The voice came back on the radio. “Just one vehicle. Lights on. No others. No one on foot. Yet.” Grant had never heard the voice before. It was a man. He sounded like he knew what he was doing.
Rich was puzzled. Just one police car? That’s it. Either this is not the attack or it’s a trick. Something was up.
Rich yelled, “No one shoots. No shooting unless your squad leader says so.” Squad leaders and others were repeating it to everyone around them so everyone got it.
Rich was behind the other sandbag bunker. He got on his CB, turned the channel and said into the handheld, “Who are you?”
“Sheriff’s Department,” the voice said. He was on CB channel 9, the emergency channel. “Who’s this?”
Rich recognized the cop’s voice. It was John Bennington, a sergeant Rich had worked with. A good guy. “Is this John?”
“Yes,” Bennington said. “Is this Rich?”
“Yep,” Rich said. “Hi, John. What brings you out to Pierce Point?” Rich asked calmly.
“There’s been a report of a stolen truck. You know anything about that?” Bennington asked.
“Nope,” Rich said. “I know about a truck that broke down a few hundred yards from the entrance. Some black guy came here this afternoon and said he needed help. We got his rig started up again and he drove it in here. Then he said he’s walking to town. He left a couple hours ago. We have the truck. You want to see it?”
“You have it?” Bennington was surprised. “Really?”
“Yep,” Rich said. “Want to see? I have the papers on the load that he left. If you walk slowly across the bridge, you won’t get shot. You see, we’re taking security into our own hands here, given all that’s happened. Your response times are a little long now. No offense.”
“None taken,” Bennington said. “OK. Sgt. Summers is with me and he’ll stay in the car.”
Sergeant Summers? Was that Dylan Summers, the young deputy? Rich asked, “Did you say Sgt. Summers?”
“Yep,” Bennington said. “Lots of promotions lately with all the AWOL people. I’m a lieutenant, myself.”
“Congratulations,” Rich said. So this is how they were getting guys to keep manning the patrol cars: promotions. Great. But John was a decent guy, so unless he’d radically changed in the last few weeks, he probably hadn’t let it go to his head.
“Coming out,” Bennington said.
Rich yelled to the squads, “Hold your fire. I repeat: do not fire.”
People were tense. When most of the guards heard the car door open and shut, they started gripping their guns hard. Grant found himself scanning the river and the flanks. Just one cop car at the gate wasn’t the attacking force. It must be coming from some other direction. Grant was scanning right, left, and to the rear. So was the Team.
Bennington walked slowly with his hands to his sides. He made it to the gate and motioned that he wanted to go under the metal pole and come across. Rich gave him the thumbs up. Bennington scrunched down under the metal pole and crossed over. Rich came out from his sandbag bunker and strolled over with extreme calm and confidence. After all, he was just talking to an old friend. It wasn’t like they had anything to hide.
Bennington was marveling at all the defenses. He especially noted Dan’s K9 team. He would make a report to headquarters on this. His initial impression was: Don’t fuck with Pierce Point.
Rich had some papers in his hand and showed them to Bennington. “As far as I can tell from these,” Rich said, “that trailer is empty. A return run from Tacoma from a few days ago. That’s what the black guy said.”
Bennington asked, “Mind if I look in there?”
“Of course not,” Rich said. “Let me get the keys.” Smithson had previously given Rich the keys to his empty trailer.
Rich pointed toward his pants pocket to let Bennington know that he would be getting the keys out of his pocket instead of drawing a pistol on him. Bennington nodded.
Rich got the keys out of his pocket and took Bennington over to the truck, which was in plain sight. Rich unlocked the padlocks and opened the trailer door.
“See,” Rich said. “Empty. It’s probably why he just abandoned this. He probably went to the gate at Frederickson. He was headed that direction, toward town,” Rich said, pointing toward Frederickson.
Bennington was stunned. He was surprised not only that Rich had let him cross the bridge, but that the truck was empty. Bennington had been told by the county emergency management people that the truck—and the truck Rich that was showing him matched the description he’d been given—was full of something valuable that they wanted back in Frederickson. But the emergency management people and the FC idiots from Olympia were dumbshits, Bennington thought. This confirmed it. They had Bennington chasing after empty trucks.
“OK, that’s empty alright,” Bennington said. “The Commissioner will be disappointed.”
“The Commissioner?” Rich asked.
“Oh, yeah, Commissioner Winters,” Bennington said, referring to one of the county commissioners. “He is kind of running things now.” Bennington rolled his eyes. Bennington hated Winters. Winters was corrupt.
“As in, running things with gangs?” Rich asked.
Bennington smiled, “Well, that’s the rumor, but you can never believe all that.” Bennington was communicating loud and clear.
Bennington pointed to his pocket and said, “Mind if I take a picture for the Commissioner?”
“Sure,” Rich said. Bennington pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and took a few pictures.
“Well,” Bennington said, “thanks for letting me see the truck. You can keep it. It’s worthless now. Just another truck without any diesel. How’s the family?” He asked.
Rich and Bennington talked about their families for a minute or two. Bennington’s wife had recently left him and took their daughter with her to Mill Creek, a suburb north of Seattle. Bennington constantly worried about his daughter up there in Seattle with all that was going on. He knew he couldn’t get up to her now or maybe ever.
When they were done catching up on family news, Rich said, “Oh, hey, John, I have something for you.” He ran over to the fire station and returned with a paper bag that he handed to Bennington.
Bennington knew what it was without opening it—a bottle of booze. Bennington wouldn’t open it up in front of all those witnesses. He smiled and said, “Oh, thanks. You didn’t have to.”
Rich smiled. He knew what was going on. Grant, who was watching from behind a sandbag bunker, sensed that this happened all the time at the Sheriff’s department, which was probably why Rich left the force. Only it probably wasn’t a bottle of booze between two old friends that got Rich to leave.
“Take care,” Bennington said as he was walking back across the bridge with the bag in his hand. “Let me know if you need anything out here, but it looks like you guys are taking care of yourselves.” That was exactly what Rich hoped Bennington would conclude. Pierce Point was taking care of itself and not messing with the authorities—that’s what Winters would hear from Bennington. Good.
Bennington got in the car and it slowly backed down the road to the Frederickson road and drove off.
When the car was gone, Rich looked at the guards and Team and yelled, “That’s how we do it at Pierce Point!”
Cheers went up all around. They wouldn’t have to fight. Probably not. Well, not tonight.
Rich said, “I want you guys to stay here until morning. I’m not letting our guard down. We’re here, we’re fed, and we might as well finish this job. Maybe people at the county are mad at Bennington for coming back with a picture of an empty trailer. We’ll see. But stick around.” People were so happy that there wasn’t a gunfight that they didn’t mind staying there all night. None of them wanted to be a coward and leave. They enjoyed the camaraderie of just being there and were ready to fight for their homes and families.