t I? I said here the other day that Leo always thought the cops would be back for a go at him. I’m surprised it took them twelve years. Why do you think they sent in the SWAT team snipers so fast? If that had been anyone, and I mean anyone, other than Leo Crockwell, they would have waited for a few hours to get the person out. I could see if he was up in the window brandishing a weapon, threatening people. Then the action they took would be called for. Well, they should have sent in the RNC. Actually, that woman cop—Debbie Moss, I believe, is her name—didn’t she get him out in minutes from her initial contact with him on the phone? When he was detained in 1998?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “Well, she could have done in minutes on Saturday what twenty RCMP couldn’t do in—how many days are we here now? I believe it’s four. Bay Bulls is in the RCMP jurisdiction of Ferryland. Then why were the Constabulary here and arrested him in 1998? You answer, Joe. You seem to be knowledgeable about all this.”

  “Dutch, the Constabulary came and arrested him on February 27, 1998, because the issue with him started in their jurisdiction, St. John’s. Remember, at the Newfoundland Hydro building?”

  “Oh, that makes sense. I always wondered over the years why the Constabulary and not the RCMP arrested him back then.”

  “Actually, Dutch, the RCMP were sitting in Anthony’s yard for backup the night the Constabulary arrested Leo back in 1998.”

  Anthony O’Brien’s is the old name of the Sapphire Pub. It was called that from the end of World War II until it was sold in the late 1990s.

  “Dutch, did they force Junior O’Driscoll to move out of his house? There was talk of it the other day.”

  “I don’t know. Joe, remember to remind me to ask Jeff when he gets here from school.”

  “I’ll try to remember it. But my head is gone trying to remember stuff.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m like it, too, and I’m seven years younger than you.”

  “Sure, boys, there are days I hardly remember where my house is.”

  “Sharon, that’s not memory loss. That’s called the beer.”

  “Dutch, for the third time today, fuck off. You’re an annoying little prick when you wants, aren’t you?”

  “Sharon, what beer do you drink now, Labatt’s Light or Bud Light?”

  “Who cares what label is on it? Beer is beer. So long as there’s alcohol in it.”

  “Good point.”

  “I wish Brenda would come on.”

  “Why, you don’t like our company?”

  “Joe is all right. You’re a mouthpiece. Dutch, I can just handle you on a good day and today is not a good day. You lips me up again, I might drive me fist down your throat.

  “Come on, Dutch. You promised me the other day that you would talk to the cops for me concerning Peanut.”

  “All right, let’s go. Your car or mine?”

  “Mine.”

  “Okay.”

  Just as we were leaving, Brenda showed up. The three of us jumped in Sharon’s car and headed to Foodland. When we got there, we noticed a female RCMP officer standing beside a Suburban cruiser. I decided to try our luck with her. Sharon pulled the car over and we rolled down our windows.

  “Good day, Officer. My friend Sharon is wondering when she can go to her house and get her dog. The poor animal has been in the house alone since this standoff started. It’s not good enough!”

  “Hang on, let me ask.” The officer jumped in the Suburban. She got out a minute or so later.

  “Okay, I was just told that you will get your dog sometime this afternoon. Drop back here and see me. Me and no one else, around three o’clock. I assure you, you will get your dog today. This is the first I’ve heard about your dog. Had I known this, you would have had your dog before now.”

  “Thanks, Officer. We’ll see you later.” We rolled the windows back up and Sharon started for the pit.

  “Sharon, she wasn’t hard to get along with. At least she sounded sincere.”

  “All the other cops just bullshitted me.”

  “Like I said the other day, women cops are great to deal with. They’re not going around with their chests stuck out. They know how to deal with people. I guess it’s the motherly instinct they have. Haven’t come across a female cop yet that wasn’t nice and sweet.”

  “
I can’t wait to see Peanut. I never thought I could miss a dog so much. Thanks a million, Dutch. You’re good for something.”

  “Sharon, you’re too quiet. If that was Bella or Lady I’d have been after sneaking up there and getting them on my own.”

  “Now, Mr. Brains. How do you expect me to get to my house? Haven’t you seen the two cops cars parked within 200 feet of my house?”

  “I would have crawled on my belly. Wouldn’t be the first person to sneak past a cop or two. You think the cops in those cars are not having a scattered nap? Don’t kid yourself. I’d say they’re pretty fed up with all this.”

  “Enough of this. I’m going back to Judy’s for a nap.”

  “Sharon, you’re up two hours, actually less.”

  “Yes, you’re right, Dutch. See you later, boys. Joe, I might come back later. With any luck, Dutch will be gone back to Gammy Bird Town.”

  “Now, Sharon, don’t go home and sleep all day and not get Peanut.”

  “I’m going for a short nap.”

  After Sharon and Brenda left, Joe turned to me and said, “Sure, she’s not up two hours yet and she’s gone for a nap.”

  “I’ll leave her alone for a few hours and then go get her if she doesn’t come back. If she doesn’t get Peanut today, she’ll flip.”

  “I don’t blame her. Dog left in the house for over seventy-two hours. If I was Sharon I would make an official complaint to the humane society. Someone told me that Carly Lundrigan was brought to her house yesterday by the cops to get her dog. Does Sharon know that?”

  “I don’t think so. She’ll flip when she hears it, though. They drove past her house to get a dog in another house and couldn’t bring her with them to get Peanut. Typical, one hand doesn’t know what the other is at. Hope that will not turn into a habit of the police during this standoff.”

  “What do you mean, Dutch?”

  “I hope for Leo’s sake that this is organized. How often have we heard in police reports over the years that one group of police didn’t know what was on the go during a standoff?”

  “If I was a betting person, I’d bet they will definitely let Sharon get her dog today. Now that they let Carly get her dog, I’d say they’ll let Sharon and Sandra Cahill go get both animals today.”

  Approximately two hours later, Sharon showed up back in the pit with Peanut. They came over to Joe’s rig and got in.

  “Here he is, Mr. Peanut. Sharon, he looks fine to me.”

  “He nearly ate me when he saw me.”

  “I’d say. When did you get him?”

  “As soon as I got up from my nap I went straight to the town hall. They put me in a black Suburban, flew me up St. John’s Road. Fastest time I ever travelled on a road in Bay Bulls. Hauled into my house, up to the front door. As close as they could get. One SWAT team member got out with me. He stood by my front door with a gun in his hand, facing Leo’s. They told me to get absolutely nothing else, only the dog.”

  “Did you turn off the lights?”

  “No. I wasn’t pushing my luck.”

  “You should have at least turned off the lights. Your house is lit up like a church.”

  “Fuck it. A few extra dollars on my electricity bill. Newfoundland Power has to make a few bucks off this, too.”

  “I bet you feel happy now that you got your Peanut.”

  “Next time this happens Peanut will be going with me the first time I leave the house.”

  “Why, Sharon—you expect this to happen again?”

  “Dutch, anything is possible in Bay Bulls. We have quite the mix of people.”

  “I have to agree with you, Sharon.”

  “Mr. Hearn said to me one time, Dutch, ‘It takes all types to make the world go ’round. And you know what? They’re all here.’ I never forgot that. Ambrose had many good sayings. I dearly miss him.”

  “Remember the summer Ambrose put out the liar’s bench? Shortly after he put it out, Mrs. Hearn looked out and Ambrose and Uncle Tom were sitting on it having a yarn. She said to me the next day, ‘You couldn’t have hand-picked two better fellows to sit on a liar’s bench.’ That bench had at least five or ten tourists stop daily to have their picture taken on it. Every time I hear the Highwaymen sing ‘Desperados Waiting for a Train,’ I think of Mr. Hearn.”

  “I’m going to get some grub.”

  “You coming back after supper?”

  “Dutch, you know I will be.”

  “Okay. I’m going to Tina’s mother’s for supper.”

  “Why are you going there?”

  “Tina went to New Hampshire last night shopping with her two friends from work, Wanda Percy and Kerry Whalen.”

  “How long she gone for?”

  “Back around midnight, Friday night.”

  “This should be over by then.”

  “That’s wishful thinking. That’s a fifty-fifty scenario.”

  “You have it rough, don’t you? Your girlfriend gone away and the mother-in-law feeds you.”

  “She’s an awesome cook, I don’t mind. Sure, why not feed me? She cooks twice a day, every day. She’s feeding Stacie and Hollie as well, so me tagging along is no big deal. Later, Joe, Sharon.”

  I got back to the pit about a half-hour later with a full belly. I parked and climbed into the back seat of Joe’s SUV.

  “Supper was deadly. Pan-fried cod, fried with fatback pork, and potatoes. The meal that most tourists look for when they come here.”

  “That true?”

  “I know it from when I had the craft shop. Anyway, I can hardly breathe I’m so full. If I fart I’ll fill me drawers.”

  “You fart once and you’ll be sitting in your own car.”

  “Yes, and you’ll have nothing to view Leo’s house with, so fuck off. Tina’s old man said he may come over later on for a look.”

  “That would be all right. Michael’s a good fellow to have a yarn with.”

  “Talk the arse off you if you want to listen to him. He can’t believe that this is going on since Saturday.”

  “Him and everyone else in Witless Bay, Dutch.”

  “The news had a bit more on this evening. Most of it was repeating what was on yesterday evening. They’ll get a lot of mileage out of this.”

  “Not much else to be reporting this time of year.”

  “A standoff anywhere in Newfoundland or Labrador is a big story. Especially one ongoing for four days. Joe, if this is going on for another day or two, I’m willing to bet you’ll see media from the mainland crawling around here.”

  “Dutch, there are national reporters stationed in St. John’s full-time. If you watch the nightly news, there are stories every day or at least every second day from Newfoundland appearing on the national news.”

  “Joe, did you notice the lights shining on the back of Leo’s house? They look like they’re on a tripod. Floodlights. The type you see on construction sites. Dual lights. The stand is almost always yellow. You can adjust them up or down. From this angle the place is lit up like the Basilica in St. John’s. I’m going up to Ann Marie’s for a look at the back of Leo’s house. You going or staying?”

  “I’m staying. Not losing this spot.”

  “Okay, back in a half-hour.”

  I got in my car and scooted to the other side of the harbour. On my way to Ann Marie’s door I noticed a video camera on a very large tripod on her deck. I knocked on her door and walked in.

  “Dutch, why are you knocking?”

  “Me mother always told me to knock before entering anyone’s house. And to always take my shoes off. Ann Marie, when did they set up the motherfucking huge lights behind Leo’s house?”

  “I noticed them coming on dark.”

  “How did they get the lights so close to the house?”

>   “I don’t know, but if I had to guess I’d say they crawled over on their bellies from behind the garage. The garage closest to the house. The old yellow Dodge truck is on an angle, so when you look from the house to the garage you actually can’t see this corner of the garage, the corner closest to my house. That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “That’s what I’m surmising. That makes sense. But why the fuck have they got those lights on the house?”

  “Dutch, I have no idea. But I’d say it’s one of two reasons. One, to light the house for the sharpshooters, or two, they’re planning on making a move tonight.”

  “I thought they took the sharpshooters out of there when it got dark.”

  “They were taking them out of there, but this evening they changed them out and left them there.”

  “That’s interesting. I’m thinking they have info that is not out to the public.”

  “I had an interesting chat with the young girl from CBC. Did you see her on the deck on the way in?”

  “No, but there’s a camera set up facing Leo’s.”

  “Dutch, if you had looked closer you would have seen the CBC logo on the side of it.”

  “I never saw a logo.”

  “Must be on the other side.”

  “When did she show up?”

  “Fifteen or twenty minutes ago. She told me that they got a tip to stay in the area tonight.”

  “Who told them that?”

  “She wouldn’t say. I asked her if it was the cops. She smiled and said, ‘We don’t reveal our informants.’”

  “Ann Marie, that’s big news. With the lights on the house, the sharpshooters still left at their locations, and with the CBC reporter saying that. Did you put it to her that they might attack the house tonight?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Why not?”

  “She didn’t seem the most talkative.”

  “That’s strange for a reporter. Talking is their job.”

  “Anyway, when she arrived and asked if they could shoot from my deck I said, ‘Fill your boots, baby.’ I don’t give a fuck who’s on my deck so long as they’re not blocking my view when I wants to have a gander out my living room window. Did you see the crowd on my deck last night?”