Book Three: Part 6 - Facing Evil - Chapter 3

Burger King Parking Lot – 1:51 p.m.

Both McNeil and Roberts settled back enjoying their fast food delights. A double-whopper, extra tomato with extra pickles and a large vanilla shake for McNeil, and a fish sandwich, mayo, and tomato only with a carton of milk for Roberts.

Neither man spoke until they finished eating. Twenty minutes later, McNeil was first.

“That was a fine takedown earlier. What got me was how fast you got to him.”

“It was the building to his right. Went in, down the hall and found a back door that led to the alley. Opened the door, and saw him crouched down about twenty feet away. Creeped up on him and bingo; he never had a clue.”

“Something else I saw, too.”

“What’s that?”

“A look of excitement in your eyes. That look of: give-me-a-reason-asshole look is what I saw.”

“McNeil, I was just doing my job. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“I hope so Roberts. We don’t need a hot-shot cop here. I say that because we all know what happened in Texas.”

“If you know, then you also know I wasn’t charged in any wrongdoing.”

“Yeah, we know that, too. But just because your whatever was killed, I guess the term is significant other these days; anyway, you went on a hunt, a goddamn vigilante hunt. You found them, and killed all of them but one. We go by the book here, Roberts. Keep that in mind. Baker runs a good ship, and no one wants to see it sink, especially if you decide to go solo down the road.”

“McNeil, that was a one-time thing. I can assure you that that won’t happen again.”

“Fair enough. But answer me a question. Why did you let the one live? I heard he got twenty years.”

“I ran out of bullets.”

There was a brief spasm of silence before McNeil started the car.”

“By the way …”

McNeil looked over at J.W.

“He had a name. He was my significant other as you put it. He was also my lover and my best friend, and,” J.W. looked at McNeil with a steely look, “if it ever happens again, I would do the same thing. No one gets away from destroying what I love. No one. His name is Gerald Hammer.

“But, like I said before. I won’t go solo on the job. But I won’t hesitate in bringing a perp down for keeps if they give me no choice. Otherwise, I play by the rules, McNeil.”

“Fair enough.”

“Adam-18, there is a disturbance at 1257 Ridgeway Lane. Possible break-in.”

“Roger that, we are on our way,” responded Roberts.

“You’d think people would give crime a rest over the holidays.”

“Wishful thinking. We both know crime never takes a holiday.”

In less than five minutes they arrived at the location, and there was a potential perp trying to break in, no less into his own house.

McNeil and Roberts were slowly making their way toward the man when they both started smiling. It became obvious was near to falling-down drunk and his speech was comical.

“Ah, c’mon, Hel, Hel, Helen. Let me in for gos sssake. I got your prechent in the car!”

The front door opened and out walked a rather portly woman, mid-forties, and she stared past her husband to the two policemen.

McNeil motioned for Roberts to hang back as he approached the woman.

“Afternoon, ma’am. I take it this is your husband wanting to get inside.”

“Yes, but I told him no more drinking! Look at him! Drunk as a skunk and I bet he smells like one!”

“Well, ma’am, if we arrest him, it’ll be for public intoxication and being a public danger to himself and others. He could go away for a good six months to a year; especially if Judge Ward sentences him. He doesn’t care much for drunks either.”

“Six months? A year? That long? I just thought you could hold him about a week until he sobers up and realizes where he is and what he’s done to our family.”

“Ma’am, generally for public intox, we can only hold him seventy-two hours. But you also called us about a someone breaking into your house, and from the looks of his current condition, he is certainly a danger to himself and others. Unless you let him back into your house, we’ll have to take him in and book him. That means an arrest. Has he ever been arrested before?”

“Charlie’s never done a mean thing in his life.”

“Ma’am,” he turned to yell back to Roberts, “guess we’ll have to take him downtown.”

“Officer, stop calling me ma’am. My name is Cathie Hinesdale, and you don’t have to take him anywhere.”

She brushed past McNeil and headed straight for Charlie. Bending down, she looked up at J.W. “No need, officer. He’s going inside with me. C’mon, up you go Charlie. Let’s get in the house before you catch a cold or something.”

J.W. looked beyond her to McNeil who was grinning, and nodded his head saying, “Case closed. Let’s go.”

And that’s exactly what they did.

Wagon Wheel Inn – 7:25 p.m.

It was over before it started. A drunken fight over a pool game. A fifty-dollar bet on a three-rail bank-shot call on the eight ball. The guy made the shot. The loser didn’t want to pay.

Two pool sticks, one back door, five teeth (between both men) broken, along with the loser’s nose.

Within ten minutes of the fight, two police units were dispatched on site.

Henry Clausen, Terrance Klugston, Rick Lowery and Charlie Barnyard were there to separate both men, and cuffed them both. Clausen radioed for an ambulance.

Barnyard started singing.

“Oh, the weather outside is frightful, and the crimes aren’t all that delightful, and as far as the holidays go, broken bones, black eyes make my job fun.”

“Hey, Charlie?”

“What, Henry?”

“Don’t quit your day job any time soon. You’d starve if you went Motown.”