The Archangel Drones

by Joe Nobody

  “Hey, Kirkpatrick. Did someone call me in?”

  “Yup. Got a call a few minutes ago about a suspicious man sitting here all day. You doing a little surveillance work?”

  Marwick nodded and then shook his head in regret. “Sorry about that. I’m a little frustrated and opted for a new tactic to get different results. I guess somebody called it in. It won’t happen again.”

  The responding officer nodded his acceptance of the apology, despite finding such words completely out of character for a man like Big Jim. It made the younger cop curious. “So if you don’t mind my asking, who’s the mouse you’re hoping will take the cheese?”

  Jim nodded toward Chip’s house, “You remember the guy who lives there. He and I danced in the driveway when we saw him trying to record our takedown. I did some deductive reasoning and decided he was one of the few people that carried a grudge against me and the department and possessed the resources to fund something like the Archangel. I watched him for a couple of days, but he must work from home, because the guy never leaves the house. So I decided to be a little more visible… see if I could force his hand… flush him out.”

  “I see,” Dole responded, not liking the explanation at all.

  It wasn’t lost on the young officer that his decision to release the Marwick video was now putting others at risk. While he’d half expected Big Jim to come after him personally, the fact that other innocents might now be in the unstable man’s crosshairs made Dole very uneasy. Oh what a tangled web we weave, he thought.

  “Look… Sergeant…. It’s none of my business, but I think you should be more careful. I’m not going to say a word, but what if another squad had gotten this call tonight? Someone who didn’t know you? If IA found out about your conducting police work while you’re on suspension, I don’t think the boys downtown would appreciate that much.”

  Jim scowled, anger mixed with a hefty dose of impatience coloring his face. “I’m not doing police work. I’m researching my own defense against pending charges. And if any cop from our precinct wants to hassle me over that, then so be it. I’ll hand them their fucking heads.”

  “I understand and sympathize,” Dole lied. “But you’re walking a real fine line. I don’t know much about your case, but I can’t believe stalking witnesses is going to play well.”

  It was obvious from his expression that Jim hadn’t thought about that. It took several moments before he came up with the next justification. “No witnesses have been named as of yet, so I’m not tampering or intimidating anybody. But, I’ll give you my word… I’ll be a little more discreet going forward. I wouldn’t want to distract the precinct from more important work.”

  Kirkpatrick made the decision to accept Marwick’s reasoning. Closing the conversation with a half-hearted reply, “Good night, sir. Be careful out there,” he made for his squad car, wondering if he’d have been so easy on someone he didn’t know.

  “Probably not,” he muttered as he watched Marwick drive off.

  Putting his own vehicle in gear, the young cop followed, intent on continuing his regular patrol. I’ve created a monster, he speculated. That guy is going to hurt somebody, and the whole thing will unravel.

  He made a mental note to keep an eye on the address that held Big Jim’s fascination, hoping the DA would put the man away before things spiraled out of control.

  Twelve miles away, Gabe was having similar thoughts as he reviewed the Gripen’s audio and video recording of the encounter between the two cops. Marwick was a powder keg, and it wasn’t going to take much of a spark to set him off.

  His mind wandered to the firestorm of events surrounding his actions. The Gripens were causing quite the stir across the nation, some of the unintended consequences casting doubt on the wisdom of his acts. Was it all too much? Had his campaign to make the police accountable for their deeds gotten out of hand?

  He’d just read an internet news piece about a New Jersey cop who had pulled his shotgun and blasted a drone out of the sky. The cop had been sure it was spying on an undercover drug sting taking place nearby. After rushing to investigate the downed flyer, he found a distraught father and son standing over the kid’s destroyed birthday present. The gunshot, convergence of multiple police cars, and overall commotion had spooked the drug dealer, and no arrests were made. It was the first such incident that provided the cops with a valid argument on their side of the anti-drone ledger.

  Then there was the drone manufacturer who had launched a new marketing campaign that was taking the internet by storm. The “Weed Angel,” was a diminutive, fold-up model that could carry up to a quarter pound of cargo. The company claimed that anyone in possession of marijuana could load, power up, and launch a small bag of weed skyward and out of law enforcement’s reach, accomplishing such a feat in less than the amount of time it took to be stopped by a police officer. “Fly your weed to safety, and keep your ass out of jail,” the advertisement touted, complete with video reenactment of two young men panicking at the sight of flashing blue strobes in the rear view mirror.

  After spotting the police car’s lights behind them, the two actors had quickly unfolded and stashed their small bag of contraband inside of the drone’s tiny cargo hold. As they rolled to a stop, the passenger sent the drone buzzing out the sunroof, preprogramed to travel home. The commercial ended with the duo of dopers arriving back at their house, finding the illegal pot resting safely in the backyard, and sharing high-fives all around. According to one news report, the product had sold out on Amazon in less than 20 minutes.

  Gabe had laughed at the clever marketing, despite thinking marijuana was dangerous. “Now I need to develop a product that delivers Doritos via drone,” he mused. “Maybe I can partner with White Castle, and fly sliders around to cure the munchies.”

  All over the country, drones were a primary topic of conversation.

  Police departments from coast to coast were in outrage. A few mid-sized organizations staging sick-strikes until their city councils outlawed the flying threats. One mid-western town had already passed an ordinance making it illegal to observe or record the police via an airborne vehicle. The ACLU, despite having been anti-drone where the government was concerned, found itself all twisted up in the throes of hypocrisy. It was every American’s right to observe and record public settings, including police proceedings. What platform was being used was beside the point, or so argued the federal injunction filed to overturn the town’s new law.

  Gabe was also shocked to learn that people were trying to contact him personally. It seemed the man behind the Texas Archangel was in high demand.

  There were internet postings everywhere from Craigslist to conspiracy and militia blogs, most requesting for the Archangel’s master to contact an interested party. Some were from news departments, requesting an interview, others from private companies that wanted to do business, most seeking some sort of endorsement for their products.

  Some people judged the entire uproar as nothing more than a mountain being made over a molehill. One late night talk show host loosed a drone to fly around his studio audience, making sure no one was guilty of excessive laughter over his monologue jokes.

  A college professor made the front page when his students arrived in the classroom, only to find a small drone hovering over the lectern. The machine was carrying a petite voice recorder and began replaying the taped lecture after the bell. On the chalkboard directly behind the flying-teacher was a handwritten message; “This drone is videotaping your attention levels during the lecture. Students caught napping in class will find their images pasted all over the nightly news and the internet, drool and all.”

  Gabe had found many of the various twists and turns humorous – or at least mildly entertaining. There was some aspect of human creativity that always made him feel warm inside. It was hope, he determined. As long as we are thinking and creating, there is hope for us.

  But none of the ancillary uses sprouting from his creativity seemed to help with the cu
rrent Marwick situation. Or did they?

  Of all the brouhaha arising from his actions, there had been one position that had resonated well with the Archangel’s inventor. If it was okay for the government to use technology to watch the citizens, why wasn’t it fair for the people to turn the tide on their representatives? Gabe liked it, thinking that little nugget of wisdom summed up the entire debate. He felt like the creator of a watch-dog poster boy.

  So how could he utilize the Gripens to protect Chip from the out of control Marwick?

  There was also another factor in play. Despite the fact that the country was divided over the topic, Gabe was bolstered by the group that believed in his cause. No longer did he feel alone, fully conscious of the millions of like-minded people from all walks of life that were adding their voices to the chorus of support. It emboldened his thinking and expanded the options.

  Despite countless mental cycles seeking a solution, Gabe could not conceive of a strategy to help Chip. While he was sure Marwick’s desperation would eventually lead to the man crossing the line, Gabe had no idea how to run interference for his friend in the interim or anticipate damage control needs in the near future.

  “Keep working on it,” he muttered, staring at the now fully functional G-3. It will come.

  Needing a distraction, he settled on beginning a full diagnostic of the new Gripen. The effort was interrupted by Chip’s cell call.

  “He’s left my street, I think, but there’s no way to be sure what that jerk is up to,” the troubled voice stated. “The cops came, but they didn’t do shit. Now I bet Marwick is driving around, plotting how to kill me slowly.”

  “I know,” Gabe responded calmly. “I was watching the meet with one of the G-1 units. I overhead the entire conversation.”

  “And?”

  “And you’re right; the cops aren’t going to do shit about him. He’s too well connected. We’re on our own.”

  Chip paused before responding, his voice growling low and mean. “If he comes into my yard, I’m going to cut the son of a bitch in half with this 12-gauge. If he bothers Manny or Amanda, I’ll give him a bus ticket to hell via buckshot.”

  Gabe was a bit taken aback by his friend’s tone, never having heard Chip so upset. What was worse – he believed his buddy would follow through on the threat. “I’m working on it,” he promised, his words ringing hollow. “There’s always a solution.”

  “Any ideas so far?”

  “What if you and the girls just packed up and headed out on a little vacation? You know, take a trip out of town until things cool off. I hear there are some very affordable cruises leaving out of Galveston all the time.”

  “I thought about that,” the concerned family man replied. “Even if I could think up some white lie to get Amanda on the boat, there’s just no way. Manny has finals coming up, and she has already missed a few days with the flu. Amanda’s still not sure about my new job and paycheck being the real deal, so she’s still working part time. We can’t just pull up and sail off into the sunset…. There’s just no way.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Gabe admitted, “but I had to ask.”

  “Look,” Chip’s agitated voice resonated on the line, “I have zero issue with confronting that asshat. Mr. Marwick and I already had a little chat once in my driveway, and I wouldn’t hesitate a second time. What’s eating me alive is the potential of surprise. Right now, he has every advantage over the time and place of an encounter. He can ambush my ass while I’m sitting on the toilet or snoring away in dreamland. I strolled out to get the mail today, paranoid as shit, worried that fucker was hiding in my bushes. When you throw in my wife and daughter, their schedules and their vulnerability, it’s enough to drive a guy mad.”

  Gabe rubbed his chin, staring at the cell phone as if his friend were standing there in person. “So we’re thinking the same thing. We need to come up with some way to take the initiative away from Marwick and shift it to our side. I’m all in with that strategy. It’s the ‘how’ that currently eludes me.”

  “Well, we’ve got to come up with something. I’m getting jittery from toting this shotgun around as I go about my routine. I don’t want Manny or the cat to surprise me… if you know what I mean. That could lead to a disaster.”

  “Do me a favor while we’re thinking this through,” came Gabe’s less than confident reply. “Don’t leave the house without letting me know first. Just send me a text, or make a quick call. I can have a drone there in less than 20 minutes and at least be able to help a little.”

  “Okay, boss. You got it. And thanks, Gabe. Thank you for being there.”

  “No need to thank me, buddy. I’m the one who got your ass into this mess in the first place. Marwick wouldn’t even remember your name if it hadn’t been for the drones.”

  There was a short, insincere chuckle across the connection. “Now we both know that’s just bullshit. You didn’t cause all this. That fat ass bully who is now parked on my street fired the first shot when he chose to pick on Jacob. No matter how this nightmare concludes, you remember that, Gabe. Never forget. You didn’t start this fight, but if God in Heaven will allow it, you and I will damn sure finish it.”

  Gabe ended the call, amazed at Chip’s last proclamation. The loyalty was uplifting, the man’s no quit attitude inspirational. “I’ve got to make sure he comes out of this unharmed,” he announced to the resting G-3. “Your sisters and you need to help me.”

  As his nemesis predicted, Big Jim’s simmering anxiety was expanding beyond containment. It seemed like all four walls were closing in around the suspended officer, hemming him in while sucking the oxygen out of his environment. His lawyer was now in the process of trying to delay the initial hearings and actions in the criminal case being brought by the DA. But an earlier call from his counsel had advised of a sudden urgency to set a trial date from the once supportive authority. Fewer of his “friends” on the force were returning his calls, and the incompetent detectives downtown seemed to be making no progress on identifying the Archangel.

  Time was running out. He couldn’t depend on anyone but himself.

  Whether it resulted from paranoia, apprehension, or just plain, old pigheadedness, Jim couldn’t let go of Chip. He was convinced the man had something to do with the avalanche of undeserved shit that seemed to be raining down on his head.

  Yet, his surveillance hadn’t produced anything other than a warning from a near-rookie cop, several harsh looks from the suspect’s neighbors, and a roaring case of hemorrhoids from sitting so long in the car.

  Desperate, running out of options, and absolutely confident he was barking up the right tree, Marwick made the decision to approach Chip face to face and determine if he could shake some fruit off the reclusive man’s branches.

  The only problem was the where and the when.

  Walking up to the front door wasn’t an option. Humans, like all animals, are territorial. It was well understood by all cops that most people would resist twice as hard if confronted on their home turf as compared to out in the streets, away from their residence. It was a predictable reaction, resulting in both physical and mental escalation.

  Jim wanted his approach to elicit fear, not defense. That meant he would have to catch Chip while he was out and about. Not an easy task, considering the guy had only showed his face once in three days.

  It then occurred to Jim that he probably wasn’t the only one tiring of hide and seek. Completely unaware that his inability to see the world from someone else’s perspective, to put himself in any opposing role was his biggest single weakness as a police officer, Jim just couldn’t accept that any person could view things differently. He was tired of the game; therefore, Chip must be tired as well.

  With that line of reasoning engrained in his thoughts and championing his movements, Jim drove back to Chip’s neighborhood. This time, he parked in a new spot, but was still within easy view of the suspect’s dwelling. “Come on out and play, Mister Archangel,” he whispered, turni
ng off the car that had been his home as of late.

  Chip spied the vehicle five minutes later, his habit of randomly checking the street now entrenched in his daily routine.

  “He’s back,” the text to Gabe disclosed.

  “Launching the G-1,” the response reassured a few minutes later.

  Shaking his head at the self-imposed imprisonment, Chip tried to busy himself with mundane tasks around the house. The shotgun was never far from his side.

  The flight to Chip’s subdivision passed quickly, the Gripen enjoying the benefit of a tailwind. Gabe was ready, manning the control desk as the now familiar rows of suburbia came into view. It only took a moment to spot Marwick’s tan colored Impala.

  He maintained the drone high and out of sight, positioning the flyer in the general area of the sun just to secure the robot from curious eyes. He could observe Marwick’s outline through the open driver’s side window. A small geyser of hatred welled up inside Gabe’s throat, the image of the man who had beaten his son causing the hostile reaction.

  The G-1 hovered for several minutes, all three of the men on the stage unsure what to do next. It was a showdown of inactivity.

  Chip finally called his boss, unable to occupy his time with make-work chores. “I’m so sick of this. It’s driving me batty. I don’t care what we do, but let’s do something.”

  “You’re just playing into his hand if you go out and confront him,” Gabe cautioned. “If I were in his shoes, that’s the move I’d be hoping for.”

  “Okay, how about I go drive around? He’ll follow, and we can see how aggressive his mindset has become.”

  “Where would you go?”

  Chip was clearly getting agitated. “Just around. You know… a pleasant drive through North Houston. Hell… how am I supposed to know?”

  Gabe realized that logic and rational behavior were quickly falling from favor. Both men fully aware that Marwick would like nothing more than to catch his prize out in the open, yet both of them were considering just such a move. It was the exhaustion that was making them rash, they were weary of the siege and demanding closure. No wonder people were constantly making stupid mistakes under pressure.