Reasonable Suspicion

By Barbara Butterfield

Officers Dan Temple and Andy Thomson are still busily patrolling the streets of South County. Their first books: Incident Command and Routine Patrol weren’t enough to stop these deputies as they continue to faithfully serve and protect.

Reasonable Suspicion is a patchwork of incidents and life events to which they have been called to rise to the occasion and battle the odds. No matter what life throws their way, Temple and Thomson get the job done. Occasionally, their methods may drive Lt. Ruger crazy, but he knows they can be counted on to save the day. Or can they?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9781669869054

Barbara Butterfield

Ms. Butterfield is California born and raised, and currently resides in a suburb of Phoenix, Arizona…where she lives with her favorite feline friend: Baybee. Integrity, suspense, camaraderie, romance, and personal growth are all values that play a vital role in her novels. More importantly, the gospel and spiritual growth are also an aspect of life into which she delves. Ms. Butterfield has written for many years; her first novel having been penned at the age of fourteen. She also studied writing and journalism, becoming the Editor-In-Chief of the school’s newspaper. She is currently working on her 60th novel.

Book preview

REASONABLE

SUSPICION

Barbara Butterfield

Copyright © 2023 by Barbara Butterfield.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 02/28/2023

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

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Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Credits

Dedication

Thanks and appreciation are extended to

my friend, and consultant:

Dan Templeton

Formerly a Deputy with

El Paso County Sheriff’s Office

For his willingness to critique chapters and lend his input.

His knowledge, borne from years in law enforcement as

well as military experience, is valuable and appreciated.

* * *

My heartfelt gratitude and thanks are also

extended to my bestie:

Sue Gardner, RN (Ret.)

For her tenacious proofreading of this manuscript

and lending her insight, which definitely improved

the final outcome of the story.

Blessings always!

Chapter 1

It had all happened so quickly, but then bad things usually do. Having been hit, the sudden impact of the bullet sent him reeling. After several seconds, his body rolled to a stop when he bumped up against the 2’ diameter trunk of a large pine tree. Dazed, he lay on his side, where he faced the thorny bark. Initially, he didn’t understand what had just happened. But all too quickly, reality hove into view with startling clarity.

Thirty-eight-year-old Andrew Thomson, a patrol officer with South County Sheriff’s Department (SCSD) had no idea anyone disliked him so vehemently. It was obviously a hatred whose embers burned so hot that someone would attempt to murder him.

When the contract had been fulfilled and yet the victim remained alive, the shooter just flat out didn’t know what to do. Confused by this unexpected turn of events, it had always seemed to his altered frame of mind that shooting someone from a thousand yards might be considered acceptable behavior.

It could only be guessed that was because from such a distance the shooter couldn’t really make out his target’s facial features. Hence, the victim lost a modicum of his humanity, and therefore became more of a character, perhaps from a video game. But when viewed up close, the man just could not bring himself to shoot his victim in cold blood. An act, mind you, that he’d had no trouble performing only minutes before.

Daily, Andy attempted to plan his schedule so that after his shift there would still be plenty of time in which he could go for a jog around the park near his home. Though the day and time could often vary simply by how the events of any one day might have played out. Hence, he didn’t always leave his house at precisely 6:00 in the evening, especially when he was late getting home from work. However, over the last few weeks he had begun to fall into more of a routine. To those who stealthily surveilled him that regular schedule had proven helpful and would also prove to be the officer’s downfall.

Andy lay on the ground in the concealing shadows of nearby evergreen trees. When he had collected himself enough to realize he’d been shot, and was thankfully still alive, he allowed himself to slowly ease onto his back.

Unnervingly, that was the precise moment his hearing detected the unmistakable sound of a round being chambered as the slide of a handgun was pulled back and then released. Stunned, his gaze rose upward to where it met the hooded, dark brown eyes of his would-be assassin.

The man stood just over 6’ tall, and was slender in build, but not scrawny. He held the gun at the ready, pointed downward, and aimed directly at the center of the chest of the jogger he had just tried to kill.

Don’t move, the man ordered, demanding obedience.

I’m not, Andy confirmed, as his left hand clung fast to his right shoulder doing his best to protect the injured extremity. He held on tightly because to his way of thinking the greater the pressure the less pain he would feel, but his action could also help stop the bleeding. However, it was becoming evident that wasn’t working too well as rivulets of bright red blood could be seen seeping in between his fingers and running down his hand.

Why couldn’t you be like all the others and just die, the man petulantly accused. Apparently, having his intended victim survive the attempted murder was a drawback for him.

Sorry to disappoint you, Andy grumbled, unmoving.

Well, I can’t just shoot you here like this, the man stated. Exasperated, he threw his hands up in the air.

"You said something about the others?" Andy inquired. He figured that by starting a conversation it might help get the man’s train of thought off the fact that his target was still alive and breathing. It might also serve to uncover some potentially interesting information in which SCSD detectives might be very interested.

Yeah, what about ‘em?

You’ve killed before?

Ohhh sir, it’s what I do.

Couldn’t get regular employment, huh? Andy chided.

Shut the… the man started to shout but decided not to as he saw some joggers approaching up the lakeside path.

Don’t say one word, the man ordered, his voice low and menacing.

Not a problem, Andy replied, and both men silently watched as two females jogged past their location. Hidden by the dense foliage, and the shadows of early evening, the women never saw or heard anything amiss and kept right on running.

Damn, the man swore as he watched them run off, and slowly shook his head.

There’s a problem?

Yeah, there’s a problem. If it wasn’t for you, I could take my time with them and maybe have a little fun, he explained, and becoming angry his left foot lashed out, kicking Andy in the ribs. He grimaced with the sudden pain but said nothing.

How…how many people have you murdered? Andy asked, interested on both a professional level as well as just morbid curiosity.

Oh, I don’t murder, the man corrected, shaking his head.

But you said you killed.

Dispatched, the man corrected. Andy had to think about that for a minute as he pondered what place semantics held in the commission of a murder.

"You dispatch…people?" Andy inquired, his eyes narrowing on the man.

Yeah, and I get paid well too.

"You’re a paid killer?" Andy stated, surprised by what he was hearing.

Is there any other kind?

Well, yeah.

Then they’re stupid to kill for free. I make good coin doing this. One target every couple of months…shoot, I get paid good enough I work about two hours every other month or so.

Sounds lucrative.

Ohhh yeah, for sure.

Ever give any thought to the fact that what you’re doing is illegal, not to mention immoral?

I used to. I mean, it really sorta’ used to bug me, you know?

I didn’t know that.

Yeah, it really did. But then I pushed through and decided it was a pretty easy way to make ends meet.

You don’t get caught?

Nope. You see, that’s all part of the gig. I do it my way, and for a successful score I get paid very well, but it also ensures that I get away. But the pay is good enough, so all I have to do is lay low for a couple months. Once the heat is off, or you know…things cool down a little, I can emerge from my cave…that’s what I like to call it, he explained with a chuckle. And take another job.

You advertise?

Naw, it’s all word of mouth. That’s how it works best, you know. I do a good job and the guy that hired me is happy with the results. Then, as the need arises, he tells someone, and then they tell someone and generally, it keeps a steady stream of income coming in.

But you’re murdering people, Andy argued.

The way I look at it is this, every job has a downside, the man reasoned.

Wait a minute, so what you’re saying is that shooting me wasn’t just for kicks, or an accident?

Oh, hell no. Have you seen the price of ammo lately?

"Someone hired you to kill me?" Andy asked, stunned by the realization.

That’s the way it works, bud.

Who?

Ahhh, no. That’s always classified information.

Since I’m not dead, you won’t get paid though.

Noooo, you got it all wrong.

Sorry. I’ve never been a ‘hit’ before.

I get paid upfront for the whole job. If something goes wrong, you know, like it did today. I can refund a couple thou, or not, it’s part of the contract and solely up to my discretion.

Can your employer ask for another attempt? Andy asked, and he was really interested in knowing the answer to this question.

Oh sure, the man replied with an airy shrug. But they don’t usually do that.

Why not?

It starts to get muddy; you know what I’m sayin’? With a clean shot and kill, I’m outta’ here. I’ve already been paid, the job fulfilled, and I just disappear. But when people…like you live, then it gets a bit sketchy. Usually, the employer won’t request another attempt. There’s just too much of a chance that as the cops come sniffin’ around, and they will, they might get wind of what’s going on. At that point I just disappear, and the employer thinks twice about the whole gig. So, that’s really a good thing for you.

Yeah, imagine, Andy remarked with disdain. So, what’s your name?

I’m…oh wait, the man pulled up short, laughing. I’m not going to tell you. What do you think I am, stupid?

The thought had crossed mind, yeah, Andy replied. So, where were you when you took that pot shot at me?

I was on a roof near Adams Tiles, the man replied, making sure he didn’t let it out what his real location had been. Andy’s face registered that he was actively thinking about what the man had said, envisioning the location in his mind, and it seemed to be quite a distance.

But that’s way over… Andy began to speak, but his voice trailed off, as he pointed in the proper direction.

Yeah, I know, the man said, smiling. It was obvious, that even though he had failed, he was still proud of the attempt.

"You didn’t shoot with that handgun," Andy challenged, indicating the handgun held by the man.

No, I didn’t. I have a nice, high-powered rifle, with a scope. I stashed it before coming over here to see if you were doing the room temperature shuffle, ya’ know?

Good aim, though far from perfect, Andy assessed, though in this instance he was glad.

It’s called sniiiperrr, the man cajoled. Well, you might want to get that arm looked at.

I plan on it.

Well, have a good night. I need to hit the road. Oh, and try not to tell every living soul about what happened here this evening.

Why not? The hospital personnel are going to ask, and my boss too.

Why would your boss care?

Well, this might lay me up for a few days, who’s going to pull my patrol while this is healing.

Oh, I’m sure someone can…wait, did you say patrol? What do you mean? Are you a cop? The man asked, suddenly on the verge of panic.

Yes, I am.

Ah, hell! The man swore, kicking at the dirt with the toe of his booted foot.

Is that a problem? Andy dryly asked.

Man, I’m going to go to my employer and ream him a new one for this. I don’t target cops!

You don’t.

No. Law enforcement gets really pissed when you ‘hit’ a cop.

So, you have limitations.

I have my reputation to uphold, buddy. Hey, listen if I had known you were a cop, I wouldn’t have done this.

You’d decline the job and the money?

Oh hell, no! I’d accept the job and the money; I just wouldn’t fulfill the contract.

There’s no honor among thieves, as they say, Andy quipped.

A thief will take out a thief, just like that, the man declared with a snap of his fingers. The only honor I have is right here, he added, tapping at his chest.

Somehow I doubt that, Andy replied.

Well, now that it’s completely dark out, guess I’ll take off. Look, I’m really sorry about shooting you, really. Like I said, I’m not a cop killer. Man, I’m going to beat the shit out of the guy that hired me.

Who was it? Look, just give me a name and let my agency bring him to justice, Andy suggested, hoping to learn the employer’s identity.

Sorry, I can’t disclose. The minute I start singin’, I’ll lose business.

Tragic, Andy replied, deadpan.

Completely. Listen, be sure to get your arm checked out. Get a good night’s rest too, it’ll help with the healing.

Don’t you find it disturbing that you proclaim to be a sniper, have a high-powered rifle with a scope, and you missed? Andy countered and the man chuckled.

"Hell, I never said I was a good sniper," the man winked, and holstering his weapon he dashed off into the night.

Chapter 2

All I wanted to do was just jog around the park, Andy muttered as he slowly pushed himself to his feet. Straightening his back, he stretched ever so slightly and began to walk toward the paved path that edged the small city lake. Now that the adrenaline was beginning to loosen its grip on him, he was beginning to feel the shoulder wound more keenly.

During the mile walk to his home, he received more than one odd stare from various passersby, though no one offered to help him. He figured they were all too stunned by the sight of the bloodied jogger to think to ask if he needed help. He did provide quite an unexpected sight though.

Within thirty minutes, Andy turned to his left and walked up the driveway to the front porch of his home. He was moving a lot more slowly by this time, and it proved to be an effort to simply put one foot in front of the other. Fishing the key ring from his pocket, he stood at the door quivering ever so slightly as he tried to get the key into the lock.

Damn it, Andy swore under his breath. Stop shaking, he admonished himself. You’ve been shot before; this is no different.

But as he worked to get the key into the lock, he realized all too clearly that this time was different. This had been a deliberate act, and emotionally that fact was beginning to get to him.

Blood continued to run from the open wound, though his cotton t-shirt worked remarkably well at absorbing most of it. Consequently, Andy had left a trail of red, irregularly shaped, splotches on the sidewalk all the way home. He also left a small puddle on the porch while he struggled to gain access to his home.

At last, he managed to steady himself enough to get the front door unlocked. He petted his dog, Buddy who greeted him at the door while he closed the portal with his left hand.

Down Bud, down, Andy groaned as he gently pushed the large dog back down onto all fours. Dad’s not feeling up to par right now, he muttered, and the dog seemed to accept that his owner was treading on shaky ground.

I need to sit down, Andy sighed, and blinking hard to try and regain some clarity of thought, he realized that he had been speaking to no one.

Feeling ill-at-ease, his gaze naturally fell on the couch. Being nearby he felt it would be the best place to take a load off for a few minutes, and so he took a few unsteady steps in that direction. But just then he paused when the room suddenly seemed to be whirling. It was then that his world began to fall apart.

As people tend to do, Andy shook his head thinking that might help clear his mind, but it didn’t work nearly as well as he had hoped. He took two more faltering steps…paused, and collapsed to his knees. Unable to maintain even that minor vertical position, he blacked out and pitched forward, crumbling the rest of the way to the carpet.

Out cold, Andy lay unmoving. Buddy curled up beside him and refused to leave his master’s side throughout the whole, long night.

* * *

It was 0700 the following day, and the morning shift of deputies had assembled in the briefing room. After the informative 30-minute meeting, the men and women were dismissed, except for Officer Dan Temple who was called up to the front of the room.

Temple? Lt. Ruger called out the deputy’s name just as he was about to exit down the aisle and head out on patrol, even though his partner was in absentia.

Yes sir, Dan replied. With his departure delayed, he turned and walked back to the front of the room.

Have you heard from your partner, who apparently chose to sleep in this morning? We’ve called him about ten times, and he’s not answering his phone, Lt. Ruger asked, slightly irritated by the deputy that seemed to be MIA.

No, I haven’t.

This isn’t like him to not call out if he’s sick, Ruger thoughtfully commented.

I agree.

Look, before you hit the street run by Thomson’s home and see if he’s there. If he’s sick or something, he might need help, who knows.

Yes sir.

Call me as soon as you know anything.

Of course, Dan nodded, and turning he made his way out to the parking lot.

Twenty-five minutes later, Dan eased the SUV patrol vehicle to a stop at the curb in front of his partner’s residence. He swung the door open, stepped from the car, and after locking it made his way across the sidewalk where he began to walk up the driveway. But his pace slowed considerably when he happened to glance downward and noticed numerous red splotches on the pavement.

Glancing to his left, he saw that the spots originated from the north, but there didn’t seem to be any on the sidewalk to the south. He also noticed that the spots were evenly spaced, approximately one stain every three feet.

Becoming concerned, Dan strode up to the front porch and was alarmed to see a rather large puddle of dried blood in front of the door. Whoever had been bleeding had stood in that same spot for several minutes.

Dan considered calling for additional units and requesting medical, but at this point, he chose not to. There were too many unanswered questions.

Still, this didn’t bode well, and Dan knocked on the front door. When he didn’t receive an answer, he pounded on the door, and though the portal wasn’t opened, Buddy responded.

Listening, Dan heard the dog on the other side of the door. He was whimpering, whining, and one paw continually scratched at the wooden portal.

It’s okay, Buddy…it’s Uncle Dan, the officer called out as he fished a key ring from his pants pocket. Going through the assortment, he separated one key from the rest.

But as he started to insert it into the keyhole, he paused when he saw that the doorknob was smeared with dried blood. Shoving the instrument into the keyhole, he unlocked the door and entered the home.

Shit, he murmured when he saw his best friend and patrol partner lying on the floor.

Andy? Andy, are you alright? It seemed like a silly question, but under such circumstances it truly is the query most often used.

Squatting beside his friend, Dan placed two fingers to the side of Andy’s neck, where he felt for a pulse from the carotid artery. It caused an amount of concern when he found that he had to apply a bit more pressure in order to feel the meager throb as the blood pulsed through his partner’s body.

Dan didn’t detect the scent of alcohol, so he knew his partner hadn’t gotten crazy with his favorite Mountain Man ale the night before.

Not knowing what was wrong, Dan put his hand to his partner’s right shoulder and rolled him over toward himself, and onto his back. Dan pulled his hand away and was surprised to find it was covered with blood, sticky, and wet.

It was still early in the morning, and the heavy draperies remained closed. In addition, the house faced north, so in the shadowy illumination of the living room, coupled with his partner’s positioning on the floor, Dan hadn’t noticed the puddle of blood that stained the dark forest green carpeting beneath Andy’s shoulder.

Shit. Andy, what the hell did you do? Dan quietly swore. Absently, he wiped his hand on his pants and then immediately keyed his mic.

2-A-41, he began, using his own call sign. Start medical for one male, stat. Apparent gunshot wound to the right shoulder. 2315 Oceanview, Laguna.

He then pulled out his cell phone and hit the autodial button for Lt. Ruger, who answered on the second ring.

Ruger here.

Lieutenant, Dan Temple.

Dan, what’s up?

I found him. He’s out cold on the living room floor. He may have been out of it all night. It looks like he’s got a gunshot wound to the shoulder. There doesn’t appear to be an exit wound either. I’ve called for medical.

"Crap. Stay with him. I’ll put someone else on your patrol area for today.

Thank you.

Dan, does it look like a home invasion situation? Ruger asked.

No, it doesn’t. Actually, there’s a trail of blood along the sidewalk from the north, up his driveway and onto the front porch. Whatever happened, it occurred somewhere else, and he made it home, looks like just in time too.

Okay. I’m requesting additional units for the crime scene and further canvassing of the blood trail to determine the shooting location.

Good, thank you.

Let me know as soon as the docs find out what’s going on. When he comes around, I want to know that too. I want to know what happened!

Yes sir.

I wonder why he didn’t call 9-1-1 from wherever he was when he was shot?

I don’t know, Dan replied with a shrug. Maybe he didn’t think it was as bad as it was or didn’t have his phone with him. His shirt’s covered with blood, and the carpet didn’t fare much better. He must have known he was hit bad, there’s just too much blood to overlook, and mistake it as something minor.

Crap. Maybe by the time it dawned on him he was too out of it to call for help, Ruger swore thinking about his deputy and wondering what could possibly have happened.

Perhaps.

Call me as soon as you know anything. I’ll swing by the hospital, Samaritan General - Harbor, not Downtown as soon as I can get away from here.

Yes sir, Dan replied, and the connection was broken.

* * *

Dan grabbed a crocheted quilt from the back of the couch and covered his partner with it. The bleeding seemed to have stopped, but he didn’t dare move his friend any more than was absolutely necessary. He then let Buddy out the kitchen door so he could take care of his business, while he filled the dog’s food and water bowls.

Soon, he heard the sound of distant sirens and knew that help was on the way. Within a minute, a firetruck, ambulance, and another SCSD patrol vehicle were all parked in front of the residence.

Hey Dan, fire department paramedic Mark Anderson greeted as he and his partner, Dylan Farmer entered the home, first aid kit in hand.

What happened? Mark asked, as knelt beside the patient.

Not sure how it happened but looks to me like a gunshot wound to the right shoulder, Dan replied, as he stood nearby observing the medic’s triage.

Andy? Mark spoke to his patient. Andy, can you hear me, buddy? And the dog barked.

Buddy, not you, Dan said, as he shushed the dog that was listening to the activity in the living room while standing at the screen door of the kitchen.

Andy? Come on, bud…tell us what happened, Mark tried again, a little louder, but still there was no response.

Dylan, Mark spoke to his assistant. Get an IV started, stat, with normal saline, and get O2 on him right away.

With his fingers to the patient’s wrist, he counted the pulse rate, which was much higher than it should have been. With the information noted, he wrapped the blood pressure cuff around the patient’s upper arm and pumped up the device. These results were also disconcerting as the patient’s BP was abnormally low. The monitor was brought into service and the twelve leads were applied to the patient’s torso.

With time being of the essence, Mark didn’t bother to take Andy’s temperature, his patient was cold and clammy to the touch, and his breathing shallow and rapid. There was only time to get supportive treatment started.

Dan noticed the somber increase in concern in the paramedics, and though he was thankful they were on the job, he felt there was also cause for worry.

Mark then retrieved a pair of scissors to cut away the blood-soaked t-shirt to expose the patient’s wound.

Dan, do you know how this happened? Mark inquired, as he glanced up at the officer.

No idea, Dan replied, shaking his head.

You’ll have a pretty good idea when they get it out of him.

I reckon, Dan agreed.

Tyler, Mark spoke to one of the ambulance attendants that was standing nearby. Move that gurney over here please.

Within minutes, Andy was lifted onto the gurney where he was covered with a blanket, and Velcro straps were securely fastened to keep him safe during transit.

Will you be riding with us? Mark asked the patient’s partner.

No, I’ll…uh, I’ll follow, Dan remarked, though it was easy to see his mind was on his severely injured partner. Thoughts raced through his mind wondering what had happened and praying his partner would be alright.

Chapter 3

What the hell do you mean, it didn’t work? The man charged. Standing up, he rounded the desk to meet the hired killer face to face.

They had agreed to meet in the back office of a deserted gas station at the edge of town. Not only was the name of the place redundant as: Larry’s Lube and Oil, it would also quite likely never be the same again.

Just what I said, what part of ‘he’s not dead’, don’t you understand? The killer replied without flinching. He didn’t fear this man in the least.

"I gave you one job to do, and I expected the results as described."

Well, I’m so very sorry to have destroyed your delusion of what a sniper is, the killer snidely replied.

"A sniper hits his target!" The man charged.

"Hey, how about that, I am a sniper!" The killed quipped.

You hit him, but he didn’t die! The panicked man raged, for suddenly his plan to exonerate himself from the whole situation just went straight out the window.

"A sniper hits the target, and a good sniper kills the target," the killer explained.

Well?

"Isn’t it obvious? I’m not a good sniper!"

But you said!

I never said I was good. If I was good, I’d still be in the service.

Coward, the man spat.

Of the two of us, I wouldn’t say I was the coward. After all, you hired me to do a job that you didn’t have the balls to do yourself.

"Right. I hired you!" The man exclaimed, beside himself.

"And I did the job. I just didn’t do it well."

I want my money back!

No way in hell, the killer calmly replied, shaking his head.

But you didn’t deliver!

I was there, and I shot him. It’s not my fault he didn’t die!

I’m never hiring an assassin again, the man declared. Exasperated, he threw his hands up in the air.

Good, because you’re not very good at it, and another thing...

What?

No paid killer with an ounce of moxey will knowingly go out and kill a cop. Shame on you.

Shame on me?! The man shrieked, disbelieving of what this paid killer was saying.

Yeah. You conveniently neglected to give me all the details, the killer complained.

And you would’ve said no, had I told you the target was a cop? The man inquired, still stunned.

"Not at all. I would’ve taken the job, and the money. I just would’ve left town."

"You mean you would have stolen from me?" The man asked, aghast at the prospect of such an occurrence.

"Well hell, you wanted me to murder someone, and a cop at that! What the hell were you thinkin’?"

I was thinking I wanted him eliminated, the employer somberly replied. His response was almost too calm; therefore, it was also just a bit unnerving.

Dispatched, the killer corrected.

Okay, dispatched…whatever.

Why, what’d he ever do to you? Give you a teensy-weensy ticket for speeding? The killer cooed, which only infuriated the offended customer.

He saw something I did, and I don’t want that information to get out.

You just don’t look good in orange, is that it? The killer quipped, for he surely wasn’t taking his employer with the least ounce of seriousness.

I don’t want to go to prison for what I did, the man stated.

But that’s the way it works, bro. Do the crime, do the time, or don’t you keep current on slogans? The killer advised.

You only do the time, if you don’t have a dime.

No, the killer said, thinking about the man’s words. That slogan will never catch on. But I hear ya’. If you have enough dough, you can buy your way out of doing the time, right?

Odds are, yes. As long as you have a good attorney, and that takes money.

Ever wonder about the kind of scum it takes to be a lawyer that defends the guilty?

This is not Poli Sci 101, and I want my money back! The man raged, bringing the duo back on topic.

Well, buy yourself a good attorney then, because my contract clearly states…

"Yes…hmm, I have your signed contract. I could turn you in," the man thoughtfully mused, thinking he had inadvertently stumbled onto an easy pothole on the road to blackmail.

"How stupid are you? I didn’t sign with my correct name."

You didn’t? You mean your real name isn’t Buzzy Honeypot?

Hell no, the killer replied as he totally dissolved into a fit of laughter. Apparently, I ain’t as stupid as you are, he continued once he had wiped the tears from his eyes. "Do you mean to tell me that you would actually go to the cops and admit you hired a contract killing?!"

Well, now that you put it that way, I guess not.

Dude, you really need to give up being a criminal because you totally suck at it, the killer commented.

I’ll have you know I was an honorable man, until a few years ago, the man stated, and suddenly the bluster and bravado of his stance seemed to wither.

"Well, I don’t know you, or what you did. But it was apparently bad enough for you to hire me to dispatch another human being so you could protect your formerly lily-white ass. I’d say you need to do some confessing, bro."

Never. What happened was an accident.

Really. That’s what they all say. However, an accident could be forgiven. But since you seem to be trying to cover it up? And have someone murdered…?

I thought you said it was called being ‘dispatched’?

Mankind often changes what something really is to make it sound more noble. Kind of like how those Pro-Abortion folks changed to Pro-Choice. It’s still murdering a baby, but it just somehow sounds better.

Low blow.

Truth often hurts. You’d better get used to that. Hey, why didn’t you just come clean with your accidental misdeed, the killer asked.

They wouldn’t have understood, the man replied, as he once again sank into despair.

"Maybe, maybe not. But whoever they are, you never gave ‘em a chance, and so now you’re screwed."

I’ll just hire someone else to target him, the man rallied.

I wouldn’t do that if I was you.

Why not?

"Because I do know who you are, and if I read in the news that a cop was taken out, I will sing like the prettiest canary you ever heard."

But that would implicate you.

Maybe, maybe not. I’ve been successfully lying my way out of messes since I was five. Besides, you know that phone number people can call when they think they know something that might help solve a case?

Protected EyeWitness?

Yeah, that’s it. My homies and I, we like to call it the Condom of Truth line. It protects us, just like…

That’s disgusting.

Yeah well, you’re probably not any good at that either. Well, I’d better be going now.

No refund? The man asked, seeking one final chance.

Nope, and I’ll tell you why. I could’ve eked out a couple thou in a refund, maybe…but you didn’t tell me all the details.

"You didn’t need to know the details," the man argued.

When it comes to offin’ a cop, yeah I do.

Well, how was I to know that a killer had a conscience?

If you cut us, do we not bleed? The killer asked, and the man just rolled his eyes.

Dude…listen, I’m out twenty-grand. That was the majority of my 401K, he pleaded. It was his hope to lean on the only surviving nerve in the killer’s body, with the goal of establishing mercy as common ground between the two men. But it didn’t work nearly as well as he would have liked.

"And that, bro…was your choice."

But I didn’t get what I paid for! The employer shouted, coming right back to the attack.

You sure as hell did! You paid for me to show up. I did. You paid for me to bring my own equipment. I did. You paid me to provide my own ammo. I did. You paid me to shoot someone. I did.

But he’s not dead!

Oops, the killer said with a silly shrug. "Maybe if you had paid me better the results might have matched your expectations."

Paying you more, would’ve caused you to shoot better?

Maybe, maybe not. But you paid for one attempt. I ain’t runnin’ no specials like Buy One, Get One Free. I ain’t no quick mart.

Well, you smell like one.

Well, excuse me. I haven’t had my monthly bath yet, the killer chuckled.

Get out of here. You make me sick, the man declared. Becoming sullen, he was beginning to think it was all over for him. The road was blocked, and there didn’t seem to be any alternate routes.

No, it’s not me that makes you sick. Your current account balance in your 401K is what makes you sick, the killer chuckled as he turned to leave.

I could turn you in, the man offered, seeking one last way of getting to the soul of the killer he had hired.

"And I could turn you in. Look, it’s like this…if you turn me in to the cops, I will finger you like a Steinway grand piano. Face it, you’re screwed, bud. You did something bad, tried to cover it up, and then attempted to have the only witness murdered, and on top of all of that you’re out 20 G’s. Yep, you’re screwed. In fact, screwed blue."

Get out of here, the man muttered. I have no use for crooks.

Then I guess you don’t care much for yourself either, now do you? The killer claimed as he pulled the door open and walked into the sunlight. All the man could hear was the sound of the killer’s laughter as he shut the door and walked off down the street.

What was he to do now? Like flooring the accelerator toward a moving swing span bridge, he had to decide to either speed up and attempt to make a successful jump or give in and brake. He didn’t care for either option.

Chapter 4

Within fifteen minutes the ambulance arrived at the covered, circular driveway of Samaritan General’s Emergency Department. The gurney carrying the patient was unloaded and rushed quickly through the sliding double doors of the brightly lit ER.

Treatment Room 3, the nurse greeted, and led the way to the designated room. There, the patient was immediately transferred to the hospital’s gurney. Their job done; the paramedics quickly backed out of the way after handing their report to the nurse. Sue, the Shift Charge Nurse, hooked up the patient to the monitor and noted the current vital signs.

Andy’s t-shirt had not been cut completely away and removed by the paramedics while at the scene. So, using a pair of scissors the nurse finished the job, deftly cutting away the patient’s blood-soaked and soiled t-shirt.

In places, the fabric had dried blood caked on it, which had caused it to adhere to the patient’s skin. She had to work carefully to free the material without causing the wound to start bleeding again.

Within a minute, Dr. Drake Prescott rushed into the room where he quickly assessed his patient’s condition. Mind you, a patient he had treated many times over the years.

Andy, the physician spoke as he took a small Maglite from the pocket of his lab coat and flashed the bright beam across his patient’s eyes.

Equal and reactive, he commented to the nurse. Andy, it’s me, Dr. Prescott. Can you hear me, son? He asked, but there was no answer. Positioning the stethoscope, Prescott placed the auscultation disc on his patient’s bared chest and listened quietly.

Damn, 125 BPM, Prescott swore under his breath. Sue, what’s his BP?

100 over 60.

Get CBC, type, and cross match, stat.

Of course.

Respirations are 30. Get another bag of saline ready, we need to replace volume, stat.

Yes sir.

Is there an exit wound?

There doesn’t appear to be, Sue responded.

Damn. We need to get him into surgery. Have the admin secure an OR right away. Oh, and let’s get a picture of that shoulder. I want to see what we’re dealing with before we get in there.

Yes sir.

I’ll be back in a minute, Prescott said, and he turned and was out the door.

Dan! Prescott called out when he saw Andy’s partner waiting just down the hall, but not quite in the waiting room.

Dr. Prescott, how is he?

Not good, but I’ve seen worse.

Prognosis?

We are working to get his BV up because we are going to be moving him into surgery.

BV?

"Blood volume. He appears to be suffering from