Rob Thy Neighbor

by David Thurlo

  “If they attack, what’s their strategy, best guess?” DuPree asked, looking down the dirt track where the pickup had gone.

  “They’ll send Ray or Frank at us directly, up the road in the pickup with the high beams on to try and blind us, while the other two circle on foot and take us in the flanks. Ray has less experience with a handgun, so I’m guessing he’ll be the one in the pickup. If we try to use the vehicle for cover and protection from the frontal threat, we’ll be vulnerable from the sides and rear,” Charlie added.

  “How about we ambush their ambush? I’ve got a plan,” Gordon offered. “It’s risky, but that’s what makes it viable.”

  DuPree groaned. “Let’s hear it.”

  * * *

  Nancy jumped into the car, turned on the engine and revved it loudly for several seconds, then turned off the engine again and got back out. In the meantime, Charlie, Gordon, and DuPree had grabbed some dried brush and placed it around the rear tires.

  “Okay, they’ll think we’re stuck, hopefully, and that we’re out gathering more brush to put around the tires for traction,” Gordon whispered. “Now let’s hope they buy it.”

  Suddenly they heard the sound of the pickup, and distant headlights probed from the direction their prey had fled.

  “Here comes the diversion,” Charlie whispered. “Let’s get into position now!”

  They moved quickly, Charlie and Nancy taking the right flank—the passenger side of the car—and Gordon and DuPree the left. They had to move fast, then hide where the oncoming headlights wouldn’t pick them up out of the low brush and scattered clusters of juniper. They also had to get outside the likely distance their attackers would maintain in their hasty attempt at a flanking operation.

  “What if they just rush past the car and make for the highway?” Nancy whispered, crouched low behind a pungent juniper, shotgun ready.

  “Then we shoot out their tires and pin them down. But why try that move here and now? They could have done this back on the highway where they didn’t have to risk getting stuck in the sand.”

  Nancy nodded. “You’re right. It’s safer to assume two of them are on foot, sneaking around in the dark. Let’s just be sneakier.”

  They could see the front of the truck now, less than a hundred yards away and closing, bouncing wildly and fishtailing across the sandy ground. Several seconds later it came to a sliding stop in a cloud of dust about twenty feet from the police car.

  Charlie had been watching out of the corner of his eye, not wanting to lose his night vision from the headlight glare. “Keep an eye on the truck,” he whispered. “I’ll hunt down whoever is on foot.”

  Crouching, he moved silently, picking his way slowly from cover to cover in a wide circle back in the direction the pickup had come from. After a minute, he saw movement to his left. Charlie froze, listening, his pistol up and ready. Eyes searching, his breath silent and under control, he heard something crunch—a branch or plant debris being stepped on. There was a shape there, behind a wide sage about three feet tall.

  After a moment, he saw an odd shape, then realized it was the head of a man wearing a baseball cap. Charlie knew who it was.

  Slowly, carefully, Charlie moved forward, his eyes on his opponent, who was watching the police car. If he deduced that no one was underneath or around the vehicle, Myers would start a careful sweep, moving either deeper into the brush or toward Nancy, to Charlie’s left.

  He couldn’t risk letting Myers get past him and spot her first.

  There was a juniper about five feet high just to Myers’s right. Charlie began moving in that direction, intending to approach from an unexpected direction, behind Myers.

  Having developed some serious hunting skills and stealthy habits in the extremely dry deserts of the Middle East, Charlie was right at home here in the Southwest. He’d also learned, while growing up, how to move without making a sound—something he doubted Myers could do outside an urban environment with no streets, sidewalks, or stairs.

  A shout and a single gunshot came from beyond the police car and made Charlie flinch. Myers, who was wearing overalls now, started to stand, then squatted back down again, probably reconsidering his options. Charlie kept moving, now behind and to the man’s right side, barely twenty feet away.

  To his left, ahead and silhouetted by the glow of the headlights, Charlie saw more movement. Either it was Nancy or something had gone wrong. Myers stood.

  “I’m a cop, Myers.” Nancy yelled, menace in her tone. “Don’t move or I’ll blow you away!”

  The perp’s head turned slowly toward Nancy, his pistol hand coming up.

  “She means it!” Charlie added, trying to get a clear line of sight as he worked his way around the juniper. He didn’t want to miss and hit Nancy.

  “Shit!” Myers cursed, moving his head only slightly this time. “Okay. You win. This time. Setting my weapon on the ground. Don’t shoot.” The man bent his knees, stooping to place what looked like a .45 auto on the ground with his right hand.

  But his left hand was busy at his ankle. “Gun!” Charlie yelled.

  Myers brought up a small backup pistol, shooting at Nancy, who flinched as her shotgun roared and flashed with fire.

  Charlie shot through the branches, hoping for a hit, then rushed forward for a clear shot.

  Myers was backing away and snapped off two quick rounds. The bullets whistled over Charlie’s head as he dropped to one knee. He brought his pistol up, but Myers had fled, leaving only the thump of footsteps and the crash of brush as he ran away.

  “Nancy!” Charlie yelled, seeing his friend staggering.

  “Took one in the vest,” she gasped.

  “You sure?” Charlie responded.

  “I’m okay, just out of breath,” Nancy managed, trying to keep her balance. “I’ll call DuPree. Keep watch.”

  “No, I’m going after him. You stay ready in case he circles back or the guy driving the truck makes a move.” Charlie turned and moved in the direction Myers had fled, knowing that Gordon and DuPree were probably handling their part of this takedown, dealing with the kid and/or the gimp. He just had to make sure he didn’t walk into an ambush.

  Charlie advanced silently, then, after a few minutes, stopped to listen. He heard the sounds of movement—brush and branches being crushed by footsteps—then silence. Myers hadn’t been running in panic; he was also hunting, and he’d also stopped to listen.

  Charlie knew approximately where the man was hiding, at least in what direction, and could tell from the sound level that he was pretty close, probably less than fifty feet away. There was one old Hollywood Western trick that was almost always successful among those who weren’t tactically schooled. He’d try it.

  Charlie waited for a moment, then bent down, selected a chunk of sandstone about the size of a slice of bread, and threw it in the direction of the footsteps.

  There was a thud, then the sound of movement, just a few footsteps, but that was enough. Myers had shifted, turning around in the direction of the sandstone impacting on the sand instead of just looking. Charlie was betting that the man would hunker down to set up an ambush rather than run.

  There was silence for almost a minute; then Charlie heard the sound of a helicopter approaching from the northeast. Once the chopper was overhead, there would be a flare or searchlight that would give away Myers’s position. Unfortunately, it would also give away his own location.

  The helicopter crew wouldn’t know who was who from overhead. Charlie was in civilian clothes—like Myers. If they spotted him first, he might be forced to give up his weapon, making himself vulnerable to Myers for a short interval. If he was lucky, it would be the other way around. Charlie didn’t believe in luck, but he had another plan, a risky, half-assed plan. And it just might work.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  He tried to get inside Dennis Myers’s head for a moment. The guy was supposedly a mob soldier, a hit man possibly, and he knew the ways of the city—but maybe not so much th
e desert. He was armed, dangerous, and desperate enough to shoot a cop in order to avoid capture. His only reasonable hope to escape was to get transportation, but to do that, he had to avoid immediate capture—get away from the incoming chopper’s almost unlimited visual capabilities and overwhelming speed.

  The only two vehicles in the area were too dangerous to approach, which meant Myers had to continue toward the highway. Once he was there, he’d have to take the risk and try to carjack someone. But he’d have to do that before law enforcement shut down the highway to civilian traffic. It might already be too late for Myers.

  Charlie listened, and, sure enough, he heard Myers heading south in a hurry. The chase was on. If he could move fast enough, he could cut Myers off.

  He raced toward the highway, less than a quarter mile away, trying to move fast enough to get ahead of the man, then lie in wait for his approach. All Charlie had to do was get there first, unseen and unheard.

  The sound of the helicopter would drown out his footsteps, but hopefully not capture him in a searchlight or flares. Charlie tried to gauge how fast the fleeing middle-aged man could run—and go a little faster. He knew he was younger, probably in better shape, and longer-legged. Unless Myers was the Road Runner himself, Charlie would win this race.

  Five minutes later, Charlie reached the fence line barely fifty feet from the highway. To the east, he recalled, there was an arroyo that ran beneath the road. It would be a good place for someone to hide, someone like Myers, hoping to pop out and stop a car when the opportunity came. Charlie ran along the fence line, keeping an eye to his left—north—not knowing exactly where his opponent was at the moment.

  He moved slowly as he approached the arroyo, discovering that it was deeper than he’d guessed. His prey might have dropped down into it farther north and already be inside, close by.

  Charlie realized he was breathing hard, despite being in pretty good shape. It would be the same, maybe more so, for Myers. Charlie crouched down low beside a cluster of sagebrush and listened. The helicopter was to the northwest, deploying a powerful searchlight and circling in the area of the cars, probably looking for him and Myers. Hopefully it would stay far enough away long enough for him to locate his target.

  Then he saw headlights approaching on the highway from the direction of Los Lunas to the east. The absence of emergency lights or sirens, and its normal speed, suggested it was a civilian vehicle. Whatever the situation, apparently the road hadn’t been blocked yet—unless this vehicle had already passed the site or came from one of the homes or businesses this side of the barrier.

  Charlie crouched low, watched, and continued to listen as the vehicle approached. Then he heard someone moving close by. Suddenly a figure rose up from the arroyo, on the opposite side. It was Myers, silhouetted in the oncoming lights. He’d been down in there, just below ground level, waiting. Now it was clear he intended to catch a ride, one way or the other.

  Myers turned to look in his direction, and Charlie ducked down. Myers didn’t react, instead turning back toward the oncoming headlights.

  There was a twenty-foot gap between them, and Charlie’s only hope of stopping the guy before he could interact with the approaching vehicle was convincing him to surrender, or shooting him.

  Just as Charlie raised his Beretta, Myers turned his head and fired in his direction—a snap shot. Charlie ducked, shifted right, and then rose up to return fire. Myers jumped back down into the arroyo before Charlie could take the shot.

  Instead of dropping down into the erosion channel and presenting an easy target at point-blank range, Charlie leaped out, trying to land against the far bank, hitting the vertical bank slightly above and behind where he calculated Myers must be crouched, pistol aimed up. He might even land on the guy.

  Instead, Charlie crashed onto a pile of windblown tumbleweeds, losing his pistol in the process. Trying to ignore the scratches on his hands and neck, he turned anxiously, trying to locate the man. Luckily, Myers had disappeared.

  Charlie found his weapon quickly, then lunged to his feet off the dried, scratchy weeds. To his left was a culvert running beneath the road. That was where Myers must have gone.

  He ducked down, feeling with his fingers as he pointed the barrel at the ground, trying to make sure his weapon was free of debris. At the same time, he took a quick look inside the four-foot-high concrete pipe. He jumped back, seeing movement inside. Two bullets whizzed by him, accompanied by loud booms amplified by the enclosure.

  Better you than me, Charlie thought, knowing that the sound created by firing from an enclosure was deafening, even with the smaller-caliber weapon Myers was carrying.

  Charlie fired one round in return, without a target but knowing from the angle that a ricochet was certain. He might get lucky, and unless Myers had a spare clip for that .380 or .32 backup gun, he was almost out of ammo, having expended six out of a potential seven-to-ten-round magazine. Charlie’s old Beretta 92 predated 1994 and was serviced by a prerestriction fifteen-round mag.

  Whatever the case, he also knew that it only took one well-aimed or lucky shot.

  Charlie heard running footsteps, and then the sound changed from hard to soft. He probably hadn’t hit the man, but the shot had driven Myers out of the culvert. He was in the sandy bottom of the arroyo, running south.

  Charlie gave chase, running through the low concrete tunnel in an awkward duck walk while trying to look ahead. Once there was a quick way to climb out of the arroyo, Myers might go for it, and he couldn’t risk losing him again. Fortunately, the oversized tracks on the sandy bottom were dead giveaways, and running in dry, loose sand was exhausting. Charlie would be able to run the man down as long as he stayed in the arroyo, but he had to close in and wait for his shot.

  Somewhere behind him, along the highway, Charlie heard shouts of police officers yelling back and forth, then saw a spotlight beam probing in his direction, the bright rays flashing on either side of the arroyo. The car Myers had hoped to carjack was apparently an unmarked police car. That could have been interesting if the fugitive had run up to a window waving his gun. There was the wail of sirens now, and the slap of helicopter rotors closing in but still some distance away.

  Trusting, hoping, that DuPree or Nancy had already communicated the news that he was pursuing Myers and was not the target, Charlie kept after his prey. The arroyo was widening, and the walls lowering, which was natural, considering the fact that it was downslope at this location and the terrain was nearly flat. He caught a glimpse of the running man less than fifty feet ahead, and it looked like Myers was staggering from exhaustion. The man stopped, turned, and saw him.

  Charlie zigzagged right to left, then back just as Myers took a shot. The bullet went by so close he felt a tug on his shirt. Charlie hated to shoot on the run but returned fire with two more rounds. Myers flinched, dropped his pistol, then groped for something in his pocket. Charlie closed in, his pistol directed at the center body mass. Myers brought out a pocketknife, saw the pistol directed at his chest, and let the knife fall to the ground. He slowly raised his hands into the air. “Don’t shoot,” he gasped, his chest heaving, “I’m hit.”

  Charlie remained still, his pistol aimed at Myers’s torso, and saw blood near the man’s left kidney. “Face down on the ground, arms out, away from your sides,” he yelled. He stepped closer, slowly, then stopped as Myers complied, groaning in agony.

  He could hear running footsteps behind him, closing in. The helicopter flashed by overhead.

  “I’m Charlie Henry, a civilian traveling with Detective DuPree and Sergeant Medina,” he yelled, hoping to be heard over the sound of the aircraft. “The shooter is wounded, on the ground, and under my control. I am armed. Approach slowly, then please take over the scene.”

  After all the crap that had gone down today, he didn’t want to be shot by some nervous volunteer deputy.

  * * *

  Charlie caught a ride at the highway with a newly arrived Valencia County deputy five minutes la
ter, and not long afterward he stepped out of the unit into the midst of law enforcement vehicles from at least three jurisdictions, including the state police. He spotted Nancy sitting on the tailgate of a Los Lunas police pickup truck, talking with Gordon. The EMTs had already checked her out and were moving to treat Myers, who’d received first aid at the highway and was being guarded by at least three officers.

  After filling them in on what happened with Myers, Charlie had some questions of his own for Gordon. “I heard that you and DuPree had no problem dealing with the Geigers. Tell me how it went down.”

  “Crushed it. Frank had a hard time keeping quiet with that bad leg of his, and we got the drop on him while he was following our tracks in the dark. Dumb-ass then tried to run. DuPree shouted and fired a warning shot. The guy tripped trying to dodge a bullet that was going into the air, and took a face plant, dropping his shotgun. DuPree cuffed him, and then we heard the gunshot coming from your direction. DuPree said to check it out. I found Nancy, aching and pissed, still watching the vehicles. By then, you were tracking Myers, I guess.”

  Charlie nodded. “Ray was the one driving the pickup, right?”

  “Yeah, and he didn’t do jack. When Nancy and I ventured over to join DuPree and his prisoner, Ray was sitting on the ground, his hands zip-tied behind his back. He’d surrendered to DuPree, who’d come to put Frank in the squad car and found Ray standing there, wanting to surrender. The guy was unarmed. His pistol was still in the pickup—unloaded.”

  There was a lot of activity still going on around them, and Charlie watched as Frank Geiger was transferred from Nancy’s unit into a state police car, joined by DuPree. The detective waved to them before climbing in the front passenger side. He’d already told Nancy he was going to accompany two officers and their prisoner back to APD headquarters. Ray, guarded by another officer, was quickly loaded into the backseat of Nancy’s cruiser.