One Second After [55]
"The Doors," Bill said.
"What?"
"You know, the Doors. The song 'This Is the End,' been thinking it a lot."
"Here comes Charlie," Washington announced.
He was coming back up the slope, jogging, obviously a bit winded, and motioned for them to get in the car.
John looked at Bill and Gus, who was still on the pavement, eyes red rimmed, glaring.
John went over to the Edsel, pulled a notebook out from under the passenger side, opened it and scribbled a note, then signed it.
He handed it to Washington, who read it, smiled, then signed as well.
To Chief of Police, Asheville, NC:
The officer bearing this note, Bill Andrews, is a professional and has our highest recommendation. The incident between us was unfortunate but solely the blame of Gus Carter, a stupid ass who should be fired before he gets himself filled.
Signed,
John Matherson, Col. (Ret.) Professor of History Montreat College
Sergeant Major Washington Parker U.S. Marines (Ret.)
Washington grinned and then added underneath a postscript:
Carter's lucky J didn't kill him; a baby could disarm him.
John tore the note out of the pad, folded it, and handed it to Bill. "Hope that covers you." "What does it say?" Gus asked.
"None of your damn business," John snapped.
"Get in the car now!" Charlie shouted, coming up the last few dozen yards.
"Colonel," Washington said, "clear Bill's weapon please, keep the ammo, and return it."
John pulled the clip, chambered out the round in the barrel, and handed it back to Bill. Gus was on his feet, looking at Washington.
"I like your gun," Washington said calmly. "And frankly, you are a danger to everyone but the bad guys when you are armed."
"Give it back," Gus snapped.
"I'm keeping it. Go explain to your boss how you lost it." "You damn nig—" He didn't get the rest of the word out, Washington delivering a butt stroke to his stomach, knocking him back over. Bill said nothing.
"Good luck, Bill," John said, extending his hand, shaking Bill's. John reached into his pocket, pulled out the rest of his pack. Two cigarettes left, he handed the one to Bill.
Again, a flash thought of the Second World War. A GI with a pack of cigarettes was a wealthy man, to share one with another man, or even a captured or wounded enemy, a significant gesture.
"We're out of here," Charlie said, coming up to the car, gasping for air.
Phil turned the engine over, got out from behind the wheel, and John piled in.
"I'll take shotgun," Washington said, getting into the passenger seat. Charlie nodded and climbed into the back with the two boys.
John went into reverse, swung around, then drove back down the on-ramp, feeling strange driving on the wrong side of the highway, moving fast.
Washington took the two pistols he now had, the .45 and the Glock, and placed the Glock by John's side. He kept the AR-15 at the ready. "What happened back there?" Charlie asked. "Oh, we made peace," John said, "and you?"
"Jesus Christ, it's a madhouse in the county office. Ed Torrell is dead." "What?"
"Collapsed about four hours ago, dead in a couple of minutes. That really got people panicked. Ed was a good man, tough, but fair." "Fair like with our car?"
"I'm doing the same thing."
John looked up in the rearview mirror.
"Like with me?"
Charlie hesitated, then shook his head.
"Course not, John. As long as you help out like this. I know I can count on you when we need it."
John relaxed.
"OK, what's happening?"
"That Black Hawk was from Fort Bragg."
"Yeah, we heard about that from one of the cops."
"Well, it's bad, real bad. There is no communication anywhere yet. They say they had some radios stored away that were in hardened sites and will start getting them out, but nothing prepositioned. Plans as well to see if any ham radio operators have old