Lethal Force Read Free Page A

conference. His only vice, if one could call it that, was his long runs every other day. He had gotten used to running in the rain, and even preferred it to bright sunny days. He also rarely got back to the home of his youth in Marquette, Michigan. He smiled thinking about checking the weather in the U.P. on his phone that evening. They had just gotten a foot of lake-effect snow off of Lake Superior and were expecting to get a new front push in from the south off of Lake Michigan—a double shot of the white stuff. Yeah, things could have been worse than this rain.
    He slowed the car and turned up a lane that would bring him up into the hills, where the houses were a bit newer and larger, with half-acre lots. Stephan’s house sat on a hill with a view of the coast range mountains.
    That was strange. Stephan’s house came up on the left, but there were no lights on. He pulled up on the street out front and considered what to do. Checking his phone, he saw that Stephan had called him only thirty minutes ago. Perhaps he’d gone to sleep. He had sounded somewhat distracted. Maybe even a little reticent. This was not normal for him. In his late fifties now, Stephan always said that time was running out on him. He had to make a major contribution to his field now, or he might as well retire. He was usually the most straightforward person Tramil knew. “Get to the point,” he would always say. But during this last call, he had not followed his own mantra.
    Tramil considered just putting the car in drive, making a U-turn, and heading to his small house near the campus. Maybe he’d get a good microbrew before McMenamins closed.
    Suddenly a light came on somewhere in the house. Okay, Stephan was awake.
    He shut down the car, got out into the heavy rain, and started for the front door. Just as he passed the living room picture window, Tramil heard a scream, followed by two flashes of light. He stopped in his tracks. Was that what he thought it was?
    Silence. Only his heart pounding loudly, trying to escape through his throat.
    He stood at the door now unsure what to do. Just as he touched the door knob, the door swung in and Tramil saw the long pistol before looking up to a tall man dressed in dark clothing, a mask over his face.
    Tramil ran, vectoring away toward the driveway. He heard a number of coughs through the rain. Then he reached the corner of the garage, heard a couple more silenced shots, and felt a pain in his posterior. He knew this area, having been to Stephan’s house many times. But what if there was another shooter around back? Instead, he turned left and ran into the woods, the wet tree limbs slapping his face and making him trip a few times.
    When he got to the hill, he fell and rolled downward until he hit a small patch of sagebrush. Getting up swiftly, only looking behind him for a second and seeing nothing, he continued running.
    Tramil didn’t stop running until he had gone more than a mile. His heart was racing more than on his normal runs, but then he wasn’t being shot at during those. He leaned against a tall cedar to catch his breath.
    He felt a buzz in his pants, followed by U2’s In God’s Country . Grasping it quickly and seeing the number came from Stephan, he answered swiftly.
    â€œStephan? Are you all right?”
    Nothing on the other end.
    Think, Tramil.
    â€œYou are shot,” said a voice on the phone. Stephan’s phone. “You will die soon.”
    He almost forgot the pain in his backside. Reaching his hand around his right side, he finally felt pain in his right buttocks cheek.
    â€œI don’t think so,” Tramil responded, and then stopped the call. Then he quickly called 911 and said what had happened at Stephan’s house. Done with that call, he turned off his phone and removed the battery.
    Slowly now, more cautiously, he moved through the woods toward the OSU campus. The pain in his buttocks now started to throb with each