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 · Fantasi

Peringkat tidak cukup

69 Chs

CHAPTER 46

A .50 caliber bullet dwarfs almost every other cartridge, even the .44 Magnum shells I used in my pistol. The cartridge holds so much propellant that the round is supersonic immediately. Muzzle velocity is almost 3,000 feet per second. The speed of sound is about 1130 fps so the heavy missile is traveling at more than 2.5 times the speed of sound. "Bob" was dead before any of us even had time to react, his head exploding from the massive kinetic energy of the heavy projectile.

Three officers ran across the street into George's to remove him for examination by the EMT's on site and to secure the scene. I just took several long breaths in an effort to calm myself. I was looking down when I felt a hand on my shoulder. "You had no choice, Matt; none at all. If you had waited even a few seconds George would have been dead and then we would have had to kill him anyway."

"Thanks, Daryl, but that doesn't make me feel any better. I feel that I somehow failed. I had no idea that mentioning his family would set him off."

"No, I think you handled it perfectly. Mentioning family, especially mom usually forces the perp to think about what he is doing. None of us had any idea. I wonder if there are any records in Social Services about his family. Sounds like an abusive situation; I think I'll check up on Monday."

I had started to disassemble the rifle when George was led behind me by two EMT's. He was wrapped in a blanket and was hurried along the sidewalk when he suddenly stopped to hug me. "Thank God you were here, Matt. I wasn't really scared until the end when he seemed to snap. I'd be dead now if not for you." I returned the hug then encouraged him to follow the EMT's to their vehicle. He was an elderly man who had undergone an extremely traumatic experience, one that could haunt him for the rest of his life.

I had returned the rifle to its case when Daryl suggested that I go home. "I'll secure the tape for the crime scene tech's and we have plenty of witnesses. I'm sure George will be a good witness, too. You need to get home to that great wife of yours." I nodded and walked away, carrying my rifle and feeling like a total failure.

Lucy was up and waiting for me when I drove into the garage. She rushed out to hold me. "Daryl called. How terrible for you!" She led me into the house and up to the bedroom where she stripped my uniform from my body and led me into the shower. I was there with her when I broke down and cried like a baby. All told I must have cried for half an hour before Lucy's love and tenderness helped to calm me. I had no remorse about killing the Mexican in the drug bust, but I'd had no real choice then. He was trying to kill me and it was self-defense. I had the highest hopes of ending this standoff successfully, but it wasn't to be.

Lucy put me to bed then took care of Max, feeding him and putting him out. He knew somehow that something was wrong—that something bad had happened. He rushed in and placed his head onto the bed where I could reach him and run my fingers through the fur on his head. Soon Lucy joined me, lying partially on my body. No sex tonight, but there was still plenty of loving and caring before I finally succumbed to sleep.

>>>>>>

We didn't do much on Saturday, but I did take two phone calls from the County. The first was from the crime tech's to tell me that their report would indicate that I shot out of necessity to save a life. The second was from the medical examiner. That came in the late afternoon. He told me that an analysis of Sean Dugan's blood showed he was a chronic abuser of drugs and that he had enough meth in his blood to fry anyone's brain. He doubted that Dugan would have been able to think or reason at all.

Sunday morning we were up early for the drive to the AME Church. Again, we were met by Pastor Michaels who led us to the front pew. This time I was asked to speak in the middle of the service. "Thank you, Anthony. The last time I was here I tried to tell you that I wanted to recruit minorities for the police force and that we—meaning my friend Daryl Evans, my wife Lucy, and I would hold tutoring sessions for anyone interested. Ten people showed interest and attended our sessions.

"Well, I took a call from the Chief in Memphis a few days ago and he told me that either we were great tutors or we had great students because all ten passed both parts of the exam. All ten scored in the top fifty on the aptitude part and all ten passed the psychological part. I have a meeting tomorrow evening to review the police department budget with the City Council and I anticipate that we will have openings for all of you. You will get a formal letter within the next two weeks about enrolling in the Memphis Police Academy. Of course, the city will pay for that. Congratulations to all of you. You certainly deserve it." I stood back from the podium to applaud.

I was about to sit down when an elderly man stood to ask a question. "Did you shoot a young man Friday evening?"

"I'm sorry to say that I did. I've been involved in more than a dozen hostage situations and most of them were resolved peacefully, but this young man was close to overdosing on methamphetamine according to the medical examiner. We were doing well until he suddenly became irrational and paranoid and placed his cocked pistol against George Myers' head. I regret having no choice. It was either him or George. I would have done the same thing if it had been anyone in this church. Innocent people don't deserve to be murdered."

"Well, Chief—I'm inclined to agree with you. I heard about it from some of the bystanders. They told me that you were trying to get him to give up his gun and come out when he went crazy. That's when you shot him. Weren't you worried about hitting George?"

"No, I make that kind of shot with my pistol regularly and at a greater distance than on Friday. I had a high powered rifle with a quality scope and I had the perpetrator in view through it the entire time. I hated having to shoot and kill him. I tell you unashamedly that I cried for more than half an hour when I got home. Thank God I have a loving wife or I don't think I would have made it."

"Yes, sir—no question about it; a good woman makes us stronger." He waved and began to applaud. Soon everyone in the entire church was clapping. I readily admit that I was embarrassed so I just took my seat to allow the service to continue. Almost an hour later Pastor Michaels finished by asking everyone to pray for "our brave and noble first responders." Amen!

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