The Archangel Drones

by Joe Nobody

  “No,” Gabe finally stated with a firm voice, unwilling to submit to stupidity. “We are not going to be the ones who fuck up. You are going to sit tight and wait him out, come hell or high water. It’s the smart thing to do. It’s tactically sound. Don’t let him win.”

  Chip’s reply was interrupted by a tone indicating another call was coming in. “Hold on a second,” he informed Gabe, “Someone else is trying to call.”

  After finding the right button to switch calls, Chip answered, “Hello.”

  “Hello, this is Richard Sullivan from Central High School. I need to speak with Chip Denton, Manny’s father.”

  The hairs instantly rose up on Chip’s neck, a call from his daughter’s school extremely rare. “This is he.”

  “Mr. Denton, I’m a substitute gym teacher, and Manny has hurt her ankle,” the deep male voice advised. “She is on her way to the nurse’s office to have it checked out, but I wanted to give you a call and let you know of the injury. She may need to come home a little early today.”

  Something didn’t mesh about the call. It took Chip a moment to figure out what the nagging, little voice inside him was saying. Manny wasn’t taking gym this year.

  “I see, Mister… Or is it Coach? I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

  “Sullivan,” came the unhesitating response.

  The hairs on the back of Chip’s neck were standing on end, his mind racing with suspicious thoughts. “I almost didn’t pick up your call, sir. The caller ID was blocked.”

  “I’m calling from my personal cell. The rest of the class is still outside right now, but I wanted to give you a heads up as soon as possible.”

  “Mr. Sullivan, thank you. I was on another call, could I dial you right back?”

  After the extended pause, Chip was certain whoever was on the other end had nothing to do with his kid’s education. “We’re going back inside shortly. I don’t think my phone works in the building. Besides, the nurse should be calling soon. From the looks of it, you might want to get her ankle x-rayed. Perhaps make plans for a quick ER visit.”

  “I will do so, sir. Again, thanks for calling.”

  Chip switched back to his boss, the urgency bleeding through in his voice. “You still there?”

  “Yeah… I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about…”

  Chip interrupted, “Is the G-1 still watching Marwick?”

  “Sure, why?”

  “Did he just make a phone call?”

  Gabe got it immediately. “Hold on, let me rewind the video. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  The sound of keyboard clacking came through the cell connection, Gabe obviously manipulating the buttons in quick succession. “Yes, he did. How did you know?”

  Chip exhaled, relieved that Manny wasn’t hurt, pissed that Marwick would try such a stunt. “Because that son of a bitch just called me.”

  After a quick recounting of the conversation, Gabe was amazed. “He is getting desperate. What do you want to do?”

  “How much battery is left in the G-1?”

  “Maybe 30 more minutes, give or take. The wind has picked up a little.”

  “Is the G-3 ready?”

  Gabe glanced over at the worktable and shook his head. “No. Not really. In an emergency, I might risk it.”

  “Shit. That asshole just pretended to be a substitute teacher at the high school. He claimed that Manny injured herself and needs emergency care. He is forcing my hand, Gabe. I need a guardian angel on my shoulder…. I was going to drive to the school, pretending as if I wanted to check if Manny were okay. I wanted to find out what he was up to.”

  “You don’t think 30 minutes is enough?” Gabe responded, redoing the math in his head.

  “Who knows? If he runs me off the road, then maybe not.”

  “The company pickup is still at your place. Why don’t you drive it? His sedan couldn’t do much against that heavier truck.”

  “Now there’s an idea. It’s in the garage. Follow me.”

  “Got it. Good luck,” Gabe said, the concern coming over the line.

  A few moments later, Chip hit the electric garage door opener and then backed the pickup into the street. He hadn’t made it to the first stop sign before Gabe’s text buzzed on his phone. “He’s started his car. The G-1 is right with you.”

  The school was only a few miles away, the route entirely comprised of surface streets with 40 mph limits. Chip wasn’t worried about the Gripen being able to keep up.

  Twice he caught a glimpse of Marwick’s tail, the tan Impala hanging back a reasonable distance, weaving carefully through the snarled afternoon traffic. After a few stoplights, Chip turned into the massive, suburban high school’s parking lot, not surprised to find the visitor spaces completely full.

  Big Jim was pleased, his scheme working perfectly. To begin with, he now knew who Chip Denton worked for, the license plate on the truck registered to one Jacob Industries, Incorporated. He didn’t think it was a coincidence that the suicide kid and the company employing his primary suspect shared the same name.

  Secondly, he’d not only managed to flush the recluse out of his house, he’d convinced the guy to drive right into his trap.

  Like most big city high schools, Central had its own police force. Consisting mostly of retired constables and HPD officers, the massive number of campuses and students had required the creation of an independent law enforcement department some years ago.

  There were over 80 cops on Central’s roster, all of them deputized, registered peace officers with the same authority as a deputy sheriff.

  Two of the officers were close friends of Marwick’s, both men owing their easy duty, high paying, semi-retired positions to the sergeant’s connections on the school board. Both were tough as nails, old school cops.

  While planning this new initiative, Jim recalled the night he’d pulled over the president of the school board, the man obviously driving under the influence, blowing well above the legal limit.

  The poor fellow had been desperate, a common reaction by individuals whose jobs depended on public reputations. Big Jim had let the powerful man go, even going so far as to escort the gentleman to his driveway.

  Brimming with gratitude and relieved to be off the hook, the elected official had no idea he’d just made a deal with the devil.

  But Jim knew better than to press it. Influential men didn’t like a blackmailer constantly knocking on their doors. Only occasionally did Jim make a phone call, asking a small favor for a fellow officer who was retiring, but hadn’t managed his finances well and could use a part-time job. Most were hired the same day. Most owed Marwick their livelihood.

  Big Jim watched his prey turn into the big campus, a smirk of satisfaction on his face. Even if Mr. Denton called 9-1-1, the city would only transfer the call to the school’s force. And they were already on the job.

  Chip managed a parking spot at the far end of the student lot, a considerable jaunt to the main entrance. Before exiting the truck, he scanned the area, looking for Marwick’s sedan. The dirty cop was nowhere to be seen.

  He did spot one of the school’s police cruisers patrolling the area, but that wasn’t any big deal. During Manny’s tenure, he had spotted several of the district’s cops on the job, most of them older guys who were always posted around basketball and football games. Friendly gents. Always smiling and waving.

  They even had their own on-campus police station, Chip having taken a tour during one of Manny’s orientations. He’d thought it was overkill at the time, complaining to Amanda about the waste of taxpayer dollars. The tour guide had overheard the remark, responding with the retort, “Most parents would prefer to have disciplinary issues handled here, rather than at the main county jail downtown.”

  Taking one last glance around the horizon, Chip tried to locate the G-1, but couldn’t. He had no idea where Gabe had directed the robot to hover. He hoped it was close.

  He’d only crossed three rows of parked cars
before the first cop pulled up. Chip casually waved, understanding why the officer would be curious about a pedestrian crossing the lot while classes were in session. When the second squad car appeared, he began to get nervous.

  “Excuse me, sir,” the first officer shouted as he exited the car, stopping Chip’s progress. “Could I see some ID, please?”

  Chip realized he was screwed immediately. Not only were the two school cops huge fellows, they had him cornered in a remote section of the parking lot where other foot traffic was extremely unlikely. Their aggressive posturing was just short of open hostility.

  “Sure, officer,” he replied, reaching for his wallet.

  No sooner than Chip’s hand had made it to his back pocket, the officer in front of him went for his holster and barked, “Real slow now, buddy. Pull out that ID real slow.”

  I am so fucked, Chip thought, doing exactly as the officer requested and presenting his driver’s license.

  With one big guy in front and another staying directly behind him, Chip felt a wave of helplessness deep inside. It was a somewhat disconcerting sensation, and were it not for the G-1 somewhere overhead, he would be sweating bullets already.

  “What is your purpose at the school today?” asked the officer who was examining Chip’s license.

  “A teacher called and said my daughter had been injured during gym class,” he responded honestly. “I was on my way to see if she was okay.”

  “And who was this teacher?”

  “Richard Sullivan, I believe,” Chip responded, again telling the truth, but not believing it mattered one iota.

  Front-cop peered over Chip’s shoulder at back-cop. “Do you know of a teacher named Sullivan?”

  “Nope. Never heard of him,” came the immediate answer.

  “He said he was a substitute,” Chip added.

  Front-cop tilted his head to the microphone pinned to his shoulder. “Dispatch, this is 31. Can you call the main office and see if a there is a substitute teacher by the name of Sullivan working today?”

  “Roger, 31,” sounded a female voice.

  “And Ginger, could you also see if there is a student, last name Denton, in the nurse’s office?”

  “Will do, 31.”

  The three men stood silently on the hot pavement, Chip knowing full well there wasn’t any teacher named Sullivan and no student named Denton receiving medical treatment. Regardless, there wasn’t anything he could do but pray the G-1 was doing a good job of recording the entire scene.

  The policeman’s radio broke the troubled man’s concentration, “31; No record of any Sullivan. No student by the name of Denton.”

  “Dispatch, 31, roger that.”

  Now the cop’s stare was boring into Chip, his posture becoming stiff and threatening. “So, Mr. Denton, want to tell me again why you’re in the student parking lot, walking around like you’re looking for a backseat to hide in, perhaps to surprise an underage female victim?”

  Before Chip could respond, the back-cop spoke for the first time. “He looks like the kind of sicko who’d get off on raping a child, doesn’t he?” the voice sneered.

  Chip snorted, unable to help himself, despite the implied threat. “I’m telling you the truth, officer. I received the call not less than 30 minutes ago. I’m not quite sure what’s going on.”

  “And I suppose you have a call log on your cell phone with a Central High School number listed as the caller?”

  Nodding, Chip held out his phone, which was immediately snapped away by the cop. While he couldn’t be positive, he thought the guy mumbled something like, “Can’t record without this,” but he wasn’t sure given the nervous-blood pounding in his ears.

  The cop didn’t even bother to look at the call log, instead motioning Chip toward his parked cruiser. “Please step over to the patrol car, sir.”

  Chip hesitated, knowing that the G-1 wouldn’t do him a bit of good if the two guys transported him to their little, private, on-campus police station. Once inside that building, he would be completely at their mercy. His mind started racing, trying to figure a way out.

  “Officer, perhaps I’ve been the victim of a prank. If we could go inside, I’m sure the ladies working the main office would vouch for me and the fact that my wife and I are very active, responsible parents.”

  “That’s what they all say,” chuckled the back-cop.

  “Please place your hands on the hood of the car, sir,” ordered front-cop. When Chip tried to comply by placing his palms directly over the emblem, the cop pointed to a spot on the side, slightly behind the wheel well.

  Gabe had told Chip about the police knowing how to avoid their dash cameras, and now he was seeing evidence of it up close and personal.

  Moving to the indicated spot, Chip did as he was told, suffering the indignant process of being frisked. When no weapons were found, the almost disappointed officer barked, “Please place your hands behind your back, sir.”

  Again, Chip complied without protest, the cold steel closing around his wrists reminding him of that night in front of his house.

  “Please step to the back of the car, sir. We are taking you to the campus police facility on the other side of the property to continue our investigation. Our sergeant will meet us there.”

  Chip started to turn as commanded, not noticing the back-cop’s duty boot hovering over his own foot. The combination of cuffs and tripping-obstacle caused the prisoner to lose his balance, his shoulder brushing against front-cop.

  The next thing Chip saw was the pavement rushing up at his face, back-cop lifting him by the belt and throwing the helpless man forward.

  The impact with the blacktop surface sent white lines of vibrating pain through Chip’s field of vision. And then the cop began screaming, “Why did you just assault that officer? What the hell is wrong with you, attacking a police officer? Are you on drugs?”

  Just as Chip’s head was starting to clear the pain, a sharp, stabbing ache racked his ribcage. “Stop resisting!” screamed the cop as he kicked Chip in the side. “Stop resisting!”

  I’m going to die, right here, Chip thought. These fuckers are going to kill me right here in the school parking lot. Manny will find my dead corpse lying in a pool of blood.

  But then the beating suddenly stopped.

  Trying to regroup, Chip couldn’t see anything from his facedown position. For a moment, he thought the two cops had let up because someone was passing by.

  Then a buzzing sound filled the air, one of the cops saying, “What the fuck is that?”

  Chip managed to turn his head and see the Gripen hovering at eye-level, its electronic lenses pointing directly at the police officers. For such a small machine, its profile was indeed threatening.

  The closest cop actually reached for his weapon, pulling his service pistol halfway out of its holster before his partner reached across and blocked the draw. “It’s only a drone. What are you going to do if your shot misses and hits the school building behind it?”

  Realizing his error, the officer returned his iron, his eyes never leaving the menacing robot. The calmer of the two officers spoke again, “I believe we’re the first to actually lay eyes on the Archangel.”

  “You mean that thing’s been recording us this whole time?” asked the more flustered of the two.

  Before any answer came, another voice rang out across the parking lot. “What’s going on over here, guys?”

  Chip, recovering from his face plant, recognized the coach’s profile as the muscular, ex-athlete approached across the massive asphalt rectangle. Manny was hurrying alongside the high-ranking school official. The G-1 accelerated away, rising quickly into the air and zooming into the distance.

  “Police business, sir. Please move on,” tried the older cop. But it was clear the coach wasn’t having any of it. It was about then that Manny spied her father on the ground, handcuffed and bleeding. “Dad!” she shouted, running toward her father.

  One of the officers stepped in front of the
rushing girl, grabbing her by the shoulders and stopping her cold. “Police business, young lady, please stay back.”

  Chip detected other people in the parking lot, the sound of footsteps coming from all directions. It seemed the basketball team was joining their coach.

  “Why were you hitting that man when he’s handcuffed and on the ground?” the coach asked. “What is he accused of?”

  “That’s none of your affair,” barked one of the cops.

  “It’s my affair,” came another voice, the school principal now joining the ever-larger throng gathered around the two police cars.

  When the cops didn’t answer, the schoolmaster circumvented them, bending down to closely examine the prone suspect. “Chip? What in the world is going on, Chip?”

  “I have no idea,” he managed, spitting blood from his bleeding mouth. “I was walking toward the entrance when these two thugs stopped me. Next thing I know, I’m getting the shit kicked out of me for no reason.”

  The principal turned to look at the officers, who sounded their own defense. “He was acting in a suspicious manner,” stated the front-cop. “When we tried to restrain him, he began resisting, so we had to use force to subdue the suspect.”

  “My dad would never do that!” Manny protested, tears streaming down her face, her mind locked in a déjà vu loop, viciously cycling between her memory of the beating months before and the image of her dad bleeding in the high school parking lot.

  The coach glared at the principal and explained, “I was in the gym when I got a phone call saying someone was getting beat up in the parking lot. I rushed out to see these guys kicking the man on the ground.”

  “And you, young lady?” the principal asked Manny. “I got a text saying my dad was in the parking lot. I saw the message between classes and ran out to see him.”

  Everyone stood around for a while, a standoff in progress as neither side appeared willing to back down. The coach’s cell phone dinged, announcing the delivery of a new multi-media message.