Bloody Beginning

Bloody Beginning

The bitterly cold wind sweeps through the town, chilling the elderly lady to her bones. Fastening her coat around herself, she heads toward the bar. It'll be worth it in the end. Granny thinks, picking up her pace. Glancing toward the starless sky, she says. I'll make sure another family won't have to go through what we have, son.

A tall, thick man stumbles down the porch steps as she's coming up. Granny tries to maintain her balance, but her feet slip out from under her; she tumbles to the ground. Glancing up, Granny shakes her fist. "Watch where you're going, bozo."

"Sorry, ma'am, I didn't see you there." He offers her his hand.

She pushes it away. "I don't need your drunken ass to help me up."

"I was only trying to be polite."

"It probably wouldn't have happened if you weren't so sloshed." Picking up her cane, she struggles to her feet. She dusts off her clothes then says, "I suppose you plan to drive home like that?"

"What's it to you if I do? Besides, isn't it a little late for someone your age to be out?"

"Are you calling me old?"

The man eyes her again. "If the shoe fits."

"I'll show you old. I'll teach you about respect too. Granny lifts her cane and whacks him behind his knees. His legs jerk forward.

"Didn't your dad teach you any manners, boy; tell you to respect your elders?"

"Pops died when I was young."

"That doesn't excuse you for acting this way. She smacks her cane across his back. Air whooshes from his lungs. "That's what's wrong with you pampered kids these days. You don't have an ounce of morals in you. She whacks him again and again. "My daddy used to take a stick to my backside when I was young, and it didn't ruin me, none. It made me stronger, taught me right from wrong, and value everything you get." She thumps his head with her oak stick.

"Ok, ok, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I promise I'll be more respectful to you and all the other grannies," he says, trying to stand.

She flogs him across the back.

The man's plump body plummets to the cold, hard ground. Granny raises her cane and hits him over and over again.

"Gee lady, take it easy, alright. I said I was sorry. What more do you want?"

"I don't believe your lying drunken ass for a second." She lifts her cane to his neck and squeezes its handle. A high-pitched swiss pierces the air as a bullet-shaped object launched from the bottom of her walking stick.

A sharp frozen mass pierces his carotid artery. Harrowing pain radiates from the puncture in his neck throughout his rounded body. He looks down to find blood gushing across the ground. He reaches for his neck, hoping to stop the blood, but the warm, sticky liquid oozes between his fingers and down his hand. "Help me, please, somebody help me," he screams, struggling to get to his feet. His head begins to feel foggy. His surroundings spin. "Help me, please help me," he yells as he takes an unsure step. He tries to take another but plummets face-first to the ground.

Walking over, Granny shakes her head. "You lose blood quicker when you move around."

He looks down to see the red puddle below him getting immense. "Help me, please, someone help me," he screams again.

"Getting excited helps blood flow too. Besides, no one can hear you over that so-called music."

"Why did you do this for? Why?"

"I want to make sure a drunk doesn't ruin another family's life."

***

The Sergeant and his three detectives are preparing for a long-awaited bust. It took them two agonizing years of investigation and a lot of dead ends, but they finally had enough to execute a warrant.

"Jerry, you and Jeff take the back; Rachel and I cover the sides. Be sure to do everything by the book; I don't want him to get off on a technicality. "OK, let's go, let's go, let's go.

The group is getting into positions when gunfire erupts around them.

"Take cover, take cover," Joe yells, ducking behind a car. A shower of bullets pings off the rusty junk scattered across the yard. Joe pulls his weapon from his holster and locks the clip in place. You're going down one way or another. Joe peeks around his car to see the shots are coming from a second-story window. We need to find the shooter's blind spot, and we need to do it fast. He turns to see a gunman running up to Rachel. "Look out," Joe screams. Aiming, he squeezes the trigger.

The gunman pulls his trigger as he tumbles to the ground. Rachel crumbles to the dirt.

"No," Joe screams as he runs towards her. A spray of bullets knocks him to the ground. We can't go out like this. We just can't, he thinks, belly-crawling towards his detective, who's lying helpless on the cold hard ground. "Hang on, Rachel, help is on the way, he says, applying pressure to her wound." Tears stream down his dirt-smudged face as memories flash through his mind. Don't die on me, Rachel, please don't die. Joe's emotional outburst brings him to a startling discovery. I think I've fallen in love.

Crawling next to her, he puts pressure on the wound. Joe hears a click. He then feels a boot shoving him into the dirt.

"I told you I'll get my revenge," a snarly voice says.

Joe looks up to find a tall, burly man standing over him, an assault rifle in hand.

"So long, Sergeant." He laughs.

"No."

Joe's shrilling phone startles him awake. He glances around to find he's safe at home. Thank god that was only a dream. He fumbles for his noisy device.

"Hello?" I'm on my way, Captain." He hangs up and then dials another number. "Rachel, it's Joe, there's been a murder at Charlie's bar... I'll be there in five, and Rachel, be sure to wear your vest... Just do it, alright." He disconnects his call. "There's no way I could ever love that quarrelsome pain in the ass." Throwing on some clothes, He grabs his keys off his dresser and storms out the door.

Joe and Rachel pull up to see Jerry and Jeff interviewing patrons on the opposite ends of the lot.

Jerry has been with the police force for fifteen years, ranking as a detective a little under four. After his family's tragic demise, he switched his military career to the police force. They were killed in a gang-related shooting while visiting his wife's parents in Chicago.

Jeff has been a detective for a little under a year. He still has a lot to learn but shows a lot of potentials.

"I'll talk to Jerry. You talk to Kirk."

"You're acting strange, Joe. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Just worry about the case and not me, OK?" He storms away.

What's eating him? Rachel thinks as she walks across the lawn.

"What do you have for me, Jerry?" Joe asks.

"A whole lot of nothing, Sergeant. There are no witnesses, no evidence, and everyone I've talked to said they're glad he's dead and finally got what he deserves."

"Really?"

"His mile-long rap sheet explains why." Jerry hands him a tablet.

"Rape, attempted rape, domestic violence, assault with a deadly weapon, drug possession with intent; why isn't this man behind bars?"

"They just released him a few weeks ago."

"So his killer could either be his victim or a family member getting revenge."

"That's possible, boss."

Joe points towards the building. "Did the cameras catch anything?"

"Forensics is checking it now."

Rachel sees Jeff busily taking notes as she crosses the lawn.

"If you think of anything, please call this number." Jeff hands the customer his card. He starts towards the next patron when he notices Rachel walking up beside him.

"Hi, Rachel."

"What can you tell me, Jeff?"

"No one saw or heard a thing; said Mitch left a little after ten."

"Did he leave with someone?"

"No."

"Does he have any enemies?"

"It would be easier to give you a list of friends." He flips to the beginning of his notes. "It seems that everyone here has had a beef with him at one time or another."

"It looks like we're going to be busy for a while. Did anyone check the cameras?"

"Kirk is checking it now."

"Is there any evidence?"

"I'm afraid not."

Rachel starts to leave when Joe walks up beside her.

"Did you find out anything?" Joe asks.

"Just that nearly everyone in Berryville hates him."

"They have a good reason to." He hands her a tablet.

Rachel skims through the victim's record. "So this could easily be for revenge."

"That's what I thought too."

"Sergeant, Sergeant," Kirk yells as he runs towards them.

"Do you have something for us?"

"I found him on camera. It looks like he's talking to someone, but whoever it is is standing in the shadows, so I can't make out the face. I'm going to check the cameras across the street, see if they can tell us more."

"Did Sharon determine his cause of death?"

"She said he bled out from a severed carotid artery. She said someone beat him with a thick, heavy rod. Sharon said she'll know more once she gets him to the lab."

"So this is a personal attack like we thought," Joe says, glancing around the yard.