As was the case for the rest of his partners in crime, Jerry wore the "official outfit of the Centertown Operation," - dark ski mask, hat, dark camouflage pants and camouflage coat. Underneath the camouflage coat was a layer of clothing five layers deep, the attire somewhat hampering his movement. However, it had its reasons.
First, on a night that was to be brutally cold, they would need the layers since they would be coming and going constantly from one location to another. And second, it gave the illusion they were wearing body armor. In actuality, only Randy had his own body armor, but then Randy had every weapon and military item that was legal, and many that were not. All that the electric company employees knew was that at 8:01 p.m., Christmas Eve, they were staring into the eyes of a masked gunman who had peppered the inside of their office with lead, warning them any attempts to flee would meet with certain death.
Jerry had been quite convincing. All those rehearsals over the past month had paid off. The sheer fear in all of their eyes gave Jerry a rush. If only the manager had been there. Jerry would have loved to make him squirm. Instead, the piece of crap manager of Centertown Electric System had opted to let his underlings handle the issue at the office while he remained in his nice warm home on the hill. How in the world had that jerk been picked over Jerry for utility manager of Centertown Electric? They would pay for their poor choice, and pay dearly.
Walking back through the destroyed remains of what had been Centertown Electric's nerve center, smoke still billowing from computer screens where he had made an example for the crewmen before putting them away in cold storage; Jerry pushed open the door to the outside and stepped into the night. Even with the ski mask, he could feel the cold licking at his lips. The frigid night air entered every gap in his clothing as he chained the main door shut. He paused long enough to place a disk, about the size of a kitchen plate, on the doors of the building. He had placed matching disks on the only door to the storage room where he had placed his fellow Centertown crewmen. And, as he had done in the storage room, Jerry reached behind the disk, switching a button which turned on a blinking green light.
Slinging his automatic rifle over his shoulder, a bandolier hung across his chest like Poncho Villa, Jerry tarried outside the building just long enough to light a fat cigar. He blocked the north wind with his hands to guard the flickering flame before mounting his motorcycle for his ride to the 911 communications building.
Given their normal operating procedure, which took into account such things as loss of electricity, he knew they were likely getting close to being able to go online again and field the hundreds of calls they were surely getting already. All curious Centertown residents were getting were busy signals when they called 911. The increasingly worried callers were hoping they would eventually get through. Jerry would see that didn't happen.
It was now fifteen minutes after the blackout and Jerry could see the glow of fires to his north in the direction of the civic auditorium. The glow told him everything was going according to schedule at the civic center. The group agreed to maintain radio silence for the first half hour while things were being secured so he hadn’t received any communications from the arena. Each member of their crew was wearing an ear piece that tied them to the other members on a scrambled radio channel. In this case, no news was good news.
He parked his motorcycle out of earshot and walked at a swift pace. He was careful with his footing since the roads were a solid sheet of ice beneath the two or so inches of snow that had fallen on top of the blacktop. Jerry arrived at the 911 building after a stealthy five minute approach to the main communications building. They never saw him coming.
He announced his arrival with a burst of machine gun fire. The rounds ripped the communications equipment apart as the operators dove for cover. While able to hear what was going on elsewhere in town with their short-range radios, they had been unable to call outside the city due to the blackout and disabling of their outside lines, thanks to Randy's special charges which had also taken down all land phone lines.
It took only five minutes for Jerry to herd the emergency operators to the backroom, repeating his actions at the electric company. With a stern warning that any escape attempts would mean certain death, Jerry left one of his special disks on the inside of the door and chained it from the outside. Unlike the people at the electric company, the employees of 911 had already heard of the mayor's execution and the events at the civic center so they knew the gunman who had blasted their office to bits meant business.
Activating another disk outside the 911 center, Jerry again braved the cold, this time heading toward the civic center. The glow from the arena was not as bright as it once was as he began his six-block motorbike ride, this time to relieve Ralph from his duties guarding the hostages.
"Mission complete," Jerry said into his communicator. He was the first to break radio silence. It had been a half-hour since the blackout.
"Understood," came Harold's voice into Jerry's earpiece.
"Is it clear?" Jerry asked.
"It's wide open," Harold responded. "As soon as you get here, we can begin."
"On my way," Jerry signed off.
Continuing through the dark streets of the city, he motored toward the civic center, slowing just once when he saw headlights coming toward him down the street. They were the lights of a police patrol unit which was slowly traversing the slick pavement. The officer inside gave a long look at the heavily armed man before continuing on his way as if he had seen nothing.
Jerry smiled as the officer passed by. The policeman's actions let him know things were definitely going smoothly. Their crazy plan might work after all.
LIST OF DEMANDS
The arena was filled with mournful cries, terrified screams and the commotion of people scrambling for cover as Randy opened fire on Joe and Brittany. He had been surprised by Joe's sudden attack and failed to grab his rifle. Instead, he turned the same handgun he had executed the mayor with on the moving targets as they made a break for the players' door on the side of the arena. It was, in fact, the only unlocked door in the arena. All the others had been chained as part of the plan to contain the citizens of Centertown. Joe had made a fortunate choice in picking the door.
Joe's heroic actions didn't figure into the group's plans. And, given their tight time table, there would be no time to chase the pair of escapees through the snowy city streets. Instead, Randy's attention returned to what he estimated to be the couple of thousand in the arena.
Loss of control before cementing their occupation of the arena could be disastrous as they were outnumbered nearly a thousand to one. The defiant move by the gutsy coach could cause others to get brave despite the bloody example they had set when Randy executed the mayor.
Turning back toward the crowd, Randy again sprayed the ceiling and walls above the masses, the flame from his rifle erupting from the barrel like a small cannon.
"Anybody else tries anything and the next round is into the crowd," Randy threatened, his voice sincere and menacing.
Motioning toward Doug who was on stage by him, Randy told him to take the mayor's body outside. Doug grabbed the prone man and drug his dead weight down the stairs and across the floor toward the entrance where Joe and Brittany had just fled. A blood trail left a crimson swath on the gym floor as evidence of their horrific act. Cries could be heard from those close enough to see the bloody trail. Doug pushed open the door and disappeared down the hall with the mayor in tow.
Even as Doug was doing his duty, Randy switched his attention to one of the lawmen who had been disarmed and was sitting quarantined from the others in a small group near the stage where they could be watched.
"Who's in charge here?" Randy gruffly asked, his weapon lowering on the young patrolman, fear showing in his eyes.
"Not me sir, not me," the policeman said nervously, recalling what had just happened to the mayor. "I'm just a patrolman sir."
"Didn't you hear me, boy? Who's in charge?" Randy yelled.
A hush descended over the crowd in anticipation of another public execution given the raising of the gunman's voice.
Holding his hands out, as if begging the gunman not to shoot him, the policeman yelled.
"Chief Bouldin, he's in charge!" the patrolman screamed.
"Where is he? Chief Bouldin?" Randy growled, stepping down the stage steps toward the policeman who was on his knees.
"He's on patrol outside," the officer responded.
Knowing there would have to be at least a skeleton crew on the streets since most officers were at the civic center for crowd control, the group had figured on stray officers outside the building and had accounted for that eventuality. Randy pointed to the officer's radio as Ralph, from his area in the back of the arena, began rounding the interior walls of the arena placing disks on the doors, clicking each of them on as he went, the lights turning green.
"Give me that radio," Randy demanded. The officer quickly slid it across the floor to the gunman.
Randy again turned his attention to the crowd before him, leveling his gun at the masses.
"Don't get any ideas of being a hero," Randy yelled in a commanding voice. "The flashing green devices you see on the doors, they are, well, let me demonstrate."
With that, Randy pulled a remote from his coat and, without ceremony, pushed a button. A second later the arena was rocked with the concussion of a blast just outside its walls. Waiting for the screaming to subside, Randy pushed another button, again rocking the building.
"I guess I don't have to tell you what those flashing lights are," Randy said.
A smirk was on his face underneath his ski mask. He was enjoying his power. He was feasting on the fear he could feel. It was palatable where he stood, looking into their frightened faces.
Randy pushed the button on the police radio. He held the radio with one hand and left his gun leveled on the crowd with the other as he leaned against the stage to prevent anyone from coming up from behind.
"I'm told Chief Bouldin is in charge. I would like to speak to him," Randy said calmly on the radio. The chief's voice quickly crackled to life on the other end.
"This is Chief Bouldin. Who is this?" he said, concern in his voice.
"Go to your private channel," Randy responded.
He asked the patrolman for the location of the private frequency. He wanted to keep his conversation off the main channel; otherwise anyone with a scanner could hear it.
Moments later the chief's voice came across the radio.
"Who is this?" Chief Bouldin again asked.
"It's not important who I am. All that is important is that you do what I say," Randy declared. "We have seized control of your civic auditorium and have a few thousand of your taxpayers in our custody. And, as you can see from the burning cars outside the arena, we do have some familiarity with explosive devices."
Randy made a dramatic pause after his boast, his confidence building as his feeling of control was being cemented.
"What is your location right now?" Randy asked.
"I'm just outside the civic center," the chief answered.
"Perfect," Randy countered. "Now, if you and whoever else is outside and can hear the sound of my voice would be so kind to direct your attention to the blinking green lights."
At that point Randy pushed the next button on his remote detonating a Toyota located in the tenth row of the parking lot. Flames shot twenty feet in the air as the concussion lifted the heavy car off the ground. After another dramatic pause, Randy pushed the next button. A green Camaro erupted in flames about a hundred yards from the Toyota, the concussion felt again inside the arena. Both cars had blinking green disks on them.
"Now, I need you to listen closely because there are a lot of lives depending on you right now," Randy began, motioning for the patrolman to come forward. "You just saw what our little Christmas presents can do to a car so just imagine what they could do, say, inside a crowded building."
Holding the radio toward the patrolman, the barrel of his gun pressed against the lawman's chest, Randy asked a question of the officer.
"Tell the chief what you see on the walls," Randy ordered.
The officer's eyes darted around the room as he described what he was seeing.
"Chief, those green things, they are all over the walls and doors, they’re everywhere," the officer stammered, before adding one more piece of information. "And they shot the mayor sir. Mayor Thorn is ..."
The officer's unauthorized revelation brought a blow from the butt of Randy's gun. The officer was knocked to the floor as a couple of his fellow officers started to come to his aid.
"Leave him be," Randy said, turning his gun toward the officers, backing them off. "He's lucky he isn't dead."
A response from the chief caused Randy to quickly shift gears, his attention returning back to the radio.
"What are your demands?" came the resigned voice of Chief Bouldin.
The words made Randy almost drunk with power despite the fact they were barely fifteen minutes into the takeover. He was now in charge; rather, they were now in charge.
"Our demands are simple and if you meet them, no one else need be hurt," Randy began. "First, have your men establish a perimeter around the civic center on all sides to make sure no one approaches the arena. If anyone tries to enter the arena, we begin killing hostages, women and children first. Therefore, it would be best for your men to do everything they can to make sure no one approaches this building. Are we clear?"
"Yes. Crystal," the chief responded, obviously taken back by the threat on the lives of women and children.
"Next, what units that are not involved in securing the perimeter here are to patrol around the city, alerting its residents to stay inside their homes," Randy demanded. "Tell them there has been a chemical spill from an accident and that toxic fumes pose a threat to their safety. Do what you have to do to keep them indoors."
"Understood," the chief said as Randy paused for a moment while issuing his list. "But what about the power? People could freeze tonight. The low is supposed to get down to single digits."
"They may have safe passage to the hospital where there is backup power, but only there," Randy answered. "Anyone found on the streets who come in contact with my men will be shot."
Apparently overwhelmed by the threat, the small-town police chief remained silent.
"And last, we have scores of associates both inside and outside the arena. They are well armed. You will know them by the way they are, well, you will know them when you see them," Randy began. "They are not to be molested or restricted in any way. Any interference with our men will result in immediate executions."
"Is that all?" the chief asked, his voice with a hint of helplessness in it.
"Yes, for now," Randy responded. "But keep close to the radio Chief Bouldin. Oh, and by the way, if you or any of your men are thinking about trying to bring in the National Guard, state police or anything like that, check the bridges leading into town. You will find them quite impassable. Our men are monitoring the bridges and any attempt to breach the roadblocks will prompt an immediate detonation of the barriers. You've already seen a little example."
"Who are you?" the chief asked.
"Don't worry chief. Our dispute isn't with your little town. You just happened to be handy," Randy said. "It will all be clear when the sun rises tomorrow. Over and out."
Chief Bouldin remained quiet for a moment, plotting his next move given the marching orders he had just received from the man who now held half the town hostage.
"Chief? Chief? What do you want us to do?" asked one officer on the radio.
"We do what he says for now until we find out more what's going on in there," the chief said. "How many men do you have that aren't inside the arena?"
"On and off duty, we have about ten officers counting me and you if we call everybody in," the shift lieutenant responded. "By the best of my thinking, we have seven, maybe eight, officers inside."
"Call
everybody in," Chief Bouldin began. "I want four men on a perimeter around here all night. Make sure no one comes and no one goes but don't do anything to antagonize any of this guy's men. Let them pass. The rest of the men I want in patrol units making sure that everyone stays inside. Those units can ferry people from their houses to the hospital if they don't have backup heat in their homes. In the meantime, I'm going to try to find out more of what's going on inside the arena."
"Yes sir," the lieutenant responded.
"And lieutenant, we don't make a move for any reason," the chief warned, knowing he was being monitored by the gunmen inside. "We play by their rules. They’re holding all the cards for the time being"
The lieutenant could hear a motorcycle approaching from the bottom of the hill, moving with caution across the frozen pavement as the snow began to fall again. The cycle continued without pausing as it wound through the burning cars in the parking lot, rounding the civic center before stopping at the back entrance from where Joe and Brittany had run just minutes before.
Jerry dismounted his motorcycle and slipped into the building. He was greeted by Harold in the back hall near the players' dressing room.
"Everything go smooth?" Harold asked. Jerry gave him a thumbs up.
"Great. We’re ahead of schedule," Harold said. "It’s time to get Randy and Ralph out of here."
With that, the two men walked down the hall, loudly pushing open the side door to the arena, guns in the ready position. Then, with an artistic fluidity, Ralph walked through the still-prone crowd, silently slipping out the door the two others had just opened. As if on cue, Randy, again in a booming voice, made an announcement.
"Some of you may be wondering what is going on," Randy began. "Well, our leader is here to explain why you have been inconvenienced tonight. I would suggest you listen carefully."
Almost as if he had introduced the guest speaker for a banquette, Randy stepped aside as Harold took the stage, pulling out a megaphone he had hanging from his belt.
Average Joe Page 6