The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [95]
The next problem was how to get to our cars and get down to that grain elevator. There was just no place else the shooter could be.
I took a quick peek out the safety glass panel in the steel outer door. Then a longer one. Nothing. I was wondering how I was going to tell if he really had quit and left, when there was a sudden puff of packed snow and concrete dust in the middle of the parking lot. It was kind of hard to see, and I wasn’t absolutely certain what it was. Two more puffs, each closer and about a half second apart, struck the parking lot. Then a solid plunking sound as something hit the wooden support for our porch roof.
I ducked. Late, but better than never.
“I know what his problem is,” I said.
“He’s still there, then?” Volont was sitting on the floor, with his back to the pop machine, which was against the outside wall. Smart. I should be so smart.
“Yeah. He’s there, all right. His problem is, he can’t see where his shots are going … unless he hits something that throws up debris or something …”
“So he can’t correct his aim,” said Volont.
“Yeah.”
“Probably alone, then,” he said, matter-of-factly “That’s why snipers should always have a spotter.”
I filed that away. Like I would ever need it.
Lamar was on the phone to the people who ran the elevator, telling them they had a sniper on the roof, some 100 feet over their heads. It took him a minute to convince them. They couldn’t hear the shots.
I was on my walkie-talkie, getting the Maitland squad car down to the elevator, to make sure there was nobody getting away. If the suspect hadn’t gone up the interior elevator shaft, and then to the roof, he’d had to climb a long ladder.
“Want to try for a car?” asked Volont.
“Not just yet…”
I got on my walkie-talkie to the Maitland car again. “Hey, Twenty-five, you see anything down there?”
“I can’t see nothin’ here …” came the stressed voice. “But somebody just made a hole in my roof! I’m out of the car.”
Still there, all right. But now, having taken the time to shift his aim to the much closer Maitland squad car, I thought he’d have a tougher time readjusting and zeroing in on us.
“You know,” I said to Volont, “he really can’t hit shit. You want to try for my car?”
“You mean the local can’t hit shit, or the sniper can’t hit shit?”
I grinned. “Neither one.”
“Well, let’s go,” he said. “Just get your car keys in your hand before you go through the door.”
“Okay … it’s unlocked, and the engine is already running. Just get in and stay low …”
Volont and I went flying out the door, and down the steps three or four at a time. I nearly lost my balance, on the last four, and ended up scraping my hand on the sidewalk. I almost fell again, as I stopped suddenly at my car door. Running bent over, my back started to act up, and I hollered, “Shit!” as the pain flew up and over my right hip as I jumped into the car.
“You hit?”
“No, no …” As soon as Volont has his legs in the car, I put it in reverse and stepped on the gas. We shot backward so fast I was afraid I’d sprung the open passenger door. I slammed on the brakes, and spun the wheel to the left, sliding us around on the drive. Into drive, and we shot out of the parking lot, bottoming out at the end of the driveway. Volont got his door shut, I hit the flashing lights and siren, and we were off.
“Not bad,” said Volont. “Not bad …”
“We’re out of his line of sight,” I said, turning left at the bottom of the long hill toward the courthouse, “until we come around that next corner.”
“So we won’t do that, will we?” said Volont.
I grinned. “No, we won’t.” I cut the siren, and we came to a smooth stop at the point of the curve leading to the elevator. “Let’s go between those houses,” I said, “and we should have a good view of the side of the elevator with the ladder.”
I got my AR-15 out of the trunk, inserted one thirty-round magazine, and put a second one in my back pocket. I contacted dispatch on my walkie-talkie, and told them where we were.
“Uh, Comm, let’s see if we can get some more people around this thing, the … uh … elevator. Stay low, but