Cahill

I could hear the din from the bar as I exited my SUV and I was still almost a block away. What a shame! I knew from long experience that would change as soon as my foot crossed the threshold. I tend to have that effect on people. I’m six feet six inches tall and I weigh an even 250 pounds—all of it broad shouldered muscle. My Body Mass Index at my last physical was less than four percent. My light brown hair is styled exactly the way it’s been for the past fifteen years—ever since I first joined the Navy. Sure enough, no sooner had I taken my first step into the bar than the noise died. When I turned left and stepped up to the bar the people there couldn’t back away fast enough. I took a stool in the middle of the empty space and sat down, waiting for the bartender to approach. “I’m not looking for any trouble.” “Good…neither am I. Give me a ginger ale.” He reached under the bar for a glass and some ice. Twenty seconds later he slid the glass in my direction. I pulled a fiver from my pocket and dropped it on the bar. He ignored it and walked away to draw a few beers and pour some wine. It looked to me like this was a pretty cheap crowd. Checking up and down the bar all I could see were longnecks and drafts. I reached into the lower left pocket of my cargo pants. Like almost everything else I was wearing they were a true deep navy blue. My heavy shoes were black as was my wide belt. My belt said as much about me as the bold white lettering across my chest. Just below the American flag over my heart were the letters that were my life—U. S. MARSHAL. On my right hip was my nickel plated .44 Magnum Colt Python, just behind two speed loaders in addition to the twenty-four rounds on the belt. On my left hip was my ASP Talon baton—every bit as deadly a weapon in my hands as the revolver. A pouch at the back of my right hip held my stainless steel handcuffs and its partner on the opposite side held my radio—my link to my backup team. I placed the photo flat on the bar as the bartender returned to me. “I’ll have another,” I said in a loud voice, continuing so I wouldn’t be overheard. “Don’t pick it up and don’t make a production of looking at it. I’ve been told that he comes here a lot. Is he here tonight? If he is and he escapes because you’ve given me away I’ll see to it that you’re arrested for obstruction of justice.” He gulped a few times but did as he was told, nodding slightly in response. I continued almost at a whisper. “If my nose is pointing to twelve o’clock, my right ear to three, the back of my head to six, and my left ear to nine, tell me where he is. Again, don’t point or do anything obvious and we’ll be fine.” He pretended to wipe the bar as he whispered, “About 4:30 with his back to you.” I picked up the reflection in the mirror then asked, “Red shirt with black and white stripes, looking away from me?” He nodded again. Now, in my normal tone of voice I asked, “Where’s the men’s room?”

Fredrick_Udele · Fantasie

Zu wenig Bewertungen

69 Chs

CHAPTER 30

Max was up again in a flash, ready for action if needed and Haynes took a step back in response. "Duly noted and accepted, Officer Haynes. I'll have your service weapon and your ID now and I'll give you seventy-two hours to return your uniforms. If you don't, I'll have the cost deducted from your final paycheck." His face was red with anger as he stepped forward and slammed the pistol and belt on the desk, followed seconds later by his leather-clad ID. I held Max back with a hand on his collar as he growled loudly enough for all in the room to hear.

"C'mon, Gil—let's get the fuck out of this shithole."

Parsons just stood still with his head down. "I can't Jeremy. I don't live with my folks. I have a wife and two kids. I need this job." Haynes stormed out, slamming the door as he left. Parsons surrendered his belt and pistol as well as his ID, accepting the suspension before he walked away.

"Daryl, please notify payroll that we're on the job effective today. That will have to be in writing. Also, take care of the Haynes and Parsons matters. I'll have to deal with the former Chief. In fact, I think I see him now." Daryl left to find what would be his office as Joe Wilson stormed in. I was sure he would have yelled had he not seen Max at the ready.

Instead, he was subdued as he asked, "Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing in my office?"

"I'm your replacement, Matt Cahill, and you're officially relieved of duty effective right now. I'll accept your service weapon unless it's your personal property and your police department ID. Please return your uniforms within the next week."

"The fuck I will. I have half a mind to…."

"Just do as you're told, Joe," my future father-in-law said, stepping into the office from the hallway. "Joe, you should have retired years ago. You've allowed things to slip and now the police force is a joke. Be glad you're retiring and not being fired."

"But, Jonathan…."

"No buts, Joe; you'll be paid for the next ten days just as the City Council agreed, but you're done working. Stop whining and maintain a little dignity."

"This isn't right. I got friends on the Council, you know?"

"I do, but you should know that an informal vote was held yesterday after two of your officers failed to take any action when my daughter…MY DAUGHTER…was being kidnapped. If not for intervention by Chief Cahill she would have been."

"I didn't hear anything about that."

"All the more reason why you should step down, Joe." Jonathan walked over and placed his hand on Wilson's shoulder. The now ex-chief saw that he had lost and added his belt to those already on the desk then he added his ID and his keys to the office, files, and his personal vehicle.

"There's nothing on the desk I want, but I'm going to need a ride home."

"I'll take you, Joe. Enjoy your retirement. C'mon." Jonathan led the defeated man out and down the stairs to the parking lot. On the way he passed a forty-something brunette who took a seat at the desk outside my office. After a minute or so she walked in to introduce herself.

"I'm Sandra Milner, your secretary, Chief Cahill. I wasn't expecting you until the week after next. Do you want coffee?"

"Yeah, well apparently the City Council thought I was needed now and I don't expect you to bring me coffee. Feel free to call me Matt unless we're in some kind of formal situation."

"Sure, thanks; you can call me Sandra. The first thing I did for Chief Wilson was to bring him the activity logs from the previous day. Do you want that, also?" I nodded my agreement and she left. I unloaded the three pistols on my desk and cleared the chambers then I walked to the door and asked Sandra if we had an armory.

"We have an officer who has combined duties between the evidence room and the guns and ammunition. His office is down in the basement. Turn left at the bottom of the stairs." I thanked her, grabbed the three pistols in my right hand and the belts in my left with the magazines in my pockets. Down the stairs I went to meet Officer Mulvaney. His operation was the most organized thing I'd yet encountered in the department. He took the weapons from me, checked their serial numbers against those on file in his computer and secured them in locked cabinets. I asked him about the armaments the department owned and he showed me the complete inventory first, then the actual arms—less those in the hands of the officers or in the patrol cars—typically shotguns. He described his skills in making and repairing guns. He also did ballistics comparisons in the rare crime scene or arrest that involved a shooting. I asked for a copy of the complete weapons inventory by close of shift and he told me I could have it in an hour.

Then we discussed the evidence room and he showed me the system the department used. It was pretty much standard with others I'd seen so I was satisfied. After shaking hands with Mulvaney I returned to the office where Sandra informed me that I was needed in Human Resources for my ID photo and to complete the required forms for payroll and insurance. She gave me directions and I was there about ten minutes later, having gotten lost when I took a wrong turn.

The clerk had all of the forms ready for my signature and was able to answer the few questions I had while I answered hers about Max. All told I spent about twenty minutes there, returning to my office with several booklets describing the insurance and pension programs as well as my formal ID. I used the rest of the morning to review personnel files with Daryl. He had several insights I found valuable about the ages of several officers and whether or not they would be able to meet the new standards. I'd have to make some critical decisions about them. How many station personnel could we use? Might we need some neighborhood substations? Maybe Lucy would know. I could make a few exceptions, but they would still have to qualify on the range. There's no use for a police officer who can't be counted on in an emergency.

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