Authors: Robert Conroy
Storm Front (13 page)
“Good,” Donna smiled. “Now, is there any other way I can help you?”
“Yes,” said Maddy, laughing while tears still streamed down her face. “Get the hell out of here and bring in Mike. I want to get my hands on his tight hard butt and I want it now.”
* * *
“Stan, please tell me you didn’t beat up that nice citizen?” Mike asked in a worried tone of voice. As before, they were in DiMona’s office where they had some privacy. Stan was purging himself of the Baumann incident and looked distraught.
“I defended myself, Mike. He grabbed me and took a swing. I was all alone and had to protect myself.”
Mike shook his head. It was so easy to sue and cry “police brutality.” A few lawyers seemed to salivate at the prospect and too many cities and insurance companies were willing to roll over and pay them whether it was justified or not. Of course, it often resulted in a police officer’s career being ruined, but they didn’t care.
“How many times did you defend yourself?”
“Uh, I sort of lost count, Mike. I maybe hit him eight or ten times before he fell in the snowbank.”
“Jesus, Stan, that goes beyond defending yourself. That’s an ass-kicking. You got any bruises on you to show that he hurt you?”
Stan thought quickly. “No, but I could arrange for some if you’d like.” Stan’s anger flared. “Hell, where is it written that my actions aren’t justified unless he hurts me first? What level of pain and injury do I have to take before I can strike back? None, Mike. He grabbed me and took a punch at me. Like it’s my fault he didn’t connect? If he had, he’s big enough that he could have knocked me silly and worked me over and then left my Polish ass in the snowdrift. And it’s not my fault that I had to make the run alone, damn it.”
Petkowski had a point. Domestic violence disputes were nasty and there was always the potential for escalation to lethal violence. Petkowski should not have been sent out alone. He should not have punched out the Baumann guy. Why hadn’t he used a Taser? Hell, it should not be snowing so heavily and they shouldn’t have a lush for a chief.
But what else could they do? Maybe they should announce that they weren’t going to make domestic dispute runs in the first place. Sure, and a woman gets beaten up, or maybe pulls out a gun or a meat cleaver and solves the problem her own way. Then, of course, there would be even more recriminations and lawsuits. They had to respond to every call as best they could, and if the Sheridan Police Department was spread so thin that only one man was available, then so be it.
“All right,” Mike said, “work on a report and file it before Baumann does it first.”
“His wife will back me up.”
Mike shook his head in disbelief. “Aw shit, Stan, they’re probably kissing and in the sack making up right now. How many times have the cops been to their house and nothing ever happens? The Baumanns are regulars. Regular idiots, that is.”
Stan flushed. “This time it’s different. She’s going to dump him and get a divorce.”
Mike now thought he understood. Stan Petkowski had feelings for the woman. Stan had a crush on her. “And then you, the cop in shining armor, or at least a shining badge, will show up and sweep her off her feet?”
“Something like that,” Stan smiled weakly. “What do you think? How does Sir Stanley the Cop sound?”
“I think the snow’s seeped into your brain, but I wish you luck.”
Petkowski was going to make a further comment, but he was interrupted by Mayor Carter, who barged into the room. “I need you guys right away. There’s some damn reporter wandering around and taking pictures. She’s got a TV camera and she’s interviewing everybody.”
“What would you like me to do about her, sir?” Mike asked calmly. “To the best of my knowledge, city hall and the police station are public property and stopping a reporter is difficult under the best of circumstances. The snow is a definite news story as are the refugees in the buildings.”
“You don’t understand, Stuart, that broad has been into Chief Bench’s office. She tried to interview him, but he’s drunk and incoherent. I want you to stop her and get that tape from her before we’re made to look like fools.”
* * *
Tower and Raines dragged the numb and unresisting Traci down the stairs. Her mind was an incoherent whirl. How had they found her? How had they known she was in the house? As they hustled her past the foyer and into the living room, she saw why. Her purse was wide open and on the table where she’d left it. Her keys were beside it. She groaned slightly at the injustice of it, but neither man heard her.
Raines had Tower sit her on the couch. Raines sat across from her and Tower beside her. His powerful arm easily restrained her.
“Now this is interesting,” Raines said as he pawed through her purse. “Your name is Traci Lawford and, according to your driver’s license, you’re thirty-four years old. You wear a ring, so you’re married. Where’s your husband, Traci?”
Her mind raced. “He’s down the street and he’ll be back in a little while. He’s a cop.”
Raines leaned forward and slapped her hard across the face. Lights flashed in front of her eyes and she would have fallen over, but Tower held her firmly in place.
“Don’t lie. Nobody’s down the street. Now, where is he?”
Traci licked blood from her lip. Her face burned from the slap. “He’s in Indianapolis.”
“Better,” Raines said. “Now, are you afraid we’re going to kill you?”
She began to whimper. “Yes.”
“Well, we’re not going to kill you, at least not unless it’s absolutely necessary. If things got ugly, you’d have a lot more value as a hostage than as a corpse, so, if you don’t fuck up, you stay alive. The cops doubtless know who we are and they are looking very hard for us because we already killed some people. However, if you don’t cooperate, or if you try something stupid like escaping, we will hurt you. We will hurt you so badly you will wish we had killed you. Understand?”
She started to nod, and Raines slapped her again. This time she did fall on the floor. Raines nodded to Tower, who took out a large military-style knife he’d taken from the house with all the weapons. The short, powerful man grabbed Traci by her hair, and she screamed in pain and fear as he yanked her to a standing position. He held the knife under her chin, and then in front of her right eye, the blade almost touching it. Her eyes focused on it in stark terror. She could almost see it penetrating her eyeball.
“First test, Traci,” Raines said. “You don’t move. You don’t move at all. A quarter of an inch and you’re blind in that eye. Understand?”
She whimpered a yes as Tower slowly removed the knife, unsure as to whether the sound she made constituted moving. It didn’t.
Tower used the knife with consummate skill, slicing her clothes off her body. In seconds, she was naked with pieces of cloth at her feet. She wanted to cover herself with her hands, but she willed herself to stand still, perfectly still, just as she’d been commanded. She didn’t even move when her bladder emptied. Tower and Raines thought it was funny.
“Not bad,” Raines said, “a little skinny, but not bad. You’d think a woman your age would have bought better boobs for yourself. I understand they sell them on Amazon. Tell me, Traci, do you love your husband?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice a half cry and whimper.
“Good, ’cause if you don’t cooperate, my friend here will cut small pieces out of your face and your tits and your pussy so that your husband and anyone else will puke when they see you. Then my friend’ll take a cigarette lighter to you and you’ll look like one big scar. You’ll be alive, but you’ll be blind and deaf and you won’t have any lips or tongue or lots of other things. You’ll be a walking freak show. But if you work with us, you won’t get hurt and you might even have a good time. Again, do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now tell me, do you want to fuck me?”
Her eyes widened with shock at the question, then half closed and a tear ran down her cheek. “Yes. I want to fuck you.”
“How much?”
She knew what she was supposed to say. “Very much. More than anything in the world.”
Raines laughed. He was getting aroused. “Excellent, because that’s exactly what’s going to happen. First me, and then my friend with the knife. Then we’ll start all over again. First, though, clean up that piss on the floor.”
* * *
911 supervisor Thea Hamilton stuck her head in Mike’s office. “You’re not going to believe this, Mike.”
“What kind of silly call did you get now?”
“Not a call. I’ve got a lady right here who wants to go home. She stopped into the call center to tell me that, since, in her opinion, she has an emergency and we’re supposed to be good at that stuff.”
“And let me guess,” Mike grinned, “you respectfully disagreed with her.”
“Respectfully my ass,” she said. “I threw her out. You know what she wanted? She wanted us to take her home so she could take care of her dog. And it’s a poodle, too. God, I hate poodles.”
“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I get a dog.”
“She fed the damn thing this morning before she left for work, so it won’t starve to death, and it’s got a bowl full of water, but she’s afraid the damn thing will pee all over her carpets. She says it has a weak bladder. Hell, my husband has a weak bladder, but I trust him to find someplace like a toilet.”
“Did it ever occur to you that dogs can’t use a toilet?” Mike said without even trying to stifle a grin.
“Of course, and, to tell the truth, my husband sometimes misses, too. But I’m not going to put anybody in danger by calling this an emergency. Her little FiFi, or Foo-Foo, or Fart-Fart can take his own chances. I told her she could leave if she felt that strongly and—know what? She actually started out in the snow. I had to get a policewoman to reason with her and keep her inside. Can we ticket someone for stupidity?”
Mike shook his head. “We’d have to ticket everyone, I’m afraid.” Why was he getting another one of Thea’s complaints? Because DiMona was out of town and the chief was out of this world, that’s why.
“War is hell, Thea.”
“Screw you, Mike.”
* * *
“Stoner” Wilson had been amazed when one of the teachers had agreed with his request to go to the library and study. She must have been new or a sub. The older teachers knew that he hadn’t studied in years and that his nickname came from the fact that he was always stoned. Even more than that, he was the main source of marijuana and other drugs for the students, and he even had a couple of teachers as part of his steadily growing clientele.
Stoner was sick and tired of watching people pretend that nothing was happening or going to the other extreme and totally freaking out because of the storm. He just wanted some privacy where he and his buddies could smoke some weed. Normally they did it in their cars during lunch and after school, but their cars had disappeared, transported up to the starship
Enterprise
in puffs of white snow. He giggled. That was really funny.
Red and Gus, his buddies and fellow seniors, didn’t get the joke. They were too wasted to think, not that they ever thought much anyhow. In return for free marijuana, they ran errands, made deliveries, collected money, and had even used their muscle to collect on bad debts.
Stoner had begun to wonder if the three of them would be able to set up business after they graduated this spring. He giggled again as he realized what a joke graduation would be. The school was going to push him out the door whether he was prepared or not. He dimly recalled some advisor saying that he’d better start studying if he wanted to get into college. College? Hell, he wasn’t certain he could spell the word. What he liked to do along with smoking stuff was make money and maybe have some sweet little thing trade her body or at least her lips on his toy in return for a joint. Lately, he’d begun branching out and offering other more powerful drugs, especially prescription drugs, and he thought soon he could get his hands on heroin.
Still, a community college would have to accept him, even though he could barely read. There were those who felt that he should have been held back at several points but no teachers wanted him, no administrator wanted the extra expense. Ready or not, he and his buddies were going to leave Sheridan High School this June.
Man, he thought, some parents would really be shocked at what their precious little daughters were capable of, especially the giggly ones in middle school. He understood that much of what he was doing was statutory rape, but he couldn’t care less. He was the gingerbread man, and catch me if you can. But nobody was going to catch him. Someday the snow would end and he’d have to go back to the real world. For now it was as good as good gets.
Then the power went out.
CHAPTER 12
Maddy was awakened from a restless slumber by the sound of high-pitched, frightened voices. She sat upright and was suddenly aware that the office was dark. “What the hell?” she said and then noted that Donna Harris had left the room and that the door to the office was open. The hallway was dark as well.
The power had finally gone out.
That’s just what we need
, she thought as she ran down the hallway to the gym where the children, now frightened and crying, were being comforted by the teachers. Or at least the teachers were trying to comfort them.
Then, as her eyes became accustomed to the dark, she realized it wasn’t all that bad. The snow outside was doing a wonderful job of reflecting what little light there was.
After a few moments, the children calmed down. Some were still scared, but weren’t going to admit it in front of all the others. Even the small ones stopped crying.
She sat by Donna and began to tease some of the children into believing that nothing was wrong. She felt a chill in the air and realized that the furnace, her best friend when she was drying off, wasn’t working. Of course not. The blower was run by electricity.
Mr. Wilson, the maintenance man, sat down beside Donna, close enough for Maddy to hear. “It’s not just us,” he said. “Street lights and everything else is out all down the street.”
“What do we have in the way of emergency stuff?” Donna asked.
“Not much. No generator or backup lights, if that’s what you’re thinking of. It was proposed but never put into the budget. Too expensive. There are a few lights, but not very many and none in the classrooms. Nobody ever planned for a blackout because nobody’s supposed to be here at night. If the power was to go out during a PTG meeting, everybody was supposed to go home. I’ve got a flashlight and some spare batteries, and a box of candles, but that’s it.”
“And no heat,” Maddy injected.
“That’s right, and it’s likely to be off for a long time. Technically, the furnace is on, but the blowers can’t circulate hot air without electricity. Also, we’ve got no land line phones until I can rig up something that bypasses the computer system that now ain’t working either. I’ve got an old piece of crap phone in my office that maybe I can plug into the jack.”
“Do it,” Donna said. “Of course, we can’t charge up cell phones any more so we’re really going to ration calls.” She looked directly at Maddy and smiled when she said that.
“Don’t worry, I’ll ration my already inadequate love life on behalf of Patton Elementary,” Maddy said with mock bitterness. “We’ve got to make sure the kids do so as well.”
“We’ll both go from room to room and tell them,” Donna said. “And maybe we’ll have to confiscate phones if things become tight. I’ve got a charger in my car that we could run off the battery, but who knows where my car is.”
“Same here,” said Maddy.
“What about food?” Donna asked. “We don’t have that much left and not much that requires cooking, do we? Oh yeah, this means the freezer and refrigerator are off. Not a problem. If we have to, we can chill milk and stuff outside.”
“Or bring snow inside,” Wilson suggested and Donna agreed it made more sense to do it that way. The abundant snow also meant they wouldn’t have to worry about going thirsty if the water stopped flowing. She didn’t think it would, but she didn’t know that much about how the utilities operated. Heck, they just worked. Lights went on when you flipped the switch and nasty stuff went away when you flushed a toilet. She’d never thought about the mechanics of public utilities and didn’t want to have to start now.
“I guess we use body heat for warmth,” Maddy said and the others nodded. They would gather everyone on the mats in the gym and keep them close together. Those inside the group would rotate periodically with those on the outside. Of course, a lot of kids would still want to run around and that would keep them warm until they wanted to sleep.
“It’ll work,” Wilson said. “Some kids’ll be uncomfortable, but there’s nothing else we can do. Nobody’ll freeze to death. If everybody stays together, I doubt it will go below fifty degrees in here. Heck, if we have to, we can rotate them in and out of the furnace room. It’ll still be warm.”
Maddy became aware that half a dozen fourth and fifth graders, boys and girls, were standing in front of them in the darkened hallway.
“Yes, kids. What do you want?”
A pretty little girl with blonde hair smiled sweetly. “Can we tell ghost stories?”
* * *
Mike found the television reporter Carter was worried about talking to an older couple who were trying to sleep on the floor of the library. Their annoyance was tempered by the possibility that they might be on television. Of course, they hadn’t figured out that they wouldn’t be home to see themselves if they were.
The reporter was young, blonde, attractive in a too-thin sort of way, and aggressive. She had a small video camera and appeared to be working alone. He thought he recognized her as a street reporter from the local ABC affiliate.
He went to her and introduced himself. Her name was Sandy. “I’ve got to ask how you got here.” Mike queried. He hadn’t seen her in the building before, not that it meant anything.
“Snowmobile,” she said, “just like everyone else who wants to move around. Got my own and drove myself in.”
“Okay, why?”
She smiled coldly. “Hey, I’m the reporter and I ask the questions.”
“And I’m a cop and I do it too.”
“Fair enough,” she admitted grudgingly. Reporters had two choices—work with cops or work around them. “With” was so much easier. “I live a little ways from here and got a call that it might be interesting to interview people who are stranded here.”
“And was it?”
Sandy smiled again, still without warmth. “Yes, and there’s no way I’m going to give you the tape of that drunken lout of a police chief sprawled on his desk and babbling incoherently while his city goes down the toilet.”
Mike chuckled. “I never asked and never thought you’d give it to me if I did.”
“Of course you didn’t,” she said and this time there was warmth behind the smile. Ground rules had been established. “Let me guess, though. Someone, probably the mayor, since the chief’s too drunk to talk, told you to get the tape and now you can tell your boss that you tried, but your only option was to use force, and that wouldn’t work since there’s such a thing as freedom of the press.”
“Close enough. Are you going to stick around until he sobers up so you can do a before and after?”
“Nope, I’m leaving in a few minutes so I can put this on my computer and send it to the station. The quality won’t be good, but it’ll work.”
“You’ll be ruining a good man.”
Sandy laughed. “If he’s so damned good, why’s he drunk as a skunk during the middle of this crisis? He should be leading the troops instead of sucking on a bottle of schnapps. And guess what? I don’t think you’re the slightest bit sincere when you say he’s a good man. A lot of people in other towns think he’s a joke, only nobody’s laughing. I don’t think it would break your heart at all if he got canned.”
With that, she turned and walked away. Mike had known she wouldn’t give up the tape, and he’d been correct—he’d made the attempt to stop her and Mayor Carter would have to live with it. If Carter didn’t like it, well screw him.
But why had this Sandy reporter chosen Sheridan? Just like the line in
Casablanca
regarding all the gin joints, why pick Sheridan as a place to do interviews when there were so many other towns in the area? She’d said she lived close by, but was that a good enough reason? There were a lot of communities “close by,” depending on how you defined the term. According to the mayor, Sandy had made a bee-line for Chief Bench’s office, just as if she’d known what she’d find. How had she known?
* * *
The riot began in ladies’ clothing and quickly spilled over into housewares. At first it was nothing more than a pushing match between several middle-aged couples over who was taking up too much floor space. People were packed closely and not every inch of floor was covered by carpeting. Thin though it was, commercial carpeting was better than tile, and parents were especially concerned about their children. Power was out and that had added to the cumulative stress levels as the emergency lighting was very dim. To add to the problem, the vast store was little more than a giant, uninsulated box and it was getting cold real fast.
Fighting quickly spread as pent-up frustrations were unleashed and flailing arms took in other families, and people fought back to protect their children and spouses.
By the time an exhausted Tyler Holcomb got to the fighting with two of his four security guards, at least thirty people were involved, although most of it was nothing more than pushing and shoving punctuated with obscenities. One person lay on the floor, apparently unconscious, and blood flowed freely from a cut on his scalp. Still, Tyler thought he could bring things under control. He silently thanked the fact that Sampson’s did not sell rifles or pistols.
A primal scream pierced the gloom and a man lurched from the mob with blood running from his large belly. “I’ve been stabbed,” he screamed.
With only the emergency lights on, the effect was like a horror movie. Which, Tyler realized, it actually was, only it was real and not a movie.
One of his guards grabbed the man and headed him towards the pharmacy section. Good move, Tyler thought. A pharmacist was on duty and ought to be able to do something for the man. Someone else dragged the unconscious man out of harm’s way and started trying to revive him.
The stabbing seemed to shock the brawlers, who stood frozen. All of a sudden, what had been a turf fight had turned potentially deadly, and nobody wanted to go that far.
With wry amusement, Tyler Holcomb noted that all the participants were white. No one was ever going to call it a race riot. His people weren’t going to be blamed for anything this time.
Then he saw the gun and his heart skipped. A tall, rangy white man in blue jeans and a hoodie sweatshirt had a pistol in his hand. Oh Jesus, Tyler thought.
“Police,” the man said and Tyler nearly fainted in relief. A badge was in the man’s other hand. “Just everybody sit down and we’ll sort this all out.”
Holcomb went to the cop and introduced himself. The officer’s name was Hardy. He was off duty and had been shopping for a birthday present for his wife when he’d gotten stuck in the mess on MacArthur. He smiled grimly and walked through and disarmed everyone in the now thoroughly cowed groups. There were a number of knives, some of which had come from the kitchen goods section, and a couple of handguns. The gun owners insisted they had the necessary permits and the right to carry them, but Officer Hardy wasn’t in a mood to listen. He confiscated the weapons and told the owners they could pick them up when they left the store. He added that if they didn’t like that, they could leave right now and freeze to death.
The man who’d done the stabbing was identified and hustled off to the store’s offices, while his wife sobbed in disbelief that this could be happening to nice people like themselves. She held a small child tightly to her body, and the child was also crying. Sheridan police would come, but not for a while. Maybe they would take her husband in and maybe they wouldn’t.
The off-duty cop said there might be other cops in the store and volunteered to find them. In a little while he came back with four men and a woman, all police officers, and all from other cities. It didn’t matter. They’d be happy to help keep order in Sampson’s. After all, several of them had their families with them.
Tyler sighed in relief. However, he couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t thought to check for cops in the store in the first place. Management training hadn’t covered this sort of contingency. He decided to canvass the crowd for medical specialists. With luck, they might have a doctor in the building, or a nurse. Hell, he’d settle for a veterinarian.
A clerk from pharmacy came over with a note. The stab wound was more like a slash into skin and fat, and nothing vital had been touched. They were going to treat it with disinfectant and butterfly bandages that they had in stock. The victim was embarrassed that he’d gotten into the mess and relieved that he was going to live. He did not want to press charges. Also, the unconscious man was awake and alert and had no idea who’d conked him. Tyler thought he really did know and was confident that it was the guy who’d been stabbed. Paybacks are hell, he thought.
Help me make it through the night
, Tyler mused, and then realized it was a line from a song. By whom and from where, he was too tired to remember. He didn’t care. He just wanted to get the hell out of this place. Why hadn’t he done something less dramatic and dangerous with his life, like joining the Army’s Special Forces?
* * *
Her mouth hurt where her teeth had been loosened, and her nose throbbed. She felt dirty and she was alone. Cindy Thomason wanted to go home. She wanted a shower and she was afraid that her period was going to start from all the stress she was enduring. She wanted the accident to go away. She was sorry she’d ever taken her brother’s Corvette. She didn’t want to see her boyfriend, Boyd. He’d urged her to take the car because it would be neat to drive around after school. What an asshole. Then she wondered which of them deserved the title more.
“I’m in so much trouble,” she complained softly. A woman sitting beside her and also leaning against the wall heard her and smiled. It was far too late to offer advice. The woman had said that she thought that Cindy was a spoiled brat.
Cindy was also hungry. It struck her as odd that a city hall and police station would have nothing to eat. The vending machines were long empty, but there was a rumor that food from local restaurants would soon be arriving. It wasn’t helping at the moment. Her stomach growled again.
Cindy was spoiled, not totally stupid. She knew that her problems were her own doing, and that her mild pangs of hunger were nothing compared with the gaunt and starving creatures she sometimes saw on television from Somalia, or India. Still, she was a sixteen-year-old kid with a broken nose and loose teeth and she wanted to go home, even though it meant facing some really ugly music.
