Jumping out of his unit, leaving it parked in the street, the chief, in a low voice as not to alert the gunman of his presence, got the attention of Joe and Brittany.
"Quick, into my unit!" the chief ordered, Joe immediately recognizing him given the fact they had occasions to meet in their various lines of work, the chief being a big football fan.
"Joe, I don't think we ..." Brittany began. She was cut off by Joe who pulled her behind him toward the car as the chief opened the backseat allowing them in, shutting the door behind.
"I'll be right back. Stay down," the chief warned as he, with sidearm in hand, headed into the banker's yard just as shots rang out from the rear of the residence.
The shots were for Mr. Dawes. The old banker wasn’t as nimble as he once was. He never even made it out of his own back yard. He was cut down by a single blast to the back as he was trying to mount his tall wooden fence.
"Why didn’t I build a back gate?" was his final thought as he dashed through the snow, finding himself surrounded by a wood prison, trapped in his backyard like an animal.
Randy walked up over his mortally wounded prey, putting him out of his misery with another blast to the head. The snow was stained with crimson.
“You should have been more generous,” Randy snarled as he stood over his dead prey. “Where was my bail out?”
With that, Randy clenched his teeth and fired another volley into the banker’s body.
Hearing the shots coming from behind the house, Chief Bouldin took up a position in the front yard, noticing his patrolman out of the corner of his eye lying dead next to the patrol car.
"No," the chief mumbled to himself, knowing the officer should have never gone out on his own.
Taking up a position in the front yard behind the Rudolph display, Chief Bouldin waited in ambush for the gunman to return to his motorcycle. Straining his eyes, hoping for the scant moonlight to reveal the shooter, the chief never heard his prey's foot falls as he worked his way around from the backyard. Dawes had gotten around to building a side gate, a gate Randy used to let himself out. He had spotted the second patrol car and figured an ambush was waiting so he carefully rounded the house and spotted the chief behind the Christmas decorations.
Randy had learned during his time in the Special Forces about how to be stealthy. He also knew how to be an effective killer, something that had led to his dismissal from the military following the incident in Iraq in early 2005.
It was then that Randy had gone off on his own, much as he had in Centertown that night, looking for retribution for the death of a member of his squad. Sneaking away that evening from their base in the suburbs of Baghdad, Sgt. Randy Groves ventured into the home of the suspected former Bathe Party member who he believed had led the attack in which his fellow soldier was killed.
Neither the Iraqi man or his wife or their children knew what hit them. All were summarily executed in their own home. They never stood a chance given Randy's ability and willingness to kill. He had his revenge and he liked it. It was that taste of blood that had led him to repeat his homicidal rampage in Centertown.
While the military could never prove it was Sgt. Groves who was responsible for the butchery, there was enough probable cause to dismiss him from service, sending him back stateside in hopes of averting an international incident. The military could not risk keeping a vigilante in its ranks.
As Randy stood there in the darkness, already knowing he had the drop on Chief Bouldin, he realized that the one thing he hated worse than being treated like a second class citizen, like the banks had treated him, was betrayal.
"He sent you to take me out," came Randy's voice only a few feet from the lawman's position. The chief stiffened at the sound of Randy's voice, knowing at that moment he was about to die.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this," the chief said, refusing to look in Randy's direction, feeling the shotgun trained on him in the darkness. "None of these people were supposed to get hurt."
The silence deafening beside him, the chief just waiting for the bright flash from the barrel of Randy's gun, he dared to turn his head toward the gunman.
"We could have all been rich." the chief said. "Why?"
His question was answered by Randy pumping his shotgun in the darkness. There would be no talking, no negotiation. The lawman made his move, attempting to dive out of the way, hoping to get just one shot. He wasn’t fast enough. The blast from Randy's shotgun caught him in the midsection, mortally wounding him.
"Doug!" Brittany exclaimed from the backseat of the patrol car where the pair had watched the entire scene unfold like some kind of horrifying movie scene, unable to hear anything until the deafening sound of the shotgun blast. Joe covered Brittany's mouth, forcing her down into the back floorboard, hoping the masked gunman had not heard her scream.
Centertown Police Chief Doug Bouldin lay near death, his life blood flowing out onto the white snow as Randy walked over calmly, intent on finishing the job.
"Randy," Doug said with his last breath. "I forgive you."
Taken back by his former partner in crime's unexpected statement, Randy paused for a moment. That moment of hesitation gave Doug one last official act as police chief as he raised his gun, firing a single shot. The round found its mark under Randy's body armor, hitting him in the upper leg.
Randy's reflex volley finished Doug, striking him in the head. The five were now just four. However, unknown to Randy at the time, his injury was more than just a flesh wound as the lawman's shot was one in a million, nicking Randy's femoral artery. He was bleeding out and didn't even know it as he staggered back toward his motorcycle, oblivious to the fact Joe and Brittany were in the back of the police cruiser.
MIDNIGHT SHOWDOWN
The plan had centered on the involvement of Centertown's police chief and his ability to play a dual role, one as a gunman in the takeover of the arena and the other as the chief of police. He had played both well, just as they had rehearsed in one of their many planning meetings. Just like the entire plan, which depended on smoke and mirrors and misdirection, Doug's role depended on his men and those on the other side of the river believing he was an active member of the police force, working for "the good guys." He was a double agent.
Centertown should have been more careful in their hiring practices when they brought the big city cop onboard as their new chief. However, the city leadership was in flux after the Dunham administration had been swept out of office following the annexation controversy. Along with electing an entirely new government, the city had made a clean sweep of the departmental leaders, using the scorched earth policy to show its disdain for the government's transgressions in making the annexation. As part of the political cleansing, the city's police chief had been sent packing, leaving Centertown needing a new leader for its police force.
Then came Doug Bouldin, a big city cop with experience who applied for the open position. He hit it out of the park during his interview, saying all the right things to impress the city leaders. His knowledge of law enforcement plus his background with youth groups made him a perfect fit for the growing town. Had his former employer been upfront about their suspicions when it came to Doug, then he would have never been hired in Centertown. But, fearing liability and a possible lawsuit if they gave him a bad reference, given the fact he was never charged with a crime, his former employer gave Doug a clean bill of health when contacted by Centertown.
Doug had, in fact, done a lot of good during his time on the force and had atoned for his evils as a teen. Therefore, his former employers were only telling a little white lie when they recommended him for the police chief job. Doug was elected unanimously by the city council as Centertown police chief.
Doug had actually been good for Centertown. The crime rate dropped significantly during his tenure as head of the department and he founded an organization which sought to help at-risk children in Centertown. He had also started a program where officers would mix with the citizens during regul
ar community meetings, encouraging everyday people to help keep their neighborhoods safe. Doug was quite popular as chief.
But, much like his time in the big city, Doug was not satisfied with being a good guy. He had always wanted more. Actually, he had needed more since his gambling addiction had kept him constantly in the red financially. That was what caused his issue in his former job and it was what would have eventually brought him down as Centertown Police Chief had he not become involved with the five and their plan. To Doug, the plan was like honey to a bear.
The very thought of relieving the city of an estimated ten million dollars, all tax free, was exactly the big score he had always been looking for. It was almost like shooting fish in the barrel when Harold recruited his poker buddy. He was powerless to resist and had, in fact, been instrumental in planning the job.
No one had ever suspected it when he conducted security checks at the local banks and local jewelers. They innocently believed he was just trying to help make the town more secure. In actuality, he was doing nothing more than casing the places, finding the weaknesses in their security measures and passing them on to his fellow conspirators. It was his ground work which made things easy for the old locksmith who knew exactly what to expect when he entered each of the banking institutions.
As for his part in their charade, Doug had never been on patrol with the rest of his men outside the building. Instead, he issued his orders from his police radio from his perch inside the arena, careful not to be overheard as he spoke. But then, no one was going to get close enough to the armed masked man to hear anything he was saying.
Meanwhile, the officers inside the building had been hamstrung from the beginning of the night. The chief had directed them not to carry their side arms inside the arena, explaining officers needed to be more approachable during an upbeat time like the town's Christmas party. Their guns were locked up in their patrol units parked outside the civic center, leaving them with only pepper gas, which was of no use when put head to head with automatic weapons.
Outside the building the chief was quick to direct his men to follow the "bad guys' orders," maintaining he didn't want to risk the lives of the people inside. He had also discouraged any incursion by the sheriff, telling him by cellphone that the best course of action was to hold his position on the other side of the river while he and his remaining men were their eyes inside the city proper. Thanks to Chief Bouldin, the five had bought a lot of time.
Doug was also responsible for bringing the hired help to assist in the plan, recruiting five of his old cronies from the big city, all with connections to organized crime and all ready to do as they were told without asking questions. Sure, the hired help knew what they were doing was illegal; they just had no concept how illegal the overall plan was. There was no way the five were cutting them in on the big score. Instead, they were contract labor, four to block the bridges and the fifth being getaway driver, ready to collect the group on command.
Unfortunately for Doug, even with all of his time on both sides of the law, he didn't realize he had allied himself with a loose cannon. To Doug, Randy was kind of odd but a necessary evil in making their plan work. He hadn't realized Randy was, in fact, a sociopathic killer. In the end, Doug had been too caught up in making the plan work to realize there was a lunatic amongst them.
Now, that lunatic was climbing back on his motorcycle, intent on raising his body count.
Joe rose up from his hiding place in the back of the patrol car and watched as Randy stumbled back to his motorcycle. Joe was unaware of the fact the chief had hit his mark before the gunman's kill shot.
Randy, his leg weakened by the shot which had also tore through the groin muscle, tried in vain to jumpstart the bike. The machine refused to fire up despite his best efforts. His attempts thwarted, the repeated tries sapping his quickly dwindling strength, Randy gave up and stepped off the bike. Gazing toward the civic center, which lay just a few blocks away, he decided to walk there on foot. He paused to reload his shotgun, pulling shells from his bandolier before limping down the road. His plan was to arrive under the cover of darkness on foot, taking everyone by surprise. He would set the ledger even. He was sure his wound was only superficial.
Joe turned to Brittany, putting his finger over his lips, telling her to remain quiet.
Randy was angry, believing his partners had betrayed him. He was intent they would all pay for their betrayal. Then he would not only have his revenge for his betrayal but he would also reduce the number of ways the money would be split.
Taking out Harold and Jerry at the civic center would mean two less pieces of the pie. Then, gunning down the old locksmith would be a walk in the park, meaning he would get to keep the whole pie for himself.
"What's going on?" came Harold's voice over the headset, the sound of his voice forcing a sneer to Randy's face, the pain in his leg now excruciating.
"What's going on is that your boy didn't get the job done," Randy responded, talking through clenched teeth.
Harold remained silent, glancing around the arena, worrying that Randy might even now be making his way into the center.
"What? I don't know what you're talking about. Where’s Doug?" Harold asked, already knowing the answer.
Limping along the street, feeling his blood running down his leg as he tried to put pressure on it with his hand, Harold's playing dumb made Randy even more enraged.
"Doug is the same place you'll be in just a few minutes, burning in Hell," Randy growled. "I'm coming for you, Harold."
Trying hard not to panic, Harold's thoughts raced. What could he do? Harold knew he wasn't a killer. He was no match for a battle-hardened former soldier. If Doug, with all his experience in law enforcement, hadn't been able to take out Randy, Harold knew he had no chance. It was time to cut and run.
"Ralph, what's your location?" Harold asked nervously.
"Just finished loading from location four," Ralph responded breathlessly.
"We've got to cut it off," Harold shot back. "Forget location five and hit the two easy ones and take it to the place."
"Is something wrong?" Ralph asked, detecting the panic in Harold's voice.
About to answer, Harold was interrupted by Randy who was listening in on the conversation.
"You're right something is wrong," Randy said, his head now spinning from loss of blood. "You're going to find out how wrong. You were part of it, too. I know you were. You're going to end up like Doug and those banker pigs."
Confused by Randy's statement because he had not been monitoring his communicator while in the last safe, Ralph murmured to himself, deciding to remain silent on the radio. He didn’t want to get mixed up in whatever was going on.
"Just do it," Harold said, half screaming at Ralph.
Jerry looked at him across the room after hearing the entire conversation. He shrugged his shoulders as if wondering what his partner planned to do.
"Make it fast," Harold urged into the radio. "Everything is going south in a hurry.
The warning was not wasted on Ralph as he fought through his fatigue, jumping into the van and headed toward Jay's Jewelry Store on Main. Unlike the banks, where he made careful entry, the locksmith didn't resort to his trade. He opted instead to employ smash and grab tactics, using a hammer to shatter the front glass door. Once inside, he made his way to "the good stuff", smashing the cases with his hammer, snatching the jewelry from their display cases and throwing it into his sack. There was no time for the safe.
Almost on a run, Ralph exited Jay’s, jumped in his van and headed for Madison's Jewelry on East End. There, he repeated his barbaric entry tactics, smashing the window like a crack addict looking for a quick score. He snatched what he could before throwing the loot in the van and making for the drop off. Ralph was exhausted. This was the most exercise he had in years, leaving him sucking for air. Even more stressful was that he knew he would now have to unload his treasure chest of money and jewels before his night was over.
Harold motioned for Jerry to meet him near the stage. It was a violation of their master plan which clearly stated they should be at separate areas of the building to make it harder for any brave souls to mount an offensive against them. But now, everything was going wrong. It was time to initiate their exit strategy.
With Jerry joining him in the front of the arena, Harold quickly gave marching orders.
"I'm going to make the announcement," Harold began. "As I do, I want you heading out the door. When you get out there, give the order for our transport officer to collect the hired help and take them to the extraction location. By the time I'm through here, they should have had time to get to their exit area."
Without questioning the orders, Jerry nodded and took a few steps toward the door.
"Don't worry," Harold added. "I'll lock up."
With that, Harold grabbed the megaphone from the edge of the stage, commanding everyone's attention in his direction.
"I have some good news," Harold began gruffly, his voice distorted by the amplification device. "It's just about over."
His words drew the undivided attention of all the hostages, long enough for Jerry to slip out the side door.
"Our demands are being met as I speak," Harold continued. "We are meeting with negotiators outside the civic center and if we can come to an understanding, all of you will be home safe and sound within the hour."
The announcement actually brought applause from the relieved crowd. Hope is intoxicating and a ray of hope had just shown to the more than two thousand inside the arena. It was that hope Harold was depending on to hold the crowd in check for just a few more minutes.
"As you can see, the inside of this building is covered with explosive devices. You've heard their power," Harold said. "Any attempt to leave this arena by any of you will create a chain reaction, detonating all of them."
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