Max wrote her name down in his notebook. “Anyone else?”
Lieutenant Myles Godfrey got to his feet. He was in uniform but had a windbreaker on covering his shirt and gun belt …as well as his rather substantial potbelly. “I think someone from the P.D. should be on the committee. So put me down.”
Max was afraid of this. Godfrey was a pushy, overbearing type, and so would soon take over the committee, shutting everyone else down …if he got the chance.
“Appreciate the offer Lieutenant, but I’d like to keep it to non-sworn if possible. P.D. still has the say over security. We’ll need your help there.”
“Officer Calloway, I must insist. We’re staying here too, you know.”
Max was tempted to point out to Godfrey that it is Sergeant and not Officer and invoke the Chief at this point but decided against it. He knew he had to stand up to Godfrey if he had any hope of maintaining control over what takes place in the next few days or weeks.
“I hear you Lieutenant, but no. Let’s move on. Anyone else?”
A gray-haired man, bald on top, threw up his hand and said, “Keeble, Jack.”
Godfrey slowly sat down, clearly pissed at being cutoff. Several people in the group studied him.
“Phyllis Barns,” came another voice and right behind her, “Noah Small.”
“Okay, that makes four. We need a tie-breaker. Anyone?”
After a few seconds, “Ellen Beckworth.”
“Good, thank you everyone, and by the power vested in me, so on and so forth, you’re now the official steering committee. If you’ll hang around after the meeting we’ll get things rolling.”
The meeting went on for another forty minutes, during which Max went through his spiel about the need to start collecting money for food, starting at ten dollars a day per person and adjusting it up or down, depending on how things went. He explained that he didn’t want people to get the idea the police department was collecting protection money, so wanted to put the whole thing in the hands of the people the money would be feeding. He got one person to volunteer to collect the money and a second person to volunteer to keep it and track where it was spent. The steering committee would periodically review the books.
As for who would run the kitchen; it turned out that Frank Larson, who had literally just arrived, was an Army cook for one of his two tours in Vietnam. He and a woman who worked in a school cafeteria would put the meals together along with a rotating work crew.
As for non-sworn volunteers to help out with security, there was no shortage, including Jessica Martinez, who assured Max she would have no problem doing that and serving on the committee. Her husband had even shown her how to shoot a pistol and shotgun. Max said he didn’t see the need to arm the non-sworn, but he’d keep it in mind. These volunteers were directed to see Steve for a schedule.
About weapons, Max told the crowd that he realized that many people had their personal firearms with them, and he had no problem with that. The only exception was if they were staying inside the building and not in an RV outside, he would need them to secure their firearms in the arms room because of all the kids around. He assured them that anytime they wanted to access them, he would accommodate their request. There would always be people available on site with the combination.
The question came up about gun registration. To this, Max simply said he wouldn’t be checking. Hopefully, all this would be over by the July 31st deadline the President set anyway.
After the meeting, on his way back to the sleeping quarters he and Myra had set up, he asked her if she could find a doctor who, in exchange for the security of the substation, would be willing to donate his or her services.
“What, I’m not good enough for you?” she asked with a smile.
Max was trying to think of a good comeback when he heard someone shout, “Calloway!”
“Shit,” Max mumbled under his breath before taking a deep breath and turning around to face Lieutenant Godfrey.
“I need to talk to you. Let’s not forget, I out rank you.”
“I know, and you made that pretty clear during the meeting.”
“Good. So we need to have an understanding here. I’m going to be on that committee.”
“No, you’re not going to be on the committee.”
“I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you dictate …”
Max held up his hand, stopping Godfrey in mid-sentence. “Look at it this way; the Range Master is a Sergeant, right? He runs the range. When you go in there to shoot, he hands you the ammo, makes you wear ear and eye protection, tells you, you can shoot, when you can shoot, and where you can shoot. It’s his range. He’s in charge, even though you out rank him. Think of it that way. You out rank me, but in here, I’m in charge. Out there, outside the fence, regarding all other matters, you get to call the shots. Live with it.”
Godfrey stepped closer, so close in fact that Max could smell his mouthwash, which made him wonder if it was covering up another odor.
“This isn’t the fucking range,” Godfrey said, “and I should be on that committee to make sure the department’s interests are protected.”
“You see the department’s interests not being protected, feel free to come to me.”
Godfrey’s eyes shifted to Myra as if for the first time he realized she was there.
“Who’s this?”
Max almost told him it was none of his business, but instead kept his calm and said, “Myra, this is Lieutenant Godfrey. Lieutenant Godfrey, this is Myra. She’s a paramedic and, at the moment, I’m discussing medical with her.” …A few minutes from now I hope to be naked in bed with her.
Godfrey stared at her for a couple of seconds, nodded his head once, sharply, turned his attention back to Max and said, “This assignment won’t last long, and when it’s over, I’ll make it a point to have great influence over your career. Got it?”
“Got it. Anything else?” Max said, staring right back at him.
At that, Godfrey spun on his heels and stomped off.
“What an asshole!” Myra said.
“You hold the majority opinion. Nobody likes him.”
“How did he get to be a lieutenant then?”
“Kissing ass. The prior chief. If he goes to the current chief he won’t get far. He knows that, so I doubt he’ll try anything. He’s still going to be a problem, though.”
“I guess we got ‘em, too, but that guy, that guy is a real certified, A-number-one asshole.” She was quiet for a minute, taking in and letting out a deep breath before saying, “Now, uh, the medical thing.” She paused again. “Wow, he really pissed me off. Okay, okay, get over it Myra. The medical thing. Looking at some of those folks tonight, I’ll bet there is more than one of them who is on some serious meds. Joking aside, it would be nice to have someone here who can prescribe. A lot of times a doctor won’t prescribe something or even renew a prescription for someone without first seeing a patient. If I can find a doctor volunteer, and I have someone in mind, she can write the prescription, call it in to the pharmacy, and have it delivered right to the gate.”
“In the meantime, I’ll post something on the main doors with my cellphone number asking people with a chronic medical condition to contact me so I can start taking histories. Maybe we can even lay in a supply of the most critical drugs.”
“Sounds perfect. Thanks. That will be a big help. The last thing we need is for someone here to keel over and die, especially in front of all these kids.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Max had set up their sleeping quarters in what would have been the substation’s commander’s office, who probably would have been a captain or maybe even a deputy chief if the place had ever opened. The reason he did this wasn’t because he considered himself deserving of it. It was because it was on the second floor, at the end of a hallway, in an unoccupied section of the building, inside a larger office space that also had a door on it. Someone looking for him would have to go through two doors, both locked, to find him.
When they reached the second door, Max stopped, turned, and took Myra in his arms.
“Umm, you smell good,” he told her.
“I better, I took a shower just for you.”
Max put his nose in her hair and breathed deep, exhaling a groan from deep in his throat.
Myra kissed him on the lips and they held it for a long few seconds, enjoying the moment, before Max pulled away, said, “Come on,” and pulled his keys from his pocket.
Inside, Myra stepped to the window and looked out toward Great Oaks Boulevard. “You think anyone can see in?” she asked.
“Only if we want them to.”
“You wouldn’t …would you?” she said smiling.
“I’m willing if you’re willing.”
“Really?” smile fading, not sure if he was serious.
“Nah, there’s something in the glass that makes it impossible for people to see in, even with the lights on, but allows us to see out.”
“Yeah? In that case ….” Myra pulled her tee-shirt over her head and unhooked her bra, letting them both fall to the floor. She raised her hands above her head, “Whew-hoo” she shouted, spinning around.
Max started kicking off shoes, pulling guns and phones and badges from his belt, and stripping off clothes, all while staring at Myra’s now naked body.
“Gawd you’re beautiful,” he said.
“Gawd you’re hard!” she said in return as she laid down on the air mattress and rubbed her hands across her nipples, pinching them between her thumbs and index fingers.
Max threw himself on the bed next to her, kissed her on the lips, neck, sternum, and then the closest nipple.
Myra rolled her eyes and moaned.
Max’s cellphone rang and they froze.
“Don’t you dare answer it,” Myra said, holding the back of his head, keeping his lips pressed to her nipple.
Max shook his head no, and bit gently, rolling her nipple between his teeth.
The phone kept ringing.
She pushed him back and put her hand between his legs, stroking him.
The phone kept ringing.
She slid down his body, kissing his chest, his stomach, his pubic hair, rubbing her face in it.
The phone kept ringing.
Myra started to laugh.
Max started to laugh.
The phone stopped ringing.
“How many rings do you have that thing set for before it goes to voicemail?” Myra asked.
“I don’t know. It’s just that …”
The phone started ringing again.
“Oh for God’s sake, answer the damn thing, will you,” Myra said.
Max reached out, grabbed it, and swiped the screen to answer the call, just as Myra took him in her mouth. When he looked down, he found her looking up at him, smiling as best she could, but still smiling.
“What!” he said into the phone.
She went all the way down and then slowly up.
“What are you doing?” Steve asked.
“Nothing! What!” He squirmed and struggled to concentrate.
“Where are you?”
“Nowhere! Now what do you want?”
“Oh God. You’re at it again. Is that all you two think about?”
“God damnit, Steve, we haven’t …” Max stopped as Myra made circles with her tongue, still looking up to see his reaction. He let out a breath. “We haven’t done anything yet because you keep calling when you shouldn’t be calling. Get the picture?”
“I’m starting to get the picture, and I like it. What’s she doing, right now, right this very second?”
“She’s ….” Max could feel Myra laughing now as she released him and raised herself up on her elbows, exposing her breasts.”
“Go bother Beth, Steve, and leave us alone!” Myra shouted, continuing to laugh.
“Come on man, why did you call? asked Max. “Tell me it wasn’t just to mess with us.”
“No, not this time. I’m calling to tell you to get to a TV and turn it on.”
“Not again. They hit us again?”
Now Myra sat up and pulled the top blanket up over her chest. Thanks a lot Steve, Max thought.
“No, this is better news …I think. The FBI is putting out a couple of people as persons of interest; our area, too. Supposedly, they’re associated with one of the assholes from the mall. Here on student visas. San Jose State. They’re in the wind, though. I guess nobody’s seen them for several days.”
“What channel?”
“Doesn’t matter, it’s on all of them.”
“Okay, I’ll check it out. But do me a favor. Don’t call again unless there are terrorists at the gate and then only after you’ve called everyone else.” Max disconnected from the call.
“Shit!” he said, getting out of bed and turning on the wall-mounted, flat screen.
“What’s happened now?” Myra asked.
Max said, “If Steve is bullshitting me, I swear, I’ll kill him. Supposedly they’ve identified a couple people connected with the thing at the mall.”
When the picture came on, it was a split screen showing the photos of two people. At the bottom of one photo was the name Amiir Abdulle Hassan, twenty-five years old, country of origin, Somolia. Under the other photo was the name Amor Ocampo, a female, twenty-three, country of origin the Philippines.
“…they are believed to still be in the San Jose area. Even though they are only described as persons of interest, the FBI warns, if spotted you should not approach them. Instead, immediately call 911, give your location, and a law enforcement officer will respond.
The picture switched to the anchor, a man Max recognized from years of broadcasting.
“What we know so far is that both these individuals are here in the United States on student visas from their native countries and attending San Jose State University. Mr. Hassan is an engineering student in his third year, and Ms. Ocampo is majoring in pre-med, reportedly with plans on becoming a doctor.
We are permitted to tell you the pair is connected with one of the two persons who carried out the assault in Oakridge Mall, in San Jose, where thirty-three people were murdered and another twenty-one wounded, including four police officers.”
“Permitted?” Myra said. “What the hell does that mean?”
The news anchor’s eyes shifted ever so slightly away from the teleprompter and the shot tightened down until just his face was in the frame. He stared straight into the camera and said, “Our staff, here at the Evening News, has been working diligently on this story ever since the first attacks. Unfortunately, under the threat of the loss of our license from the FCC, even of arrest, we aren’t permitted to tell you, for instance, that three …”
The screen went white and all sound was cut off except an annoyingly loud static. This went on for three or four seconds before the picture returned showing the co-anchor, a woman with black hair, red lipstick, and a red dress, sitting at the news desk, looking into the camera. She remained like that, looking right at the camera, for what seemed like a long time before she turned her head and looked off camera, saying, “You better go to a commercial because I’m not going to say another word on this story until you get those people out of the newsroom.”
The screen switched to a commercial about the newest erectile dysfunction drug, which would have been laughable considering the timing of Steve’s call earlier, if it weren’t for what they had just witnessed. The federal censors were already at work and at least some in the media weren’t happy about it, and they were willing to risk punishment to protest the new restrictions.
“I’ve never seen anything like that,” Myra said, crawling under the blankets. “They can’t do that. What about the First Amendment, freedom of the press?”
“I think before this thing is over, we’re all going to be tested. Some people will go along with the new rules, some won’t. Both sides will pay a price, though.”
Max’s phone rang again.
“Yeah?”
Max, this is Arnie Dunn; you got room for my kids and parents?”
Arnie was a dispatcher and a single dad.
“Yeah, of course, bring ‘em on over. When?”
“Now.”
“I’ll let the front gate know. Sleeping bags if you got them, blankets if you don’t. We have the cots. Once you’re here, we ask that you sign in and out so we can keep track of who’s coming and going. I’ll fill you in on the rest in the morning.”
“I’ve got one of those pop-up tent trailers, can I bring it?”
“Sure, no problem, bring it. Someone will show you where to park it.”
Max got up off the bed. As he stood, he felt Myra’s hand slide down his back. “Gotta go outside for a second. Shouldn’t take long.”
After dressing, and as he walked out the door, his phone rang again.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
June 18th
Max stood at the door to the arms room, double checking the numbers and wondering if maybe all this wasn’t overkill. He found himself doing this a lot lately, second guessing, telling himself to get real, thinking he was over preparing and when everything settled down in the next couple of days, he’d find himself standing in the middle of a big empty building looking foolish.
Frank Larson had come through in a big way; over five thousand rounds of .223, a little less than half that in 12 gauge buckshot, and a little under a thousand rounds of 9mm. He’d also brought a large supply of 7.62 for his custom Arsenal AK 47, that now rested in the gun rack on the wall that was crowded with pistols, revolvers, AR’s, Mini 14’s, shotguns, bolt actions, and even a couple of 30/30 lever action deer rifles. Adding Frank’s contribution to what he, Steve, and the department provided, well, they had a lot of firepower. And Frank said he could even reload more if necessary.
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