by BJ Bourg
I set up single hostage targets, multiple bad guy targets, and multiple hostage targets. I shot in every position from standing to prone, from distances of twenty-five yards to five hundred, and included intense exertion drills that would make a professional athlete puke.
I shot men, women, and children suspects, and then went through some of the mug shots of my fellow deputies. I shot photos of deputies of every rank and even took out the sheriff, but I paused when I came to Dawn’s commission photograph. She looked so young when she’d first started. Her hair was pulled back and she was smiling brightly, like a kid who was about to embark upon an exciting and rewarding journey to save the world.
I frowned, wondering if she still felt as optimistic as she had on that first day. Nowadays, people gather and riot nearly every time a cop shoots a suspect. They called it protesting, but protests didn’t involve burning buildings and attacking people. And half of them didn’t even know the facts of the case before showing up with their hateful agendas and bad attitudes. It didn’t matter to these people that the suspect who died was trying to kill the cop who stopped him and that the shooting was one hundred percent justified. It didn’t matter to these people that the suspect had a long history of hurting innocent people and would’ve killed anyone at the “protest” given the opportunity. It didn’t matter to these people that cops were the only thing standing between good and evil—it didn’t matter because they were the evil.
“We don’t do what we do for those barbarians who contribute nothing to our society and who only seek to destroy our cities and our way of life,” I’d told a recent graduating academy class. “No, we do it for the silent and vast majority who lace up their boots and get their asses to work each and every day to provide a decent and honest life for their families. Those are the unsung heroes who keep our country moving forward while these bastards are out there doing everything they can to tear it down. But they won’t succeed, because they’re cowards and they lack conviction. We will win this fight and will restore order in all of our communities, because the good citizens we serve deserve nothing but our best effort—and I intend to give it to them. Who’s with me?”
It had been the longest speech I’d ever given and I did it with much reluctance. I wasn’t a fan of public speaking. I started to turn down the invitation to address the graduates, but Brandon Berger had called me personally to ask that I do it, so I’d relented.
I tossed Dawn’s photograph to the side and grabbed the next photo. After stapling it to the target, I returned to the firing line and settled in behind my rifle. As I prepared to take the shot, I prayed I’d never again have to shoot another cop, but I knew I had to be ready. The citizens of my community deserved only my best.
CHAPTER 30
The Simoneaux Camp
The kitchen and dining area of their camp was crowded, so Orville took his lunch of fried shrimp, rice, and corn to the porch and sat in Norris’ rocker. The second in command of the FBI’s team, the guy named Taz, was sitting in his rocker, but he figured it would be better not to point out that the Simoneaux family had assigned seats.
Orville nodded when Taz looked up, trying to be cordial. Taz nodded back and then turned his attention toward the forest, where he stared intently, not moving a muscle. When he’d blink, he would lower his eyelids slowly and then open them just as slow. Orville wanted to ask why he did that, but figured it best not to interrupt the man.
Orville had finished eating and was about to stand when he saw movement from the trees. As he watched, four leafy figures seemed to just appear out of thin air. They moved closer, but they seemed to do it in increments. He couldn’t track their movements. It was as though they were in one spot one moment and then would disappear, reappearing a few feet closer. He rubbed his eyes and looked up. Suddenly, the figures were on the landing to the steps and were talking quietly to Taz.
Orville couldn’t make out every word they said, but he heard enough to know they had set up spy cameras all over the woods. “If he’s out there, we’ll get his ass this time,” one of them said.
Taz turned to look at Orville, and Orville quickly lowered his gaze, hoping they didn’t realize he was eavesdropping. “You,” Taz said, pointing at him. “What’d you say your name was?”
“Um, it’s Orville. Orville Simoneaux.”
“What the hell kind of name is that?” Taz shook his bald head. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. Look, can you take us to the exact spot your brother was killed?”
Orville’s heart began to race in his chest. He’d never even considered going back to the location. If he had his way, he’d stay out of that part of the swamps forever.
“Well? Can you take us there or not?” Taz sounded impatient. “Do I need to just fold up this operation and send your paw to prison? Is that what you’re saying to me?”
“No, that’s not it. I…I guess I can take you.”
“What do you mean you guess? Can you take us there or not? Is your dad going to prison or not?”
“No…I mean, yeah, I can take y’all if…”
“If what?”
“Is it safe?” Orville felt his voice slip out from under his words when he asked the question, and it sounded shriller than he meant. He cleared his throat. “Will I be safe?”
Taz grunted and pointed to his feet. “This spot where I’m standing…it’s currently the safest place in the world.”
The man was so confident that Orville couldn’t help but feel better. He nodded. “Yes, sir, I can surely take you to where it happened.”
Mule appeared in the doorway and Taz told him they were about to head to the location of the first murder. Pointing at Orville, Taz said, “He’s agreed to take us to the spot.”
Orville felt naked as Mule looked him up and down, appearing to size him up. He wished he could find a hole to crawl into and hide his large frame, but he had a sneaking suspicion there wasn’t a hole big enough to hide from Mule and his men.
Mule grunted and turned back to Taz. “Take Lizard, Grizzly, and Croc with you.”
Taz nodded and snapped out some orders. The three men hurried into the house behind Taz to gather up more gear, leaving Orville standing there wondering why they all had animal names. “Maybe they’ll call me Gator if I do a good job,” he said out loud to himself, and then settled into his rocker to wait for them to return to the porch.
Orville studied Mule from the corner of his eye as the man pulled out binoculars and scanned the trees. What are you looking for? Orville wondered. Why are you here? Are you really hunting the killer or—
Holy shit! He started to panic. What if you are the killer?
“Stop staring sideways at me, boy,” Mule said without turning his head. “Or I’ll come over there and poke your eyes out with my thumbs.”
Orville gulped and jerked his head in the opposite direction. “Sorry. I…um…I didn’t mean nothing by it.” Thinking quickly, he continued. “I was just wondering if I could have one of those bullet proof vests y’all use. You know, just in case we get shot at while we’re out there.”
“If you get shot at, you won’t even know it.”
“How’s that?”
“You’ll be dead instantly.”
Orville felt his hands turn to faucets as sweat spilled from his pours. He felt an aching in his chest and it was difficult to breathe. “You don’t think I’ll die out there, do you?”
Mule scowled, never removing his eyes from the binoculars. “Don’t be such a pansy. You’re embarrassing your dad.”
“I…I don’t want to die.”
“We all have to die some time, and it’s much better to go out in a blaze of glory for a worthy cause.” Mule lowered the binoculars and sighed. “Look, son, I’m sorry we had to ride in hard, but we’re not sure what we’re dealing with out here. For all we knew, the killer could’ve been hiding out in this house.”
“No.” Orville shook his head from side to side. “We would’ve killed him if he would’ve stepped foot on our property.
He murdered my brother in cold blood.”
“Who is he?”
“My brother? His name’s Norris.”
“No. Who’s the killer?”
Orville stared blankly at Mule. “I don’t know. How would I know that?”
“You’re exactly right—you don’t know.” Mule stepped closer and Orville felt himself shrink. “This sniper,” Mule said, “he’s killed on more than one occasion, and he’s gotten away clean, without a trace, but not this time. No…this time, the good guys win.”
Orville’s heart was still pounding in his chest long after Mule stepped inside and Taz and his team filed out onto the porch. The guy called Lizard—he looked just like a lizard, with thin lips and skin that was pulled tight across his skull—handed him some body armor. Orville was struggling to get it on when Lizard stepped up and gave him a hand.
“It’s okay to be nervous,” Lizard said in a surprisingly soothing voice. “We all get nervous. It’s what keeps us sharp.”
Orville nodded his thanks and stood on wobbly legs as Lizard jerked on the straps and secured them in place. When Lizard was done, Orville tried to take a deep breath, but couldn’t. The vest was too tight. Feeling claustrophobic, he pulled at the throat area in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure from his windpipe.
“You’ll get used to it,” Lizard said. “Just relax and breathe normally.”
Orville nodded and followed Lizard down the steps, where they met the rest of the team near the tree line. He looked back just before disappearing into the woods and he saw Quentin standing in the doorway with a blank expression on his face. Orville waved, but Quentin didn’t acknowledge him. He wondered if it was the last time he’d see his older brother.
CHAPTER 31
London Carter’s home
I’d just stepped out of the shower when my cell phone rang. It was Dawn, so I answered immediately.
“I know it’s Sunday and all,” she began, “but I was wondering if you wanted to meet me at the office. There’s something I need to show you.”
I promised her I’d be there soon and rushed to get dressed. Since it was Sunday, I wore jeans and a pull-over shirt and shoved my pistol in my waistband. When I arrived at the Seasville Substation, I let myself in and walked down the long hallway. Before going into the evidence processing room, I made my way to the jailer. “How’s Shannon doing?” I asked, shooting my thumb in the direction of the holding cell.
The jailer shook his head. “He’s gone—bonded out. All of his friends are gone, too.”
“When?”
“Late last night.”
“Shit!” I stormed into the evidence processing room and found Dawn sitting in front of the large computer monitor, her boots up on the counter and a notebook resting in her lap. Her phone was to her ear
“I’ve got it,” she was saying. “I appreciate you returning my call.” She hung up and dropped her feet to ground. When she moved, a gust of air pushed her sweet scent in my direction and I almost moaned. It was a different perfume and it was tantalizing.
“Did you hear that Shannon bonded out?” I asked.
“I did.” She didn’t seem as bothered as I was, and I asked why.
“A bigger fish might’ve just entered our pond.”
“What do you mean?”
“This.” She maximized one of the icons on the toolbar and leaned back so I could see. A picture popped up. It depicted a man in a ghillie suit holding a scoped rifle in his hands. It was a custom job and it looked tough. The sniper wore a bush hat and his face was painted, but he looked oddly familiar—not like someone I knew, but like someone I might’ve seen once or twice before.
Without reading the article, I asked Dawn what was so significant about the picture.
“This fellow won the Sniper’s Earth Annual Competition fifteen years ago.” She scrunched up her face. “By the way, what the hell is a sniper’s earth, anyhow?”
“We call it SEAC. It’s an international sniper organization that promotes uniformity and quality of training around the world. They host an annual competition to determine the top sniper in the world.” I studied the man’s face closer. “Why do we care that this guy won Top Sniper?”
“Because that’s Patrick Stanger…or Slick Patrick, as you call him.”
My mouth fell open. I now understood why Slick Patrick looked comfortable with a rifle—he was as good as they get. I, along with every other sniper in the United States, knew the name. “So, our Patrick Clarkston is really Patrick Stanger?”
Dawn nodded. “I grew suspicious when nothing came back to Patrick Clarkston except for that one address in Mississippi. I started thinking it was a fake name, so I decided to run an internet search for the keywords Patrick, Mississippi, and sniper, but nothing came up. Since there were addresses listed to Celeste Clarkston in Wyoming, I changed Mississippi to Wyoming. Again, nothing showed up. That’s when I changed the state to Utah and”—she stabbed the picture she’d printed with her index finger—“this photo pops up.”
“Did you run an address check on Stanger’s name?”
“I did, but his only address is in Salt Lake City. If he’s running with Celeste Clarkston, they’re keeping everything in her name. For some reason, he’s trying to lay low.”
“We have to find out what he’s doing here. If he’s the killer, we’re in deep shit.”
“Back when he won this competition he was working for the—”
“Salt Lake City Police Department.”
Dawn flashed a perfect smile. “We haven’t worked together for a full week yet and you’re already finishing my sentences.”
I didn’t even acknowledge her comment. My mind was racing. Patrick was known as Stanger Danger in the sniper community, and his name struck fear in the hearts of every criminal in the mid-west. I’d never met him, but I’d heard the mere whisper of his name at a hostage scene in Utah was enough to send most hostage takers running for the door with their hands high in the air. The ones who didn’t surrender were carried out in body bags. Last I heard, he had retired or died, but here he was in my parish, alive and well.
“We need to talk to Salt Lake City PD,” I told Dawn.
“Already on it. I was just on the phone with the dispatcher. She got me the number for his former supervisor.” Dawn pressed the speaker button on the office phone and dialed a number she’d written on the notebook in her lap. It rang four times before a man picked up.
“Captain Ansley,” said a soft voice. “How may I help you?”
Dawn identified herself and mentioned I was also there. “We’re trying to find out as much as we can about one of your former snipers. A guy named Patrick Stanger.”
“Stanger.” The speaker went silent and all we heard for a few moments was the sound of him breathing into the phone. Finally, he said, “I haven’t heard that name in years.”
“Do you remember him?” Dawn asked.
“I could never forget Pat. He was the best sniper to ever come through here. He was SEAC champion a dozen or so years ago and he’s had twenty kills in the line of duty…all of them righteous shootings.”
“Why doesn’t he work there anymore?”
“Who did you say you were again?”
“I’m Detective Sergeant Dawn Luke with the Magnolia Parish Sheriff’s Office. We’re here in southeastern Louisiana.”
There was a pause, and then Ansley said he’d have to call us back. “I want to verify your identity,” he explained. “I’ll be in touch momentarily.”
Before Dawn could say another word, the phone clicked and the line went dead. She shrugged. “Well, I guess you can’t be too safe these days.”
I just nodded. I was lost in thought, my curiosity thoroughly aroused. Why had Patrick left the police department? Was he running from something? Had he gone rogue? The very thought made my mouth dry. “You know, he could be our killer,” I said. “Something could’ve happened to make him snap.”
“He’s far from home.” Dawn began t
apping her fingers impatiently on the desk. “You think he’ll call back?”
I glanced at the clock at the corner of the computer monitor. “If he doesn’t, we’ll just have to take a road trip to Utah.”
“Wasn’t it a road trip that got you in trouble with Bethany?”
I didn’t know if she was being funny or ridiculing me, but I couldn’t help but smile. “I can’t argue with you on that subject.”
“No, you can’t. If you try, I’ll get Sally on the line and she can verify everything I heard about that road trip—”
Dawn jerked when the phone rang. She quickly pressed the speaker button and answered.
“Sergeant Luke, it’s Ansley again. I apologize, but I had to be certain you were law enforcement.” He sighed. “Ever since Pat dropped off the face of the earth we’ve had a number of shady characters calling here looking for him.”
“Well, we’re not looking for him,” Dawn said. “We found him.”
“You found him? Where? How is he?”
“He’s hanging out in the southernmost tip of our parish,” Dawn said. “He’s working as some kind of muscle for a local alligator hunter and land owner.”
“Muscle?” Ansley grunted. “What kind of muscle—security or mercenary?”
“More like security.” Dawn drummed her pencil on the desktop. “Do you think he’s capable of murder?”
“Like, murdering innocent people? No, absolutely not. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Look, he’s a trained killer, for sure, but he has a moral compass that would make an altar boy look like the devil. Like I said, he would never hurt an innocent person, but if he thinks someone deserves killing, you’d just as soon start digging his grave.” Ansley paused momentarily, as though not wanting to ask the next question. Finally, he said, “I know you’re not calling to get a job reference, so is he a suspect in a murder?”
“He might be,” Dawn said. “We’re just not sure. Can you tell me again why he left the department?”