by Edson, J. T.
Jack Tragg was such a man!
Watching and waiting in the semi darkness, Garrity hoped all would go well and the moral courage displayed by the Sheriff of Rockabye County in selecting how they should conduct themselves would receive the reward it deserved!
Suddenly, after what seemed to the waiting peace officers to have been hours—but in reality was no more than fifteen minutes—the brass knob of the door at which each had been staring began to move!
There had been no sound from beyond the dividing wall to announce such an action was due to take place!
Chapter Six – Another Advantage of Being Black
‘God damn it!’ snarled the voice of Edward Garrity, the words grating and whining as if being ejected by nerves strung tightly and almost to breaking point. To the accompaniment of a switch being operated several times in rapid succession, he went on, ‘Now the son-of-a-bitching lights in the garage aren’t working!’
Listening to the complaint and watching the connecting door which gave access to the living quarters starting to move, Jack Tragg and Patrolman Joseph Garrity knew the passive part of their ordeal had come to an end!
‘So why do we need the god-damned lights to get the “mother-something” heap out?’ challenged Richard Cleverly, his tone expressing a similar suggestion of tension coming close to hysterical rage. ‘Come on, for “something’s” sake. We’ve wasted enough “something” time already, looking for the god-damned keys you let him take with him.’
‘I can’t watch everything!’ Gierek protested, with something close to childish petulance. ‘Besides, who was it thought of using these two’s wheels?’ When there was no reply from his companion, he went on, ‘Get going, you Chicano whores!’
In spite of having received an indication that the scheme was at last going as they required and, inadvertently, being offered an explanation for the delay, neither the Sheriff of Rockabye County nor his burly black companion drew his revolver!
Instead, Jack and Garrity tensed ready to go into action as the former had decided they would—should a suitable opportunity be presented—while he was explaining his intentions prior to them setting out from Route 228.
However, there had been one major change in the arrangements!
For once, while working with a subordinate peace officer, the Sheriff was not in the position of greatest danger!
Having accepted the suggestion made by Garrity, Jack was standing at the hinged side of the door. As this opened into the garage, it would shield him from being seen by the two radicals as they were entering. Therefore, he would be less at risk than the patrolman. What was more, his view of the pair would be seriously restricted. Despite the latter putting him at something of a disadvantage, having complete faith in his companion, he was neither greatly disturbed nor alarmed by the reduction to his range of vision. It would, he knew, only be temporary.
For all that, being the kind of man he was, the Sheriff could not prevent his conscience from nagging over the remembrance of how he was allowing another peace officer—particularly one of lower rank than his own—to be at greater risk than himself!
There was little time, however, for Jack to continue worrying over the point!
Light from the sitting room of the living quarters flooded into the garage as the door was thrust open. Fortunately, it did not spread to any dangerous extent. Rather it served to throw the wall against which the patrolman was standing into an even deeper shadow. Furthermore, despite the previous semi-gloom, the sudden increase in the illumination did not affect his vision to any noticeable degree. Hardly daring to breath, in case the sound should be heard and draw attention his way, he crouched like some great predatory beast preparing to pounce, waiting for the most appropriate moment at which to launch his attack. It must, he appreciated, be timed absolutely correct if it was to serve its purpose and prevent either of the hostages from being injured or killed.
Luck appeared to be favoring the peace officers!
Holding hands, the two prostitutes came through the doorway instead of being preceded by one of their captors!
It was obvious, however, that Rosa Moreno was in a far more disturbed mental state than her cousin. She was walking, staring straight to her front, in a zombie-like manner. On the other hand, although Maria Esteban was clearly far from being at ease, she was contriving to behave in passably nonchalant fashion. As was suggested by the stiffness with which she was holding her head, she suspected the peace officers were waiting on either side of the door. Streetwise, she was clearly determined to avoid alerting the radicals to the possibility of an ambush. Without allowing her gaze to stray left or right by even so much as a fraction of an inch, she continued to guide her close to terrified cousin towards the vehicles.
‘That’s another we owe you, Maria-gal!’ Garrity thought, watching the prostitute’s behavior with gratification and satisfaction.
Following a couple of paces behind the hostages, with the Armalite Car 15 S.M.G. ‘Commando’ carbine dangling by the wrist of its butt from his right hand and the muzzle directed at the floor, nothing in the demeanor of the blond radical suggested he or his companion had given any thought to the possibility of a trap having been laid by the peace officers. Or, if the contingency had occurred to them, they had discounted it. An over inflated sense of their respective—if far from mutual in either’s case—intelligence, boosted by the repeated use of marijuana cigarettes and a recent ‘fix’ of cocaine, had prevented them from believing the ‘Fascist pigs’ might have ‘had the smarts’ to conceive a way to circumvent their scheme for escaping the consequences of their actions.
Instinct, rather than suspicion, led Cleverly to glance to his left as he was crossing the threshold!
At that moment, the wisdom of the suggestion made by Garrity became obvious!
If the Sheriff had taken up the position occupied by the patrolman as he had originally intended, instead of having agreed to stand at the safer side of the doorway, his lighter skin and khaki attire would almost certainly have betrayed his presence in spite of the surrounding darkness. As it was, with his black skin pigmentation and dark blue uniform, Garrity merged sufficiently into murky gloom to avoid being noticed by the cursory glance from the radical.
Wasting no time in congratulating himself upon his forethought, as Cleverly’s gaze was turning forward once more without having detected him, the patrolman decided the period of waiting was over!
‘Now!’ Garrity bellowed thunderously, as much to try and paralyze the blond radical with shock for a vitally important instant as to warn the Sheriff of his intentions, and he reached out with his big hands.
On hearing the shout, having been waiting for something of the sort although he was unable to see what had caused it to be uttered, Jack thrust himself from the wall!
Passing beyond the point at which the opening door had concealed what lay behind it, the sheriff noticed from the corner of his eye that Garrity had grasped and was pulling the radical by the left arm!
A startled exclamation burst from Cleverly, being echoed by the yell of alarm to which Gierek gave voice in the sitting room!
Thrusting his right foot behind him, Jack kicked the door closed. Then he reached and scooped up one of the prostitutes in each arm. Half carrying and half shoving them, he swept the pair and himself to the right so they would be out of the line of fire if the second radical started shooting. Nor did he take the precaution a moment too soon. Although no explosions from the discharges could be heard, four holes suddenly burst through the connecting door. The .45 caliber bullets expelled by the Colt Government Model of 1911 automatic pistol narrowly missed Maria as they flew across the garage to be halted by striking the side of the Ford Mustang.
‘God damn it!’ the Sheriff thought furiously, the realization striking him of what was portended by the earlier and present absence of noise from the living quarters. ‘The son-of-a-bitching side wall is sound proof!’
However, Jack was aware that the situation was too u
rgent for him to waste even a few seconds in silent self-recrimination over having failed to take such a point into consideration!
Shoving the girls onwards, with instructions in Spanish—which he knew would be more easily assimilated under the circumstances than words in what was, despite their having been born and raised in Texas, a second language—the Sheriff spun around. As he was completing the turn and starting to move towards the connecting door, he studied what was happening elsewhere.
Having been caught, swung and flung aside by his unexpected assailant, Cleverly was being brought to a halt by crashing against the front wall. Unfortunately, the shock of the completely unanticipated attack had not caused him to release the carbine. Nor did the impact of his shoulders as they rammed against the solid planks from which the structure was manufactured have any greater success, and the weapon remained in his hands. For all that, having contrived to keep himself armed availed him nothing.
Even as the natural instinct for self-preservation—spurred into motion by raw fear mingled with rage induced via narcotics—was causing the blond radical to raise the weapon, Garrity hurtled across the garage towards him. Before he could complete its alignment, a huge black hand slapped the Armalite aside and sent it spinning from his grasp with no more apparent difficulty than removing a toy from the hands of a frightened child. Then the burly patrolman took him by the throat and hurled him aside once more.
That was all the Sheriff had time to see!
Arriving at the connecting door, Jack devoted all his attention to what he knew must be done!
Standing with his back to the wall and hoping it would be proof against bullets as well as sound, the Sheriff reached around to grasp and turn the knob. A tug caused the door to swing open again. No shots were fired and, right hand dipping, he plunged through. Despite Garrity having been presented with an opportunity to tackle Cleverly bare-handed, he doubted whether he would be equally successful in avoiding the need to employ a firearm.
Coinciding with the rapid entrance he was making, the Sheriff enfolded the thumb, second, third and fourth fingers about the carefully shaped, hand filling wooden ‘combat stocks’ of the Smith & Wesson Model 57 .41 Magnum revolver’s butt. Hooking beneath the restraining strap while the rest were obtaining their hold, the right forefinger separated the ‘male’ and ‘female’ portions of the press-stud. Sweeping out the liberated weapon with the easy facility offered by the excellent design of the Bianchi rig, he held it ready to be used by the time he had crossed the threshold. However, for all the urgency of the situation, his well-trained reflexes refrained from allowing the forefinger to enter the trigger guard until after the four inch barrel had cleared the lip of the holster and the muzzle was directed away from his body. xvi
One brief and sweeping glance taken by Jack as he was entering the sitting room gave confirmation of the reason he had overheard for the delay in arriving in the garage. The radicals had clearly spent the intervening time looking for the keys which would allow them to use the Cadillac sedan owned by Oliver Lacey. What was more, either a growing anger over the failure of the search or vicious spite had caused them to do far more damage than would have occurred merely in the course of making such an examination. It was, in fact, a tribute to the effectiveness of the way in which the dividing wall had been sound proofed that he and Garrity had been prevented from hearing the activities of the pair while the destruction was taking place.
However, at that moment, the Sheriff had other and far more important matters to consider than commiserating over the deliberate vandalism wreaked upon Lacey’s belongings!
Instead of offering to go to the assistance of his companion, who he realized must have fallen into the hands of at least one peace officer, a single thought had become foremost in those flooding through the over-excited mind of Gierek. His immediate response to the terribly changed state of affairs was closer to that of a rat which had discovered the ship it was on had started to sink, however, than of a noble and gallant fighter against the evils of the Capitalist Establishment. The moment he had had the connecting door closed in his face, devoting not a single thought to Cleverly’s predicament, he had immediately turned with the intention of seeking a means of escape for himself.
For all that, the brunette radical had not been in a state of complete and unthinking panic!
Just as Gierek was taking to his heels in the direction of the bedrooms, a disconcerting possibility occurred to him. There might be more of the ‘Fascist pigs’ lurking outside. Remembering he had already fired several shots, although unable to recollect the exact number, he pressed the restraining stud and allowed the partially deplete magazine to slip from its housing in the butt of the automatic pistol. Extracting a fully charged replacement from the pouch on his waist belt, he was thrusting it home as he arrived at the closed door of the bedroom in which he had spoken with Maria. Reaching for the handle with his left hand, he discovered the precaution he had taken was justified and the need to make use of his replenished weapon was arising even sooner than he had anticipated.
‘Gierek!’
Hearing his name, the radical swung around and saw the khaki clad peace officer coming through the connecting door from the garage. Alarm flooded through him, but the snarl which bared his teeth was as much fear as savagery. For all that, he was ready to defend himself with all the courage of a cornered rat.
‘“Something” you!’ Gierek shrieked, bringing up the Colt and starting to fire. ‘I’ll kill you, you “mother-something” Fascist pig!’
Three bullets hissed by Jack Tragg’s head in rapid succession, going through the door and evoking screams from the prostitutes as they followed their predecessors into the bodywork of the Mustang. Unlike the radical, he had kept count of how many times the pistol had been fired. Four bullets had already entered the garage and, according to the report he was given on his arrival, three more had been expended on Route 228. Which meant the weapon, having a fully loaded capacity of seven rounds in the magazine and, possibly, an eighth in the chamber, had been recharged since Gierek entered the house.
More than once, in fact!
Having noticed the discarded magazine lying where it had fallen to the floor, the Sheriff realized the radical was able to continue firing at least four and perhaps five more times!
There could be only one response in the circumstances!
Certainly no kind of verbal dissuasion, or requests to refrain, would be heeded!
What was more, the description given by Garrity of the injuries inflicted indicated it had been Gierek who killed the elderly woman in the delicatessen. As it was unlikely she had offered resistance, or posed a threat to him, he would have no compunction over trying to take the life of a person who did.
Swinging up the Smith & Wesson with the swiftly deft precision of a trained ‘combat pistol’ fighter, Jack knew how best to handle the emergency. With his left hand going to join the right on the butt and supply an additional firmness to his grip, he adopted the shoulder high and arms’ length stance perfected by Sheriff Jack Weaver of Lancaster, California. It was a posture ideally suited for permitting very accurate sighting and extra control when firing a heavy caliber revolver with a double action mechanism.
Showing no sign of being deterred by two more bullets passing so close to his head he felt the wind stir his hair, or hearing sounds suggesting one of the prostitutes—Rosa he suspected—was becoming hysterical in the garage, the Sheriff concentrated upon making sure of his aim. Knowing the shooting by the radical must be brought to an immediate end, he squeezed the trigger and fired in the only way he dared under the circumstances.
Flying as it was intended, the .41 Magnum bullet struck Gierek between the eyes and, having torn through the brain, burst out at the back of his head. Killed instantly, he was lifted bodily from his feet by the striking force of the extremely powerful cartridge. Although he dispatched the remaining loads from his automatic pistol as he was going down, the first of them having been deflected only
just enough to miss its intended target, it was as a result of the involuntary twitching of his forefinger and the bullets ended their respective flights harmlessly in the walls. Jerked free of the dying grasp by the continuous recoils, the weapon spun aside and reached the floor almost at the same moment as its owner.
‘You poor, stupid, misguided bastard!’ Jack said softly and bitterly, lowering his revolver secure in the knowledge he had nothing further to fear from the brown haired radical. ‘What a waste of a life!’
No matter how justified and necessary, the Sheriff of Rockabye County never took lightly the killing of another human being!
Knowing he could render no kind of aid to Gierek, Jack holstered the Smith & Wesson. Swinging on his heel, he walked quickly back into the garage. He found he had drawn the correct conclusion from the sounds he had heard. Maria was holding and comforting her cousin.
Although Rosa was still shuddering violently and sobbing, she was no longer completely hysterical. Satisfied all was under control there and needed no action on his part, he turned his gaze to where he could hear the thudding of blows. Holding up Cleverly with a big black hand bunching the front of his loosely fitting shirt, Garrity was driving punch after punch into his unresisting body. Before offering to intervene, the Sheriff located the bulb he had removed and, as he replaced it in the socket from which it had come, it immediately glowed into light.
‘All right now, Joe!’ Jack said with quiet authority, strolling forward. ‘I reckon that’s about enough, amigo!’
‘Hell, yes!’ Garrity admitted, stiffening at the words and, after a couple of seconds, shaking his head as if to clear it. Releasing his hold and allowing the battered radical to slide limply to the floor, he turned to face the Sheriff and went on, ‘I’m sorry, sir, but—!’