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 · แฟนตาซี

เรตติ้งไม่พอ

69 Chs

CHAPTER 44

I was alone in the exam room for about five minutes, but there was no way I was going to read any of those sappy women's magazines in the rack on the wall. Fortunately, Lucy returned then and she was smiling again. "Six for six," she said laughing. Then she came to me and gave me the sweetest short kiss of my life. It was short because just ten seconds into it a woman I assumed was Dr. Murphy opened the door and entered.

"Hello, Lucille."

"Hi, Dianne; I'd like you to meet my husband, Matt…Matt Cahill." I stood and nodded in greeting then sat as Dr. Murphy took over.

After examining the three tests she told Lucy to sit on the exam table as I moved out of the way. "These tests are about 96 percent accurate, but I'll need a little blood to be sure. If you're pregnant your body will produce several hormones that are only in your blood during pregnancy. Are you still afraid of needles?"

I didn't need to hear an answer. Lucy's face showed her panic. I walked over to hold and hug her face and head. I whispered into Lucy's ear as Dr. Murphy quickly inserted the needle and waited until the vial was full. A few seconds later Lucy's arm was bandaged while Dr. Murphy went through a spiel that she must have recited more than a thousand times about diet, exercise, no smoking or drinking. A series of appointments were set up before we left at almost five o'clock. Rather than go home I took Lucy out for an early dinner.

Max was happy to see us and he had warmed to Lucy even more than I could have hoped. He moved to her as soon as she was in the car, wagging his tail wildly. "I think he loves you almost as much as I do, Lucy."

"That's okay because I love him too—not as much as I love you, though." Then she leaned across the console for a sensational kiss. Breaking it she told me, "I'm in the mood for pizza for dinner. Is that okay?" It was, so back to Earl's we went. His pizza was just as good as his Italian cold cut subs. We ordered double sausage with two Cokes, sitting at the rickety table as we ate. I kept some of the scraps for Max to eat later. We walked out just before six and then—catastrophe!

There is nothing a police officer hates more than a hostage situation. Only a domestic dispute even comes close. My phone rang and caller ID told me it was headquarters calling. Sgt. Holland, the evening sergeant, told me that there had been a silent alarm at George's Men's Wear about fifteen minutes ago, just before closing. The responding officers found that George was stuck in his shop with a white male who held a gun to his head. They had secured the front and rear of the shop and Holland wanted to know what to do next.

"Call in every officer from the day shift that you can reach and especially Lt. Evans. I have to take Lucy home and then I'll be on scene. Get in touch with the phone company and have them send a technician who can hook us up with the shop's phone." Lucy was already belted in when I hit the light bar and siren. There was no time to waste. Drivers in Tennessee generally pull over to allow police, ambulance, or fire trucks right of way, and as soon as I pulled out there was a clear lane for me. I hit fifty down the city's main drag before pulling off onto our street. Once the door was opened I ran into our home office to open my gun safe. It was a big one, almost six feet high by three wide and two deep. I pulled out a hard-shelled case that weighed almost thirty-five pounds. Opening it, I carefully counted eleven .50 caliber bullets. Carrying it in my right hand I ran back down the stairs to hug and kiss Lucy before leading Max back to the SUV.

"Please be careful, Matt," Lucy yelled as I began to pull away. I would be; I had more than one good reason to be extremely careful.

>>>>>>

I sped up to the cross street where George had his menswear shop, skidding to a halt just before the intersection. I opened the hatchback and carefully donned my vest, making sure that my Colt Python was easily accessible, then I grabbed the heavy gun case and trotted down the block. I was pleased to learn that day shift officers had blockaded the street and removed any residents from the apartments above the stores. That was especially important above George's shop.

Looking across the narrow two-lane street I could easily see into the well-lit store. George was pulled in front of a young white male who held a revolver against his head. So far, so good, I thought. The kid hadn't panicked yet and his pistol wasn't cocked. I turned to one of the officers and told him, "Get whoever has this car tonight to turn it so it's on a sixty degree angle to the curb, like this." Then I showed him with my hands how I wanted the car. I had opened the case and was putting my weapon together by the time he and another young officer had returned.

They stopped short when they saw it. "What the hell is that, Chief?"

"Ever try to shoot through plate glass with a 9mm or a 5.62mm from an M-16? If you do you'll see that the glass is so hard and so thick that it will actually turn the bullet. That won't happen with this. I held up one of the rounds—a .50 caliber BMG round for my Barrett M82 A sniper rifle. I attached the scope and set the front bipod up on the squad car's roof. The rear stand I adjusted so the rifle's barrel was just even with the perpetrator's head. Daryl walked up then to hand me a headset, courtesy of the phone company.

I took the radio handset from the squad and set it to serve as a bull horn. "HELLO, IN THE STORE. THIS IS CHIEF CAHILL OF THE CITY POLICE. I'D LIKE TO TALK TO YOU ON THE PHONE SO YOU CAN SPEAK BACK TO ME. PLEASE PICK IT UP WHEN IT RINGS." I turned it off, dropping it onto the car's seat. Daryl had coordinated with the phone company technician, telling him that we wanted an open line to the store. A few seconds later I could hear the phone ring across the silent street.

PREV INDEX Next