Stacy started unbuttoning her blouse. Craig got up and switched everything off, and then went into the bathroom to vomit.
Lunchtime. The overhead sun was high up and it was hot, and as in the other training sessions, sandwiches and drinks and snacks were produced from little portable coolers. The cops stripped off their helmets and gloves and vests and weapons, and dumped them on one of the long tables where the ammunition was stored. Young Sarah brought her revolver over and did the same thing, and he waited, waited long minutes, like the time waiting for a retiree to find a dollar bill in his wallet for a lottery ticket, and when he thought the time was right, he went over to the table. Some cops were now in the tall grass, dozing, while others tossed a football back and forth. Craig got up and stretched and reached into his pants pocket for the real 9mm. round. He went to the table and did his work quickly and efficiently, and then went back to the bunker and waited.
“All right, people,” the training officer said, “time for the third scenario.”
And when Sarah came back, holding the revolver in her hand, Craig held out his hand.
“Do you mind?” he asked. “I’d like to have a chance at shooting someone.”
She smiled and handed the revolver over. “Sure, why not. I’ve already done it twice. Why should I have all the fun?”
He smiled in return. “Exactly.”
Ever since he’d viewed the tape, it had been odd, but Stacy had been kinder and gentler to him, as if she was feeling sorry for him or something. A hell of a feeling. The tape had remained hidden and unviewed, and he was still trying to decide what in hell to do when one day, Dirk Conrad had shown up at his store.
Talk about your challenges. Underneath the counter of his store he had a sawed-off baseball bat, and wouldn’t Dirk have been surprised if that had been swung at his noggin when he came over to chat after getting another in a long series of free cups of coffee. Instead he gritted his teeth and held his ground, and made small talk with Dirk as he got his free newspaper and free cup of coffee, and he imagined in some way that Dirk probably thought the free wife from the store owner went with everything else.
So. All those thoughts were tumbling through him and again he was wondering what to do when Dirk said, “Hey, next week we’re going up to the base again, doing another SWAT training session. You interested?”
Hell no, was his thought, but he decided to be polite. “I guess so.”
Dirk nodded, put the folded-up newspaper under his arm. “That’d be great. We could have some real fun.”
“Sure,” Craig said, and damn it, that could have been the end of it, except for one thing.
As Dirk left the store, he looked back and winked.
Pretty simple.
A wink, as if he knew he was pulling something over on Craig, knew it and enjoyed it, and Craig was surprised at how the anger just roared through him, making his ears echo with the noise, and by the time the door closed behind Dirk, Craig knew that he would go to that SWAT training session and end Dirk’s life.
SCENARIO THREE:
An armed gunman was hidden in a house with an accomplice who was unarmed. They had earlier robbed a bank, and the armed gunman was threatening to kill anybody who came in.
Sarah gave him a pat on the shoulder and said, “Good luck,” and Craig said, “Thanks,” as he took a long series of deep breaths, the revolver fat and heavy in his hands. Sarah was deeper in the rooms, waiting, and he wondered what she would think about this particular scenario, which came up in his mind like so:
Real scenario three: Porter resident and store owner takes revenge against cop having an affair with his wife.
He was in the second room, hidden behind a table and chair. His breathing sounded harsh in his protective helmet. He waited.
And wondered briefly what Stacy would think when this day was over. She had covered the day shift for him so he could do this training session, and amazingly so, she had kissed him on the cheek when he had left and had murmured, “Have fun.”
Have fun. Did she really mean it? Was she now regretting what had gone on between her and Dirk? Could it be over? Seeing her standing behind the counter, just as he was leaving, he had been stunned by his feelings of warmth and love and affection for her, even though she had betrayed him.
But who had betrayed whom first, with all the long hours, the sacrifices, the demands placed upon her?
Voices, outside. He raised the revolver, found his hand was shaking so hard he had to hold the gun with both hands.
He could not afford to miss. Could not afford to shake.
The approaching voices grew louder.
Two days earlier, he had sat in the apartment looking again at the black videocassette tape. He hadn’t viewed it since that first day, and had hidden it in a rear closet behind some shoes. He knew what he was planning, and when it was all said and done, when things were wrapped up, he wasn’t going to have this tape in his home. So among the other plans, he made plans to get rid of it, and soon.
Quick, quick, quick, he thought, Jesus, it’s going to be quick. No more time to think, no more time to reconsider, it was way too late for that.
“Police!”
“Search warrant!”
“Hands up!”
The forms came into view and he raised his gun and waited, waited until he saw the SWAT team member with the little yellow button on his chest, and he pulled the trigger and pulled the trigger and the shots started ringing out and the fire continued and BAM! something struck his chest with the force of a telephone pole being swung by a giant.
Cold. Wet. He opened his eyes, could hear voices in the distance, yelling and screaming. Hands were working over him, tugging at his clothes, getting them off. His chest ached and ached and he couldn’t catch his breath. It was as if he had run the race of his life and everything was now still. He opened his eyes and saw the glare of flashlights being trained down upon him.
He thought he was still in the bunker.
Cold. Wet. And now the wetness was warm.
And he thought he could hear sirens, off in the distance, and hoped somebody would remember to open up the gate in time.
And he closed his eyes.
It took some waiting, but eventually they did arrive in his hospital room, a couple of days before he was due to be discharged. The bullet wound in his chest was healing nicely and the pain was now just a manageable ache. Two solid-looking men in business suits, looking both professional and slightly embarrassed, came in and sat down. They mentioned their names and he forgot both names instantly, but in his mind he called one of them Lawyer and the other Cop. Both had thin black briefcases, which they balanced on their knees.
The cop started it off. “Mr. Francis, once again, I want to offer my personal apologies, as a member of the Porter Police Department, for what happened to you last week.”
He nodded. The lawyer jumped in as well. “And for the city of Porter, too, Mr. Francis — you also have our apologies.”
“Thank you,” he said, keeping his voice low and hoarse, though truth be told, he was doing better than he had expected when he had planned the whole thing out, when the utter insanity of what he came up with struck him and he thought about all the sacrifices he had made for that damn store, and now, he had made his final sacrifice. A big one, but one that would count. He knew Dirk was a crack shot, knew he would aim for the center of his body, and chances were, his heart or any other vital organ wouldn’t be struck. A chance, a crazy chance, but what the hell. The other options seemed worse. He did not want to lose Stacy... Stacy, who had come in blubbering and teary the day he had been admitted, and had Confessed All.