Reaper

by Buckhout, Craig

  “Police! Down on the floor!”

  The man put his hands out in front of him and complied, setting the beer and chips on the floor as he proned-out.

  Max advanced into the room, and Steve came in behind just as a second man came out of the hallway pointing a chrome-plated, semi-automatic pistol. Will cut loose with the Remington. At the same moment, the second man fired his pistol. The buckshot from Steve’s shotgun hit the man in the chest, stepping him back and dropping him to the floor. The bullet fired toward Steve and Max hit the floor near their feet.

  Almost immediately, Max and Steve heard some shouting in the backyard, followed by several shots being fired from a carbine, Rich’s carbine.

  Max took a step back toward the front door without taking his eyes off the hallway or kitchen and said, “Go check on Rich. I’ll hold here until you come back.” And then to the suspect still lying on the floor, “You just stay right where you are.”

  “Okay, okay, just be cool, man.”

  As Steve went out, Max retreated to the partial protection of the front door jamb, where he could cover both the kitchen and hallway entrances. He heard Steve shout to Myra that Max was okay, and she should remain where she was.

  Steve returned within a couple of minutes. “All’s good out back. Rich just smoked some asshole coming out the back with a gun. We’re good to go.”

  Addressing the man still on the floor, Max asked, “How many are there in the house?”

  “Just three of us, man.”

  “You better not be lying. I’ve got no problem killing you.”

  “There’s just me, him,” he pointed his finger at his dead companion, “and the one who must of run out the back. I swear.”

  “Where’s the woman who owns the car parked in the driveway?” Steve asked.

  The guy on the floor didn’t answer.

  “Hey, asshole, I asked you a question. Where is she?”

  “Look, I didn’t have nothin’ to do with it. They called me to come get the car. That’s all I did.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “She’s in the tub, man.”

  “She alive?”

  “I don’t know. I heard her earlier. They were in there with her. I didn’t hear her after that.”

  “Okay, up on your feet. Hands behind your head,” Max said.

  “Why? What’re you going to do?”

  “Shut-up and do it now.”

  The man stood up.

  “Now turn around.”

  “Okay, but I’m cooperating, man. I’m not resisting.”

  To Steve, Max said, “Myra has my pistol. Can you sling your shotgun and march him down the hall in front of us?”

  Steve slung the Remington, grabbed the man’s hands, pinning them together behind his head, completed the handcuffing procedure, drew his pistol, and used him as a shield to first clear the kitchen and then marched him to the hallway. As they stepped over the body of his friend, Steve said, “Last chance. That’s you if there’s someone else hiding in here.”

  “I tol’ you the truth, man. There was just three of us.”

  They found Mrs. Briones naked in the tub. Max checked her; no pulse, body cool to the touch. The bruising on her neck indicated she’d been strangled.

  “I didn’t have nothin’ to do with that, man,” the remaining suspect said.

  Max shouted for Rich to get Myra and come on in. Returning his attention to their arrestee, “If you didn’t have anything to do with it, how’d you know she was in the tub? You rape her? Huh? She going to have your DNA in her?”

  The suspect didn’t respond, which was a response in itself.

  After taking more photos, notes, and calling it in, they decided to take the remaining suspect to the police department, which wasn’t that far away, and get him booked into jail.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Myra sat up front with Rich, while Max and Steve sat in the back with the prisoner between them. Rich drove north on Bird Avenue and eventually reached The Alameda. There they turned left and followed it to Taylor Street where they turned right, which, after one more turn, would take them to the Police Administration Building.

  As they hung the right onto Taylor, up ahead of them was the cross street of Stockton Avenue and just beyond that, the railroad tracks that passed over the roadway. Approaching Stockton Avenue Max heard the horn and saw the flashing lights of a freight train approaching on the left, apparently coming from the Southern Pacific yard about three-quarters of a mile west. This caused him to reminisce about his very first foot chase as a rookie cop, where he pursued a burglary suspect through the rail yards. He was thinking about this and staring at the train as it crossed over the road ahead of them, when he saw the flash of an explosion on the side of a tanker car, positioned half a dozen cars behind the engine. Almost simultaneously he heard the report and felt the concussion rock the Blazer.

  Rich reacted quickly by hitting the brakes and pulling the Blazer sharply to the right. At the same instant, the first explosion was followed by an even larger, brighter second explosion that derailed the train, toppling two of the cars down onto Taylor Street, and sent a fireball fifty feet into the air, projecting a shockwave so strong, it flipped the Blazer over onto its side.

  Rattled but still conscious, bleeding, and covered in glass, Max found himself on top of the pile of bodies tangled in the backseat. He could see and hear Steve and the prisoner were alive and moving, but he couldn’t see into the front seat.

  “What the hell,” Steve yelled.

  “Myra! Rich! You okay?” Max called out.

  “I think so,” Myra replied. “Rich, are you hurt? Rich?”

  There was no answer from Rich.

  I’m not sure about Rich,” Myra continued. “Looks like he’s got a head wound of some kind and is unconscious. He’s on top of me, so I can’t move.”

  “Okay, hang on,” Max said as he shifted, got his feet under him, half stood, and finally pushed up through the broken left rear window. He ended up standing on either the prisoner or Steve or both and could hear considerable swearing coming from them because of it.

  As he muscled himself up out of the car, he shouted, “Come on, Steve, we gotta get the car upright.” As he said this, he became aware of the intense heat from the fire below. He briefly wondered if it was another dirty bomb that had gone off, and they were being exposed to radiation. He also wondered what was in the tanker that was burning so violently and if the fumes were poisonous to breathe. He didn’t dwell on these thoughts long, however. He was more worried about getting everyone away from the heat and flames before they cooked to death. There’d be plenty of time to die from all the other stuff.

  Sitting on top of the overturned Blazer, turning his face from the flames as best he could, he helped Steve out of the car and together they pulled the prisoner out. All three of them got feet on the ground and moved to the far side of the Blazer where they were somewhat shielded from the heat. There, Steve un-handcuffed their prisoner, who looked like he was going to run, until Max grabbed him by the shirt, pointed to the roof of the car, which was facing them now, and said, “Push!”

  Together, the three of them rocked the car until it rolled over onto all four wheels. As soon as the car was upright again, there was another explosion as a second tanker car cooked off. This added to the fire and heat that seemed to get bigger and hotter every passing second.

  Myra crawled out of the broken front passenger side window, stood, grabbed Max by the jaw, and said, “You’re bleeding again.”

  Max swiped the back of his hand across his forehead. “The glass, I guess. Let’s get Rich out of there.”

  Together, they went to the fire side of the car, opened the driver’s door, cut the seatbelt, pulled Rich out, and dragged him back to the less exposed side of the vehicle. As they were doing this, Max noticed the fire had already spread to buildings adjacent to the tracks and other tanker cars were in flames.

  While Myra was doing a primary assessmen
t of Rich, Steve and Max pulled the guns and Myra’s medical bag from inside the car. It was when they rejoined Myra and Rich they noticed their prisoner was gone.

  “Help me get him up on my shoulder,” Max shouted. “We gotta get out of here.” Smoke was starting to become an issue, too.

  With Steve and Myra helping, they got Rich up, draped over Max’s shoulder, and then they chased their shadows back down Taylor Street, which seemed the only viable escape route. For Steve and Myra’s part, they lugged the guns and medical bag. And as they went about all this, a third explosion could be heard, brightening their surroundings to near daytime conditions.

  Rich wasn’t any lightweight, so Max’s legs only got them about a block south of Stockton, where he went behind a building as additional protection from the fire. Not trusting himself to get Rich on the ground without causing additional injury, he waited for Steve and Myra’s help.

  As soon as Rich was on his back again, Myra went to work on him, using a flashlight to check his airway, breathing, and circulation, and examine him for injuries. While she was doing that, sirens could be heard nearing, but no emergency personnel passed their location. Max guessed this was because cops were scarce, and fire fighters were being cautious about possible radiation.

  Steve took out his phone and started dialing. “Even if EMS shows up, they may not be willing to come this close to the fire. I’m gonna see if Frank or Will can give us a ride out of here.”

  About ten minutes after their escape from the explosion, they saw the first two fire trucks pass by on Taylor Street, with the firefighters wearing their regular issue turnout gear, absent any additional protection for radiation exposure. At that point, they felt fairly certain the initial explosion hadn’t been from a radioactive device.

  About thirty minutes later, Frank and Jessica showed up in a truck, followed by Will in a car. They parked as close as they could, which was still a good thirty yards from where they had sheltered Rich, behind the building. With two people on either side of him linking arms, Myra supporting his head, and Jessica carrying the trauma bag, they carried Rich to the pickup where they loaded him in the bed.

  Max said, “You guys go. Take off. We’ll be right behind you.”

  With that, Jessica and Myra jumped in the bed of the truck, sitting on either side of Rich to keep him from shifting around. Frank got behind the wheel and took off.

  Max, Steve, and Will watched them leave before turning back toward the building to collect their weapons. As they were returning to the parking lot where Will had parked the car, a big black SUV screeched to a stop out front in the street, and four uniformed and armed DHS cops emerged.

  “Here we go again,” Steve said.

  “San Jose Police Department!” Max yelled as he raised his arm, palm out.

  The DHS cop nearest to them raised his pistol and snapped off two rounds, hitting the corner of the building right next to Max.

  Max didn’t even think about it, he just reacted by firing three quick shots from his carbine that struck the one who fired on them in the thigh and stomach. The man twisted and half bent at the waist, set himself, and tried to fire again. Steve’s 12 gauge put a stop to that.

  At the same time, Will and Max moved to put some distance between them and the DHS guys, the whole time Max shouting, “We’re the police goddammit! …we’re the police! …stop shooting!”

  Steve started moving at that point, just as another DHS cop came up over the hood of their car and fired three or four times with what looked like an AR-15.

  One of the bullets hit Steve at an angle, in and out of his right butt cheek. He cried out, swore, and continued hop-running toward a metal dumpster, while Will, using Rich’s carbine, shot back at the DHS cop.

  One of Will’s bullets split the DHS officer’s left ear in half and made him drop down below the hood, out of sight.

  There was a momentary lapse in the shooting, allowing Max to continue to identify themselves as the police and Steve to try to figure out how badly he was hit. Finally, a voice on the other side of the black SUV said, “How do we know you’re telling the truth? How do we know it wasn’t you who blew up the train?”

  “You stupid sons of bitches, if you hadn’t of started shooting we would have shown you our badges and ID’s. What the hell’s the matter with you guys?” Max asked.

  “You had guns, weren’t in uniform, and were coming from behind the building. What else were we to think?”

  “You know what, you guys are fucking scary,” Steve shouted. “One of you is probably dead, and I’m ass-shot because you idiots started shooting before finding out if we were friendlies or crooks.”

  “He’s dead?”

  While all this conversation was going on, Will had run all the way around the building to the other side. From his new position, because of the way the DHS driver had angled their car in the street, he had full view of the remaining three DHS cops. The one with the split ear was sitting with his back to the front wheel, holding a bloody hand to his face, his rifle on the ground next to him. The other two were on their knees facing their car, occasionally whispering to one another, with one of them talking into a handheld that he cupped to his mouth.

  “What’d you expect us to do? We sure as shit weren’t going to stand there and let some dickhead shoot at us,” Steve continued.

  “I don’t care who you guys are, you’re done now. You hear me? We’re going to put you in a hole so fuckin’ deep you’ll never see daylight.”

  It was Will’s fear that the DHS cops were calling for help, and if he, Steve, and Max didn’t get out of there, they really would find themselves in a hole …or dead.

  He took a couple of deep breaths to calm his nerves and shouted, “You three behind the car, throw down your weapons or I’ll shoot!” The entire time he was shouting, he was hoping his voice didn’t betray how scared he really was.

  Tactically, the DHS guys were in an indefensible position. They were exposed to Will on one side and one end of their car and, if they moved away from him, they would be exposed to Steve and Max.

  Max, not wanting to give them too much time to think about it, said, “Come on out fellas, it’s over! Do it now!”

  A pause, a short pause, “All right, all right, just don’t shoot, you hear me?” one of them called out.

  All three of them stood up at that point and put their hands on top of their heads. It took less than five minutes for Max to handcuff them with their own cuffs, strip them of their weapons, their handheld, and their keys. Once the DHS cops were secured, Will brought his car up, threw their guns and the rest inside, helped Steve get in, and took off.

  Instead of taking Steve to the hospital, where the DHS would be sure to look for them, they drove back to the substation. On the way, Max called Myra and got an update on Rich, who was doing much better. He also explained what just happened and about Steve’s wound, explained why they couldn’t go to the hospital with him, and asked if either she or Amisha would meet them at the substation.

  Myra had about a million questions concerning Steve’s wound, most of which Max couldn’t answer, and agreed to meet them in the infirmary as quickly as she could. She informed him that Amisha should be at the substation if she hadn’t been called back due to the train explosion.

  After he disconnected, Will, who was obviously feeling pretty good about himself for saving the day, said, “Are you guys sure you know what you’re doing? Sure seems like yall get shot a lot.”

  Max laughed.

  Steve, on the other hand, said, “That’s just wrong, man.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  “Did I not tell you to be careful?” Beth said, taking Steve’s arm and helping him from the car. Her hands were shaking.

  “This is being careful,” Steve replied. “You’re seeing careful. If I hadn’t of moved …”

  “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

  “Hey, I’m the one ass-shot. This is about my feelings not yours.”

&
nbsp; She looked at his wound, put his arm around her shoulders, wrapped her arm around his back, and started to cry.

  “I’ll be okay, babe.”

  “Shut up, Steve. Just shut up,” she whispered.

  Max put Steve’s other arm around his shoulders and together they walked toward the infirmary. As they walked, Steve turned his head in Max’s direction and made crazy eyes.

  Beth must have sensed something because she added, “Don’t you dare make light of this!”

  As they passed the communications center, Fran stuck her head out the door and said, “Hey, I gotta talk with you, Max.”

  The group momentarily stopped.

  “It’s about the explosion; Heidi in Communications says some militia group calling themselves the Patriot Brigade or Flag Brigade, some kind of brigade anyway, has already taken credit for the explosion; something about the government and free Americans and the Constitution. Anyway they took credit for it. So it wasn’t Muslim terrorists, it was American terrorists.”

  Suddenly Max was overwhelmed with a deep, dark feeling of impending doom. Things weren’t going to get better. They hadn’t even seen the worst of it yet. He shook his head and said, “I knew there would be pushback over those orders the President signed, but nothing like this.”

  “It gets worse,” Fran said.

  “Worse than a train being blown up?”

  “You’ve been out so haven’t seen the news. Parts of Oakland, Richmond, and even L.A. are on fire. Not just the inner cities either, rich neighborhoods, too. The sheriff called for mutual aid, but we’ve got nobody to send. The Governor has declared martial law and ordered a dusk to dawn curfew in just about every major city. They’re talking National Guard. It’s bad enough that Heidi says most the dispatchers on swings are talking about moving in with us.”