UNKNOWN ALLIANCE

by Robin Lyons

  “You do know I receive a pension from the air force, right?”

  “We all know the retirement pay is shitty. You could pay for the remodeling of your house, pay off your truck, and travel when school isn’t in session.”

  Mac exhaled loud enough to cause Roxy to open her eyes and glance up to be certain all was well. “I’ll give it some thought and get back to you.”

  “That works. You’ll see this will be a good assignment for you. You may not know it yet, but you’re the perfect guy for this job.”

  “I haven’t said yes yet.”

  “The school board will approve your hiring at their June meeting. You should plan to attend and get a feel for how it works. Remember, nobody must know what you’re doing there. Trust no one other than me, my partner Dan Ruiz, Chief Contee, and the school board president Michael Stromberg. Also, the Chief spoke to the school board about hiring a school marshal. And whether or not he or she should carry a weapon. They agreed to amend their policy that prohibits weapons on campus by excluding the school marshal.”

  “Jason, I haven’t said yes yet.”

  “I know, I know.”

  Unknown Threat - Chapter 2

  As Jason had suggested, Mac went to the June school board meeting to see how things worked. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for more bureaucracy.

  “Psst, mister,” the small brunette seated to Mac’s right patted his thigh, “would you like a sign?” She smelled of too much perfume which failed to hide the hint of booze on her breath.

  Expecting him to accept, she pushed a cardboard sign at him, the homemade poster board kind with a tongue depressor-style handle. It resembled the ones seen at high school sports events that say ‘Go Team Go.’ Except this one had a photo of a pistol inside a circle with a dark line through its center. Written above the crossed out handgun photo was ‘NO GUNS,’ and beneath it, ‘At Blackstone Academy.’ Moms and dads, but mostly moms, held similar signs face down on their laps.

  “No, thanks,” Mac said.

  She gave him a puzzled look and waited for him to change his mind.

  The meeting room had theater seating with ten rows of forty seats and an aisle down the middle leading to the podium. Each row sat higher than the one in front, giving everyone an unobstructed view.

  Of the two hundred or so people in the audience about half held protest signs. Only a few of the brave, well-dressed men and women ventured to the podium. They spoke into the microphone with quivering voices. None had been happy, but all were polite and courteous. Unlike the man currently at the podium. This guy was one smug son of a bitch. He looked about Mac’s age, short by anyone’s standards, he had dark hair and was clean shaven. And if Mac were to wager a guess, the man’s suit cost more than his first airman’s paycheck.

  The crowd was amped up, feeding off the speaker’s hostility. A man in the audience yelled, “No guns at school.” Heads turned toward him.

  “Order! Order!” Michael Stromberg, president of Blackstone Academy’s school board, banged his gavel on the square of wood. “Order in the boardroom!” He continued to pound his gavel until all voices quieted.

  President Stromberg leaned closer to the microphone. His posture stiffened. He said in a booming voice, “Randall, if you cannot refrain from using profanity while addressing this board you’ll need to leave the room.”

  President Stromberg was a large man, not so much in size as in presence. He was older than Mac by a good ten years; his skin appeared weathered from too much time in the sun. A tall man, he spoke with a deep baritone voice and gave off a Hollywood mobster, kingpin vibe. Not someone Mac intended to cross. His signature cowboy hat hung alone on the coat rack in the corner. He’d worn a similar one two weeks prior when he’d offered Mac the school marshal job. The silver and turquoise collar tips on his fancy white shirt matched his bolo tie.

  Marlene, the superintendent’s administrative assistant, told Mac, President Stromberg was a modern-day cowboy, a local cattle rancher who’d done quite well. That explained his deep tan and premature wrinkles. Marlene, a sweet, older lady, gossiped a bit too much for Mac’s taste.

  No sound out of the other board members. The three men and one woman’s nameplates all included the title ‘Doctor’ in front of their names.

  Mac’s phone was on silent. He typed a text to his sister.

  Mac: Are you still up?

  Maggie: Yes. How’s the meeting?

  Mac: A jackass is speaking at the podium. Parents are waving NO GUNS signs.

  Maggie: Not feeling the love?

  While President Stromberg continued to admonish the speaker for his use of profanity, the fragrant woman to Mac’s right patted his thigh again. She leaned his way and whispered, “Do you have kids at Blackstone?”

  He stared at her for a long moment. She was about his age, wore too much makeup, had fake fingernails, and an unnatural looking tan. “No,” he said.

  “Are you from the newspaper? Why are you here?”

  “To observe.”

  “Observe what?”

  He returned his attention to the front of the room. In his peripheral vision, he saw the woman lean over to the lady on her right and whisper.

  In the front of the room, each board member had a microphone and a laptop that sat lower than the table giving them a clear view of the audience. The blue hue from the screens in front of them illuminated their faces. At the far right, Marlene took notes. With lightning speed, she clicked on her keyboard.

  “Randall, California’s schools, are beginning to employ marshals, or resource officers on their campuses whether you like it or not. We received a grant to participate in a state-run school marshal pilot program like the one in Texas. It’s a done deal. On behalf of the board, we thank you for sharing your thoughts and opinions. Now sit down.” President Stromberg dismissed the speaker with a flip of his hand.

  The man didn’t budge. He leaned in so his mouth almost kissed the microphone. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” He pounded his fist on the podium. “Not acceptable! You need to explain to all of us why you morons think we need a guard with a loaded gun on our campus. To hell with the state program! To hell with the program in Texas! I want answers, and I’m not sitting down until I get them.”

  A rumble rippled through the audience members. Several people waved their signs in the air. The inquisitive woman on Mac’s right waved hers with great enthusiasm.

  President Stromberg banged his gavel in rapid succession until the audience quieted down and signs landed on laps.

  The speaker gripped the sides of the podium, as though he were about to go for a bobsled ride. His elbows extended out from his body. “Our school hasn’t had problems. We don’t have gangs, the kids don’t do drugs, and they come from good homes. An armed guard standing sentry like they’re entering a prison sends the wrong message to our kids. We pay a lot of money for our kids to attend school here. Excuse me; we donate a lot of money. So unless you want a serious hit to your pocketbook, you better reconsider.” His voice cracked and squeaked like a thirteen-year-old boy’s.

  “You don’t intimidate me with your threats, Randall.” President Stromberg jabbed his gavel toward the speaker. “Listen up folks. A committee made up of parents and staff decided we needed a school marshal. They developed the job responsibilities for the position. The committee also screened the applications and narrowed their selection to three candidates. Superintendent Sawyer and I made the final decision.”

  The speaker waited his turn to speak. “Gosh, Michael, that sounds so professional. Thanks for sharing, but I doubt the parents on your damn committee knew you planned to allow the person to carry a loaded gun.”

  President Stromberg motioned with his gavel to include the four other board members. “We discussed the final candidate at length before offering the job. And for the record, we are fortunate and honored to have someone as experienced as our finalist. He’s a decorated Chief Master Sergeant retired from the U.S. Air Force Special Op
erations. He’s undergone emergency medical training and is a weapons specialist. He fought in Iraq during Operation Desert Thunder and Desert Fox. His unit also helped rescue and treat victims of Hurricane Katrina. I could go on, but you look as if I were boring you, Randall. One last point, he’s already scheduled to attend an 80-hour School Marshal training course during the summer. ‘We’...” again he motioned to include the board as a whole, “approved the school marshal to carry a loaded handgun.” A collective gasp rippled through the audience. “Police Chief Contee supports our decision. The school marshal won’t be prancing around the campus waving a gun. If there were a real threat, I’d want him to protect your kids and the staff. Should a threat present itself, we expect him to use his weapon only when necessary.”

  Like zombies, the four other board members lowered their heads and shifted their attention downward to their laptop monitors. A loud rumble spread through the quiet room. Signs bobbed up and down.

  The speaker opened his mouth to respond. Before he said anything, President Stromberg held up his hand to stop him.

  President Stromberg waited for the room to quiet again before he continued. “I’m not going to engage in further conversation with you about our new school marshal’s employment. Furthermore, Randall, if you or the other parents have a problem with our decisions on how to keep your children safe while they’re on campus, then I suggest you run for office in the November election. Your three minutes were up ten minutes ago. Step away from the podium and either leave the room or take a seat and be quiet.”

  The harsh, overhead fluorescent lighting, spotlighted President Stromberg’s red face. His jaw jutted out, and a vein bulged across his forehead. He looked like he needed to loosen the slider on his bolo tie.

  The speaker left the podium in a huff and went to a small woman sitting in the front row. He pulled her to her feet by her arm and yanked her along as he stormed out of the room.

  “If anyone has a comment we haven’t already heard, please step up to the podium,” offered President Stromberg.

  The audience sat frozen. Heads turned right then left. Nobody stood. No signs waved in the air.

  The woman seated to Mac’s right whispered too loud to the lean, athletic-looking woman on her right, “My kids have never seen a real gun. I don’t like this. At all.”

  “My son hasn’t seen a real gun, either. I’m undecided how I feel about it. I want to see how it plays out once school starts.”

  “Well, we’ll see about the ridiculous notion that a glorified security guard should carry a loaded gun. I know people,” the alcohol-fueled woman said, as she crossed her arms and straightened her posture.

  Mac was like the proverbial fly on the wall. The hot topic of hiring a school marshal had lasted about an hour. Of the parents who’d spoken on record, there’d been a common theme of dissension concerning him carrying a loaded gun. The school board understood disallowing him to carry a weapon would nullify his acceptance of their job offer.

  President Stromberg banged the gavel hard, twice. His face glowed red. “Is there a motion to approve hiring Cole MacKenna as our new school marshal?” he asked, through his teeth into the microphone.

  “I move to approve the new school marshal,” Dr. Littleton said, a small, meek-looking man with gray hair combed over a balding head.

  Another man leaned in and seconded the motion. President Stromberg banged the gavel again. “All those in favor?”

  The three male board members plus President Stromberg leaned in and said, “Aye.” Stromberg stared at the lone female board member, Dr. Ward, who’d said nothing.

  “Those opposed?” asked President Stromberg glaring at the woman.

  Dr. Ward leaned into her microphone without looking at the school board president and said, “Nay.” Most of the audience jumped to their feet and applauded.

  “Are you serious, Wanda?” He continued to look at her, as he banged his gavel and said, “Motion carries.”

  Wanda ignored him.

  President Stromberg banged his gavel hard and bellowed into his microphone, “Order! Order! Order in the boardroom!”

  Unknown Threat - Chapter 3

  Mac woke early on the first day of school. Even though the job was more a favor for Jason, he felt a bit excited and maybe a little nervous. Not that he’d admit either to anyone.

  He checked himself in the mirror. He’d visited the barber on Sunday for a haircut and shave. He asked for his hair to be left a little shaggy and to leave some stubble on his face. He’d had his last buzz cut a month before he retired. It felt liberating to no longer have rules to follow, dictating his appearance and behavior.

  Since his weapon was a heated discussion at the June board meeting, he decided to use a concealed waistband holster attached to the belt on his jeans. Leaving his t-shirt untucked should help hide his controversial handgun.

  Roxy knew something was up. An anxious habit, she paced in the kitchen while Mac made his lunch. When Mac looked at her, she tilted her head one way and then the other trying to understand what was happening.

  “No girl, you stay here,” he said.

  She flopped down with a thud onto her cushioned dog bed in the corner of the alcove off the kitchen.

  “Roxy, it’s okay.”

  On his way out the door, he scratched her big hairy neck to ease her nerves. When the back door shut, she followed by way of her giant sized dog door. She stood in the fenced backyard and watched him drive away.

  Anticipating a hot day, Mac rode his motorcycle to his new job. He had arrived an hour before school started. There were a few other early-risers parked in the staff parking lot across from the school’s main entrance.

  Mac flashed his ID badge at the scanner, and the main door slid open. He stepped inside and paused. The school was quiet. On the way to his office, the third door on the right, the one with the large bold word ‘SECURITY’ written on it, sat Marlene, sentry to the boss.

  “Good morning, Marlene.”

  “Right back at you,” she said, as she popped her gum. “Are you ready for the kiddos and their parents?”

  “I’m as ready as I can be, never having dealt with kids before.”

  “If you have questions or concerns, come see me. And, you let me know if anyone bothers you.” She winked and returned her attention to her computer screen.

  Dismissed by Marlene, Mac swallowed hard and went outside to the front of the school. Part of his job required him to watch the kids as they arrived.

  The clasp on the flag clanged against the metal flagpole. Reality washed over Mac. He was about to enter a foreign world. Kids. Busybody parents. Politics.

  Parents started to park across the street and walk their kids to the school.

  “You must be Mac?” Someone said from behind him.

  He turned to see a tall young lady with a bouncy ponytail walking toward him.

  Mac thought she might be a student. She was at least twenty years younger than him.

  “I’m Roni,” she said, thrusting her hand out to shake. “I’m your partner in crime. Just kidding. I have monitor duty before and after school too, sort of like your assistant. Is it true you were...”

  “You!” a woman screeched from the direction neither Mac nor Roni faced. They both spun around to see who made the fuss.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Ross,” Roni said with a cheerful voice.

  The woman ignored Roni.

  Mac recognized the woman he’d sat next to at the board meeting in June.

  The mother held her little girl’s hand tight. Mom on a mission, she stormed straight toward Mac and Roni. Her son followed. She was quick to send her son and daughter into the school. She stood before Mac with a hands-on-hips, feet-planted stance.

  “You! You’re the new marshal! Why did you pretend to be from the newspaper at the board meeting in June?” Her bare chest was crimson and blotchy; the redness spread up her neck.

  Roni looked confused.

  Mac’s hand went up to stop h
er in her tracks. “Whoa, wait a minute, lady. I didn’t pretend to be from the newspaper,” he replied. “I said I was there to observe and that was the truth.”

  She squared her shoulders and planted her high heels. Again she wore too much perfume, and maybe a possible faint hint of booze.

  “Do not speak to my daughter,” she said waving her index finger in his face.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “I don’t want you anywhere near her. Do you understand?” she said.

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  She turned and stomped back to her Jaguar.

  Mac shrugged at Roni.

  The front of the school buzzed with kids and parents. Moms, dads, nannies, and chauffeurs dropped off their darlings on the sidewalk before speeding off to do whatever they did while their kids were in school.

  Family cars of the rich looked the same on the inside as everyone else’s. Strewn about were candy wrappers, fast food remnants, and empty water bottles. Animated movies played on six-inch screens nestled into the backs of headrests. Stained car seats, toys, and other kid stuff cluttered the interior.

  The younger boys scanned Mac up and down. The girls looked and giggled. All students wore blue and white uniforms and approached at a brisk pace from all directions. The older kids, boys, and girls alike, didn’t pay much attention to the new school marshal. Almost all said hello to Roni.

  The young kids also said good morning to Mac, and more parents than expected introduced themselves. Ten or so even thanked him for his service to the country.

  By lunchtime, those who ignored Mac on the way into school asked him questions. Did he wear a gun? Where was it? Where did he learn how to be a marshal? Why did the school need a marshal? What was a marshal? Would he be at the school every day? The standard interrogation.

  Savannah Ross even said hello to Mac. Her demeanor was much more calm and polite than her mother’s. She asked him if he was married and if he had kids or pets. She squealed when he told her about Roxy. She said they had a dog and a cat.