by Mark Nolan
Jake obeyed and put the shotgun on the ground. Cody started growling. Jake gave a command to Cody and then spoke to the guard.
“He really is with the San Francisco Police Department,” Jake said. “He’s working undercover, and he can show you his ID and badge.”
“And next I suppose you’ll tell me that you and your dog are both cops too, right?” The guard said. “Save your lies for when the real police get here.”
“I’m taking out my badge, very slowly,” Terrell said. “Remain calm and hold your fire. If you shoot me, my friend and his dog will kill you in self-defense, I guarantee it.”
Terrell’s commanding voice made the guard pause and think. Jake slowly went down on one knee, so he was within reach of the shotgun. Cody appeared to be poised to attack. Terrell took his SFPD Police badge out of his pocket and held it up so the man could see it. The guard didn’t know what to do now, that was obvious by his body language and the look on his face.
“The police are coming right now,” the guard said. “If you really are a cop, you can talk to them when they get here, and then it’s all good.”
“We’re in pursuit of a fugitive, and we can’t stand around here waiting,” Terrell said. “If you’re stupid enough to shoot at a police officer then go ahead, but I’ll have the legal right to shoot back, and I’m a better shot. You’ll lose, I’ll win.”
Terrell slowly drew the empty pistol from his waistband and held it pointing down at the ground. He then began slowly walking backward, holding up his police badge in front of him with his other hand, and keeping his eyes on the guard. Jake picked up the shotgun and held it pointing down in a non-threatening way. He too began walking backward away from the guard. Cody barked and showed his teeth, with his lips curled back as he continued to growl.
“Hold your fire and everything will be okay,” Jake said. He raised the barrel of the shotgun so it was aimed at the guard.
The guard looked scared, and he kept his pistol pointed toward the armed intruders, but he held his fire. He spoke rapidly into the mic on his shoulder, asking someone to tell him what to do. The guard knew that he was outnumbered, and if he tried to shoot one of these three intruders the other two would be on him quick, and his odds of survival would be near zero.
Another truck drove up and stopped at the gate, blocking off the space between the security guard and Terrell, Jake, and Cody. The three veterans took off running to the corner and went around it, then ran fast to the Jeep. They drove away from the industrial complex, heading in the general direction that shooter had been going.
“Maybe we can find one of the other entrances to that fort of a place,” Jake said. “And see if any trucks seem to be leaving way too fast, like a stolen vehicle.”
Terrell was looking at Google Earth on his phone while Jake drove, and he pointed his finger at a blinking beer advertisement on the roof of a tavern far off in the distance.
“Head toward that blinking sign way down there,” Terrell said. “That may be the direction grenade-psycho went.”
“Good to go,” Jake said, and he drove dangerously fast down the dark street that ran alongside the walled compound of warehouses.
Cody’s ears twitched, and he started barking. A moment later his two human pack members heard the sound too. Off in the distance but approaching fast were at least a half a dozen police car sirens coming from all different directions.
“I don’t suppose you ever made that call to HQ?” Jake said.
“I forgot to, it slipped my mind,” Terrell said. “I was kind of busy shooting, you know, while all you did was drive like some dickhead on a Disneyland ride. You were supposed to remind me anyway.”
“Oh, so now it’s my fault, malt-liquor man?” Jake said.
“It’s dawning on me that we’re in a somewhat screwed legal situation here,” Terrell said. “Not to mention I need a cigarette and I have a headache, and I need to take a piss like a river.”
“Plan F didn’t work so we need to think of Plan Z while we’re driving,” Jake said.
“I’ll think, you just drive, because if you try to think and drive and chew gum at the same time, we might crash.”
“Okay, we’re approaching the bar with the blinking beer sign, where to now tavern tour guide?”
“Turn left down that sketchy looking street.”
Police sirens continued to wail in the night. Nobody spoke as Jake drove blindly at frightening speed through the deserted area, and Terrell pretended he wasn’t scared of dying due to Jake’s test of his driving-while-blind capabilities. When they finally reached an area with street lights, Jake slowed down a bit and glanced at Terrell. He was glad he didn’t see any wounds or blood on his friend.
“You doing okay Grinds?” Jake said.
“I make a living,” Terrell said.
“No, I mean health wise.”
“I smoke too much and I have high blood pressure, but all in all I’m fit as a friggin’ fiddle.”
“What. I. Mean. Is. Did you get hit by any glass or shrapnel, maybe a bullet?”
“Oh that. No I’m good.”
“Well at least nobody is injured except old Betsy here,” Jake said, and he patted the dashboard of his Jeep like it was a war horse.
The sound of a helicopter flying overhead could be heard through the Jeep’s open moon roof. The sound got louder and louder and soon they saw a police helicopter fly past over their vehicle and hover above the main scene of destruction, shining a powerful spotlight down on the area. Police car sirens kept getting closer, and flashing lights could be seen approaching down streets from all directions like moths to a flame.
“Here comes more cavalry,” Jake said. “Prepare to explain yourself and make it good.”
“The Chief is not going to find this amusing,” Terrell said.
Jake scratched his head like he often did when he started making up some blarney to bamboozle folks in authority. When Jake was growing up, he’d always been the guy that the other kids had counted on to BS the teachers, parents and grownups as he tried to explain their way out of whatever mischievous but mostly harmless trouble they’d gotten into. That had made Jake the lightning rod for the fury of many uptight adults who liked to bully kids just because they could.
In the years that Terrell had known Jake, he’d seen him talk his way out of all kinds of trouble, and he knew the signs that it was about to happen. Now he waited patiently for the BS brainstorming to begin.
“When you were standing up in the moon roof, you tried to call HQ but you dropped your phone, and it fell in the backseat,” Jake said.
“Right, and maybe earlier when you called me to say hello, I told you to pick me up at the Heroin Hotel because my fun new criminal friends were not buying my cover story,” Terrell said.
“Your life was in danger.”
“I actually was in danger the entire time. What if on the way home you wanted to drive past the taco truck and show me where you eat most of your meals?”
“And when we drove by there we just happened to see the perpetrator so we gave chase. We had to, didn’t we?”
“He started shooting at us, so I had no choice but to officially commandeer your taxpayer vehicle and give chase, and then I stood up in the moon roof to return fire in self-defense. Maybe at that juncture was when I tried to call it in but I dropped my phone.”
“Did you just say juncture?” Jake said. “You really did get your money’s worth at the hotel.”
“I took one for the team,” Terrell said.
“So you dropped your phone and the next thing we know, the perp started tossing grenades out the window,” Jake said.
“Grenade dude with an attitude had bags of frags,” Terrell said.
“Call it in now, say we are in pursuit, need backup, code seven-eleven and all that cool cop stuff.”
“But I shot illegal exploding bullets, how do I explain that?”
“No you didn’t, we can blame the exploding stuff on that weasel who tosse
d the grenades, that’s what took out the Vespa scooter and the piano store, etcetera.”
“You media types are good liars,” Terrell said. “That’s something I’ve always secretly admired about you.”
“Who would believe there was even such a thing as exploding bullets?” Jake said. “All of that destruction was caused by grenades that the crazed perpetrator tossed out of his moving vehicle at us brave heroes.”
“This is sounding better by the minute,” Terrell said. “I like that heroes part. What was in those exploding rounds anyway?”
“They are like the Mark 211 ammo our Marine snipers used in the sandbox, but the explosive and incendiary stuff is way stronger. It’s kind of like C-4 mixed with material from a phosphorous grenade, combined with a new pyrotechnically initiated fuze in the point.”
“I’ll take your word for it professor.”
“Get a wet wipe and some latex gloves from the first aid kit in my glove box.”
Jake took a pair of leather gloves from the console and put them on. Terrell opened the glove box and took out the wet wipes.
“What now, wipe my butt with these so the folks in prison will appreciate my hygiene after the Chief throws us in jail?” Terrell said.
“Use those to clean off that pistol and then give it to me,” Jake said.
Terrell rolled his eyes at the obvious advice; he already had the latex gloves on and was cleaning off the pistol with one of the wipes.
“Why do you carry an illegal pistol loaded with illegal explosive rounds anyway?”
"I'm realizing now that it was not one of my brightest ideas. If you must know, I was saving that to fend off the zombie apocalypse.”
Jake tried to snap his fingers impatiently with the leather gloves on, but it wasn't happening so he gave up and just held out his gloved hand to Terrell and shook it at him. Terrell slapped Jake’s hand away from him and then finished using the wipes to clean the zombie pistol. It was a revolver so all of the empty shells were still in the cylinder. Terrell pulled all five of the shells out of the pistol one by one and wiped them clean, then put them back into the cylinder. The shells were so large, he figured they were nearly two inches long.
“I cleaned off the shells too,” Terrell said.
“No live rounds left in there I hope,” Jake said.
“No, the rounds were all fired so there’s no live ammo.”
“Those things can blow off important body parts.”
“And you might need those parts later.”
Jake turned and drove down a dark alley, and he stopped halfway through, near a steaming sewer vent. After Jake and Terrell did a quick look around for CCTV cameras, Jake opened the Jeep door and dropped the pistol down the drain along with the wet wipes and latex gloves. He heard a splash as the pistol sank under water.
“That was a waste of an amazing pistol,” Jake said.
“You’re better off without it, unless you want to get arrested,” Terrell said.
Chapter 61
While driving out of the alley and back onto the street, Jake said, “How about that phone call?”
Terrell used his mobile phone to call police headquarters. He took a deep breath and then spoke in a loud emotionless cop voice and acted like the action was still happening. In pursuit of the suspect in the lawyer killings. Shots fired, grenades exploded, officer needs assistance. The dispatcher informed Terrell of some related facts and Terrell ended the call.
“He’s long gone. Dispatch said a security guard at the warehouse area called in a report that somebody stole a truck and left behind a shot-up Corvette.”
“Do you think that piano store had a security camera?”
“We’d better go look at that. Pianos are high ticket items so the store probably had a video surveillance system. If we find one, we might want to erase the evidence.”
“Isn’t it a crime to tamper with evidence?”
“Would you rather get busted for possession of explosive zombie bullets?”
“Let’s get this tampering thing going on already.”
“I have no recollection of the alleged events in question. I can neither confirm nor deny.”
“I know a thing or two about video camera systems, so I’ll sneak into the piano store and wipe the hard drive,” Jake said. “That gives you deniability. You you can test our BS story on your fellow officers, to keep them distracted. When I come out of the store, let them know I’m not a looter, so they don’t shoot me.”
Terrell’s phone vibrated and it was Police Chief Pierce calling him. Pierce was probably angry about having to deal with this during his time off. Terrell groaned and showed the phone to Jake, and then answered the call.
Pierce asked some tough questions. One thing led to another. Soon there was no denying the fact that Terrell had been drinking and smoking. Jake was there with him driving the Jeep. They’d been involved in some headline-making street violence. And Terrell had no arrests to show for it. Pierce told Terrell to meet with him at eight am for a full report.
“I tried to tell you I was not the right guy for this undercover thing, but we’ll laugh about this someday Chief.”
Pierce had already ended the call.
“We laughed, we cried, we blew things sky high,” Jake said. “I can’t believe we let grenade-weasel get away.”
“I’m in deep weeds, the Chief wants to see me in his office at oh eight hundred,” Terrell said. “And he’s mad at you too wonder boy. You fired all of those rounds from the shotgun and you missed grenade-weasel, how?”
Jake shrugged as he continued to drive toward the scene of destruction. It was clear now that the new nickname for the shooter was going to be grenade weasel. Most of the time these things just happened naturally, it was the work of some unknown science.
“Tell the Chief you can’t be there at that time. You have a breakfast appointment with, uh, your psychic.”
“Sure, that could probably work. Nights like this make me wonder why I ever wanted to be a cop. The criminals can do any crazy thing they want, but I have to follow all of these rules of engagement. And if I bend the rules the slightest bit, some committee gets all butt hurt.”
“Is butt hurt covered by your cop health insurance?”
The helicopter above them was flying in circles, and when it passed by, it shone its light down on the Jeep, blinding Jake for a moment.
“Not helping,” Jake said and put a hand to his forehead to shade his eyes.
They were getting close to the street where the grenades had exploded. Terrell patted his front left shirt pocket again, and he shook his head. He drummed his fingers on the dashboard, feeling the nicotine oppression upon him.
“I’m out of cigarettes. Could you just shut up and find me some tobacco before I punch you in the thigh like you did to me?” Terrell let out a loud breath and pressed his fingertips against his forehead.
Jake looked at the center rearview mirror and saw a police car coming up from behind them. He tried to glance at the side mirrors, but both of them had been broken off in the alley.
“We have a cop car gaining on us,” Jake said. “Get that shiny badge out and on display, in case we get pulled over.”
Terrell took the badge out of his pocket, clipped it onto a lanyard and put it around his neck.
“Do I have a police cover in this hillbilly Humvee?”
“You put one in the pocket behind your seat.”
Terrell reached back and found a black ball cap with the word POLICE on the front, and he put it on his head. It was not a regulation SFPD uniform cap, but it got the message across.
The police car roared past them on the left, with lights blazing and siren wailing. The driver had no idea about who or what had caused the flames and destruction, but was racing to the scene and ignoring the Jeep. Jake looked over at Terrell and they both just shrugged. Jake had seen Terrell press his fingertips against his forehead, and he knew about his headaches. His friend needed some coffee and tobacco.
&nb
sp; “Come to think of it, I might just have a couple of those Macanudo Café robusto cigars that are sealed in fresh packs,” Jake said. “Check in the center console there, under a bunch of useless papers like my registration and insurance and stuff.”
“You’d better not be playing,” Terrell said.
“Nope, I remember there was at least one cigar left over from the last tailgate party. I kept it in the Jeep because I just knew you’d need a smoke one of these days.”
Terrell rummaged in the console under his left elbow and found two cigars in foil pouches.
“Foil-sealed freshness without a humidor, you’ve got to love that.”
“Yup, it’s pure genius. Give me one of those since there are two of them.”
“I thought you didn't want anybody smoking in the Jeepzilla, and you quit smoking cigars to be all healthy and pure as the Virgin Mary.”
“I may be a virgin but don’t call me Mary,” Jake said. “Cigars can stain your teeth, raise your blood pressure and give you mouth sores. But what the heck, it’s a special occasion.”
“What kind?”
“We didn't die.”
“Okay that is pretty special.”
Flashing police car lights swept the street up ahead as Terrell tore open the foil pouches and took out the cigars. He used his razor-sharp knife to cut a thin slice off of the end caps of both cigars. He handed one to Jake and then used a classic Zippo lighter to toast the foot of his cigar until it was glowing red.
Jake simply clenched the cigar in his teeth and lit the end of it with the dashboard plug-in lighter, using his right hand while he drove with his left. He didn’t toast the foot like a pro, just fired up the cigar and puffed it. He was driving and didn’t have the luxury of doing the slow toasting ritual like he usually would.
“You know what, asshat? You’re like family to me, this cigar means a lot right now,” Terrell said.
Jake smiled; he knew that Terrell sometimes said sentimental stuff when he’d been drinking.
“That’s Mister asshat-like-family to you pal,” Jake said. “I remember when your amazing wife Alicia, who you don’t deserve, once said I was like your twin without a tan.”
