by Nick Russell
"You think it's somebody from... well, you know?"
"I don't know, probably not. Probably just kids necking or something."
Months earlier John Lee had killed a man in an on-duty shooting. Though the Florida Department of Law Enforcement had ruled the shooting justifiable, the man's father had sworn to get revenge. Since he was the richest man in the county, he certainly had the resources to send hired guns to get even with the deputy.
"I really wish you'd wait and let me call somebody."
"We'd both feel pretty dumb if all it is is a couple of teenagers making out. Hang tight, Tony, I'll be back with you in just a couple of minutes."
John Lee tucked his 9mm Browning Hi Power pistol into his pants behind his right hip and picked up his 12 gauge Remington tactical shotgun and a high-intensity LED flashlight and went to the back door of his house. "Come on, Magic, let's go see who's visiting us at this time of night."
He scanned the back yard with the night vision binoculars, looking for anybody who might be waiting in ambush. Seeing nothing, he eased out the door, giving Magic the command to stay close at his side. He went to both back corners of the house and looked through the binoculars again. Nothing. Moving at a crouch, he crossed the open side yard, every sense alert to danger.
Keeping to a line of trees at the far edge of his property, John Lee and the dog made their way toward the front. He hoped there were no snakes around. John Lee hated snakes and feared them more than he did any bad guy with a gun or knife.
He moved stealthily until he could cross behind and approach the strange vehicle from the rear. The person inside had not moved. Holding the flashlight away from his body with one hand and resting the shotgun on the trunk lid, John Lee pushed the button to turn on the light.
"Show me your hands!"
Nothing.
"I said, show me your hands. Get them up in the air where I can see them!"
He thought he saw the head make a slight movement, but not much.
"Show me your damn hands or I'm gonna shoot!"
When there was no response John Lee left the shotgun and drew his pistol. He eased his way up to the side of the car. The man inside still hadn't moved. John Lee looked at the man through the window. Brown hair, maybe early to mid-50s. It was hard to say because his face was covered in blood. The driver's window was down. He knocked on the door with his flashlight and the man managed to turn his head enough to look at him.
"Are you John Lee Quarrels?" The voice was weak, not much more than a tortured whisper.
"That's me. Who the hell are you?"
"I'm your father."
