White Death

White Death Read Free Page B

Book: White Death Read Free
Author: Philip C. Baridon
Tags: Suspense
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plan?”
    “We walk in together with pistols drawn but down at our sides. If everything is cool, we quietly holster our weapons. If not, we make the collars.”
    As we approached the door, the shouting to hurry with the money gave me a shiver. This would not end well.
    Rushing into the store, I screamed, “Police! Drop the weapons or die!” The clerk dropped straight down behind the counter as the shotgun swung directly at Mike. The ex-Green Beret fired a deadly two-round burst to the center of the chest, or as the instructors like to call it, the “center of mass.” Standing behind and slightly to the left of Mike, I ducked instinctively as the other robber fired a wild shot into the wall near me. His eyes told me I was the target. I hopped to the left away from Mike and got two clear shots at the gunman’s right shoulder. He twisted right as he was hit, and dropped to his knees; a .32 caliber semi-auto skidded harmlessly across the floor. In a few seconds, the action ended. The young man with the shotgun had locked eyes with Mike. Even heart shots can allow the brain a minute of oxygenbefore unconsciousness and death. For Mike, in those few moments, there was no right or wrong, no lawful killing, just humanity and death hanging in the air. Later, the grim setting would permeate the armor of most who came and went.
    “This had to be wrong,” Mike thought. “I am a Christian.” The eyes pleaded and accused at the same time.
I’m going to die now because of you
, they said. Seeing the exchange, I tried to break it off by moving in front of Mike and yelling at the clerk to dial 911 and hand me the phone.
    “I’ve got a robbery holdup with two bad guys down from gunfire. Georgia and Allison Streets. No officers or civilians injured. Stone and Jansen.”
    In a few minutes, officials from the precinct, Homicide Division, and one of the night inspectors converged on the crime scene. Order belied the apparent chaos. Ambulances carried both men to the Washington Hospital Center. Homicide officials separated Jansen and me for preliminary statements. A Homicide detective also interviewed the clerk, who was recovering from staring down both barrels of a shotgun. Lieutenant Dominik walked slowly up to us after listening to the statements.
    “No widows to notify, two bad guys off the street, no civilians hurt, a righteous killing, it doesn’t get any better. Great work.” Dominik was sincere in his praise, but melancholy eyes belied his smile. “Both of you will be on administrative leave for about three days while Internal Affairs finalizes its investigation. Jansen, it is just a formality in these cases. Scout 66 will take you back to the station where you can turn in your badges and weapons to the desk sergeant.”
    Mike and I rode in silence, and we gave a perfunctory thank you to Preacher for the lift.
    Desk Sergeant Joe Allen had done the paperwork. Two badges, two guns, and two signatures. For Mike the process was surreal – like this happens all the time.
    “Mike, let’s go to my place and talk. Karen is out of town.”
    No response. “Mike?” I tried again.
    “Yeah. Fine.”
    “Karen’s house,” as I called her place, could be featured on the cover of
Southern Living
. Both of us, however, skipped the pleasantries, headed straight for the bar, and poured two stiff ones. The bar was located amidst beige leather chairs and sofas situated on thick, chocolate brown wall-to-wall carpet in a spacious, sunken living room. At the other end a huge picture window looked out over a manicured lawn and a Japanese-style garden.
    “I have some idea where your head is,” I offered.
    “You don’t have a clue,” snapped Mike.
    I kicked off shoes, leaned way back in my favorite chair, and said, “Tell me.”
    “I spent a year in ‘Nam and didn’t kill anybody. Some VC probed our positions once, but the South Vietnamese did all the dirty work. We counted the dead guys in black pajamas and gave them advice on

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