Chapter 12
The shooter’s name was Albert Jenkins. He was about as they come with a gun, especially at long-range shots.He had always liked shooting, going back to his childhood in eastern Texas where his father taught Albert to shoot almost as soon as the little boy could walk. Albert still practiced almost every day, never satisfied until he could place his bullets inside a small circle from hundreds of yards away.
Albert was rather fond of his new job. He didn’t really care for his past one because of all the bureaucracy involved. This one was great. He had one boss who told him when and who to take care of.
He knew from the past that as long as his boss was happy, things would be good for Albert. His boss didn’t like failed missions. Neither did Albert.
That’s what was so frustrating to Albert when the gun didn’t fire after he pulled the trigger.
“What the heck?” he said and looked down at the gun. Albert quickly realized that he had failed to take the safety off, a mistake he usually couldn’t afford. He took the safety off and looked back through the scope, but the man named Squiggy was no longer standing at the window, looking out. Neither was the big-chested woman. “Crap!”
Albert knew he would have to wait a little longer, not that he minded. Most of the bugs were gone for the winter, along with the snakes that made his skin crawl. For a man who had been in the woods so much, Albert had never gotten comfortable with snakes. It dated back to his early days when a copperhead struck him. The only thing that had kept the bite from being serious was the snake got him on his hunting boots, right above the ankle.
That incident had scared him and Albert had never overcame it. Some of his buddies liked to mess with him and hid fake snakes in his bed and boots. They got a kick out of it. Albert didn’t much care for it.
He settled back in for the next opportunity, looking through the scope at the windows in the house, only wanting a brief sighting of the man. Albert had nothing personal with this Squiggy guy. His boss apparently did, though. Maybe this would be enough to convince people to stop butting in their business, at least this coupled with the shooting earlier in the night.
Albert caught movement in one of the rooms. He put the scope on the room and waited. The shadow was approaching the window slowly. Albert took a deep breath and concentrated on his target.
The man walked into Albert’s sight. Albert started to fire off a bullet when the woods rustled behind him.
-------
Jimmy Don Anson stood back as the chair crashed through the window. As soon as the glass broke, lights came on from all around the cabin. The whole grounds were lit up like it was day.
He looked inside and saw that in addition to the two men, there were now five more, all heavily armed. Jimmy Don heard loud voices coming from all around him. He had just stepped into a beehive that was swarming with things much worse than stingers.
While he wanted to strike back at these men, Jimmy Don knew this wasn’t the time. There were too many men, much more than he expected. This is what happens when you react out of anger, instead of doing proper planning, Jimmy Don realized.
He slipped off the same way he came, past the body of the man who would be sporting a serious headache for the next few days. The dogs started barking, coonhounds that could track him almost anywhere.
Jimmy Don slipped alongside the wall of the cabin, not that it offered much protection. This area was lit up, just like the rest of the area. He had no choice and took off sprinting for the tree line, some fifty yards away.
They had spotted him and Jimmy Don heard the bark of something much worse than a coonhound. It was at least two Dobermans, coming directly at him from the back. Every step brought him closer to the woods that would provide some cover. But the dogs were catching up much faster than he was advancing.
He could hear their snarls and growls, practically felt them about to pounce. Jimmy Don knew this was a lost cause. These dogs could do serious damage to anybody, even him. There was no way to turn around and shoot the dogs. He might get one, but the other would be on him before he had a chance to defend himself.
Jimmy Don finally gave in and turned around, his gun aimed at the nearest dog, only a few yards away. Before he could get a shot off, Jimmy Don heard a gun fire, followed by another. He expected to feel the bullets hitting him, but instead, the two dogs dropped. Jimmy Don paused long enough to look at the dogs, both shot through the head.
He wanted to look around and see who rescued him, but Jimmy Don knew that he didn’t have time to wait around. He owed somebody a big favor, but whoever helped him would have to get thanked some other time.
---------
Michael wasn’t a big fan of hospitals. He also didn’t like being laid up, but there wasn’t anything that could be done. His left wrist was broken and the doctor said they might have to put screws in it.
He had a big gash just above his nose that had required stitches. Luckily, his left knee was only sprained badly, nothing broken or that would require an operation. Michael wouldn’t be running any sprints in the near future, not that he planned on doing any.
Sandy had just gone home and he was trying to go to sleep when somebody knocked on the door.
“Come in,” he said, expected it to be his mother and maybe little Michael, the boy who was staying with them until his mother, who was big Michael’s second wife, recovered from some medical problems.
Instead, two men walked in. They were both huge, the kind you would want on your side in a fight. They both had badges showing over the front of their belt. Both men had short hair, wore white dress shirts, jeans and boots
Michael noticed they each had guns in holsters on their belts. Neither man was smiling, which didn’t surprise Michael. He knew from experience that most men involved with law enforcement weren’t all that happy.
“Mister Hunt,” the first man said. “My name is Agent Jennings and this is Agent O’Donnell. We’re with the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation.”
Michael nodded. He didn’t know what to say.
“We are here about the shooting,” agent O’Donnell said.
“The one at the lake?” Michael said.
Agent Jennings shook his head. “No, the one that happened in the building across the street from your office.”
“Good. Has that guy admitted to shooting the man?”
The two agents looked at each other, then back at Michael. “No, we don’t believe he was the one who shot the man.”
Michael was puzzled. He had seen the man run from the building and then shot Chief Arnold. “Why do you say that?”
“The gun he had wasn’t the one that shot the man,” said Jennings.
“Wrong gun, different shells,” said the other agent.
“Well, then who shot the man?” Michael said.
“We found the gun from the shooting,” said O’Donnell. “Matched the slugs to the bullet that killed the man and even found some good prints.”
“We think we know who shot the man,” Jennings said.
“Okay, who was it?”
“The prints off the gun matched your prints, Mister Hunt,” O’Donnell said. “We believe you shot him.”
--------
Albert shifted around to see what was happening behind him. He expected it to be some dogs or maybe a deer. But whatever it was distracted him long enough to give this man a few minutes longer to live.
Instead of an animal, a man emerged from the woods. The man was somewhere around forty years old, had long hair and a beard that needed a bad trim. Despite the cool temperature, the man was wearing a shirt with both sleeves cut off, short pants and hunting boots.
Albert would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so ridiculous.
“Put the gun down,” the man said.
“Who are you?” Albert said. He smelled an odor that almost burned his nostrils. "You need a shower, dude."
“My name’s Mule and you ain’t shooting Big Uns! I don't take a bath till the weekend. You need a buttock kicking.”
“I'm not shooting the chick. I’m going to shoot the man.”
"Squiggy! Bull crap!” Mule came closer and assumed his unique fighting position. He was at an angle with one knee aimed straight ahead. His left arm was held up in the air while his right hand covered his privates.
Albert laid the rifle down and slowly stood, dragging a big hunting knife out of his boot and up the back of his pant leg in the process. “You going to kung fu me?”
“Naw, I’s gonna Mule Up on your butt!”
He jumped toward the man, never seeing the knife coming in his direction.
Albert was rather fond of his new job. He didn’t really care for his past one because of all the bureaucracy involved. This one was great. He had one boss who told him when and who to take care of.
He knew from the past that as long as his boss was happy, things would be good for Albert. His boss didn’t like failed missions. Neither did Albert.
That’s what was so frustrating to Albert when the gun didn’t fire after he pulled the trigger.
“What the heck?” he said and looked down at the gun. Albert quickly realized that he had failed to take the safety off, a mistake he usually couldn’t afford. He took the safety off and looked back through the scope, but the man named Squiggy was no longer standing at the window, looking out. Neither was the big-chested woman. “Crap!”
Albert knew he would have to wait a little longer, not that he minded. Most of the bugs were gone for the winter, along with the snakes that made his skin crawl. For a man who had been in the woods so much, Albert had never gotten comfortable with snakes. It dated back to his early days when a copperhead struck him. The only thing that had kept the bite from being serious was the snake got him on his hunting boots, right above the ankle.
That incident had scared him and Albert had never overcame it. Some of his buddies liked to mess with him and hid fake snakes in his bed and boots. They got a kick out of it. Albert didn’t much care for it.
He settled back in for the next opportunity, looking through the scope at the windows in the house, only wanting a brief sighting of the man. Albert had nothing personal with this Squiggy guy. His boss apparently did, though. Maybe this would be enough to convince people to stop butting in their business, at least this coupled with the shooting earlier in the night.
Albert caught movement in one of the rooms. He put the scope on the room and waited. The shadow was approaching the window slowly. Albert took a deep breath and concentrated on his target.
The man walked into Albert’s sight. Albert started to fire off a bullet when the woods rustled behind him.
-------
Jimmy Don Anson stood back as the chair crashed through the window. As soon as the glass broke, lights came on from all around the cabin. The whole grounds were lit up like it was day.
He looked inside and saw that in addition to the two men, there were now five more, all heavily armed. Jimmy Don heard loud voices coming from all around him. He had just stepped into a beehive that was swarming with things much worse than stingers.
While he wanted to strike back at these men, Jimmy Don knew this wasn’t the time. There were too many men, much more than he expected. This is what happens when you react out of anger, instead of doing proper planning, Jimmy Don realized.
He slipped off the same way he came, past the body of the man who would be sporting a serious headache for the next few days. The dogs started barking, coonhounds that could track him almost anywhere.
Jimmy Don slipped alongside the wall of the cabin, not that it offered much protection. This area was lit up, just like the rest of the area. He had no choice and took off sprinting for the tree line, some fifty yards away.
They had spotted him and Jimmy Don heard the bark of something much worse than a coonhound. It was at least two Dobermans, coming directly at him from the back. Every step brought him closer to the woods that would provide some cover. But the dogs were catching up much faster than he was advancing.
He could hear their snarls and growls, practically felt them about to pounce. Jimmy Don knew this was a lost cause. These dogs could do serious damage to anybody, even him. There was no way to turn around and shoot the dogs. He might get one, but the other would be on him before he had a chance to defend himself.
Jimmy Don finally gave in and turned around, his gun aimed at the nearest dog, only a few yards away. Before he could get a shot off, Jimmy Don heard a gun fire, followed by another. He expected to feel the bullets hitting him, but instead, the two dogs dropped. Jimmy Don paused long enough to look at the dogs, both shot through the head.
He wanted to look around and see who rescued him, but Jimmy Don knew that he didn’t have time to wait around. He owed somebody a big favor, but whoever helped him would have to get thanked some other time.
---------
Michael wasn’t a big fan of hospitals. He also didn’t like being laid up, but there wasn’t anything that could be done. His left wrist was broken and the doctor said they might have to put screws in it.
He had a big gash just above his nose that had required stitches. Luckily, his left knee was only sprained badly, nothing broken or that would require an operation. Michael wouldn’t be running any sprints in the near future, not that he planned on doing any.
Sandy had just gone home and he was trying to go to sleep when somebody knocked on the door.
“Come in,” he said, expected it to be his mother and maybe little Michael, the boy who was staying with them until his mother, who was big Michael’s second wife, recovered from some medical problems.
Instead, two men walked in. They were both huge, the kind you would want on your side in a fight. They both had badges showing over the front of their belt. Both men had short hair, wore white dress shirts, jeans and boots
Michael noticed they each had guns in holsters on their belts. Neither man was smiling, which didn’t surprise Michael. He knew from experience that most men involved with law enforcement weren’t all that happy.
“Mister Hunt,” the first man said. “My name is Agent Jennings and this is Agent O’Donnell. We’re with the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation.”
Michael nodded. He didn’t know what to say.
“We are here about the shooting,” agent O’Donnell said.
“The one at the lake?” Michael said.
Agent Jennings shook his head. “No, the one that happened in the building across the street from your office.”
“Good. Has that guy admitted to shooting the man?”
The two agents looked at each other, then back at Michael. “No, we don’t believe he was the one who shot the man.”
Michael was puzzled. He had seen the man run from the building and then shot Chief Arnold. “Why do you say that?”
“The gun he had wasn’t the one that shot the man,” said Jennings.
“Wrong gun, different shells,” said the other agent.
“Well, then who shot the man?” Michael said.
“We found the gun from the shooting,” said O’Donnell. “Matched the slugs to the bullet that killed the man and even found some good prints.”
“We think we know who shot the man,” Jennings said.
“Okay, who was it?”
“The prints off the gun matched your prints, Mister Hunt,” O’Donnell said. “We believe you shot him.”
--------
Albert shifted around to see what was happening behind him. He expected it to be some dogs or maybe a deer. But whatever it was distracted him long enough to give this man a few minutes longer to live.
Instead of an animal, a man emerged from the woods. The man was somewhere around forty years old, had long hair and a beard that needed a bad trim. Despite the cool temperature, the man was wearing a shirt with both sleeves cut off, short pants and hunting boots.
Albert would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so ridiculous.
“Put the gun down,” the man said.
“Who are you?” Albert said. He smelled an odor that almost burned his nostrils. "You need a shower, dude."
“My name’s Mule and you ain’t shooting Big Uns! I don't take a bath till the weekend. You need a buttock kicking.”
“I'm not shooting the chick. I’m going to shoot the man.”
"Squiggy! Bull crap!” Mule came closer and assumed his unique fighting position. He was at an angle with one knee aimed straight ahead. His left arm was held up in the air while his right hand covered his privates.
Albert laid the rifle down and slowly stood, dragging a big hunting knife out of his boot and up the back of his pant leg in the process. “You going to kung fu me?”
“Naw, I’s gonna Mule Up on your butt!”
He jumped toward the man, never seeing the knife coming in his direction.
posted by Craig Hall | 4:35 PM
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