by Joe Nobody
Ahead, far in the distance, he spied a structure. A few steps later, his eyes cleared long enough to identify Widow Bradford’s old barn, the rusty tin roof and faded red paint helping him identify where he’d been deposited.
County Road 114 was the next landmark. He was two miles outside of Moss Ridge. He could make it.
Mayor Garcia staggered into town, immediately noting the swarm of squad cars and strange vehicles filling the streets. His first thought was that the crooks had made good on their threat to massacre the entire population.
“There he is!” a shout from somewhere exclaimed, followed a few moments later by a rushing wave of bodies surrounding him on all sides.
“He’s been hurt,” the mayor heard someone else assert. “Somebody get a doctor.”
“Take that asshole to the jail!” sounded a harsh voice from the pressing throng. “Screw the doctor!”
“Fuck the jail! String him up!” yelled an angry voice from behind.
The good mayor was confused, not sure if what he was hearing was real or imagined. “Water, please,” he heard his own voice croak. “I’m so thirsty.”
Someone grabbed his hand, Garcia’s impaired intellect thinking he was about to be handed a glass of water. Instead, his wrist was harshly yanked to the small of his back.
A moment later, Garcia realized he was in handcuffs and being roughly dragged along the street. The flash of a deputy’s uniform led to the realization that he was being arrested. “Why?” his mind screamed. “Where is my daughter?” he wanted to shout. “Why are you doing this?”
Grim and the team hustled toward the helicopter, instinctively ducking low to avoid the prop wash. As his men started throwing their gear aboard, SAINT One’s new commander spied Sheriff Watts and Nick jogging across the tarmac.
After verifying his men were getting squared away, Grim set a brisk pace to intercept the approaching officials.
“What’s up, Boss?” he greeted Nick. All the ex-contractor knew was that he and SAINT One had been ordered to report to the airfield – pronto. Full kit. Extended mission.
“There’s been another robbery,” Watts answered. “This time, a suspect has been apprehended.”
Frowning in puzzlement, Grim said, “Ok. That’s great, but why do you need us?”
“The suspect is the mayor of Moss Ridge,” Nick responded. “Last night someone pocketed $500,000 dollars earmarked to build the new distribution center.”
Still not understanding why a SAINT team was being scrambled, Grim’s questioning gaze darted between the two men.
“My deputies on the scene report that there is a wave of unrest rolling through the town. They are concerned about a lynching. To make matters worse, Cyrus Young is reported to be heading there in person. My guys are barely maintaining order, and if that politician starts ginning up the locals, we are going to need help.”
Grim understood, but didn’t like it. The potential of having to use force against Alliance citizens was the worst assignment possible. There was nothing more demoralizing, no duty as difficult. “Why don’t they just move the accused out of town? Get him out of there until the facts can be sorted out?”
“They tried,” Watts stated with a frown. “A bunch of hotheads blocked the only road in or out.”
“Shit,” Grim snapped, shaking his head. Then another question popped into his mind. “Isn’t that SAINT Six’s area of operations?” he asked, the hope rising in his voice.
Nick quelled the notion instantly. “They have been temporarily assigned as security for Cyrus Young. With Diana on the road campaigning, we were running short on bodyguards.”
Nodding, but sour, Grim acknowledged the task, “We’ll do our best, sir.”
Watts joined him on the copter, Grim waiting until they were airborne to brief his team. Bailey summed it up after learning of their assignment, “This sucks, sir.”
Moss Ridge was over two hours away by military Blackhawk, the large bird touching down just outside of town. Grim and his men had noticed the burning tires of the roadblock from the air.
A uniformed deputy met the disembarking men from Alpha, the harried-looking lawman wasting no time before filling them in on the latest. “Right now, things are pretty quiet. On one end of town, there is a mulling group of about 20 men who support the mayor. On the other side, by the church, is a larger group who wants justice, and wants it now. They’ve already clashed once, a few shoves and punches being thrown before we could break it up.”
“Is the accused talking?” Watts asked.
“Yes. He is spinning some wild yarn about a sniper holding his daughter hostage and being forced to open the safe where the money was stored. There was a raucous celebration going on last night, and no one saw anything. Personally, I think he was double-crossed by his gang after embezzling the funds and was left behind holding the bag.”
“Let’s go see what the good mayor has to say for himself,” Watts nodded. “Grim, your job is to keep this town from tearing itself apart while making sure the suspect faces a judge and jury, and not a rope.”
“Got it,” Grim replied, his expression making it clear that he dreaded the task. Then, turning to his team, he ordered, “Let’s go have a look, boys. Maybe your ugly faces will be enough to disburse the crowd. Bailey, given that Halloween mask you call a mug, you’ve got point.”
“What are the rules of engagement, sir?” Bailey asked.
“Now that’s about the only intelligent question I’ve heard from you all week, Marine. Lethal force is only authorized to protect life … yours or anyone else. As far as busting a few heads, make damn good and sure you can justify it later. These are the people who pay our salaries. These are the folks we’re sworn to protect, not some rogue enemy threatening the Alliance. Always, always keep that in mind.”
The throng blocking the street with burning tires and a couple of pickup trucks was easy to find. Grim estimated there were at least 30 fuming souls.
Most of the assembled were leaning against pickup trucks or huddled in small, chattering groups. When SAINT One appeared in the street, all conversations stopped as the locals converged to face the approaching team.
“So this is who that helicopter dropped off,” snarled one of the leaders. “There’s only four of ‘em. No big deal.”
Without comment or hesitation, Grim marched right up to the mouthy man. “You in charge here?” he asked with a forced smile.
“Ain’t nobody in charge here,” the guy barked in response. “Justice doesn’t need a leader; it comes naturally to all of us.”
“You’re welcome to burn tires and mill about all you want,” Grim answered in an even tone. “I’m all about free speech and the right to protest. But, I beg you. I plead with you with every ounce of my heart – don’t move on the jail. If you do, I will kill you.”
Grim’s abrupt announcement took them by surprise, several of the gathered mob exchanging troubled glances. The group’s leader recovered first, “You would kill a freeborn Texas for nothing more than the pursuit of justice?”
Smiling, Grim shook his head and stepped even closer to the bold fellow. “No, absolutely not. But you boys rushing local law enforcement to stretch that prisoner’s neck isn’t justice. That’s a lynching. That’s wrong. That’s against everything we all stand for. This man will face a jury. He’ll be punished if he’s guilty.”
The fellow facing Grim flushed red, “That’s bullshit, and you know it. That son-of-a-bitch Garcia has stolen the only hope this town had. You see all of us gathered here? Well, that money was the only chance at a better life any of us had. Now it’s gone, and that fucker is going to pay.”
“Sir, you’re not being logical,” Grim responded with a fatherly tone. “If you gents put a rope around his neck, what do you think the chances are of recovering the cash? Let the sheriff do his job, catch the rest of the bandits, and then we’ll hang him from that oak over there. I’ll even let you knock the stool from under his feet if you want. We can all stand
around drinking beer and eating popcorn while he jerks and seizes. Hell, I’m buying.”
Before any of the throng could react, Grim poured it on. Turning to Butter, he said, “Hey kid, you remember that horse thief we strung up last June? Remember how his eyes popped out of their sockets and were dangling on his cheeks? Now that was a proper hanging right there.”
Butter, unsure of exactly how to react, blinked several times before responding. “Yes, sir. That was sure something to see.”
His lie now confirmed, Grim returned his gaze to the shocked onlookers. “Have your fun, gentlemen. Protest all you want, but don’t move on that jail. I don’t want to have to string any of you up alongside the mayor. Remember … fuck with me, and I will kill you.”
With that, Grim spun in a military-brisk about face, and began marching back up the street with his team behind him.
Once they rounded the next corner, Grim started laughing. “That was good, sir,” Bailey chuckled. “Hell, you had me going there for a second.”
“It will hold them off … for a bit,” Grim replied. “In the meantime, I hope Watts gets to the bottom of what went down last night in a hurry. Pretty soon, those men down there are going to get restless, and even my most charming persuasions aren’t going to hold them back.”
Grim glanced at his men, making sure everyone understood what he was saying. “Now, Butter, I want you close to the lockup at all times. Make yourself visible patrolling that extra-large ass of yours up and down in the front of the building. Bailey, I want you across the street. Kevin and I are going to randomly make the rounds. Use your eyes, ears, and radios. If you see anything … anything at all that is cause for concern, I want to hear about it in my earpiece. Got it?”
A chorus of, “Yes, sir,” sounded, and then the team disbursed.
Watching them go, Grim turned to his sharpshooter and said, “Come on, kid. You’re with me.”
A half hour later, Watts appeared outside city hall, a scowl coloring the lawman’s face. “Where’s Grim?” he asked the patrolling Butter.
“I can radio him, sir.”
With Kevin in tow, the SAINT leader appeared a few minutes later. “What’s up, Sheriff?”
“The good mayor is sticking to his story. I wanted to borrow your sniper to see if what Garcia claims is even possible.”
Half turning to Kevin, Grim said, “At your disposal.”
The three men headed for the church grounds, Watts explaining how Garcia swore the robbery had gone down.
“He said his daughter was over here,” the lawman said, pointing toward an area of the grassy lawn. “He said a man slipped up behind him, and then there was a red laser dot on a pumpkin that exploded from being shot.”
The three men soon found pieces and bits of yellow-orange rind lying scattered through the grass.
“This could be anything,” Grim observed. “Someone might have dropped a pumpkin, or cleaned one, or shot one.”
“Look for some evidence of a bullet,” Watts instructed. “Kevin, do you see any way a shot like that could have occurred without anyone in the area noticing or hearing the report?”
Before the SAINT marksman could respond, Watts produced a notepad from his pocket. “According to the suspect, the man behind him claimed that the shot was, and I quote, ‘a 168-grain boattail hollow point, match grade.’ Garcia swears the guy even told him it was a .308 Winchester.”
For a second, Kevin scanned the horizon in all directions. “I see two potential hides, sir,” he said. “The rooftop of the building in the distance, and that lower branch of the elm up the street. Either of those positions would have supported that shot.”
Grim, on his hands and knees in the grass, held up a large piece of the orange peel at that moment. “Sheriff, you might want to look at this.”
Sure enough, the perfect circle of a bullet hole was visible in the rind.
Watts still wasn’t convinced. “But how would you pull off a shot with a powerful weapon like that without anyone hearing the muzzle blast? Even a cancellation device makes enough racket that someone would have heard the shot.”
Kevin shook his head, “Not necessarily, sir.” Then, almost as an afterthought, the SAINT sniper dropped his pack on the ground and produced a long, metal tube with a series of foils and vents. Holding out the contraption for the lawman to examine, he continued, “This cancellation device, combined with sub-sonic ammunition, is very difficult to detect from even 50 feet away. If there was a celebration going on, with music or a large crowd, it could be done. The shooter would have to lob the round from that distance, but that is just math and adjusting for the holdover.”
“So you could make that shot?”
“Yes, sir. Easy.”
“How many guys do you know that could?”
Shrugging, Kevin answered, “A lot. Any military sniper would have no problem. Any of the SAINT designated marksmen could hit a pumpkin from that distance. As long as the shooter had acquired the special cartridges and knew the specific ballistics, it’s not that difficult. Actually, with a laser pointing device, it would be hard to miss.”
“Shit,” Watts mumbled. “Maybe the mayor is telling the truth.”
Grim scratched his head, “You seem disappointed, Sheriff?”
“I was hoping to finally catch these guys. We’ve had quite the string of high-profile robberies and attempts as of late. In fact, your old boss, Bishop, just barely managed to thwart a major heist a few days ago.”
Before Grim could respond, Butter’s voice sounded in his ear. “Sir, we’ve got activity down by the roadblock. Looks like some new arrivals, a few vehicles, and … umm…. Oh shit, sir. SAINT Six is here.”
“Roger that, Butter. We’re on our way,” Grim transmitted, and then turned to face Watts. “Governor Young and entourage have arrived.”
“Great,” muttered Watts, his lips stretching into a thin, disgruntled line. “Just what we need.”
The trio hustled back toward the jail, the sound of Cyrus’s voice reaching their ears before they arrived. “Does he always travel with a megaphone?” Grim asked.
Watts only shrugged. “Don’t all politicians?”
As the sheriff and the SAINT members approached, it became clear that the governor was revving up the crowd. “We will not tolerate that blatant attempt to undermine the Alliance,” they heard him preach. “We, as citizens of the Republic, have to right to expect integrity from our civil servants.”
Grim and Watts exchanged troubled looks, the lawman grumbling, “I wish he wouldn’t do that.”
They arrived at the edge of the expanding crowd. As Grim started to shoulder his way closer to the speaker, Captain K appeared with his weapon at port arms, clearly intending to block passage. “What you up to, old school?”
“We need to speak to the governor,” Grim answered.
“He’ll be done with his speech in a few minutes,” Kilmore replied. “I’m sure he’d be happy to talk to you then.”
“Not good enough,” Grim barked, moving to step around.
Kilmore braced to block again. “Like I said, Grandpa, he’ll be finished in a minute or two.”
Watts appeared over Grim’s shoulder. “This is official police business, Captain. Allow us to pass, or I’ll arrest you for hindering an investigation.”
For a moment, the captain seemed uncertain what to do. Defying Grim was one thing, messing with the Alliance’s highest ranking law enforcement officer was another. Finally, he backed away.
Cyrus was using one of his SUVs like a stage, the candidate standing in the open doorway of the large vehicle, his elevated perch placing him above the gathering citizens of Moss Ridge. From the words blasting out of the blowhorn in his hands, it was obvious that the governor had already found Mayor Garcia guilty on all counts.
It took a moment for Watts to attract the ranting politician’s attention. Once the two had made eye contact, the sheriff made a cutting motion across his throat. “Stop this,” the gesture clearly stat
ed. “Now.”
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I see our illustrious Sheriff Watts is now on the case. If you will excuse me for a moment, I understand he wishes to brief me on the situation.”
Stepping down, Cyrus motioned for Watts and Grim to follow him to the far side of the SUV where they could have some privacy. SAINT Six was all around.
“You had better have a good reason for interrupting my presentation, Sheriff,” Cyrus spat, his face flushing with the heat of anger.