by Joe Nobody
Of special interest to the sheriff were the victim’s weapons, assorted rifles, shotguns, and pistols strewn throughout the interior. While he was examining one such example, another deputy approached carrying a large, metal box.
“We just found this, sir. There must be 15 pounds of crystal meth inside, Sheriff,” the man announced.
“Where was it?” Watts asked, his eyebrows moving towards his hairline.
“It was sitting on the kitchen counter, sir. Just out in the open.”
With a scowl forming on his lips, Watts nodded toward one of the long guns lying nearby. “That is a Colt M16, full automatic, military issue, battle rifle,” he said. “The magazine is full, just like every other weapon I’ve studied so far. These guys never had a chance. Not one of them got off a shot. This was a very professional hit job.”
“Do you think a rival drug gang is responsible, sir?”
Shaking his head, Watts said, “No. A rival gang would have taken the weapons and the personal effects from the victims. That man over there has a 20-carat gold Rolex watch on his wrist. All of them have significant amounts of money in their pockets. This rifle alone is worth a small fortune in some markets. No, whoever chopped these guys to pieces was after something else. Either that, or they were really, really pissed off.”
Concurring, the local added, “There’s one more thing, sir. It’s in the garage.”
Watts followed the officer to the other end of the house and out into the garage. “See the outline on the floor? There were five large containers here when the shooting began. You can see where the dust fell, and then the tubs were moved after things had started to settle.”
“Any clear footprints?”
“Yes, sir, they are all around this area. The only distinct image we’ve found so far appears to be that of a military issued, combat boot.”
The deputy’s response again caused Watts’ eyebrows to rise. “Was this an Army operation that we weren’t informed of? Did Alpha send up one of their SAINT teams and somehow leave us out of the loop? That would certainly explain the professional nature of this hit.”
“I’ve contacted Fort Hood, sir, and they say that there were no authorized ops in this area. Same with the capital; no SAINT teams have been deployed anywhere near this site.”
The deputy’s report didn’t improve Watts’ mood, the sage, old sheriff now more troubled than before. After thanking his men for their excellent work, he returned to his cruiser and began the long journey back to Alpha.
If there was a paramilitary unit operating within Alliance territory, Nick needed to be aware. If the various drug operations were upping their game, his department was going to need help. It was obvious from the crime scene that highly skilled individuals with significant firepower had perpetrated the massacre. While his men were brave, loyal keepers of the peace, SWAT teams and quick reaction forces had yet to be reestablished. Watts’ officers were scattered, few in number, and generally patrolled and enforced solo. Going up against an organized, professional fighting force was beyond their capabilities.
The other concern weighing on the good sheriff involved the drug trade. The availability of homemade and homegrown narcotics appeared to be on the rise. At first, the occasional event involving these substances had been ignored. After all, drug abuse had been thwarted by the apocalypse, having suffered a serious ding in its supply chain. And in the grand scheme of survival, the drug dealers’ revival was a problem that could be addressed later while other, critical priorities consumed Alliance resources. And if folks wanted to smoke a little marijuana to offset the horrors of the apocalypse, who could blame them? Bathtub gin, moonshine liquor, and a variety of homebrewed beers were not only accepted but often embraced by the population at large. There were no taxes to be collected, no quality control apparatus in place. Government and law enforcement had simply looked the other way.
Now, however, Watts and his officers were seeing more and more hardcore drugs and substances. Crystal Meth was easy to make. Somehow, the cocaine family of products was making its way into Texas. There had been more than a few incidents of poisoning from bad moonshine. Apparently, the libations seemed to settle a population stressed by day to day survival. When the relatively peaceful status quo of the early 21st century had been replaced with a society more like the wild, wild west than a modern, civilized society, alcohol and drugs seemed to keep anxiety at bay.
President Diana Brown had put it best, “The people may be fed and sheltered, but that doesn’t mean they are happy.”
Now, Watts had a mass murder on his hands and no idea as to the motive. The concept of the nefarious cartels possibly reestablishing themselves on his turf made the veteran law dog cringe. “I’m going to bring Nick and the military on board with this. We have to nip this in the bud, and do so right now,” he mumbled as his cruiser sped south toward Alpha.
Chapter 2
Bishop eyed the sofa’s corner with unblinking intensity, his ears seeking any sign of the foe’s advance. When there was no movement, he carefully crept around and again waited for a telltale sign.
In a flash, he sprang to the back of the couch, weapon high and ready to engage. There was no target there, and that was troubling. Where did you go? he pondered. Where are you hiding?
Still on his hands and knees, and crouching low, Bishop stalked along the back, ready to engage at the far edge. With his finger tightening on the trigger, he rounded the corner in a burst of speed, only to find his firearm pointed at nothing but empty space. What the hell? he thought.
Deciding to change tactics, the Texan rushed forward. Crawling along the furniture’s perimeter, he sought the illusive target. As before, no one was there.
He’s getting way too sneaky for his own good, Bishop thought, deciding to make one more lap around the sofa before changing tactics. He was surely faster than his nemesis, positive he held the advantage in tactical awareness and combat experience.
Bishop skulked along the front of the couch to no avail. Pausing again to listen intently, the Texan was disappointed by the absolute silence.
Just as he made the far end, movement drew his eye. From behind a pile of cushions, Hunter’s blonde head darted quickly, followed immediately by the green plastic of a squirt gun. Before the warrior dad could react, a stream of cold water erupted from his son’s weapon, striking Bishop behind the ear with a chilling strike.
Faking an agonizing death, Bishop melodramatically dropped to the floor and rolled to his back while moaning in distress. A moment later, his wounded legs shot straight toward the heavens, dropped to the floor with a thud, and then flopped several times in his final throes.
Despite his eyes being closed, Bishop could detect Hunter climbing down from the couch. “Are you really dead, Dad?”
“Yeah, you got me,” the make-believe corpse responded, even then maintaining the position of his demise.
Obviously still suspicious, Hunter approached his prone father with great caution. Bishop was again surprised to feel his son bend and remove the water gun from the would-be cadaver’s limp hand. “Are you sure you’re not faking it, Dad?”
“You got me, Hunter. You win. Fair and square,” he answered, only his lips moving.
“I won. I won!” The child squealed, his outburst loud enough to bring Terri rushing from the kitchen in time to witness Hunter’s victory dance around his dad’s still body.
“I thought I told you two boys not to use squirt guns in the house?” she snapped, immediately understanding the situation and pretending to be upset. When neither male member of the household replied, she continued to scold. “And besides, I was led to believe that you gentlemen were coming in here to read a book, not practice war games. This little firefight has soaked half of my furniture and left a puddle on the floor.”
Rolling up on one elbow Bishop responded, “We were reading a book about cowboys and Indians,” he replied with blinking innocence. “We just got a little caught up in the story,” he continued.
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Terri glanced down at her son and instructed, “You go empty those guns in the tub, young man. And then I want you ready for bed. Understand?”
Nodding to accept at his mother’s wishes, Hunter rushed toward the bathroom leaving his parents alone.
“That was amazing,” Bishop sighed. “He’s not even four years old and he is already beginning to understand advanced tactical elements. He took the high ground and waited for me to expose myself. I think I was about 20 years old before my thick skull allowed that concept to finally sink in.”
Terri wasn’t impressed. “He needs to learn arithmetic and how to read, Bishop. We both agreed that those skills are more important than learning about combat. I know you love to play with him, but let’s not forget the priorities.”
Bishop nodded and grinned at his wife’s motherly instincts. “Yes, my love, you are absolutely correct. I’ll hide the squirt guns, and we’ll work on our cyphering skills tomorrow.”
Hunter returned just then, his pajama shirt on backward. Bending to scoop up her son, Terri carried him to the couch and helped straighten his wardrobe. “Give me a kiss, and then your dad will tuck you in for the night. Cindy is coming over in a bit to babysit while your father and I go to Aunt Diana and Uncle Nick’s house.”
“Love you,” the boy cooed, kissing his mom on the cheek before reaching for his dad’s arms.
Ten minutes later, there was a light rap at the door. Terri answered, greeting the waiting teenager with a warm smile. “He’s already in bed, so you should have an easy evening.”
“He’s never any trouble, Miss Terri. In a way, I’m a little disappointed that we won’t get to play,” replied the young girl.
“I think Bishop wore him out,” Terri grinned. “They’ve been romping around all afternoon. Anyway, we won’t be late. Just dinner and a little conversation over at Miss Brown’s. If you have any trouble, just ask the neighbors to send their son with a message.”
“Is it true that the Alliance is trying to get the cell towers working again? I barely remember smartphones but would love to be able to talk to my cousins back in Austin,” asked the babysitter.
“I know they’ve tried to get the network up and running, but I haven’t heard an update in a few months. I’ll ask Diana this evening and let you know.”
A moment later, Bishop appeared. After nodding at Cindy and saying hello, the Texan turned to his wife, “Ready?”
“And able,” Terri replied, opening the front door. “See you in a bit,” she said to sitter as they couple headed onto the front porch.
It was the first cool night in Alpha, the fall months finally bringing relief to what had been a brutally hot summer. “This is nice,” Terri noted, her arms spread wide to take in the air. “The temperature is perfect.”
Bishop, nodding his agreement, said, “Yes, it’s great snuggling weather. C’mere.”
Accepting the invitation, Terri moved in under his arm as the couple continued to stroll toward Diana’s official residence.
A few blocks later, after exchanging pleasantries with the security men posted around the yard, Bishop knocked on the door and grinned at his wife. “I hope Nick has grilled up some of his famous steaks. I’m hungry.”
“I don’t think dinner is the primary reason they invited us over tonight. I think Diana is going to announce that she’s running for reelection,” Terri responded.
“You think? I didn’t know she’d made up her mind.”
“I’m just guessing.”
Grunting, Bishop said, “Your guesses are generally spot-on.”
Nick opened the door just then, the big man smiling widely at his guests. “Come in, come in,” he greeted. “You’re right on time.”
Before they could step through the threshold, Diana’s head appeared around Nick’s shoulder, the Alliance honcho obviously happy to see their guests.
There was a quick exchange of hugs and kisses at the doorway before Bishop and Terri were ushered into the dining room. The visitors were shocked to see the impressive, mahogany table set with fine china, formal dinnerware normally reserved for official state occasions.
Glancing down at his blue jeans and flannel shirt, Bishop flushed, “Did I miss something? I’m not really dressed for a fancy affair.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Diana laughed. “We have some important news and decided at the last minute to go all out and make it a special evening. It’s just us four.”
“Has the wedding been rescheduled?” Terri teased, moving to admire the place settings and throwing her husband an, “I told you so,” look.
“No, nothing that important,” Diana laughed. “I would have had the meal catered by a private chef if that were the case.”
They all enjoyed her jest, and then Diana went about getting everyone seated. Glancing at Nick and Bishop, she lamented, “Now, before you two bottomless pits start paying more attention to what’s on your plates than the conversation at hand, I want to make my announcement. I’ve finally decided to run for reelection and wanted to let our dearest friends know first.”
Bishop and Terri both acted completely surprised, the couple rising quickly and coming around the table for another exchange of hugs, kisses, and congratulations.
“That is great news,” Bishop announced. “The Alliance needs you now more than ever.”
Terri agreed, “With everything that’s going on in Mexico and the US, we need a steady hand at the wheel.”
“I’ve not won yet,” Diana countered, always the grounded, reasonable voice at the table. “I’ve been hearing gossip about a couple of the regional governors who aspire for higher office. You know Texas politics … anything could happen, and I’m sure this is going to get nasty before the votes are tallied.”
Nick waved off her concerns, “If they want a fight, I can’t think of anyone better to whoop their asses. You’ll win in a landslide.”
Bishop obviously agreed, holding up his goblet to propose a toast, “Four more years!”
The room was filled with the clinking of glass and genuine happiness, the mood carrying through a fine meal.
As everyone helped clear the table, Diana pulled Terri aside. “Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”
Hugging her best friend, Terri insisted, “Of course you are. There’s no one more qualified to lead the recovery. The people need you.”
“I know. I know … but there are so many problems, and it seems like every one we solve is replaced by two more. I can’t help but wonder if it’s not the time to step aside and let somebody else with fresh ideas take the helm.”
“Don’t be silly,” Terri countered. “You’ve led us with a pure heart and clear head. There’s only ever been one priority in your actions – helping the people. I know it, and they know it. I don’t care what policies, laws, or decrees anyone comes up with, as long as you keep that as your primary goal, you will continue to improve everyone’s life.”
Seeming reassured by her friend’s words, confidence returned to Diana’s eyes. “It sure helps to have friends like you and Bishop,” she whispered. “I’m glad I can count on your support. We couldn’t have accomplished any of this without people like you.”
“I serve at your pleasure, Diana. When the Alliance needs us, Bishop and I will be there.”
“I am glad to hear you say that, Terri. So … I have a special request. Will you be my campaign manager?”
The appeal took Terri by surprise. When her friend hesitated, Diana quickly added, “Given you and Bishop both feel it’s okay, of course.”
“I think he’ll be fine with it, but I’ll ask him later. Let’s enjoy the evening, and I’ll let you know tomorrow.”
Again, they hugged and then watched as the boys exited to the back porch, Nick producing two cigars.
“How’s the arm doing?” Nick asked, handing Bishop one of the plump stogies.
“Almost 100%,” the Texan answered, admiring the offered smoke.
“Is that so?” the former Speci
al Forces team member challenged. “Care to place a wager on that? What’s a little arm wrestling among friends?” he dared mischievously.
Grunting, Bishop shook his head while Nick held out an expanding match. “I said it was almost 100%, and besides, I wouldn’t accept that challenge even if I hadn’t broken the damn thing. I’ve had enough of plaster casts and doctors for a while.”
“How’s the team doing?”
“We’re ready for duty. Butter is towing the line after our little incident in Mexico. Grim is Grim, and of course, Kevin just goes about doing his job without any issues.”
Nodding, Nick seemed to accept his friend’s report, but Bishop sensed something else was weighing on the ex-operator. “For a man who is supposed to be chilling out with a cigar, you seem to have a lot on your mind, my friend. Is anything wrong?” the Texan asked.
