Final justice - W.E.B. Griffin [157]
The laws regarding longarms were similarly not very comforting to the mayor et al. No licenses were required to own longarms. Citizens had to pass a firearms safety program to get a hunting license, unless they were veterans of an armed force, or over the age of sixty-five. Many, perhaps 75 percent, of the members of JOCCW met both of the latter two requirements.
Finally, the city attorney suggested that since the members of JOCCW were all reasonable men, if they were aware of the legal ramifications--primarily tort lawsuits for hundreds of thousands of dollars--for shooting someone without full justification, they might lose their enthusiasm for carrying weapons.
This was brought tactfully to the attention of one of the two retired full colonels--a Marine who'd fought all over the Orient from Guadalcanal to Khe Sanh--who listened attentively, thanked the city attorney for his interest, and said it wasn't a problem.
"That potential difficulty occurred to Bob Skinner," the colonel said. J. Robert Skinner, Esq., one of the founders of JOCCW, was an attorney, specializing in corporate liability. "We expected to be incorporated within the week. If somebody sues JOCCWI--'I' for 'Incorporated'--the corporation treasury will be empty, or nearly so."
The chief, therefore, was concerned but not surprised when his bedside telephone rang at 1:30 A.M. (2:30 A.M. Philadelphia time) and the police dispatcher somewhat excitedly told him, "Chief, we just got a call from Jabberwocky. Request assistance at the Yacht Club Condominiums. Shots fired."
"I'm on my way. Call the mayor."
Christ, it was inevitable. I'm only surprised that it didn't happen long before this.
Dear Jesus, please don't let them have shot some kid, or some guy trying to sneak into his own house.
When the chief turned off Highway 98 into the drive of the Lake Forest Yacht Club, he saw that three Daphne police cruisers and one each from the Fairhope police department, the Baldwin County sheriff's patrol, and the Alabama state troopers had beat him to the scene.
When he got out of the car, the wail of sirens he heard told him that additional law enforcement vehicles were on the way.
Then he saw there had been a vehicular collision just inside the brick gate posts. A Chevrolet Impala on its way out of the complex had slammed into the side of a Mercedes sports utility vehicle sitting sideward in the road. He recognized the Mercedes to be that of Chambers D. Galloway, retired chief executive officer of Galloway Carpets, Inc., and a founding member of JOCCWI, who lived in one of the big houses overlooking the beach and Mobile Bay.
The chief shouldered his way through the spectators and law enforcement officers.
"Who was shot?" he demanded, before he saw a very large man wearing black coveralls lying facedown on the ground, his wrists handcuffed behind him.
"Nobody was shot," the retired Green Beret said, just a little condescendingly.
"I was told 'shots fired'!"
"I didn't try to hit him, Charley. At that distance, I could have easily popped him. But I knew that Galloway could intercept him at the gate--I'd already alerted him and others-- but I figured, what the hell, if I let off a couple of rounds into the air, he might give up back there."
He pointed into the condominium complex.
"Why? . . . What did he do to attract your attention?"
"He had a ski mask on and he was trying to pry open a window with a knife . . . great big sonofabitch. It's still in his car--I looked. . . . For some reason, I got a little suspicious. So I alerted the shift, told them to block the entrances, and then I shined my light on this clown and asked him, 'Excuse me, sir. May I ask what you're doing?' At that point, he took off running."
"Chambers Galloway stopped him?" the chief asked, just a little incredulously.
And then the chief saw Chambers Galloway. The tall, ascetic septuagenarian was standing beside the state trooper, chatting pleasantly, looking more than a little pleased with himself.