HavinFunAgain
Experienced
- Joined
- Sep 12, 2014
- Posts
- 53
(Closed)
Jon watched in silence as the life slipped slowly from the man at his feet. It wasn't until after he heard the last breath escape the convict's lungs that Jon pulled out his cell phone.
"This is U.S. Marshall Jon Miller," he told the 9-1-1 operator. He looked about himself for a landmark, more out of habit than because he didn't honestly know where he was. "I am on State Road 4, six miles south of the interstate. I need an ambulance and local LEOs on the scene of an officer involved shooting."
He looked down to the man in now-bloodied prison blues, adding, "One worthless piece of shit down."
He ended the call before the Operator even finished her first inquiry, then headed back to his sedan parked at the side of the road. He was still sitting in it, with the air conditioning making the time bearable, twenty minutes later when the first of several vehicles arrived, this one a County Sheriff's cruiser.
He emerged, flashed his badge to the cautiously approaching Deputy, and pointed off toward a slight rise near the road. "Dead fugitive, one Tiny Cramer, just yonder. I have to go."
He handed the Deputy one of his cards and turned to leave, causing the Deputy to call out, "But Marshall, we need you to stick around ... to answer questions and--"
Jon gave him a hard look as he dropped into his sedan. "I have a murder to prevent. Deal with this."
Even as the local lawman was continuing his semi-demand, Jon was shooting the car out onto the highway and back to the Club where all of this had begun.
It was too late, he thought, as he rounded the corner to find the city street in front of "The Hideaway" illuminated by the red and blues of ambulances, City Police Cruisers, and more. He made his way into and through the mob business, flashing his badge when needed, until he was in the back where the private party rooms were located.
There, he found his boss, Pete Samson, engaged in quiet conversation with three fellow Marshalls. The instant Pete looked up to find Jon heading toward him, he said with anger, "Where the hell have you been?"
Jon looked about the room. He'd already seen four bodies on his way in, as well as a dozen or more people begin treated by EMTs; and here he found six more dead, some covered with white cloths, others not. He didn't answer Pete, but instead asked his own question as he pointed to the corpses. "Is he one of these?"
Pete shook his head. "No. He got away. Again. No thanks to you, Jon."
"I got his brother," Jon countered, recalling the man in the ditch a hundred miles away. He looked back to Pete, asking, "Where is he?"
His Chief pointed a finger toward the back of the room, saying, "Ask her.."
Jon studied the beautiful woman for a moment, trying to recall if he'd seen her in the company of Nicki "The Hook" Cramer before. He hadn't, or he simply didn't recognize her. "Who is she?"
"Witness," Pete said.
"She saw this all go down?" Jon asked, his tone obviously suspicious. "Nicki ... he doesn't usually leave witnesses."
"She hasn't said a word," Pete responded, "but the waitress out front says she was in here from beginning to end, so ... she had to have seen something. Whether or not she'd gonna say anything ... well, that's your department, Jon. You're the one who tends to get people to talk when they don't want to."
Jon's lips spread in a smirk as he again recalled the dead man in the desert, none other than Nicki Cramer's baby brother. Tiny had been a bit reluctant to tell Jon where he could find Nicki, but after the first shot to his gut and the Marshall's promise that he could have an EMT at the location in time to save his life, the younger Cramer spilled his guts, figuratively, about where Jon could find the Cramer Family's crime boss.
Of course, once Jon had what he wanted from Tiny, he put two more shots in him, then called Pete with Nicki's location here at "The Hideaway".
Jon asked Pete more questions about the happenings in the club, learning that by the time the LEOs had arrived, followed quickly by the Marshalls, the action was over. The shootout between the Cramer Family thugs and the Trenton Mob's hired guns had been short and sweet, Pete had been told, but it had left eighteen dead, mostly bad guys but a half dozen innocent civilians as well.
He turned his attention back to the supposed witness, studying her for a long moment before asking Pete, "What're we doing with her?"
"Well, you are going to see if she'll talk," Pete said, patting his most senior and most trigger happy Marshall on the shoulder as he turned to leave, adding, "then, you're going to take her to the safe house and sit on her until we find Nicki."
Jon grimaced. He hated Protective Custody. Sitting in a motel room, watching the streets through a slit in the drapes while his fellow Marshalls were out on those streets, searching for the bad guys. He made his way over to the woman, studied her again, then said bluntly, "So, what's your story?"
Jon watched in silence as the life slipped slowly from the man at his feet. It wasn't until after he heard the last breath escape the convict's lungs that Jon pulled out his cell phone.
"This is U.S. Marshall Jon Miller," he told the 9-1-1 operator. He looked about himself for a landmark, more out of habit than because he didn't honestly know where he was. "I am on State Road 4, six miles south of the interstate. I need an ambulance and local LEOs on the scene of an officer involved shooting."
He looked down to the man in now-bloodied prison blues, adding, "One worthless piece of shit down."
He ended the call before the Operator even finished her first inquiry, then headed back to his sedan parked at the side of the road. He was still sitting in it, with the air conditioning making the time bearable, twenty minutes later when the first of several vehicles arrived, this one a County Sheriff's cruiser.
He emerged, flashed his badge to the cautiously approaching Deputy, and pointed off toward a slight rise near the road. "Dead fugitive, one Tiny Cramer, just yonder. I have to go."
He handed the Deputy one of his cards and turned to leave, causing the Deputy to call out, "But Marshall, we need you to stick around ... to answer questions and--"
Jon gave him a hard look as he dropped into his sedan. "I have a murder to prevent. Deal with this."
Even as the local lawman was continuing his semi-demand, Jon was shooting the car out onto the highway and back to the Club where all of this had begun.
It was too late, he thought, as he rounded the corner to find the city street in front of "The Hideaway" illuminated by the red and blues of ambulances, City Police Cruisers, and more. He made his way into and through the mob business, flashing his badge when needed, until he was in the back where the private party rooms were located.
There, he found his boss, Pete Samson, engaged in quiet conversation with three fellow Marshalls. The instant Pete looked up to find Jon heading toward him, he said with anger, "Where the hell have you been?"
Jon looked about the room. He'd already seen four bodies on his way in, as well as a dozen or more people begin treated by EMTs; and here he found six more dead, some covered with white cloths, others not. He didn't answer Pete, but instead asked his own question as he pointed to the corpses. "Is he one of these?"
Pete shook his head. "No. He got away. Again. No thanks to you, Jon."
"I got his brother," Jon countered, recalling the man in the ditch a hundred miles away. He looked back to Pete, asking, "Where is he?"
His Chief pointed a finger toward the back of the room, saying, "Ask her.."
Jon studied the beautiful woman for a moment, trying to recall if he'd seen her in the company of Nicki "The Hook" Cramer before. He hadn't, or he simply didn't recognize her. "Who is she?"
"Witness," Pete said.
"She saw this all go down?" Jon asked, his tone obviously suspicious. "Nicki ... he doesn't usually leave witnesses."
"She hasn't said a word," Pete responded, "but the waitress out front says she was in here from beginning to end, so ... she had to have seen something. Whether or not she'd gonna say anything ... well, that's your department, Jon. You're the one who tends to get people to talk when they don't want to."
Jon's lips spread in a smirk as he again recalled the dead man in the desert, none other than Nicki Cramer's baby brother. Tiny had been a bit reluctant to tell Jon where he could find Nicki, but after the first shot to his gut and the Marshall's promise that he could have an EMT at the location in time to save his life, the younger Cramer spilled his guts, figuratively, about where Jon could find the Cramer Family's crime boss.
Of course, once Jon had what he wanted from Tiny, he put two more shots in him, then called Pete with Nicki's location here at "The Hideaway".
Jon asked Pete more questions about the happenings in the club, learning that by the time the LEOs had arrived, followed quickly by the Marshalls, the action was over. The shootout between the Cramer Family thugs and the Trenton Mob's hired guns had been short and sweet, Pete had been told, but it had left eighteen dead, mostly bad guys but a half dozen innocent civilians as well.
He turned his attention back to the supposed witness, studying her for a long moment before asking Pete, "What're we doing with her?"
"Well, you are going to see if she'll talk," Pete said, patting his most senior and most trigger happy Marshall on the shoulder as he turned to leave, adding, "then, you're going to take her to the safe house and sit on her until we find Nicki."
Jon grimaced. He hated Protective Custody. Sitting in a motel room, watching the streets through a slit in the drapes while his fellow Marshalls were out on those streets, searching for the bad guys. He made his way over to the woman, studied her again, then said bluntly, "So, what's your story?"
