Under a Raging Moon

SIX

Sunday, August 21st

Graveyard Shift

2113 hours

Kopriva left the roll call room and walked downstairs to the records desk on the main floor. With Scarface out of commission, it figured to be a slower night. Maybe he’d chase some warrants. Newly issued warrants were stacked by the counter for officers to look at until the records personnel found time to input them into the computer system. Kopriva thumbed through the pile.

“Hi, Stef,” came a female voice from behind the counter.

Kopriva looked up to see Maria Soledad smiling at him. The thirty-year-old Puerto Rican woman had the longest and darkest hair Kopriva had ever seen. He smiled back.

“Hi, Maria. Como Estas?”

“Bien. Y tu?”

“Good,” he replied, having just about reached the limit of his Spanish-speaking skills.

“Did you hear they caught that robber?”

Kopriva nodded, perusing the warrants. “Yeah. Can you believe it was a bunch of day-shifters that did it?”

“Well, they have more experience, don’t they?”

“Yeah, I suppose, when they want to work. I think coffee is the highest priority for some of them.”

“Oh, Stef, you’re being mean. Tu eres malo.”

“Call ’em as I see ’em,” Kopriva said. He pulled a felony drug warrant for a man named Martin Belzer from the stack and handed it to Maria. “Could you run him up for me?”

“Sure.” Maria sat at her desk and quickly entered the name into the computer. It amazed Kopriva how fast she could type. She waited several minutes for the system to come back with a response.

“You type too fast for the computer, Senora.”

“Ten words per minute would be too fast for this system,” Maria replied.

“Government spending at its best,” Kopriva joked.

“Es la verdad,” she said absently. “Looks like you hit the jackpot on this one. In addition to this felony hit here, he has another felony warrant for drugs, plus three misdemeanor warrants.”

“So five total?”

“No, actually seven,” she answered, staring at the screen. “Here’s two more misdemeanor hits out of Seattle. And they’re extraditable, too.”

“Great. Can you print that off for me and confirm the local ones?”

Maria hit several keys and a printer began to buzz next to her computer. “You want a picture of Mr. Ten Most Wanted?”

“Maria, you are a dream.”

“More like a nightmare,” she chuckled, calling up a booking photo of Martin Belzer and printing it. She handed the printout and the black-and-white photo to Kopriva. “I’ll check the file and be back in a few.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Kopriva looked at the printout. Belzer’s listed address was 1814 N. Quincey, in Adam Sector. He should probably have an Adam Sector officer go with him. Maybe Chisolm or-

“Hey, Stef, what’s up?” Katie MacLeod appeared at his side and reached for the warrant stack. “You finished with these?”

“Yeah. I already found my gold mine.” He waved the picture of Belzer.

“Really? How’s that?”

“Mr. Belzer here has a butt-load of warrants.”

“A butt-load? I see. Is that more or less than an ass-full?”

Kopriva considered. “I think it’s the metric conversion.”

Katie laughed. “Very funny. How many does he have?”

“Seven. Two of ’em are felony drug. His last known address is in Adam Sector. You want to come along?”

“Sure. I have to give Kevin a call first, though.”

“Oh, I see.” Kopriva made a whip-cracking sound.

Katie smacked him on the arm. “Shut-up. He said it was important.”

“Okay, okay.” Kopriva raised his hands in surrender. “I’ll meet you at the elementary school there at Monroe and Maxwell.”

“Okay. See you.” Katie walked away.

Kopriva made the whip-crack noise again. Katie stuck her hand in the middle of her back and gave him the finger.

“Such an angry finger,” Maria tut-tutted as she returned from the warrant confirmation. “What on earth did you say to her?”

Kopriva shrugged. “I dunno. Who knows with women? Right, Maria?”

“You better watch it, or I will give these warrants to someone else.”

Kopriva bowed. “Perdoneme. I am an insensitive male.”

Maria gave him a smile. “In that case, your warrants are confirmed. Buena suerte.”

Kopriva thanked her and left.

2130 hours

“Come on, Janice! One more!”

Janice shook her head. “No more, Mark. I gotta get going.”

“Come on!” Ridgeway argued. “It’s early yet.”

“Early if you started at seven,” Janice told him, slipping on her coat. Gio and Stone had left an hour ago. They probably thought they were doing her a favor by leaving her alone with Ridgeway. They weren’t. She’d heard about Ridgeway’s wife and the fireman. There was no way she was getting involved with a cop. Not again, and not with one on the rebound. “You’ve been here since four o’clock. It’s nine-thirty now. It’s time to go.”

“Fine. Go.”

“You should leave, too,” she said. “I’ll call you a cab.”

“I’m fine,” Ridgeway said. “I’ll drink coffee for awhile and drive home.”

Janice shook her head. “There isn’t enough coffee in Colombia to sober you up, Mark.”

“I’m not taking a cab,” he said, getting his back up. “It’s degrading.”

Janice resisted the urge to argue. It would just cause him to get more stubborn, anyway. “Okay. How about I drive you home?”

Ridgeway glanced up. His drunken gaze penetrated her, and she felt a pang in her stomach. Another time, another place.

“People will talk,” Ridgeway told her, his tone playful.

Janice snorted. “A grizzled veteran police officer once told me how to respond to people talking like that.”

“How?”

“I think he said, ‘Screw ’em.’ Or something equally eloquent.”

Ridgeway grinned. “Yeah. Screw ’em. I like that. Who told you that?”

Janice chuckled. “Some idiot.”

“Who?”

“You.”

Ridgeway let out a hearty laugh. He finished his drink in a gulp. “All right, Jan. You win. Let’s go.”

Janice reached into her purse, but Ridgeway waved her action away. He tossed a twenty on the bar and raised his hand to Johnny. The bartender waved back, a hint of relief showing on his face. Despite not seeming overly concerned, Janice knew the bartender had been monitoring the situation.

Outside in the parking lot, the warm night air smelled of weak beer and auto fumes. Janice tried to hold Ridgeway by the arm to support him, but he must have found that degrading as well. Instead, he slipped his arm around her shoulders. That fulfilled the same purpose of allowing her to support him, so she didn’t protest.

When they reached her Saturn coupe, she unlocked the passenger door and Ridgeway flopped onto the front seat. She swung his legs in with little help from him and shut the door. Then she went around to the driver’s side, got in and started the car.

Ridgeway sat silently as they drove, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Then he turned slowly to Janice and asked with a snarl, “Is this a little Jap car?”

“No.”

He didn’t seem to hear her answer. “Because if this was made by those little market-greedy zipper-heads, you can just let me out right now. Little yellow bastards. Shot up my Dad in World War II, killed my brother in ’Nam. Tried to shoot me in ’Nam, but couldn’t do it. Then you know what they did?”

“Mark-”

He slapped the dashboard, ignoring her. “The little sonsabitches came over here and bought the auto plant my Dad worked. Then they laid him off. Maybe they were pissed about not killing him in the war and thought they’d come over here and finish the job.”

“Mark-”

“Worked, too. He died six months after he got laid off.”

“Mark!”

Ridgeway turned to her, surprise registering on his face. “What? You don’t have to yell, Jan.”

Janice took a deep breath and let it out. “This car is a Saturn. It’s not Japanese. It’s made in the USA. And there’s a difference between Japanese and Vietnamese. They’re two completely different-”

“Made in the USA? No kidding?”

“Yes. Mark, you know all this. I know you know cars.”

Ridgeway shrugged. “It’s not the same as it used to be. Cars used to have a particular look to them, a distinctive style. Now they all look alike. There’s a thousand makes and models now. Nothing is the same as it used to be.” He shook his head, then repeated softly, “Nothing.”

Janice didn’t answer. She continued to drive.

Ridgeway was quiet a long while, then asked her, “Really now, this is made in the USA?”

Janice nodded. “Made in Tennessee.”

“No kidding. You’re my kind of girl, Janice, driving an American car.” He turned in his seat. “Hey, do you have a gun at home?”

“Of course.”

His eyebrows went up slightly. “What kind?”

“A.357 magnum.”

He nodded his approval. “Nice gun. Smith and Wesson?”

“I think so. Why?”

“Just wondering.” Ridgeway sighed. When he spoke, his words slurred noticeably. “You are just about the perfect woman, Janice. Are you an NRA member?”

“No. I’m not into politics. Every two years I vote for the person I think will do the best job. That’s about it.”

“Well, everyone has a flaw,” Ridgeway mused. “But damn near the perfect woman. I should have married you, Janice.”

“You’re drunker than a skunk.”

“Maybe so, but I still should have married you.”

Janice drove the rest of the way to Ridgeway’s house without saying another word. She didn’t want to remind him that the chance had been there sixteen years ago. Or that she hadn’t seemed so perfect to him then.

Ridgeway’s house stood in the middle of the 5000 block of North Atlantic. It was a typical two-bedroom, middle class rancher, perfect for a couple with no kids. Janice pulled up in front and shut off her lights. She looked at Ridgeway, who now dozed in the passenger’s seat.

Somehow, Janice got him awake and walked him clumsily to the front door. She found his keys in his jacket pocket and let them inside. Ridgeway staggered through the door and flopped onto the couch.

The house struck her as surprisingly well-kept for a house with a single male living in it. The dishes were done in the kitchen. She filled a glass with tap water, then went into the bathroom. Except for a towel on the floor in the corner, it, too, was clean. She found aspirin in the medicine chest above the sink and returned to the living room.

Ridgeway hadn’t moved. She nudged him.

“Here, take these aspirin.”

“Hmmmmmm?”

“C’mon, Mark. You’re gonna feel like hell in the morning as it is. Take the aspirin.”

“Mmmmmm.” Mark sat up squinting. With her help, he took the three tablets and a swallow of water. Then he flopped back onto the couch.

Janice removed his shoes and lifted his feet off of the floor and onto the cushions. In the hall closet she found a light blanket. Back in the living room, she covered him with it.

“Goodnight, my little robber-catcher.” She kissed him lightly above his eyebrow.

“‘Night, Alice,” Ridgeway murmured.

Janice tried not to be hurt, but failed. Without being quite as gentle, she tucked the blanket around him, dropped his keys on the small table by the door and locked it behind her.

She drove toward home. Stupid. I’m so stupid. She turned on the car radio. Some bubble-gum pop music filled the small car. Janice forced herself to sing along and tried not to think.

2148 hours

Kopriva waited in the parking lot of the elementary school, surprised at how late Katie was. He’d checked with radio to see if she was checked into service yet and she wasn’t. That phone call from her boyfriend must have been a long one.

Eventually, a police car pulled into the dark lot and glided up next to him. Katie lowered her window. “Sorry I took so long.”

Kopriva thought she sounded a little strange, like she had been crying. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said shortly. “Where’s this guy live?”

Kopriva turned on his interior light and read her the address aloud.

“Okay. Meet you there,” she said and drove off.

Something was definitely wrong, Kopriva knew. He also knew that if Katie didn’t want to tell him, she wasn’t going to. She had a stubborn streak that way.

Kopriva drove quickly to the address, parked up the street and walked in. Katie met him behind a tree in front of the house. He noticed that it was a neatly painted white with a well-tended yard.

Kopriva frowned. He doubted Belzer still lived there. Druggers seldom showed much concern about the house or yard where they lived. Besides, they generally didn’t stay in any one place for long. But maybe they’d get a lead on him here.

After peering through the window and finding the inside just as tidy as the yard, Kopriva rang the door-bell. A red-headed woman in her early twenties opened the door.

“Hello?” She said, and then noticed their uniforms. “Oh. Is something wrong?”

“No, ma’am,” Kopriva assured her. “Can we come in and talk with you for a moment?”

“Um, yeah, I guess.” She stepped aside and allowed them to enter.

Once inside, Kopriva noticed the pleasant aroma of a burning candle. No chance this was Belzer’s place. About the only thing druggers burned besides their pipes was the occasionally stick of incense.

Kopriva asked the woman for her name.

“Michelle Belzer,” she answered. “Why?”

“We’re looking for Martin Belzer. Is he your husband or…?”

Michelle snorted. “Hell, no! Unfortunately, he’s my uncle.” She crossed her arms and frowned. “Why? What’d he do this time?”

“We just need to talk to him,” Kopriva said. “Does he live here?”

“No,” Michelle answered. “He did for awhile, but my parents kicked him out. He’s pretty well burned his bridges with most of the family. He does drugs, if you didn’t know.”

“How long ago was he living here?”

Michelle considered. “A month or so. His mail still comes here, though.”

“Any idea where he might be now?”

“Not really. That’s why I still have a ton of his mail. His Mom and his sister still support him somewhat. Either one of them might know.”

“Who would be more likely to help us find him?”

Michelle considered briefly. “My Aunt. That’s his sister. She might help, depending on how she feels about him at the moment.”

“All right. Do you mind if we check around here really quick? That way we can tell our boss that he’s definitely not here.”

She shrugged. “Sure.”

While Kopriva checked, Katie stayed with Michelle. Kopriva overheard Michelle asking Katie numerous questions about being a female cop. Katie answered her politely, but seemed a little short, which was unlike her.

Kopriva’s search of the house turned up no sign of Belzer and no evidence outside of the master bedroom of a male living at the house. That completed, Kopriva asked Michelle for the number and address of Belzer’s mother and sister. She read them to him from her address book. Kopriva wrote them in his notebook and thanked her.

“Anytime,” Michelle said. “That jerk stole eight hundred dollars of my tuition money one quarter last year from my parent’s house. I hope he rots in hell.”

Ah, Kopriva thought. Revenge.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “You’ll have to settle for jail, though. I’m not in charge of hell. Yet.”

Michelle laughed at his joke as he and Katie left.

Back in his car, Kopriva plugged in his cellular phone. He’d bought it for use on the job when it became apparent the department could never afford to supply officers with one. It had proven to be a valuable tool.

Katie pulled her car next to him. “So?”

“So now I call mom and sister and see if they will give me a lead.”

Kopriva dialed the sister’s number. The line was busy.

“Busy,” he told Katie. “You think Michelle is in there ratting us off?”

Katie shrugged. “Doubt it.”

“Me, too. But you never know.”

Katie let out a small snort. “Yeah, you never know.”

Kopriva dialed the mother’s number. The phone rang twice, then a male voice answered. “Hello?”

“Hello? Is Mrs. Belzer home?”

“No. She’s not here. Can I help you?”

“Depends on who you are,” Kopriva said.

“I’m her son.”

Kopriva smiled in surprise. “Martin Belzer?”

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

Damn! His smile faded, but he thought quickly. “It’s the United States Postal Service, Mr. Belzer.”

“Who?”

“The Post Office, sir. Actually, Mr. Belzer, we were hoping to locate you. My name is James Zurn. I work in misdirected mail and forwarding addresses. I understand you used to live at-” Kopriva paused, pretending to shuffle through some papers. “At 1814 N. Quincey. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Well, sir, we’ve been getting mail back from that address stating that you are no longer there. However, we show a last name of Belzer still residing there.”

“Yeah. My brother lives there. I moved out a while back.”

“I see. Okay, well, if you can give me an updated address, I’ll enter it into the computer right now and you should start getting all your mail again.”

“I’m living with my mother right now,” he said and gave the address.

Kopriva had him repeat part of it several times and complained, “This computer is slow sometimes.”

In the car next to him, Katie chuckled. “You’re pushing your luck,” she whispered.

“Maybe that’s why the mail takes so long,” Belzer joked.

“Actually, sir, if you compare the US Postal system with other western nations in Europe, we are fourteen to seventeen percent faster on average. Only Japan and Denmark have a faster mail system.”

“Yeah?”

“We’re cheaper, too,” Kopriva added.

“Oh.” Belzer was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Isn’t it kind of late to be doing this kind of thing?” His voice held a tinge of suspicion.

“We’re on twenty-four hours in this department, sir. It’s the only way to keep up.”

“Oh.” Suspicion remained in his voice.

“Besides,” Kopriva said, “we catch a lot of people on the phone between five and ten PM. Everyone who works, basically. We generally try not to call after ten, though.” He glanced at his watch. It was 10:08 PM. “Anyway, Mr. Belzer, you should have restored mail service immediately and receive all your misdirected mail within three days. If you have any problems, call the customer service department between eight and four and they’ll help you.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Thank you, sir.” Kopriva hung up and let out a deep breath. He looked over at Katie.

She raised her hands and clapped them together several times in mock applause. “Stef,” she said, “you are the king of bullshit.”

“Hey, I had to think of something.”

“No, it was beautiful,” she said. “A work of art. Now what?”

Kopriva gave her the address. “We go get him.”

“Meet you there.”

The drive was a quick one. Kopriva felt good. Proper trickery was fun to use. He had acted in a couple of plays in high school and this was sort of the same thing. Only here, he had to be quick on his feet and ad-lib. The key was to keep it simple and as close to the truth as possible.

Belzer’s Mom’s house was smaller than Michelle’s, but the yard was equally well-tended. Kopriva wondered if lawn care was a family fetish. He and Katie stole up to the house, and he peered in the window. A male sat in the easy chair watching TV. Looking at the back of the man’s head, he couldn’t tell if it was Belzer or not. He motioned for Katie to knock. As soon as she rapped on the door, the man stood and nonchalantly strolled to the door.

Kopriva smiled and a thrill went through him.

It was him.

Kopriva stepped onto the porch and prepared to force the door back open if Belzer tried to close it once he saw who was on his doorstep. The door swung open and Belzer stared at them for a moment, obviously surprised. The faint odor of marijuana smoke wafted through the door.

“Martin? Can I come in and talk to you for a minute?” Kopriva played it low-key.

Belzer blinked at them, shocked. “Okay,” he said and stepped aside to let them in.

As soon as they were in the door, Kopriva put him into a mild wrist-lock. Katie took the other arm. When he encountered no resistance, Kopriva made no attempt to use further force. He told Belzer he was under arrest.

“For what?” he complained. “I’m just watching TV here.”

“You have several warrants.” Kopriva handcuffed him and began to search. Katie pulled a plastic bag from her pocket and held it for Belzer’s possessions.

“What warrants? I thought I took care of those,” Belzer said, not convincing anyone in the room.

“Evidently not.” Kopriva continued to search. He came across an orange-brown chunk wrapped in a baggy. “Uh-oh, Martin. What’s this?”

“Crank,” Belzer said dejectedly.

Kopriva hadn’t expected an answer, but he didn’t quibble. “Before I go any further, let me ask you something. Are there any needles on you? Because if I stick myself on a needle, I am going to be one ticked off hombre.”

“They’re in my sunglasses case. In my flannel pocket.” Belzer stared straight ahead.

Kopriva pulled the case from Belzer’s breast pocket. Inside, he saw two needles, a spoon, some cotton, and some water in a small plastic bottle. “How long have you been shooting this stuff?”

Belzer sighed and hung his head. “Too long, man.”

Kopriva completed his search, then walked to the seat where Belzer had been sitting. An empty marijuana pipe lay on the small end table. Kopriva didn’t see any marijuana nearby. He picked up the pipe, which was still warm. He put it to his nose and sniffed. The strong aroma of marijuana flooded his nostrils.

“Should I leave this for your Mom?” he asked Belzer.

“No, man. It’s mine. She doesn’t need to know.”

“I suppose not. Do you have keys for this place so we can lock up?”

“They’re in my jacket there by the door. Left pocket.”

Kopriva walked to the coat rack by the door and picked up the heavy, black leather jacket.

“Left pocket,” Belzer repeated, enunciating each word clearly. He watched Kopriva intently.

Kopriva checked the left pocket and found a small key ring.

“That’s them,” Belzer said quickly.

“You want this jacket?” Kopriva asked.

“No.”

“No?”

Belzer shook his head. “No.”

Kopriva began to search the jacket. Belzer sighed and shifted his feet, nervously. Kopriva found needles in the inside pocket and a small vial of clear liquid.

“What’s this?” he asked Belzer.

“Water.”

“Water? Yeah, right. You’re so nervous about me finding your needles and water.”

“I’m not nervous about nothing, man. It’s water.”

Kopriva shrugged. “All right. Play it that way.”

“I’m not playing at all.”

“Let’s go,” Kopriva said, motioning toward the door. “Do you want me to bring this jacket now?”

“What jacket? I never saw that jacket before in my life.”

Kopriva shook his head with a rueful laugh. “Martin, you need to find another profession. You suck as a liar.”

Belzer said nothing.

Kopriva locked the door as they left and walked Belzer to his car. Once he was secured in the back seat, Kopriva broke out his drug field test kits. Katie stood nearby, watching with mild curiosity.

A sliver from the methamphetamine chunk immediately flowed orange.

“Bingo,” Kopriva muttered.

He tested a few drops of the “water” for methamphetamine with no reaction. “What do you think?” he asked Katie.

“It’s not going to be heroin,” she said with a shrug. “The only other drug I know that people shoot with needles is coke.”

Kopriva retrieved a cocaine field test kit and dropped three drops into the vial. He broke the ampoule inside. The vial flowed an instant, bright blue.

“Good call,” he told Katie.

“Nice job,” she said. “Especially on the bullshitting. You need any help with property or anything?”

Kopriva shook his head. “No. Thanks for coming along.”

Katie nodded curtly, then turned and left. Kopriva watched her go. Something was seriously wrong with her tonight.

He started the car and headed for jail. Belzer leaned forward. “How’d you find me, anyway?”

“Martin, you’ve got a ton of warrants. And it’s your mother’s house. You think we wouldn’t check there?”

Belzer didn’t answer right away. After Kopriva pulled onto an arterial, Belzer asked, “Did you call me and pretend to be from the Post Office?”

“What?”

“Not five minutes before you came by, some guy from the Post Office called. Was that you?”

“No.” Kopriva slowed for a red light. “What’d he want?”

“Just to get a forwarding address.” Belzer watched him in the rear-view mirror. “I think it was you.”

“Well, it wasn’t.”

“I think you’re lying.”

“Martin, using the Postal Service in any way to commit fraud against anyone is a federal offense. Great as your idea sounds, it would be illegal.” He met Belzer’s eyes in the mirror. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that we came to your Mom’s house to see if you were there? Where would you check for someone with a warrant?”

“I suppose so. It just seems like one hell of a coincidence.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“Yeah. But not to me.”

The traffic light turned green. Kopriva nudged the accelerator, then shrugged at Belzer. “Life is full of surprises.”

2314 hours

The Qwik-Stop didn’t get much business after 9:00 P.M. That suited Curly Pierson just fine. The lull in customer traffic allowed him to raid the magazine rack and read comics for free. He especially liked the war comics. They reminded him of his eleven months in the Marine Corps. The camaraderie and the bravery of the soldiers made his chest swell.

Of course, real life was sometimes different than the comics, as he’d discovered. He often wished he hadn’t had those problems that got him booted out, but he did okay now. He worked three days a week at the Qwik-Stop and during the summer, he did some yard work for his mother. On the weekends, he played paint-ball.

If the Corps had known how good he was at paint-ball, they would have begged him to stay. The thought occurred to him without any bitterness. Maybe he could invite a recruiter next weekend to watch or something. He was the best on his team, even if he did play a little bit too emotionally intense. The doctor guy his mom took him to see said that he would probably be able to control it someday, especially if he kept up with the medication. He didn’t like the pills, though. They made him tired.

Work bored him. Especially nights like this one. He’d read all the good comics, which of course were the DC ones, and the new ones wouldn’t be in until the next day. He considered reading some of the Marvel comics if it got too slow, but what was the point of that? All those guys like Spiderman spent too much time worrying and wondering about stuff, even when they were fighting bad guys. Guys like Superman knew what was what. Don’t think, just take care of business. They were real heroes. Spiderman was a geek.

Curly stood behind the counter and fingered the.25 auto under the counter. It sat on the small shelf directly beneath the register. His boss had told him never to use it, but why did he keep it there, then? It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to handle a gun. He won two paintball matches just last weekend and both times he’d been the last man alive on his team.

He sighed and glanced at the comic book rack. He mulled over the possibility of giving Spiderman a try. Then his gaze drifted toward the candy rack. He was considering having a Snickers bar when a flash of movement near the door caught his eye.

Curly saw it for trouble before the guy even hit the door. He recognized the black hair down to the shoulders from the newspaper drawing. The scar seemed to leap right off the man’s intense face as he burst through the glass doors. The intensity reminded Curly, briefly, of his drill instructor at boot camp.

“The fucking money in a bag! Now!” The man even sounded like a drill sergeant. He leveled the small black revolver at Curly’s face.

Scared, Curly slid the register drawer open. At the same moment, a thought occurred to him. A wonderful thought. A way to gain recognition. Maybe even get himself back into the Corps. To be a hero.

“Put the money in the fucking bag, you little geek!” The man screamed, out of control. Curly figured that as a good thing. The ones that didn’t keep their heads always lost at paint-ball.

Curly put all the bills into a paper bag and slid the register closed. Using the bag to cover his movement, he reached under the register and grasped the.25 auto.

“Free-” he started to say, bringing the gun up. He felt a sharp pain in his cheek and heard a muffled roar. Everything slowed down. He tried to squeeze the trigger but couldn’t. He saw a flash of light and felt a pinprick in his abdomen. The floor rushed up and caught him, leaving him sprawled on his back. He watched the man jump over the counter and take the bag from his hand.

He blinked.

The man was gone.

He blinked again, staring at the alarm button. He willed it to depress itself. The button sat motionless, a stoic accusation.

You blew it, it said. You blew it in the Corps and you are no hero, Curly.

He tried to blink again, but found he could not open his eyes after he had closed them.