the Dirty Dozen - Chapter 51

   "Hey Honey. I guess… this is our big night, huh?"

   Panic hugged her.

   "It is. When this is all over? We can get around to our big night, and by that I mean, our planned big night. Before all this came up."

   Merry smiled wanly.

   "Romantic rape night. I can't wait."

   "Me neither. Now, just try to stay calm…"

   "I think I'm about as calm as I can be for this."

   "Hey. You're doing fine. It'll all be over but the crying. Soon."

   "You sure we're ready?"

   "As ready as we're ever gonna be. We already know the cars and the plates. Rob's in the underbrush, and they send a car past, every half hour like clockwork. They're posted up somewhere nearby."

   "When do we call the boys, to shut the bar down?"

   "Midnight or so. Then? We wait. Waiting is actually the hardest part. Don't drink too much caffeine, just enough to settle your nerves. Stay hydrated, water's best. Watch the water though, we don't wanna piss our pants."

   Merry laughed.

   "If I was gonna piss my pants? I would of pissed them in the Bitty Kitty hole."

   "Just stick to the general plan. This will go easy. I promise."

   "I still can't believe it, you used to do this for a living."

   "Aw. You get used to it. Becomes just another day at the office."

   "Wish we could squeeze in another quickie."

   "You ever hear the phrase, you don't wanna get caught with your pants down? Pretty much that. We wait. Plain and simple. No way they're gonna try to hit the bar. What else they running a car past every half hour for? Waiting."

   "It's almost midnight… make the call?"

   "Yeah. Go for it."

   Merry made the call to inside the biker bar. Time to shut down, and get everybody out and lock up. Early night.

   "They're good. No one but them in there tonight anyways."

   "Now? Just sit down and wait. Maybe an hour, maybe three hours. Rob will let us know when they pull in. Probably line up the cars out front. Then? They'll have a little pow wow, and come marching up here."

   "Weapons check?"

   "What for. We checked them three times already. We're the only two people here. Nothing could have happened to them. Just put your cute little ass in a chair, and wait."

   "Honey? If this turns out bad…"

   "It won't."

   "If it does? I meant what I said. About promising you take Bitty Kitty away. He's like family."

   "Relax. You're on flank. Flank almost never gets hit. And that's what the flak jacket is for. Over a stage V vest. Just wait for me to give you the flak, then? You just roll out, and take flank. How many times have we practiced this anyways?"

   "Too many."

   "No such thing."

   They could hear all the loud bikes roaring and leaving. They sat down to wait on it.

   Around four in the morning, Panic got a text from Rob. He read it off to her.

   "We're live. Four cars. Four assholes each car. They're in a huddle now. Won't be long. Get out the hole, and in the back. We went over this… if the worst would happen? Just take the tall grass straight up, then cut over to Rob's side. Rob, is your rally point."

   "Why don't you have a rally point…"

   His voice and face had been dropping steadily once Rob had called him.

   "Because, little one. I'm all in. Once I'm in? I don't come out. I'll be here, one way or the other, when this is over. This is personal. Now. What's our motto?"

   "Do or die."

   "What are we about to do?"

   "Play-time."

   "Good girl. What do you do if your flank gets charged?"

   "Stay down. Move up to the tree line, go over to my rally point. Little Robbie."

   "Right. Rob's like a fucking ghost in the woods at night. I almost feel sorry for any that try to move around his playground."

   "Anything else?"

   "Get out the hole, and post up. Remember to get your flak before you take flank, I'll shove it out the hole. After flank is done? Don't get all charged up and go running after them. You know why."

   "Friendly fire."

   "Good girl. Now? Kiss me, and get the fuck out there. This is a go."

   Merry kissed him once, then a couple times more.

   "All right. Go. Get. The DC cops wanna call you Bloody Mary? Might as well give 'em a reason."

   Merry ducked out the tiny hole in the back Rob and Panic had made and put a well oiled hinge flap on it. A bigger Bitty Kitty hole that led to tall grass instead of a dark tunnel.

   Panic stood. Alone in the small, old mining structure. Thick cement square pillars at the four corners. Cement triangle for gables at the front and rear. Cement pillars every so many feet down the sides. It had been a dynamite shack, made to blow out the walls and roof that were two by fours, slid down deep grooves to form the "walls" and the "roof".

   There was a home made ladder on either side of the "front door" that led up to the small landing him and Rob had made. That landing allowed him to look out through very heavy metal louvers, that had once served as ventilation for the explosives stored inside. He could see everything, and shoot from cover without being heard or seen, once the fireworks started.

   His Glock had a large all metal suppressor screwed onto the front. His 9mm Luger hand-loads? Were the heaviest possible, 148 grain. They made noise, but not nearly as much as lighter 9mm projectile loads. Velocity was right around subsonic velocity. The suppressor functioned as a quite efficient flash hider as well, so he wouldn't be ruining his natural night vision.

   He had cover, he had clear line of sight and shooting lines. He had a pouch full of extra magazines. He was posted up in an "Alamo", and this Alamo, had a back door. That no one knew about. The giant cement columns at the four corners, were better than perfect to take cover behind once the fireworks started. Shooting a subsonic load, no one would hear any of his shots, and their ears would be ringing from all their mag dumps anyways. They wouldn't even be able to see where he was shooting from when he changed cover, with the giant flash hider.

   He couldn't possibly have any more advantages. He couldn't possibly be any more confident. This was optimum for an operation like this. The quarry was taking the bait, hook line and sinker. They were even grouping up and not spreading out hardly at all. Just like cops, just like thugs. Sticking together for protection in numbers. Making themselves into the most convenient set of grouped together targets possible, for a trained operative.

   He even had what he thought of as the best man possible for the job, posted up to take stragglers. If he had the chance to pick another partner for this? He would still want Rob. He never once ever ran across anyone else better at the job.

   They were in a huddle, not twenty yards on a slight diagonal from the front door. The moon light showed them perfectly as dark silhouettes. The tan fishing vests? Showed up better than he could have planned. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Any time now. Make your play, assholes. I haven't got all night, he thought to himself. He almost chuckled. Actually? He did have all night. And he would certainly use it to his best advantage.

   He could hear them murmuring. Stage whispers. Fucking amateurs.

   "Go on. Go check it out. It's just a girl…"

   "I'm going…"

   He steeled himself, than started walking up slowly to the front door. He tried it. No resistance. It swung open easily, and made no noise. They had oiled the hinges and the spring. He slowly walked in… looked around from just inside the doorway. Handgun pointed at the cot, that had a bunch of pillows and blankets made up to look like sleeping bait.

   Panic slowly reached out and down, and stuck the muzzle of the suppressor onto the back of the man's neck. He spoke very quietly, and calmly. Too quiet. Too calm. The man had frozen immediately when he felt it.

   "You move. You die."

   He stayed rooted.

   "Now. Do you want to live. Nod your head once, if you want to live."

   The man's head slowly nodded, just the once.

   "One chance. You yell out, in a loud clear voice… I got her. Nice and loud. Understand? Nod."

   Another slow nod. Just the once. Funny how people immediately followed instructions exactly, once you put a gun to the back of their head, it was uncanny. This man was no exception.

   "Do it. Yell out, I got her…"

   He let the man hear him flick the safety off. The little snick made him twitch, but he didn't move.

   "Go."

   "Hey! I got her! I got her!"

   Murmuring came from outside. Then, a raised command.

   "So? Finish the bitch, and we can get the fuck out of here!"

   The man stayed rock still.

   "Don't move…"

   Panic unscrewed the greased threads of the silencer. He wanted them to hear this one. The man playing statue didn't hear. He was staying rock still. He was planning on living, after all.

   The shot rang out, and the lower part of the man's face exploded. Panic had placed little earplugs into his ears, to protect his precious hearing, from cracking a loud one off. He took them out. Gore had splattered from the exploded lower face. Death had been instantaneous, the hard cast hollow-point had passed diagnonally down and through the brain, before blowing out pieces of face and teeth. The dull thud of a body just dropping and making no movement.

   Once the earplugs came out, Panic smiled. One down. Why not take every advantage possible. He could hear the chuckles and laughter coming from outside. Of course they bought it, and why wouldn't they.

   Panic raised his voice, and did his best hoarse imitation of this asshole. It didn't really matter if they bought his performance, but so much the better if they did. He would get lucky and get another one, before the real fun started.

   "Aw, man…"

   He made a noise like he was feeling sick. More chuckles from outside.

   Then? He waited. They were happy, and unaware. They would figure their buddy was having a little tummy problem, with what he had just did. They would have to come up and get him, take him home. Sooner or later, another asshole would come in to check. With the girl dead? He would waltz right on in.

   The dead friend laying on the floor? Was just a guy that fainted, from seeing a woman's head explode. His buddy would run right up to him… Panic screwed the well greased suppressor right back on. Sixteen max. Down to 15. Probably gonna get to 14 before we even get started. You take what you can get.

   The second guy walked right on in, and headed right for his buddy. Before he could figure out it wasn't the girl's blood on his hands…

   "FFFittt, *clack*…"

   He dropped almost on top of his friend. At this close distance? Panic simply couldn't miss, he could put one in the ear if he felt like it. He had done this before. Hiding. Taking a sentry out, when he walked slowly past. A lot of the time? Sentries worked in pairs, or one following the other. When the guy in front dropped? His buddy always ran up to shake him and see what happened. Buy one, get one… they had always called it that.

   If another one was going to come in? So much the better.

   Most people don't understand suppressors at all. The movies have taught everyone, that silencers are magical devices. They screw onto the end of the gun, and make the shot into a puff noise. There's always the bearded assassin in a nice suit, the actor playing the calm, cool as a cucumber professional. He almost always had a beard or a goatee.

   He usually gets his quarry alone, and says something calm and slick, such as "this is so we don't wake the neighbors…" as he screws his movie magic silencer onto the end of his gun and does his thing.

   The number of "movie assassins" over the decades this has been going on in Hollywood? For some odd reason, usually had the gun be a small revolver. Which is impossible to silence, no matter what you tried. There's more than enough report from the cylinder gap, that it's loud as fuck.

   Then, there's the matter of the ammunition. Even with a professionally made silencer, if you don't feed it truly subsonic ammo? There's almost no point. A revolver? Even if you had a real silencer, and real proper subsonic ammo… it wouldn't work at all.

   It's not even a silencer anyways, it's called a suppressor. No one walking into a Class III gun shop, asking for a "silencer" would get anything but chuckled at, and told to use the proper name for what they wanted to buy.

   But, with a properly made suppressor, in the right gun, with the proper truly subsonic ammo? You really can hear a *chuff* noise, and hear the action of the gun working if it's a semi auto. The clack of the gun working actually makes a louder noise than the *chuff*.

   The murmuring outside was going on now, and two more guys were walking up to see what was taking so long. The rest were hanging back. They were probably just starting to think maybe something might be up, bu, more than likely thinking now two guys were getting dizzy, seeing a young woman's brains and blown out face. One guy passed out, the second dizzy and trying to help.

   One of the two guys opened the door wide, and they both stepped in. They could see one huddled over the other.

   "Are you guys fucking?"

   No answer.

   "Hey guys! Looks like we got two cherries in here. Fuckin' fainted like schoolgirls…"

   More laughter and murmuring outside. All was well in their world. For now. Because when you send sixteen men to do one man's job? Well, you just can't fuck that up.

   Panic loved his elevated platform. People going into a dark room? Always peered around, and some even remembered to check behind the door, though usually too late. No one ever remembered to look up, not unless it had been fucking drilled into them. Hard entry SWAT, and military professionals, that was about it for guys that looked up quickly.

   Cocksure thugs, with nothing remotely resembling professional training? Never gonna happen.

   Kneeling on his platform, he got to shoot almost straight down into the first guy in, down through the center of the top of his head. With almost no noise, and no muzzle flare, the buddy behind him reached out to steady his falling friend. Panic fired three times down into his shoulders, dropping it down into the lungs and out. The third shot went down thru the back of the skull, and popped the skull cap off.

   Pregame festivities still going on, were these retards going to give him another free one? Probably not, but what the hell. No… they knew something was up now. They were murmuring… pointing… shoving each other to be the next to check it out.

   No one wanted to be the next contestant to try the little fun house out. Pity. Panic peeked out the louvers. This was one of the greatest things about using 9mm subsonic, in a truly suppressed handgun platform. In addition to no noise, no muzzle flash. No one could even tell where shots were coming from.

   When the group started inching up, he opened up on them. Slow, careful aimed fire. His fiber optic front sight and V notch dots were perfect. All he had to do was line up three dots on the top of a man's chest, and squeeze gently. Cardio triangle. Better than center mass, which was great in and of itself.

   Most of them didn't even have their guns out, and those that did, hardly had them at the ready. They were thinking, he could hear now, they were sure their buddies were fucking with them. He was able to do slow, aimed fire on four of them, before they figured out something was not only up? It was bad.

   From the moment he took the first shot, and hit high in the center of the first man's chest, the final plus of a truly subsonic platform exposed itself… he could hear the hit. Panic knew exactly what a vest or a flak jacket sounded like, it was a very distinctive *flap* sound, very crisp. Human flesh? When you could hear it away from a gun report? Had a wet, thick sound.

   None of the four that got hit in the worst spot possible, save a brain shot that penetrated, had a vest on. Those four? Were out of the fight and could be ignored. The worst they could do, was spray wildly, and they weren't even doing that. They hit their knees, clutching at their neck and upper chest. Looking at their hands, covered in blood, surprised as fuck. Wondering what the blow was that had struck them. One managed to yell, and everyone stopped. Looked around at what was happening. Wild looks on their faces. Looking at each other for answers.

   Their adrenaline dumped their system now. This was when the unseasoned professionals had piss and shit running down their legs. They shook, they swooned, they typically stood rooted to the spot. Panic knew this, this was textbook. Two more easy targets.

   Panic smiled. Two down inside. Two more bonus down inside.

Four already dead they just didn't know it yet, and he got two more started down the path to hell. Sixteen to one is a very convincing advantage, but that was all over now. Literally half of them were cut down, and the remaining 8 were starting their shit. Really 6, but, a dead man walking can raise hell if he's determined.

   Spraying wildly from the hip. Towards the front door. Some got their gun up and out in front of them, one handed, spraying the door as fast as they could dump the magazine. Hey, it's what cops are taught to do, everyone spray and pray, try to get some marksmanship, but it really doesn't matter when everyone is spraying. One got into an actual stance, crouched with both arms out straight. He at least held on the door, Panic earmarked him because you always took out the best first. He got three in the chest.

   One guy knew to get the fuck down, and quit making a target of himself, and he grabbed the guy standing next to him down to the ground with him. Trying to save them. He yelled "get down, get down, get down", and the several left started going down.

   To guarantee they came up in a pack, Panic and Rob had designed the natural hay-field to promote it. Who would slog through tall, wet grass, over their waist. Risk turning ankles in the dark on unfamiliar ground. A log, A groundhog hole… would be disaster. No, when there's a mowed path to your destination, you take it. That's what these guys had done.

   Once they hit the ground, the first guy that hit the grass started rolling. He was mag dumped, and wanted cover. Taller grass was nearby. His buddies were getting ready to change mags, one by one, and were looking around quick to see who was still in the fight. After they changed out mags, they would either open up wildly again… or, someone would keep some semblance of their shit together and tell them to hold up.

   It was looking like 5 of them managed to get down, and roll into grass. If Panic were on ground level, this would have them almost invisible. But, they were close enough, and he was high enough, that he could still see them clearly. They were poking their heads up out of the tall grass they had found, trying to figure out what was going on.

   With no muzzle blast nearby, no flashes to give himself away? They were going to be confused. No doubt, one or more was starting to think they weren't even being shot at from inside the building. A couple were swiveling their heads around slowly, straining to see anything they could make out. Panic knew their hearing was shot, elephants could trumpet next to them and they would barely hear it with the ringing in their ears. Too many guns, too close together, far too many shots to depend on anything resembling hearing.

   Nobody was making a move to do anything brave, like try to drag wounded into the grass. Nobody was breaking and running, either. Things had gotten dicey, and they didn't know exactly what to do.

   He wanted their attention on him, well, more specifically on his building. One shot whizzing over their heads accomplished that. You don't close your eyes when you fire a gun, and open eyes were exactly what he wanted.

   They fired at the door a little more, then quit. Panic took his flak jacket off, and went down the ladder and pushed it out the back hole. He still had a vest on. He stood behind the cement column, and flicked the lights on. He had waited about thirty seconds, to give Merry time to get the flak on. Crawl over in her lane in the tall grass to get into flank position.

   A few blind potshots came towards the building. Then he heard his flank open up. Merry did her job. She got up on her knees behind the tall grass, and held the trigger down. Worked the pump as she raked the area where they were in their own tall grass hideaway. He gave her time to reload, by firing a couple times over their heads and into the grass, hoping for another lucky hit.

   Right now, if he could get them up and moving? Merry would be reloaded and waiting, she could actually open up across them before they took a few steps and mow them down. Panic flicked the light briefly, a quick shot and off. He could see Merry now stand up in a new spot from her lane, for a better view, and concentrated this salvo of trigger holding and pumping right where it would have the best effect.

   That did it. The ones laying next to others, had natural protection from the buckshot coming in. Some of her projectiles were hitting men dying or even dead already. When Merry was done and went back down, she had already proven she remembered to never come up in the same spot twice. She would be moving again. A few wild shots came over in her general direction, then two guys started crawling, in two different directions. One jumped up and made a wild break for it.

   Panic flicked the lights twice. Game over, that was Merry's signal to just come into the supply shed to wait. Her work was over.

   With no time to waste on pleasantries, Panic just curtly drilled her.

   "You hit!"

   "I don't think---"

   "Are you hit? Yes or no?"

   "No…"

   "Stay!"

   The guy that made the mad run, was now clearly dashing for the cars, and making a fucking beeline. Tripping and rolling, and getting back up again. Panic had two crawlers in high grass. If the crawlers were fucking retarded enough to head for the cabin? If Merry didn't hear either Panic's or Rob's voice, her instructions had been to open up on anything that moved or made noise.

   Fuck it, time to start winging it.

   Panic dumped the remainder of his clip slow at the fleeing figure making for the cars. Then he tossed the handgun to Merry. Merry handed him the shotgun she had reloaded, Panic already had a pouch of rounds on his belt for the purpose.

   This was where it got dicey. The two crawlers could be injured, they might not. They would probably go for the cars, but there's no real predicting what people will do in high pressure situations. They might even be smart enough to crawl and hide, and wait. See what was going on. The crawlers might be out of ammo? Which was why they were hiding and moving in tall grass, or then again they might not. They might have a few shots left, or even a whole third mag in reserve.

   Hard to tell, and impossible to guess. Panic heard the engine in a vehicle gun, and take off. He wouldn't get far, even though he thought he would. He was pretty well fucked, but he wouldn't find that out till later on down the road. Literally.

   Now, the two crawlers? They were definitely fucked, bad. Panic decided to get ahead of their options. He ran in a crouch as fast as he could double time it, down to cut them off from their vehicles. He fired randomly, starting almost aiming back to the cabin, then a pause, another shot further over… then again… the idea being two fold. One, they would now know not to dare head for the vehicles, one guy had gotten away, and that was going to be it.

   Knowing their only chance was on foot, they had two choices, really three. One, head to the cabin. Bad idea. Merry would cut them down in a heartbeat. If they made for the left side wood line, taking them past the cabin? They were almost as fucked in that respect. Cars were out. The only smart choices, were to head uphill for that wood line, or, head towards the right tree line… which was, naturally, right into their own worst nightmare possible. Rob playing in the woods. He would eat them for lunch.

   Standing still, on his knees, head over the grass, he scanned the tops of the grass. For movement. He knew Rob was 20 yards into the wood line, 20 yards up from the end of the flat rear of the building's back yard.

    Finally, Rob communicated with him. A quick soft rap of wood on wood. He stood up. That would bring the message. One rap. "My side", it told him. Two quick soft raps. "Twenty yards up".

   Given a position, he could make it out now. Grass tops were slightly wiggling in that area. Idiots were no doubt whispering to each other, wiggling the grass with movement, thinking the wood line was home free.

   Panic smiled. He loved the endgame of a chess match before things closed down. Time to close in, and go in for the kill. Checkmate coming soon. His own hearing was very good from having used a suppressor. Merry's shotgun blasts hadn't done him any favors, but far enough away though close that he wasn't ringing bad. It was already subsiding slowly. Rob's hearing? Would naturally be perfect.

   His night vision wasn't disrupted badly, he had closed his eyes every time he hit the lights. Rob had full night vision going for some time now.

   These two crawlers? Had started out crawling blind. As Panic started to get down and begin moving into position up and behind them, to control their movements towards Rob's position… his slight ringing would be almost gone in his ears, his night vision would be coming on much better. These two? Would soon be getting some vision back, and the green blob would be beginning to subside, but their visual purple was fucked, it would never come soon enough to help them.

   Their own ears? Would be ringing so badly they might as well be deaf. They would be half blind and deaf. Not to mention, the fact they most likely had no idea what they were even doing in this situation. They couldn't possibly be even more fucked, unless one of them had been caught by a stray round and was wounded and leaving a blood trail.

   Panic thought to himself, you were goddamn heroes when you all figured it was 16 on 1… let's see how you fuckers like to play a little 2 on 2…

   Panic got down into the tall grass, and started moving around. Play-time. It always had been fun, once you knew how to play the game. He had learned from the best.

   Rob would be moving slowly up to the 20 yard mark. He could depend on Rob. It was on himself, to do his part. These guy's gooses were already cooked, they just didn't know it yet. Now, it was simply a matter of not getting made fun of by Rob for slipping up.

   With Rob in position, it was his job to follow. They were already making for the wood line, their mistaken idea of freedom and getting away. They were moving directly into the trap, and willingly. All Panic had to do to help out? Was bring up the rear, not give himself away, and cut off any rear escape.

   He knew what they wanted. To escape. With their lives. He also knew what two city boys would want to do. Get to the woods, getting away from whoever was after them in the tall grass and had cut off their escape. They planned on moving through the woods a little, then making their way down to the lonely back road. They would walk down the road until they saw headlights, and jump in the brush, let the car pass… and do that till daybreak.

   Just around daybreak, they would head to the woods to hide and move more. Then, they could get away, try to contact someone to come and get them. Everyone had people that would come and help, these would be no different.

   Panic knew this, and Rob damned well knew this… because Rob had taught him to play this game. Rob also knew they had no visual purple at all. Rob would wait till they were close, and he knew Panic was close behind as well. Rob would exploit their visual purple depletion, by showing himself ever so slightly, so that only Panic could pick up on it.

   A bulge on a tree wouldn't be there the next time he saw it. Or, the underbrush growing up a tree side? Would be there one time, and gone the next. Everyone enjoys the movie scenes where the elite killers in the woods are all hooting and whistling and making animal noises, all talking to one another as if in paragraphs of plain English. Complete bullshit.

   Professionals stayed silent. They already knew more or less where each other were, because they practiced this game before, many many times until it became automatic. The better you got, the closer you could get to the prey. The better you were, the better you anticipated their movement. You moved when they moved, you stopped when they stopped.

   On Rob's part, it was experience to know which way they were going, and to circle around and get in front of them, until they came past his position. If the game went on long enough and things got dicey, they simply waited for one to grab one, then the other grabbed the other. Easy.

   But, if they could pull it off? These two should, ideally, not even know what the hell happened. That was the plan. They would chuck that plan and wing it if it came to it, but for now time was on their side, and the numbers were perfect.

   Rob was like a ghost in the woods at this game. He knew where the moon was, where shafts of moonlight would come from, and where he could show himself to Panic, without giving himself away. A friendly ghost. When they hit the woods line, now about 40 yards up, Panic could hear the one telling the other what to do because he was that close. He moved in the grass faster than they could, so every time he moved when they moved, he gained ground on them. He had already had to slow down, or risk crawling right up on top of the one in the rear, who was following the one issuing the instructions.

   Panic knew their attention was on the woods now, scanning. They would barely be able to make out trees, with no visual purple. A slow lift of his head, verified he had their backs to him. He waved his hand just across the grass tops, slow and even. Back down slow and quiet. He parted the grass slowly, so he could just see the woods.

   He could see a bump on one tree. And another. When he went back? The one bump wasn't there. That was Rob. An ever so slight peek of his head. Never all the way. The underbrush running up the tree? Clearly wasn't. It "grew" slightly and receded, on the other side from the bump.

   Their plan was to move forwards, between the big trees, until they found a place to cut down to the road. They were making a beeline straight to Rob, and they didn't even know. Panic moved when they moved, tree to tree. Panic knew not to stare at them, or it would set their creepy meter off, everyone has one… it's a matter of if they have learned to listen to it or not. He watched them out the corner of his eye. Not only did this prevent setting the nerves off, it also was the best way to make use of his own visual purple, most of it was around the edges of the middle of your vision.

   Panic knew this game well. Rob would most likely, whack one over the head as he moved past him, or if in a saucy mood and showing off… very likely here playing with amateurs… he would simply wrap a triangle of his arms around the guy's throat and lift him back silently. Panic had a small twig palmed, ready to toss in the right direction to make the other one swivel his head away.

   Panic saw the bulge, the man was close enough for either. He tossed the twig up and to the left, because Rob was on the tree to their right.

   They both swiveled their heads and attention to the slight noise in the underbrush of the skittering twig. Rob was in an even saucier mood than Panic had thought possible. He saw the quick movement that was the crash to the head that dropped the guy closest to him, and he immediately locked up on the other one. He was behind him, the man's throat driven deep into the V of Rob's elbow. The V hand gripped Rob's opposing elbow, and the other hand wound behind the neck and pushed.

   Rob stretched up and back, and wound his long legs around the man, up above his hip. Not content to let the man so much as wiggle, he wasn't satisfied with merely crossing his ankles. He slipped his right leg's knee over his left ankle, and cinched tight. If Rob didn't lock legs, he could be flipped over and dislodged. If he only crossed ankles, the ankles could be twisted and broken. But, when he slipped the knee around the ankle and cinched tight? The figure four lock was unbreakable before unconsciousness closed in.

   Within seconds, all movement ceased, and Rob slowly let pressure off, to see if he was faking it or not. The urine escaping told him he wasn't faking. He was out cold. If it had been simply air cut off, which was already guaranteed, it would have taken a number of seconds more, no biggie you just hold on. But, Rob had obviously caught the arteries in the tight hold, and clamped them off. Unconsciousness came in seconds, without waiting on the annoying thrashing and twitching. Then you had to guess how long to keep it before you killed them, if you even cared.

   They didn't really care if they killed them or not, it was just optimum to have a few stragglers alive. For everyone to have fun grilling them and parading them around.

   After searching the two, they found they were both out of ammo, and out of extra mags. Not so much as a penknife on them. As cops, even if dirty as hell cops, they knew it was easy to drop something at the scene of the crime and give something away. They knew enough to leave everything but the gun and mags back in the cars.

   They handcuffed the one's hands tightly behind his back around a tree, tight enough to really cut in, to prevent any possibility of even breaking the thumb and trying anything. It would be a painful few hours, and he would lose feeling in his thumb for a few days or even a few weeks, from way too much metal pressure on the radial ulna nerve. They did the same to the other, on the back side of the same thick tree.

   Their arms barely reached back and got cuffed. It would be hours before they were found, and it would be the most uncomfortable thing possible. But, they would be alive. They didn't have to be. The one hit over the head, had no story to tell other than "lights out, I woke up like this" and his buddy could only say "I was taken from behind, and choked… I woke up like this, after pissing my pants".

   Optimum.

   The work was done now. The main work, anyways. Nothing left but clean up and staging. Rob stood up. His burlap hanging off of his tall lean frame making him look a lot bigger than he really was. He peeled off his head covering.

   "Well?"

   "Excellent work, Rob. Pleasure working with a professional."

   "I know. The fuck did I even need you for?"

   "Insurance. Last thing even you want, is turning it into a wild goose chase, chasing some asshole all over creation. Running around, yelling, 'help me, help me'… you know it's fucking annoying. We wouldn't see a car for hours, soon as the asshole runs out in the road? There will be one… it's an ass pain."

   "Well? I got the business cards. Shall we?"

   "Oh yes. Remember, we need the cards already printed all up. Staging."

   "I know, I know. The small stack, is all ready to go…"

   Using just the very knife edge of the playing card on top of the smaller stack? They deftly slid it into the back pocket of one, then another into the other guy's back pocket as well. Another in the one guy's shirt pocket, just for fun.

   On the way walking slowly back towards Merry at the cabin, they stopped at the woods line. Careful not to disrupt the prints on the card previously placed? Using just the edges, they somewhat "pinned" it, to a strong thin stick poking out of the underbrush. Like a veritable sign post, it couldn't help but be noticed. Once the authorities were here, but that wouldn't happen till much later.

   Rob teased him on the walk up to the cabin…

   "Two to nothing, Irishman…"

   "Oh, no… I got my own little graveyard going on up there, buddy. We're talking, like 14 to 2? I got you, this time…"

   "Oh, sure. You finally get to run your own operation, you hog it all to yourself. And those ain't all yours, I heard Merry raking the slide. Twice. Way I heard it? Merry took them all out, I heard you were pissing your panties, hiding in the back corner."

   "No. I got the first four, inside coming in… then---"

   "Four? They just kept coming in? Jesus fucking Christ. We could of been drinking beer and pulled this shit off."

   "Right. Four, like you said they kept coming in. I know I got four walking up, before they even knew the jig was up. One more definitely. Oh yeah, the one guy I drilled his cardio three times, only one took a stance, I had to get him good. Then I called flank with the lights, Merry got the rest."

   "She okay?"

   "I didn't have time to fuck her, and check her shit out all personal, but… I don't think she's hit…"

   "No, tard. Is she okay?"

   "Oh. Yeah. I know if I was her, I'd be doing the happy dance around the cabin…"

   Just then, a shotgun roared up on the hill, then two more times. They looked at each other, then Panic spoke.

   "Ah, someone trying to crawl around. Relax."

   "Yeah… let's get up there. You go low, I'll come around high."

   "Rob? Remember… I gave her instructions to shoot anything that moves or makes a noise, that we don't call out to her. Don't forget… no sense in going through all this perfect, then, we manage to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory…"

   "I don't hear any more shots. You call out when we get close… and remember, buckshot kills from a lot further away than a skeet load does…"

   They moved around the cabin, then closed in, low and through a lane in the tall grass. Panic called out, and Merry yelled back.

   "I'm fucking fine. I got tired of waiting on your lazy ass. It moans? I poached it. It wiggles? I poached it."

   Merry was walking around the front of the cabin, poking dead bodies with the shotgun. Apparently, if someone moaned, they got it, and if they so much as twitched? They got it.

   "Don't shoot little Robbie. He looks like fucking Sasquatch in his play clothes, hun."

   Merry called out.

   "Come on, Robbie. Let's get moving. I only got an hour before daylight."

   Rob turned his attention to Panic, after coming out and taking his head dress off.

   "You were right about one thing, Panic."

   "Just one? But what was that…"

   "You said she's okay. She seems fine."

   "Merry? Now it's over, isn't this way better than getting shot at and running?"

   "Oh. Fuck yeah. What do we do now, just leave the calling cards, right?"

   "Yeah. That's you. Rob?"

   Little Robbie handed over a stack of playing cards to her, told her to remember to finger them up real good…

   "I know, I know…"

   Merry marched around, poking the dead with the shotgun, printing the playing cards up, and putting them in pockets. One went in a guy's open mouth, just for fun.

   "Rob? I'm telling you, she's getting the hang of this, pretty quick."

   "Yeah. Quicker than you picked it up, you dim Irish bastard."

   "Fuck you, kraut. You always were piss-y after an operation. Learn to relax. Like the Irish know how to relax, or, don't the Germans ever learn to relax and enjoy themselves, huh?"

   Rob was standing there, looking down at the four bodies inside.

   "I can't believe these dumb bastards, just kept coming in. Buy one, get one? I understand… buy one, get three more? Christ, it's like a fucking clearance sale on retards in here…"

   "Rob, watch where you step…"

   "Who taught who to clean up a stage? I ain't stepping in the blood. See? I'm standing back here."

   Merry came back to the front door and waited outside.

   "All Christmas cards? Delivered."

   "Okay. You know the drill… here's the Glock… finger it up real good. Here's all the magazines, finger them up real good too. You already fingered up all the ammo, loading them all. That's good."

   "So? We're about done."

   "Yeah. Rob? That straggler, he ain't getting far in his car, right?"

   "You act like this is my first rodeo. I know how to cut a water line to the radiator. I crawled up all four cars, cut every radiator lower clean in half. He ain't getting any further, than the thermostat opens up, then, its lights out within a mile or two. The way that car revved up and he skinned out of here? Even less than that. He ain't far…"

   "Merry? Shotgun, please…"

   "I am so getting one of these. For squirrels…"

   Rob and Panic chuckled.

   "All right. Rob? Call us our taxi… Merry? You got the keys, you get your cute little ass down to the bar, get inside, and lock the doors. Have a few drinks, you know, to "settle your nerves"… I'll send in the cavalry in a little bit. Remember how to play it."

   "Will do. This is… going to be kinda fun."

   "Hey. They started it. Calling you Bloody Mary… now? They got a reason to call you that…"

   "I wish you'd forget that name… I'm Christmas, remember? I like to think of… all this… as Christmas presents, and, I was nice enough to leave cards on my gifts."

   "Okay…"

   Rob paused just after the pile of bodies. He couldn't help some dry wit.

   "Services? Are concluded. Go in peace… assholes…"

   They all walked down to get picked up by Skykid driving Rob's old work truck.

   "Merry? Last thing…"

   "Hmm?"

   "You see up there? That tree line? I'm pointing right at the spot…"

   "Yeah. What about it?"

   "There's two more just inside the tree line. They, uh… one got hit over the head, the other one got choked out, from behind. Both handcuffed to the same tree. Both all carded up. Don't forget them…"

   "Okay. Glad it worked out. The dogs gotta get some live meat."

   "Okay. Go in, lock yourself in good, and have a couple drinks. Do your thing."

   Merry kissed him a couple times, then Rob said that the light's starting to come up, we gotta get moving.

   "Honey? I'll see you when you get out. You know where I'm at. If I ain't there? I'm with Speedy. Try to relax, and have fun with it."

   "Oh, I will. Thanks, guys."

   Both said bye to her, and they both got a hug, and Panic got a last kiss. Merry went and locked herself in the biker bar, and Skykid pulled in and picked them up. Panic, Rob, and the shotgun went in the back bed, and they covered up with a big tarp.

   Skykid drove down the road, couldn't have been a couple miles, and tapped the back window of the cab. Rob peeked up from the back, there was a car. Off the side of the road. Steaming up a storm, completely overheated. A guy was screwing around with the hood up, and noticed Skykid looking at him. Skykid leaned over, and rolled the window down a crack.

   "Car trouble?"

   "It's fried!"

   "I see. You want a tow truck? I'm a local, I'm heading into town. I just got done night fishing… you wanna towing…?"

   "Uh… look, buddy. I… no cops, huh? I mean… I had a couple of drinks, I was fishing too… you know what I mean? Come on, have a heart…"

   "Oh. I gotcha. Hey, just sit tight. Tow guys gonna be at breakfast with me… I'll send him out. You pay him cash? No problem. A few more bucks, you can even rent a piece of shit off of him to get home… you live somewhere near here, right?"

   "Oh… yeah… not far. That would be perfect… tell the tow guy? I'll really fix him up… I mean, I get a DUI? The wife will fucking kill me… please…"

   "Okay, You're all good. Sit tight, an hour, hour and a half… tow guy will be right out. He helps us all out if it's cash. No problems…"

   "Hey, thanks buddy! I really owe you one… I, uh… I really can't afford to get picked up for another one, you know?"

   "Hey. What are friends for, buddy. Just sit tight. I got you…"

   "Thanks!"

   Skykid wound the window up and drove on. He opened the back window so Panic and Rob could hear.

   "Hey boys. That your straggler?"

   "That's him…"

   "Yeah. Send him a tow truck. With the chief in the tow truck, right?"

   "That's my plan…"

   "Home?"

   "Home, Geeves… take us home…"

   "Sure thing…"

   Skykid drove the speed limit, and shortly turned off on the dirt road. He dropped Rob and Panic off at Panic and Merry's little love nest cabin, and waited. Rob and Panic hopped out.

   Merry had changed back into normal clothes, behind the cabin up where the slaughter had taken place. They had the flak jacket, and they stripped off all their own stuff. They made a pile of it all in the fire ring, and Rob was lamenting the loss of this stuff.

   "Christ, Panic… we're setting brand new, Stage V vests, with trauma plates, on fire? A new flak jacket? My new gillie suit? You know how great this would be for turkey season? You owe me one…"

   "Aw, can it. You know as well as I do, we got blood spatter all over this shit. Underwear, boots too. Everything. In the fire pit…"

   "Aw, I'm gonna cry watching this shit go up in flames… Panic, you fucking owe me, this Christmas, you cheap Irish bastard…"

   "Hey Rob, I thought friends don't owe friends, I thought they just do cause they feel like helping out, huh?"

   "No, that parts fine, I had fun, you know that… but, this? Man, I need fucking therapy burning this shit…"

   Skykid laughed.

   "Oh, don't you two look just so cute, your little dingles hanging out… why don't you hug, huh?"

   "Oh, just enjoy the peep show, would you? Hey Panic… why is mine bigger than yours?"

   "Oh. Cause your a shower and I'm a grower?"

   "Uh, I don't think that's it…"

   "Well, only other option? You're getting a hard on. Seriously? You fucking pervert… we got work to do, and you? You're getting ready to make a gay German scheiser video… typical…"

   "Hey, if I do the pooping? I'm the man…"

   "Rob? I am in no mood for this… I swear to god, I will fucking piss right on you…"

   Skykid laughed, watching big Rob hop around naked, while Panic chased him around shaking his dick, threatening to pee on his feet… Skykid yelled at them…

   "Will you two kids hurry the fuck up? Sun's coming up, I wanna be back and make breakfast, like nothing happened. You two, said you're gonna play a little game now?"

   Panic smiled.

   "I? Will play the distraught boyfriend. Looking for his missing girlfriend. Rob? Is my faithful friend, accompanying me on my mission."

   Rob covered his eyes, to pretend he was crying, watching his cool stuff go up in flames. Panic poured about a whole gallon of diesel and tossed armloads of wood on top of everything, there was already a thick load of seasoned wood under and around everything, it had been ready.

   "Won't be anything but the trauma plates left, maybe some pieces of metal. It's a fire ring, it's fine…"

   "Will you two assholes hurry the fuck up?"

   "All right, Rob… first? The vinegar. The acetic acid will get the gunshot residue loose, and break it up. Then? The strong ammonia will finish it off. Don't let the vinegar sit too long, or you'll get red skin… same with the strong ammonia solution… keep rinsing off with that barrel of rain water… don't forget your hair, and brush under your fingernails, too… pretend your mom is watching you bath as a little kid…"

   They both crowded around the rain barrel, doing their thing. Skykid hurrying them up, and chuckling.

   "Do it twice Rob… we can't fuck this part up…"

   "Oh all right…"

   "Skykid? Thanks. We owe you one."

   "Don't mention it. I didn't have to do anything. How bad is it back there?"

   Panic deadpanned him.

   "Sky? You really don't wanna know… we got our own graveyard going up there…"

   "Whatever. Like I never saw your handiwork before back in the day. Don't mention it, how many times did you two crazy assholes ever save my life back then? It's the least I could do, is play taxi. Frenchie's taxi service, has a nice ring to it, don't you think? Now can you two get fucking dressed? If any of the boys wander up here, we're gonna look like three Kansas City faggots, you know that, right? Move…"

   Rob and Panic had fresh changes of clothes in the cabin all ready to go. They hopped in the bench seat with Sky, and parked quietly. No one was up yet. All three went and sat around the cold fire ashes in the fire ring.

   Skykid made a pot of coffee, and they sat down to wait for the boys to start getting up.

   "Hey guys… wow… you're up early…"

   "Hey, Frenchie had to take a piss, and… fuck it. Might as well get started on breakfast for all you lazy slobs…"

   "Rob? You're an early riser, but Panic? Christ… this is rare. Normally you'd be coming back with Merry a little later… you two lovebirds have a fight about who's on top last night?"

   "Nope. I might be in the doghouse, though. I accidentally left her at the other cabin…"

   "How, do you accidentally leave your girlfriend?"

   "Well… I forgot my laptop, I wanted it. I left her there, around midnight, came back to get it. I sat down for five minutes, pet the cat… I closed my eyes just for a minute… next thing I know? These two are up asking me if I want breakfast. They saw my car wasn't gone. Now? I could be in the doghouse, on account of falling asleep and leaving her there without a ride…"

   "Well, go pick her up. Buy her something pretty in town, it'll pass."

   "Yeah, you're right. Skykid? Wanna go get breakfast? Go with me and Rob? I'm taking Rob, to protect me, in case Merry gets a hair up her ass…"

   "Ah, as amusing as that would be? No… someone's gotta cook for these slobs, or they'll starve. An army marches on it's stomach, Panic… I'm sure Rob can peel Merry off of you, if she's pissed."

   "All right… see you guys… enjoy breakfast! We're gonna go get Merry, and we'll be back. Have fun!"

   Two other guys were now up, and walking out the bunkhouse with all the talking. Sky was filling coffee cups, and Rob drove Panic out the trail in his work truck.

   "How do we play this, Panic. This is weird for me, you're running the operation."

   "Easy. You heard my story. We're going to pick Merry up at the cabin. She won't be there… we make a startling discovery… we just happen to see the car in the side of the road on the road back into town, to go get the chief. Who we know is just about sitting down to have donuts."

   "So, we hit the bar and the cabin first?"

   "Just drive past, we don't have to get out, we already know what's going on… we just have to make sure it doesn't look like anyone else discovered it yet… then just zip into town and screech into the front of the donut shop."

   "What do I do?"

   "You? You're the strong silent type. Ought to be a real stretch for you to play that role… Me? I'm the highly distraught boyfriend, who can't find his sweet little girl. I'll be… you know, just about to freak out? But… barely keeping my shit together."

   "Okay, so, you just be yourself. Gotcha."

   "Funny man. Go… drive normal to the bar. Then? Take off and drive fast to the donut shop. We're in a hurry, after the bar, right?"

   "Yeah, that works…"

   They drove to the biker bar. Parked, and looked around. Nothing yet. Then, Rob laid tire, and drove like a bat out of hell, only briefly slowing down to eyeball the badly overheated car was still where it was supposed to be, waiting on the "tow truck" driver… then, Rob punched it and drove like a maniac into town.

   He screeched pulling up on the curb, in front of the donut shop. Panic got out, and started hopping and pacing around. Rob got out, and started to control or console him. Rob pointed at the doughnut shop, and marched in behind him.

   Panic ran up to the chief's table.

   "Guys? What the hell are you doing? Nice park job…"

   "Chief? Come outside… this is… just come outside! Now!"

   "What? It can't wait?"

   "No! Chief? Fucking please, I don't wanna do this in here… I'm trying to help you… please…"

   "All right, all right… Steve? Come on…"

   "But I'm off duty…"

   "The morning guy? Late. You? Are here. Grab our coffee, grab our donuts… I ain't never seen Panic here, act like this… have you?"

   "No…"

   The chief followed the pacing Panic outside to the hastily parked work truck that had mounted the curb, and the normally careful farm boy driver, that didn't care. Panic's stalking and wild eyes did little to allay any of the chief's fears of what kind of a morning this was going to turn out to be.

   The chief got outside, and tried to calm Panic down…

   "Panic? Calm down… quit… panicking… I don't mean that like it sounds… what the fuck is going on?"

   "Chief? Merry's gone! I left her at the cabin up behind the biker bar. Last night. I was supposed to pick up my laptop and go right back. I… I laid down for a second, and fell asleep. I was going to get a ride to pick her up, with Rob here… and… chief, it's not good… and she's gone! You… you gotta get out there. Come on!"

   "Hold on. Calm down. So? She's walking back to your camp… or one of her friends gave her a ride somewhere. I'm sure she's fine…"

   Panic grabbed the chief by the cheeks. Gave him the wild eye routine.

   "Chief, listen to me. There… there's… outta state plates on cars parked. No one in them. There's… chief? There's a pile of people laying up at the cabin! I'm yelling for her, there's no answer. It's… fucking… bad. Are you hearing me?"

   Steve was standing by them, watching this exchange. Holding the take out coffee cups and donuts in a carry out cardboard container for him and the chief.

   The chief looked at him.

   "So… the bikers had a party late… there's people passed out at the cabin… I'm sure Merry's somewhere… settle down…"

   "Chief? They do not look like they passed out. Honest to god? I think… they're… you know…"

   "Rob? What the fuck is he trying to say? You're calm… talk to me…"

   "Chief? I can't calm him down. He's trying to tell me… Christ, I know how this sounds, but… he comes running back down the hill, yelling and screaming, for Merry. He… he thinks there's… fucking dead bodies up there. I know, I told him there was probably just people passed out, he's talking blood… I told him there was probably just some kinda drunken brawl, everyone's bloody but passed out, I can't talk any sense into him."

   Rob just stood there, arms crossed.

   "I don't know what to think, chief. He insists he saw this shit. I want breakfast, you see how he is… would you please, just follow us up there? I ain't never getting breakfast until you go wake the drunks up and send them on their way, what I figured happened… then? We'll drive around and figure out where Merry walked to."

   "Rob? Tell him about all the out of state plates! Tell him! And the car on the side of the road! That one?!?! Outta state plates too! Tell him!!"

   "Oh, settle down, buddy. Christ… yeah, there's a bunch of outta state plated cars parked in front. He comes down with this wild story… then on the way here? Yeah. There's a car looks wrecked or, broke down, something. Out of state plates on it too. I admit? It looks weird, but…"

   "Chief? I'm with Rob, sounds like a wild party, drunken fistfight, guys passed out, but… ain't no trouble going on now, right? Let's just go, check it out, then I can go home."

   "Steve? Call the other boys. Tell them to meet us there. If anything's up? I want everybody there. This outta state plates thing? Wrecked cars? Someone needs a lecture. Who knows what happens when they start waking up, I'd rather have a couple guys there."

   "What do you think, chief?"

   "What else ever goes on? This is just gonna be a big, giant pole hole call, Steve… is it ever anything else?"

   "Chief? What about the wrecked car. Where's that at, boys."

   Rob explained it was right down the road from the biker bar, not a mile or two.

   "Good call, Steve. New plan. You? Take your cruiser. Follow me, I'll follow them. Boys? Can you drive nicer back out? No hopping curbs?"

   "Yeah, chief. No problem. I ain't letting him drive like this… he's freaking out…"

   "All right. Steve? When we slow down, that's this wrecked car. You? Are going to post up there. Act friendly, if the guys there, and he's friendly. But… I want your hand on your gun. Something might be up. I mean, it kinda sounds like someone was trying to get away from the… party… and wrecked. Keep that one on ice until I call you and tell you what I find. You good?"

   "Any boys I roust outta bed?"

   "Town's quiet. No one's gonna start fist-fighting over their wives and girlfriends whoring around, until after dark. What's town going to do? They can have fun running stop signs until we get back, this sounds like it might be more fun anyways. Send anyone you get? Out to us, at the bar. If I need backup, god forbid? I'll know it's on the way, whether I need it or not. Sounds like we might need to help a few boys up and see if anyone needs stitches, but… I wanna be prepared."

   "You really expect trouble, chief?"

   "Honestly? Not really. The boys out there never gave me any trouble before. First time for everything though. Have the boys bring their shotguns."

   "Chief?"

   "I didn't say to shoot them, I said to have them in their cars. If something is going on, wouldn't you rather have it and not need it, than the other way around? We're grown up boy scouts, we're supposed to be prepared."

   "You… want me to hold the wrecked car guy with a shotgun?"

   "Hmm. Have it ready. You get any guff? Treat it like a DUI, and wave it at him. Then just wait. Out of state plates, if we're wrong? I won't have to listen to their shit all week anyways, we'll just kick 'em loose. But… I don't wanna end up maybe needing the guy? And he's gone, you getting my drift here, Steve?"

   "You might need a sober witness. That guy's at least up and around…"

   "Good. Make the calls on the way out. You two? Drive carefully. You two armed?"

   Rob looked at Panic.

   "You… want our guns?"

   "No. Until I get backup? You two are the most trustworthy faces I know. Don't do anything unless I say anything. Panic? Can you keep yer dick in your pants, unless I whip mine out first?"

   "Yeah."

   "All right… let's go… and if this turns out to be nothing? You two owe me and Steve lunch at the diner."

   Rob laughed.

   "And, if it is something? I can't shake him off his story…"

   "If it's anything? Then… I'll buy you two lunch, or, dinner if we don't make it back in time. Fair? Good… let's get this over with…"

   On the way out, Rob drove the speed limit.

   "Well, I think they bought it."

   "Yeah. Looking good so far…"

   "Our own camp? Everyone alibi's us. We're good… your little girlfriend? You won't tell me what's going on, but, she's gonna have some explaining to do."

   "Rob? One day, I promise as soon as I ever can? I'll fill you in. For now? Just let this roll. It's self defense, we, well… we just helped her a little bit. Leave it at that."

   "All right. You're gonna be beating off for a while though, I can guarantee you that…"

   "That's fine. Hey, here's the car, slow down just past it…"

   The chief pointed out his window, and Steve rolled the cruiser off the side of the road, pinning the car in. They saw him get out with the shotgun, but he kept it pointed at the ground. They continued when the chief flicked his headlights.

   Rob pulled in the side of the bar, and the chief pulled in beside them. They all got out, and the chief looked around. He tried the door to the bar, locked up tight. He walked over to the line of cars, and looked at the license plates. All out of state. All DC. He stroked his chin. All the doors? Were all unlocked. Keys in the ignition. Weird. Cell phones? On seats and dashes. Soft drinks and food wrappers scattered around otherwise clean cars.

   The chief looked down, and noticed all the antifreeze pooling everywhere.

   "Boys? You see all these wrappers? Multiple cell phones laying even in the back seats? A bunch of guys, all drove up from DC. Ate and drank in the car. Now, that's not that weird, but… I don't like how there's wallets and cell phones everywhere. Looks like… they just dropped them, and everyone got out."

   Panic started complaining about Merry, would he please get moving… Rob shut him up.

   "Panic? Please shut up. Settle down, will you? Chief… you agree then, this is weird, right?"

   "Boys, this is fucking weird. Either of you guys cops?"

   "No."

   "Right. I am. I used to work Chicago, before I took my vest at ten years, and got the fuck out of that goddamn zoo. If I was back in Chicago? I would take one goddamned look at this train of cars, and say this was a stake out. When cops go in somewhere? We leave shit like wallets and cell phones behind, so we don't lose them in the fucking circus, have to go around looking for all our shit later on. We just take guns and badges. This? This is what our stake out cars look like, right after we get out to go in and do the circus act."

   "Chief?"

   "Shh. Now, I'm the chief. If anyone was coming up from DC? I'm supposed to get a call. But? I'm making a call, right now… hold on…"

   The chief went to his own car, and got Steve on his radio, which had him on his lapel radio.

   "Stevie. You good?"

   "We're good, chief. Guy's acting weird."

   "Yeah. Point the shotgun directly at him, and ask him if he's a cop… yes, I'm serious. Do not let his hands out of your sight. Just ask him, see what he says."

   "Says he's a cop, chief."

   "Same thing. Ask him… if he has a piece of paper to show me…"

   "He says, not on him."

   "Don't take your shotgun off him. I got outta state locals, playing in my town, no one so much as asked me shit. He's not a cop, up here, until I say otherwise, you got me?"

   "Loud and clear chief."

   "Be careful. I'm gonna go see what all the fuss is about. There's something going on…"

   "Rob? Would you mind waiting down here? If my other boys get here before I get back, send one of them to back Steve up, tell them I said to cuff that asshole and keep him on ice. I don't know what the fuck is going on, but I intend to find out. Of course, if you hear rounds cracking off? You can feel free to run and hide, or, try to come up and help me. Whichever suits you."

   "All right."

   "Panic? Show me this, drunken brawl… try to stay calm, okay?"

   "I'll try…"

   "All right. Lead me…"

   Panic walked the chief up towards the cabin. The cut out lane was easy and led directly to it. Panic stopped and pointed, as soon as he saw the pile of men. The chief walked up slowly, and took his own piece out. Held it down and out, but in hand seemed better than air. The chief waved him to stay behind him and he stopped short of the bodies.

   "Panic? Watch where you step, okay? This place is gonna be crawling with crime scene assholes, the less we fuck it up, the better I'm gonna look later on. Do me that small favor, would you?"

   Panic nodded…

   "Chief? I told you. You see? Go up to the cabin. That's where I left Merry!"

   "Okay. Let's go slow…"

   The chief led the way to the cabin. He stood to the side of the door. Knocked. Nothing. Called out for anybody. Nothing. He nudged the door with his gun barrel, and it swung in. He peeked inside.

   "Panic? Please, give me a minute."

   "Steve? You okay?"

   "Yeah, chief. What do you got?"

   "Steve? Do not let that motherfucker get his hands out of sight. Wait for backup. If he sneezes? Shoot him. Try to talk him out of it though, so far? He's looking to be the only witness."

   "What's up?"

   "Just keep your mind on what you're doing. Nothing else. Backup is coming. We're good so far. Let's keep it that way."

   "Chief…"

   "Steve? Eyes on. He sneezes? Shoot him. That? Is an order."

   "Roger."

   "Okay. Panic? Let's… I don't see Merry anywhere, that's actually a good thing, right at the moment. You know what else?"

   "What, chief?"

   "I have good news, and I have bad news. You want the good news first?"

   "Sure…"

   "Looks like we owe you two boys dinner."

   "What's the bad news, chief?"

   "Looks like we're gonna miss lunch. This? I don't fucking believe this shit… this? Is why I left Chicago, to get away from bullshit just like this. Christ almighty… all right, go on… start yelling. Maybe Merry is hiding out in the woods, or, if we don't find her… I'm hoping she ran off."

   Panic and the chief, both took turns yelling for Merry to come out, it was all over. Nothing.

   "Chief? Should we… try to do something?"

   "Panic? We can't do shit. We can't help anyone. Unless you're a priest?"

   "No…"

   "Well. Let's just watch where we step… go back down… backups on the way."

   They walked back down, retracing their steps. Rob asked "what?" and the Chief rolled his eyes.

   "Like I told your buddy here. I owe you boys dinner. We're probably missing lunch."

   "You… find Merry?"

   "Not yet, which right now? Is a good thing."

   A train of three personal vehicles pulled in, lined up next to where the chief and Rob were parked.

   "Chief?"

   "You three. Go down, and back Stevie up. Shotguns. I want that asshole he's got in cuffs, and I want him alive."

   "Read him his rights?"

   "I don't know. Is he a victim? Is he my only live witness? Is he the perpetrator? I don't know… all I know is that I want him. You guys… go get him. No rough stuff, I figure with four shotguns in his face? He'll be very… pliable. When he's in bracelets? You search his ass, and I mean every nook and cranny. His person only, don't touch the car. I have no idea what's coming soon? I don't wanna be the small town chief that fucked up the one little print everyone needed. When you get back? Everyone get gloves on. The squad car has an evidence kit, we never need it. Today's the day. Everyone get cute little gloves on, and we'll poke around, see what we can see."

   "We have probable cause?"

   "I have probable cause, and exigent circumstances? Coming out my fucking ears. I also? Got a missing girl. I hope she's alive, and stays missing. Up there? I got Chicago gangland. Unless I miss my guess? I got… oh… 10, 12? Dead cops laying everywhere in a big pile. My guess, anyways."

   "Chief, whole force is here…"

   "Not ours! Look, just go and get the asshole Stevie has. Be careful. I don't know what's going on. Don't rough him up, if you don't have to. That's what all the shotguns are for, okay? Move."

   "On it… you heard the chief. Let's go."

   The boys all piled in one car, after grabbing all their shotguns.

   The chief stood and pondered, aloud.

   "Okay. I got, what looks like four cars. On stake out. Looks like the cops dropped their personal gear, to go… do their thing. No one called me, I don't think they have a warrant. Now… this is an outlaw biker bar, even though these boys never gave me any trouble before. Nothing the locals don't give me, pole hole calls. That's it. These guys? Don't even pile on the guy, they let their guy fight, and they just watch, it's entertainment to them. Honestly? As far as outlaw biker gangs go? I got a nice one here, if that makes any sense."

   "Okay…"

   "I don't have stolen bikes, stolen cars. No guns being stolen. I don't even have drug dealing going on. How in the fuck does something like this go down, out of nowhere."

   "Now, you know what the weirdest thing is, to me right now?"

   "What?"

   "10 or 12 cops, all laying in a pile. All shot up to hell and back. You gonna tell me, there ain't one dead biker, anywhere. I don't see one, do you?"

   "No…"

   "Here comes my… witness… you boys wanna bet, he doesn't know anything? Don't answer that… watch…"

   Chief walked over to the back seat, where the guy was cuffed and in the back.

   "You know anything?"

   "No."

   "You don't wanna tell me how the bikers shot 10 or 12 of your buddies, and you hightailed it out of here? I thought you said you were a cop."

   "I don't know anything. I was on a fishing trip."

   The chief laughed.

   "Okay. Where, is the bait shop. You tell me, I already know where it is. Where's the bait shop."

   Nothing.

   "Big fucking surprise there… boys? Get the gloves on. Poke around, but don't get in the cars, don't sit in them. Anything? Handle it by the edges. Prints. Keys are in all the cars? Bet they're unlocked."

   "Find me some badges. See if you see anything… interesting. These boys ain't on a real case, there's no radios in the cars. I bet, all the guns? Are up there, in the pile of bodies."

   "Chief? Wallets and badge cases, all over the floors. DC city cops. That matches the plates. You might wanna come see this glove box…"

   "Gun? Dynamite? Flame thrower? Jimmy Hoffa's dick? Nothing's gonna surprise me right this second… ho. Anyone wanna bet, that ain't powdered sugar? Doesn't look like any bait I ever saw before, and I fish a lot. Must be new stuff I ain't seen out in the sticks, huh?"

   The chief held it by the edge of a corner, to preserve any prints. Gently opened it up. Sniffed it. Made a face and wagged his head…

   He licked the corner of his index finger and stuck it in. Pulled out a tiny bit of the white powder.

   "Guys? We don't carry drug test kits up here in the sticks. If anyone else has a better way to test it, I'm all ears."

   His cops all shrugged.

   He tasted it. Brought some out again, and rubbed it on his teeth and gums.

   "Might as well see if it's any good… hey, holy shit. This ain't no bar coke, this is the good stuff. Anyone wanna stay up all night?"

   Everyone just looked around.

   "I'm kidding. Chicago, remember? You don't do ten years in Fort Chicago, and don't get used to seeing drugs. This is decent cocaine. Looks like… oh… more than an ounce, maybe even two ounces."

   "Is, that a lot of it, chief?"

   "Yeah. This is… at least a thousand dollars here. That's one big sale, mind you. More if you break it down, more if you step on it, to make bar coke. Oh, you guys quit pretending you don't know anything about coke. You never once powdered some whore's nose and banged her all night? This? This is all weekend, and a long weekend at that. Put it back where you found it, and watch the prints. One of these assholes is gonna be all over it, I guarantee it."

   "What do you got? More coke?"

   "Looks like your bag, but, it's in the console."

   "Uh, mine is the glove box too? Looks funny, though…"

   "What? Oh that ain't… give me that…"

   He sniffed it, and didn't taste test it.

   "That? Looks like heroin."

   "Chief? are they buying it here… selling it here… just using it?"

   "I don't know. Where's one dead biker? If this is a drug deal gone bad, and that's either way, buying or selling? What self respecting drug dealer buying or selling, doesn't steal the drugs? Who wouldn't take the cops guns? Christ, the badges alone are worth a mint on the black market. Bet the wallets? All full of money and credit cards, am I right?"

   "Yeah…"

   "Robbery is out the window. And. Who in the fuck shoots cops, and doesn't at least roll the dead bodies into the weeds, to at least get some kind of head start… no, this is… weird. It's not a robbery. Doesn't look like a drug deal. These boys? They ain't even on a case. Whatever went on? I don't know what it is, but, it's… personal."

   "Steve?"

   "Boss…"

   "I need at least the state police out here. Call the barracks? On the cell phone. Don't put it out over the radio. Tell them who you are, explain you got 10 or 12 dead cops piled up, and guns and drugs all over the place. I got a witness, victim, perpetrator… won't speak, and he's a cop. I ain't ashamed to say I gotta hand this one over to the state boys. This is outta our league, boys. We're gonna pass this one right off. Above our pay grade."

   "Okay. What do you want us to do, chief?"

   "All right. Someone find the bikers. Don't tell them anything, just say you need them at their bar. See if they show up. If they ask, tell them they're not in any trouble, we just need to talk to them. If they don't show up? We have a clue maybe. Now, if they all show up, and aren't afraid to talk to us? I don't know what to think."

   "Chief? Do we walk around up there?"

   "Hmm. I don't see any survivors. I'm gonna say no. We'll just fuck the scene up. Now, I'm gonna vote… we wait for the state police to get here, see what they wanna do. Raise your hand if that's a good idea… I'm kidding. But, that's what I think I ought to do. Anyone have any good reason not to turn it over to them?"

   "Motion carries. We hold down the fort until the reinforcements arrive."

   "Owner says, he called the biker that's in charge when he's not here, which is every day. He's on his way."

   "Great. This ought to be good. I can't wait to hear this one…"

   Ten or fifteen minutes of small talk went on, and several Harley's came roaring down the side road they were on. They pulled in, and came over to the party.

   "Chief. Steve… what's going on?"

   "We… were hoping you knew something."

   "About what? Aw, fuck me… we got robbed?"

   "Not that I know of. Place is locked up tighter than a drum."

   "Oh. Good… so… what's going on? Is this about the skeet range? Hey, we looked it up. If we don't charge for rounds of skeet? We're no different than any guy that shoots skeet in his own back yard."

   "No, I think shooting skeet is fine… you boys do a little late night skeet shooting last night? Hmm?"

   "No. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. That's skeet nights."

   "So, what did you boys do last night?"

   "What do you think we did? It's a bar. It's the weekend… we drank beer, we did shots. We played pool, we threw darts. Hell, we didn't even have any fights. It was a good night. We closed up early. Maybe… midnight. What's all this about?"

   "State police are on their way. They're gonna ask you the same thing."

   "Answers still the same. Look, we're out in the sticks. The nationals? Don't even fuck with us much. Our orders? Keep a low profile. No rough stuff. Don't piss the citizens off too much, and party and have fun. We don't get any real orders from the nationals. It's not like we're downtown Philly, guys. Are we one percent guys? Sure are. We don't get orders like bigger clubhouses in bigger areas do. I'm the chapter president. I'm told to keep a low profile, be nice to the locals, and party? Sounds like a good plan to me."

   "All right, all right. Hey! Here comes the state police, looks like."

   "Great. Are the state police authorized to tell me what's going on in my own bar?"

   "Hey, this must be the party I heard about. Are the rumors true? Chief?"

   "Oh yeah."

   "You… got anything?"

   "A whole shitload of questions, yeah. Answers? We're fresh out. Figured that's where you come in."

   "Whoa. Whoa. Hold on. I brought gloves. Chief? Take a walk with me? Let's see what we got. Okay?"

   "Right this way…"

   Ten or fifteen minutes later, the chief and the state police investigator came walking down.

   "Chief?"

   "Yeah…"

   "I do homicide. It's my thing. Now, this ain't that weird a scene, except…"

   "Go on…"

   "There's enough empty brass up there, to melt down and cast a fucking statue, agreed?"

   The chief nodded several times, slowly, for humorous agreement.

   "Okay. You gonna tell me, all that went down, and they didn't hit a single, fucking, thing? I mean, gimme a couple from the other side, this might actually make some kind of sense."

   "Welcome to my world."

   "Did… a UFO just drop them up there?"

   "Best theory I heard yet today."

   "Heard you got a witness. Perpetrator. Victim… something."

   "Right in the back seat. Have fun. He won't say a word."

   "Naturally. What else is new. Anything else?"

   "No. Walk around those cars there, tell me what you think."

   "Hmm. All outta state. All matching plates. This… is a conga line, came up here. Keys in. I can see wallets… cell phones…"

   "Don't forget all the badge cases. Oh yeah…"

   The chief walked down the line…

   "Cocaine. Ounce or two, glove box. Cocaine, center console, again an ounce or two. Decent shit, too. My teeth are still numb, I don't have a kit to test it. This one? Real party boy… big bag of what I strongly suspect looks like heroin. I ain't taste testing that shit."

   "It gets more fun every minute. Anything else?"

   "Yeah. Walk around, look in. You tell me, this wasn't a stake out. Go on… I did Chicago, ten years and got the fuck out. Tell me, this wasn't a stake out."

   "No, it wasn't a stake out. You said to tell you that… but it was. These guys… call you? You're the chief, right?"

   "Not a word. No radios I can find. No paperwork… this was a stake out, but… personal? Makes no sense. All the drugs? Just make it more fun to speculate."

   "Okay… what's… with all the antifreeze?"

   "Someone cut all the hoses. That one? Found him up the road, the car shit out on him. His is cut too."

   The chapter president of the bikers cut in quick.

   "Okay… you? Did I hear you say… dead cops?"

   "Yeah. I mean, I gotta wait on fingerprints, but… smart money's on it. Are you… an… officer of this club?"

   "Chapter president."

   "I can see the stickers in the window. Pagans."

   "Yeah."

   "You expect me to believe, you have a dozen or so dead cops up there, in piles. And you have no idea what went on here, after you all left. Are you seriously walking this one past me?"

   "You… have a dozen dead cops up there? You're shitting me."

   "No, genius. We're all here? For the coke and the beer. Open the bar up, get some girls over. I wanna do rails off the bar with you guys, hey, let's all do some shots and bang some skanks. I'm state police, homicide. The fuck you figure we're all here for?"

   "Well, fuck you too, asshole. No one told me shit yet. Thanks, for letting me in on the big fucking secret."

   The state police guy sighed. Ran his fingers through his receding hair line.

   "Look. I'm not trying to get in your shit. Lord knows? We're on opposite teams. But… chief? These guys raise hell all day and night here?"

   "Honestly? They're… well… they're frankly less trouble than some of the locals, to be honest. I get less fights out here, than in town."

   "All right. I take it back, sorry I snapped at you. For now. Now, someone here, has to know something… okay, fuck this. I'm gonna play a little game, who's with me? Okay… everybody… line up… that's cops, bikers, everyone."

   He came back with a little black plastic case.

   "Raise your hand, if you have not fired a gun in the last… 12 to 24 hours."

   He held his own hand up, and everyone elses hand went up as well.

   "Okay. Anyone have any problem with me taking a test? I wanna see gun residue tests. You don't have to, but I gotta tell you… if you fail it, we need to have a talk. If you pass it? I'm happy. We all in? Watch, I'll go first…"

   He dribbled a couple drops on his own hand, and showed them.

   "This? is a negative test. Yes, I wanna see the cops too. This is too weird, I got a dozen dead cops, drugs. I want everybody."

   He went down the line, and everybody, Panic and Rob included, came out negative.

   "Now? Let me guess… take me to the asshole in the car…"

   Positive, it turned dark blue, almost purplish black.

   "Bingo. This asshole, knows what the fuck went down, he just ain't telling us. Mr. Chapter president?"

   "Yeah…"

   "Pretty please, with sugar on top. Will your boys obey orders? From you?"

   "Damn straight."

   "Can… you get them here, and line them up? You know what I want…"

   "No. I'll do it. It's the weekend, most of 'em ain't working."

   "I ain't worried about a straggler or two. I'm looking for the crew that did this shit. Look, you get them here, they walk through this? They can all go home. I promise. I honestly can't remember the last time I found piles of dead bodies on biker turf, and bikers weren't involved. This? Is going to be one for the record books."

   Within 20 minutes of more small talk, and head scratching… a line of Harley's roared in. The chapter president lined them up. Asked if anyone knew anything. No one did. The state cop went down, anointing meaty hands and wrists, all of which were negative.

   "The state police thank you for your time and cooperation, everyone go back home and do whatever it is you were doing, sorry to have bothered you. Please, go back and enjoy whatever misdemeanor you were enjoying, before I so rudely dragged you away from it."

   "Chief? Is it just me, or, someone disabled all these cars?"

   "Unless they did it themselves, yeah."

   "So… someone was here. Didn't want these dozen or so sweetie pies leaving and getting very far. Then… they… got into it. I'm trying to figure out what I could do, pretending I wanted to get 12 or more out of state cops up here, on their own time and money and initiative. They're here, for something. We need to figure out what that is."

   Chief spread his hands…

   "Drug deal?"

   "Eh. They could do that in downtown DC. Less risk, know the players, probably get a better price. What do biker bars have, that they want so bad?"

   "Guns, drugs, whores… the usual party favors. And mine? Don't really seem to do that."

   "Once again, it's all cheaper, easier, less risky in DC. At home. Doesn't look like they broke into the bar… they waited until it was closed. They weren't selling their drugs or they'd have taken it up there, and not like you need more than a dozen guys to sell a couple ounces of coke, a couple ounces of heroin. I don't think they bought the drugs here, because, what? They buy the drugs, they come down, put them away… then go back up and that happens? Doesn't make sense…"

   "Are they… some kind of… task force I never heard of? I'm the chief, but…"

   "Uh. Chief? The badges are on the floor, along with wallets and cell phones…"

   "Yeah."

   "It's a stake out, we can agree on that, right?"

   "Looks like it."

   "Now. Cops. Working… something… on their own time. In a large group. Okay, they get brownie points for initiative. We both know, we drop our wallets and cell phones, before we go in, but… chief? In Chicago, did you ever all leave your badges in the car?"

   "Never."

   "When do cops leave their badges behind, but, wait on stakeout and take their guns."

   The chief whistled…

   "Yeah."

   "Mr. president?"

   "Yeah…"

   "What… is, or… was… in the magic shed up there? These guys staked out the bar, waited for it to empty, then… headed right for it. What's in there, they want so bad?"

   "Shed was just an empty shed. Till recently. Around the time we started doing skeet? It got gone over with a rough pass, and, we had a new barmaid hanging out there some nights."

   "Okay. Can… we have a peek in the bar? I'm not saying there's a pile of dead cops and a pile of dead bikers in there, I'm just…"

   "No, I dig. You wanna look around. Thing is…"

   "Aw, is this the warrant speech? Look, you have my word, I don't care about the roach in the ashtray, or whatever. I mean, we were getting along so good, can't we just keep it up?"

   "It's not a warrant thing. I just can't open it up for you. Yet."

   "Why not? Do we have to wait for opening hour? I'll buy us soft drinks, if it'll help…"

   "I don't have the key!"

   "You came because the cops are at your bar, and want to talk to you, and you didn't think you needed the keys to the bar?"

   "I don't have the keys… the new barmaid has the keys. Left 'em with her. What if she wants a sandwich and a drink in the middle of the night? She has the keys. She was going to stay in the shed last night."

   "Oh. Is that… the missing girlfriend? That started this whole thing."

   The chief nodded.

   The state police homicide investigator smiled. Put his hands in his pockets. Rocked back and forwards on and off his heels a few times.

   "Am I the only person here thinking what I'm thinking?"

   The chief rolled his eyes.

   "Depends what your thinking, I suppose."

   "Their interest, is clearly the shed. More to the point, whatever is in the shed. All I'm hearing, is how the only thing ever in the shed? Is the girl. The girl? Is missing. Hopefully? She turns up. Uhm… let's toss these cars… but, we'll toss them carefully. And… I got an idea. How about, everyone get all the badges they can locate, and put them in a pile. I'll be right back. I wanna see something… I should have thought of this before…"

   The state police guy walked up the hill, and walked around. Pointed at bodies. Came back down.

   "Head count. I got four on the floor in the magic shed. I got one giving me the silent treatment in the back seat over there. That's five. I count nine in a pileup near the front of the shed. How many badges we got?"

   "Even dozen. Twelve."

   "That ain't right. Silent boy's car got more badges?"

   The chief pointed at Steve. Who nodded and went and drove up, then back.

   "I got four more badges…"

   "Okay. Four plus nine is thirteen. One more is fourteen… I got fourteen bodies, counting alive and deceased… why do I have sixteen badges? Christ, four per car, four cars… it was a goddamn high school field trip to come up here… now, where are my two missing students? Hmm?"

   Everyone shrugged.

   "Chief, come with me? Everyone else okay to hang out while we walk and have a look see?"

   Everyone nodded, and the Chief and the state police homicide investigator walked up again. Once at the pile, the chief stood back a foot or two, and the homicide guy looked at the guys in the pile.

   "Look at this one. Three in the upper chest. Nice grouping. My SWAT boys do that kind of work. I don't typically see that level of work in gangland shit like this."

   "Why does he get three in the upper chest, guys around him all have one in the same spot?"

   "Center mass is… the basic thing everyone is taught. There's a triangle, nipple to nipple and up to the base of the throat… SWAT calls it the cardio triangle. If you only have time to put one somewhere? Best place to put it. Head shots are really iffy with handguns."

   "You're admiring the work?"

   "If someone came and told me a SWAT team took this crew of cops out? It would make perfect sense to me… now… these ones? They get popped all over, wherever. Arm, leg, shoulder…"

   "Different shooter."

   "Or different situation. Standing targets? Cardio triangle. Once guys get to ducking and rolling in the grass? Area fire makes more sense. Where's the SWAT team, though. The bikers? They didn't do this kind of work. Gangs tend to use spray and pray, and only the good ones do center-mass."

   "You believe the biker's story?"

   He stood up… looked around…

   "Yeah. I do. You?"

   "I guess. Yeah. This… just ain't their style, far as I know."

   "I also believe them? Because they're all negative on the GSR test."

   "Come on, chief. The magic shed…"

   They carefully walked around the four cops on the floor. The chief stood back while his cohort carefully approached the cot.

   "Christ. It looks like…"

   He poked the sheets. Nothing solid. Carefully peeled back the sheets, revealing balled up sheets and pillows arranged. Kinda looked like a sleeping person, and it would be a lot more convincing in the dark, under pressure at a quick glance.

   He stood up, looked around.

   "Brass all over in here. Beds not all shot up… looks like a few ricochets just went around it…"

   The guy kicked at the low rectangle on the back wall. The heavy metal sheet swung on oiled hinges silently, but, it took effort.

   Chief? Bed… escape hole…?"

   Then he turned around and took everything in. Glanced up at the two ladders made out of two by four's and the little landing built.

   "What's that? Chief… do me a favor. Walk out, then back in. I wanna see something."

   The chief did. When he walked back in, he stopped at the four men piled up in the general area they fell in.

   "Chief? We both are on the same page, they were here for the only thing in this damn shed… that girl. Wouldn't you be looking at the bed?"

   "I guess I would, if I was here for that."

   "So? Look at it. Eyes on it…"

   "Okay? What am I seeing?"

   The chief felt the guy's finger touch the back of his head.

   "Oh."

   "Yeah…"

   "And the other three?"

   "They came in after?"

   "Okay. Then what?"

   The guy stood up in a crouch on the platform. Looked out the heavy louvers.

   "I'm looking right at the pile of dead cops, chief."

   He made a "pow, pow" noise like a little kid playing cowboys and Indians. Using his index finger, actually aiming down it like a gun-sight, sizing it up.

   "You like that spot for this?"

   "Oh yeah. I can get guys coming in. I got a great bead on the guys standing out front… You see the door holes, they had to fire through the door, cement front… I'm pretty safe up here."

   "But… the escape hatch. Out the back…"

   "After a while? I skin out the back hatch, I can come around. They're watching the front door, not as many as came up… they're reloading… I come around the side…"

   "This wasn't gangland shit."

   He came down from the perch he admired.

   "The 4 carloads of cops? With drugs? Without badges, paper, radios? That's gangland. But… in here? SWAT team."

   "Really?"

   "Chief, you know where the moon came up?"

   "Not really… I mean, I know at my house where it comes up, moves to…"

   "Exactly. The moon… came up out back… even the lighting was perfect for the team in here. Making their last stand."

   "More outside…"

   "Not necessarily. Let's go out that hatch…"

   "Okay…"

   They lifted it up, and held it for each other. Tall uncut hay-field behind the shed, all the way up to the ridge at the top and the final wood line.

   "You can escape up the tall grass. Hit the woods… if you think you can't keep it up… or… look…"

   The grass was cut down the far side. They followed it, they popped out on the side. Walked down, until they were abreast of the pile of cops.

   "You crouch down. They're not standing anymore… you can escape up the back, or…"

   "…you can come up here, and pop up unexpectedly."

   "This… barmaid? Either hired a SWAT team to be her ringers… or…"

   "Or what?"

   "You know this girl?"

   "Yeah. Name's Merry. That guy outside? His girlfriend. Other guy? That's his buddy. They're out George's property. Working, making outbuildings and shit. She came in with him."

   "What's her story?"

   "Used to be a waitress. In the city."

   "What city? There's a lot of cities."

   "I didn't pull her jacket. Look. George? About the biggest property owner in this town. Nice guy. Retired. Runs a bait shop. Family does civil war re enactments. Family buys the big fireworks for the town every year for the fourth. Merry and her guy? They have coffee and donuts with me and Steve all the time, just like George does."

   "So, her guy is a construction worker."

   "Actually, he was a consultant for the FBI. Working on a case. With his state cop friend, they're working some big case with the FBI. They're friends with George."

   "And, his girl. This girl… the missing girl… she's a waitress?"

   "Yeah. Was."

   "Chief… any chance the boyfriend consulting for the FBI, working on his case with his state cop friends, now FBI agents… any chance this was at the Hoover building? You know, Washington DC…"

   "Now that you mention it, yeah. The state cop, he's still in DC, working that case."

   "Chief. I'm not saying anything, I'm just tossing ideas around, but… all investigators have a saying? First thing they teach us. We are not to believe in coincidences."

   "Go on…"

   "Well. What do we got? We got 16 cops, piling into cars, for a bullshit fishing trip. Lame ass cover for their little field trip. From DC. They came straight to here. Staked out the bar, waited for it to close, the girl to get up here… and they headed straight up here."

   "The girl? Recently came up from… DC… now, of all the friends to make in a new town, she heads right for the nearest outlaw biker bar? Has the construction guys give the old supply shed out back a quick once over for her? And it just happens to be a pretty nice prep for a last stand."

   "I'm following you, but… she's an out of work waitress from a… steakhouse, I'm pretty sure I remember."

   "Chief? Where did she stay before here… hmm? Curious."

   "Well, with the boys out George's property. Her and her guy? They live in a little cabin. Like a working vacation."

   "What are the boys making out there?"

   "George has a bait shop. Big farm. Not a big farmer, retired. He's… putting in a gun range. Bait shop already, we could use a gun range, too. Hunting town. State game lands. Smart move, you know."

   "So… she isn't paying rent? Just stays in a cabin…"

   "Just like all the boys working on the range. They stay in a bunkhouse they made for the work time… her and her guy? They took a tiny outbuilding for their little cabin. The boys call them the lovebirds, call it the love nest. It's kind of sweet."

   "How do they pay for donuts and coffee? Let me guess. Cash, or, a debit card. Never a credit card. How am I doing?"

   "Yep…"

   "She's obviously already used to this outlaw biker gang. You don't just meet them one day, become the barmaid, and they toss you the keys to their turf bar. Give you another no rent cabin to stay in. No, they know her. They trust her. She's like family…"

   "Are you sure you're not connecting dots to create something? I mean, we could come up with all new constellations, and draw deer and ducks in the sky instead of Sagittarius and Scorpio."

   "DC cops. DC waitress. DC boyfriend, who has DC friends and coworkers. This girl? Loves to hang around FBI, State Police, outlaw bikers. Shooting range guys? Will be almost all ex military, cops and ex cops… Christ, she lives under the table on a gun range, for Christ's sake. Wants to have another off the books cabin right behind an outlaw biker turf bar."

   "She's a sweet girl. We… we're both coloring in the coloring book, using very different colors."

   "Coincidences… DC, DC, DC, DC… and anywhere she goes? She makes sure she surrounds herself, with… protection. No credit cards. No rent forms."

   "Protection from what?"

   "You tell me, but… look outside? Look on the floor here? Chief, I'm tap dancing around it, you're tap dancing around it. We're alone. Let's just say it, if just between us, okay? Sixteen cops in four cars, made a field trip, off the books, up here. Dropped everything, badges included, taking only their guns… all to come up here, to her cabin. This wasn't a fishing trip… this? Was a gangland hit. Just the gang? Was all cops."

   The chief said nothing. Taking it in.

   "Cops… all dropped their badges… shit. After doing lines of coke and a snort of heroin…"

   They both rolled their eyes.

   "Fuck me. What do we do now?"

   "Right this second? Let's walk around. We got two badges unaccounted for, didn't get back on the field trip bus. Plus? I'd like to find the girl… those two missing cops? Even if they're alive… I don't figure they'll fill in any blanks any better than the asshole in the back seat down there, but the girl? She might be in a very different mood."

   "You act like she's going to show up in the donut shop for coffee and donuts later…"

   With a big sigh…

   "Chief. When we get down? Would you… check all the trunks, for the girl. And for the love of god, do it quietly would you? I don't wanna freak the boyfriend out."

   They walked back out to the pile of dead cops.

   "Where do we start for the two extra cops?"

   "Chief, could be anywhere, but… if you want an idea? People tend to run from devastating gunfire. Just my experience. Accurate fire is coming out the cabin… and… I'm thinking from over there… they move down, or… over that way…"

   "One made it to a car…"

   "That was disabled. Others didn't…"

   "So… we go that way… over… across…"

   "Let's see what we see…"

   They ambled back and forth, and could now see the high grass trampled down. Like where a deer beds down. But, in continuous and swooping lines.

   "I think we'll find the two cop bodies maybe, by following this… looks to me, like people crawling slowly through high wet grass. Really mats it down…"

   "Now what? It wiggles and loops all around…"

   "It's dark. You're playing hide and seek, for your lives…"

   "They went down to the cars…"

   "Or, someone chased the car guy we got. Let him go, knew he wasn't getting far. Remember, they disabled all the cars. Silently. Then… that's them coming up, not down…"

   "To play hide and seek. In the tall wet grass."

   "We just have to figure out where the game ended. It's obvious, they were making for the wood line. These are the last two men, out of a sixteen man coked up hit team… they're trying to get away now. They cornered the wrong rat. It leaped for their throats."

   They were near the wood line. Looking around.

   "Chief, we can play Gunga Din in this tall grass, but, once we hit the woods?"

   "I know. Hey… what's that?"

   "What? Blood trail?"

   "No. That, there…"

   "Oh… let's see."

   They walked over. The investigator gently slapped the chief's hand.

   "Ace of spades?"

   "Could be a coincidence, chief, but…"

   "But what?"

   "My brother in law was an Airborne Ranger. Teases me at holidays, I'm only a state cop… that's their calling card. That's the death card."

   "Scare tactic. Dirty cops. Leave it to give everyone the eebie jeebies. They'll hit you if you cross them."

   "One possibility, sure."

   "What… would another possibility be. Since we're just supposing and all."

   "When Airborne is sent in to handle something? They typically leave their calling card around. Let everyone know, exactly who did this. It's a warning."

   "Well, since this is hypothetical and all, when would Airborne be sent in to handle it. Leave cards. Typical case."

   "Oh, the classic case? Vietnam. Cambodian border was a no no. It's a rule… the enemy? Quickly exploited this. They would sneak over the Cambodian border, blow shit up, guerrilla bullshit… then sneak back over the border. You know, exploiting the rules. Ha ha, we know you're not allowed here, nyah nyah…"

   "If you play dirty. If you make fun of people for following the rules…"

   "Yeah. Airborne would sneak over. Following them. Get them. Get them bad. These are the guys everyone gets the scary bedtime stories about. A small force would follow them over the border, deep into their safe zone. Small force. Wicked bastards. These are the guys that would then sneak into the big enemy camp at night. Slit the throat of every other guy in a large barracks. Enemy wakes up? Every other man is dead. Now, they could have just as easily killed every man in the room, obviously. They didn't. The half of the men that lived? Imagine what that did for morale when they told their tale."

   "Then what happens?"

   "Oh. Enemy activity like that? Goes down to zero. The meaning gets through loud and clear. You play fair, you play by the rules… or else. Now, you wanna play dirty? Throw the rule book out? They ship these guys around, putting fires out."

   "So… what would a retired Airborne Ranger think of… dirty cops. Buying selling using drugs. Doing gang hits on innocent civilians. Holding their badges up to protect themselves and scare people, while running around laughing, acting just like an organized crime setup."

   "Oh. I'm sure they would be pleased. You know, there's a true urban legend. There was once a violent drug gang, that adopted the ace of spades, and started leaving the death card at hits on witness families when they took them out. All any of the investigators on the case could figure out? The entire gang just started disappearing. When one was found? You would just locate a head on a stick. An ace of spades in the mouth. It quickly became obvious, the real card dealers, took offense at cheap wannabes using their calling card."

   "How did it end up?"

   "Every member of that gang? Either was found dead, or fled for their lives and went into hiding. Then? It was like it never even happened. Was it one man? Taking revenge for his family. Was it a couple of them got together, heard it on the news, took it as a challenge? Was it one of the cops, that had enough? No one could ever get anywhere on it."

   "So, this could be either side, could be either way."

   "Anything is possible."

   "So, we try to cross reference former Airborne Rangers, with these badges, maybe…"

   "The ace of spades? Got adopted by all special forces when they have to resort to using those tactics. Force recon, scout snipers, airborne, navy seals, air cavalry… the list goes on. Mercenaries. Government spooks."

   "If this was what went on, just supposing… this wasn't… heads on sticks…"

   "No. It would be a warning."

   "What's our next move?"

   "We still have two missing students who didn't get back on the field tip bus. We still have a missing girl. I hope she's not in the trunk, or, those two got away with her."

   "You hear that?"

   They both started swiveling around, listening and looking. Then looked at each other. Moaning? They followed and stopped, followed and stopped, and finally found it. They walked up and were looking down at the two guys handcuffed to a tree. One was opening and closing his eyes, bobbing his head. Moaning. Bad head injury. The other was just looking dejected and pissed off.

   They left them there, and walked back down. Sent up the chief's cops to hold shotguns on them, and bring them down into custody. They were handcuffed and crammed all three into the back of the same car as the first one. None of them had anything to say. Fishing trip. Don't know nothing.

   The state police investigator took Panic aside, and made small talk with him. Kept him talking, asking and answering questions, while the investigator looked over Panic's shoulder, to behind him. The chief was quietly checking the trunks while Panic's attention was focused on his conversation.

   The investigator used a voice that Panic recognized as "Speedy voice". Extra polite and sweet inquiry mode. He as gently as possible conveyed to Panic the list of coincidences, that kept coming up. DC, DC, DC, DC…

   "So. Is there… anything I need to know? The girl, DC… can you help me out here. I just get the feeling that someone here knows something."

   "Look. I can see where you're going. I simply can't tell you what you want to know. I'm sorry. I gave my word."

   "Well, I understand, I even admire that, but… this is… big and important. You? Came to the chief with this scene, and a missing girlfriend. Right now? My number one priority is finding the girl. You gotta help me, to help you, to help the girl."

   "Sir? When I gave my word, I was told no matter what. There was no mention of… well, unless it's very important. Or, unless someone asks very politely."

   "Okay. How about if I were to contact whoever you gave your word to. How would that be? Then, the person you gave your word to? They could make that decision for you."

   Panic handed him two business cards. Told him he had to give them back, but, he was to copy down the phone numbers and names and titles. He was to call both, and explain what he had here. He was told to tell both men, that the missing girl was Merry, and that a man named Panic had given him these names to call, because he wasn't allowed to answer the questions he was being asked.

   The investigator thanked him, and promised to explain that Panic would not answer any questions of a certain nature, and he found it frustrating.

   "Panic? I don't mean this to be ominous. For example? I'm going to pull the jacket of the chief and all his cops, just as surely as all of those bikers I got the names off of. It's just what I have to do. Question… what am I going to find when I pull your jacket? Merry's jacket?"

   "Me? Air Force out of high school. Six years as a computer programmer. I'm an out of work delivery driver at the moment. I developed a big case on my own, and it wound up at the FBI, where it's temporarily stalled, decorated in reams of red tape. Merry? College dropout, out of work steakhouse waitress. We hooked up. We dig each other. And? I would appreciate it, if you didn't mention the fact that I'm an unpaid consultant for the FBI on what I call 'my case'. It's just so I can be on the case and keep helping."

   "Mention it to who? Guys on these phone calls?"

   "No, you dip. Merry's biker friends. I'm not a biker, I just do hello and goodbye. That's her bobby, not mine. I'm not scared of them or anything, but, not like I want them to give her the shits about it."

   "Merry's not into cops, you're not into bikers, but you two are into each other."

   "Yep."

   "I'm discrete. I'll make these calls privately."

   "I'm not one to tell a man how to do his job…"

   "Hey. You wanna make a suggestion? I'm all ears. You see, there are three kinds of messes. You got your basic small mess. You have your moderately sized mess. What most people think of as an absolute disaster? Most of them are just moderately sized messes, just on the bigger end of the scale. True, honest to god king sized messes? Are rare, and they are fucking biblical. Wanna guess what this thing is?"

   "King sized mess…"

   "Oh yeah. Now, about your suggestion…"

   "Yes. Maybe, take all those sixteen badge cases? And… read the names and badge numbers off to both of those calls you make. One or both should find it… perhaps helpful."

   "Hmm. You know? I think I'll try that. I fail to see where it would hurt anything. Now… what would you guess would happen next? I mean, if I was trying to plan my day and all."

   "You want a wild ass guess? People are going to shit themselves. Diapers are going to get changed. One or both of those men you call, will probably send someone up here to try to help sort out your… king sized mess of biblical proportions."

   "What will that accomplish?"

   "Again a guess, but… you… could work with them, like I see you doing with the chief. I like the way you're not taking it off the chief, and you're accepting his help and extra manpower. The next step up the food chain? Why would you not want to fold you and the chief, and all those already combined resources, into getting behind the next you that shows up. Or? Everyone can have a pissing contest."

   "And what do you do, if it ends up a pissing contest?"

   "I go home. To the empty cabin I was sharing with my girl. And, I ask the cat to help me find Merry. Because, if a pissing match develops? The cat will be more help to me."

   The man smiled warmly.

   "You have spent time in DC, at the FBI building. I can see that now…"

   "I find myself, when down in DC at the FBI building? Reminds me of sitting and watching my family dog chase it's tail. It's mildly amusing, in a way? But mostly a complete waste of time, and nothing gets done. Takes forever though. The dog? Never seems to learn it's not getting anywhere."

   "Is there a moral to this story?"

   "Oh. The FBI, is like this big, powerful horse. Huge, rippling muscles. Capable of amazing things, but… you have to point the horse in the right direction. And, the horse can't sense you're in charge, or, it will throw you and just stand there, stamping its feet, turning in circles."

   "Question?"

   "If I can, sure."

   "Your case… is it anything to do with… all this mess?"

   "Nope. Not at all. You see, me and my state police partner? We were picking up steam, and simply galloping to our goal, solving our case. Then? All of a sudden? The horse threw us, and started turning in circles. I had no choice, but to sit down, and watch the horse do its thing. When the horse quits? I'll get back on. Until then? All of this… happened."

   "You, just want your girl back, and to get back to your case."

   "Amen. Can I get a hallelujah."

   "Thanks for the numbers, I'll try it."

   "Hope it helps. I mean, your info would eventually land on the proper two desks, going through whatever proper channels in the system there is? But, like calling any big office building… boy, is it nice to just know what two extensions to call, and get it over with."

   "And when the horses arrive?"

   "Groom them, give them treats, rub their noses. Gently nudge them in the right direction, always letting the horse think it's in charge. I mean, I have no idea who will get sent up, but…"

   "A horse is a horse."

   "Of course."

   The investigator smiled, nodded. They had their moment when they connected. Each seemed happy to find the other, understood each other, and seemed to enjoy talking outside the conversation.