The Grim ReaperChapter 63: Out Of State Visitors free porn video
Saturday, October 24, 2009
My schedule that week was the night shift, Tuesday to Friday, and then I would have off, Saturday to Tuesday. That worked out well, since Saturday was my parents’ anniversary, and both Kelly and I would have the day off. I would be able to sleep late and then we could go over to the house later. Since it was their Silver Anniversary, the plan was for Bobbie Joe, Kelly, and me to take the parental units out to a nice dinner. Jack and Teresa couldn’t be there, of course, since he had a home game in Oakland against the Jets on Sunday, but he promised to call. The two of them were living in a condo out there; they would get married in the summer of 2010 in Miami. Kelly and I had already promised ourselves that we would take a vacation in Miami at that time.
In any case, that was for the end of the week. When I got to the station on Tuesday there was already a buzz in the air. You could feel the tension, and it was obvious something big was happening. I was running a couple of minutes late, so I only had the time to hustle in and grab a seat in the back of the squad room before roll call.
Sergeant Welsinger started off with the big news right up front. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, pay attention. If you didn’t already know, we have some very naughty children on the loose in Alabama and they may be headed our way.” He paused for a moment and stepped from behind the podium to hand out a stack of photos. “Take one and pass it along.” He went back to the podium and grabbed the remote control for the projector, and the pictures on the handouts went up on the screen on the front wall. “We have wants and warrants for three Caucasian males. James Henry Bolling, Brian Kearney Bolling, and Adam Henry Koslow.” He focused on each man for a moment, and read off height, age, and any other details he had. The pictures of the Bollings were mug shots, but the picture of Koslow was from a security camera of some sort.
“James Bolling and Brian Bolling are brothers. Koslow is their cousin. The Bolling brothers have long histories in Alabama, mostly some strong-arm robberies and a few liquor store break-ins. Koslow doesn’t have a record that anybody knows about, but nobody in Alabama seems surprised by his entry into the family business. The Bollings just got out of Bullock Correctional last month, after doing three years of a five-year sentence for robbing a liquor store in Mobile. So, these guys are career criminals, and they are not planning on settling down and mending their ways.”
Around me several officers were nodding in understanding. I also noticed several detectives were listening at the doorways, and Welsinger said to them, “You guys will get your own briefing, but feel free to listen in. Grab a photo stack if you can.” He then turned back to us. “Okay, nobody knows what set these assholes off, but this time they have really upped the ante. Two weeks ago, they hit a liquor store in Mobile, and this time they killed the owner and grabbed a woman who happened to be in the store. They managed to escape the Mobile area in her car. The car was found abandoned in the parking lot of a strip mall halfway to Montgomery with the woman in the trunk. She had been raped and killed. Several hours later it was discovered that another woman had been kidnapped from the mall. Her car was found north of Montgomery; she was found in the same condition, raped, killed, and stuffed in the trunk.”
He flashed a map of Alabama on the screen, with a string of red dots on it. “All last week, these guys have been moving north and east. Every few days they hit a liquor store or convenience store. Once they robbed a payday loan place. In every instance they abandon the car they have stolen and take a new one. Security footage shows two guys, usually one of the Bollings and the cousin, going inside, while the third guy stays outside. He secures a new vehicle by grabbing a woman and stealing her car. The woman will eventually be killed prior to the next robbery and kidnapping. So far, they have made hits on places in Selma, Tuscaloosa, and Birmingham.” He highlighted a string of dots on the map. “Every law enforcement agency in Alabama is looking for these guys. Yesterday they killed a trooper up near Gadsden.”
That caused a murmur through the room. Killing a cop was a big line, and one you couldn’t uncross.
Welsinger continued, “If you look at the direction these guys are moving, it is pretty much northeast. Their next stop will probably be either Georgia or Tennessee, anywhere along an arc running from I-65 on around to I-20. The Georgia State Patrol has rushed about a hundred troopers to the area, and at least another fifty or more will be coming in today. Tennessee is doing the same up there. Still, it’s not like there aren’t a million little roads throughout this entire area. Nobody knows exactly how they have been managing to hide but they haven’t been caught so far, and nobody is expecting them to change their behavior.”
“Be extremely careful. The Patrol is running roadblocks on all the interstates and major state roads, but it would be easy enough to evade them. If you see a car with Alabama plates and multiple passengers, pay very close attention. If you are suspicious, call in for backup immediately! This is no joke. These guys have killed at least half a dozen people so far. They should be considered heavily armed and extremely dangerous. At least two of the women had pistols in their purses, for protection, and now these guys have those weapons, along with the trooper’s service weapon. I repeat, do not take these guys on by yourself. Call for backup!”
I grimaced at the mention of the victims having weapons. While I, like most police officers, approved of the Constitution and the Second Amendment, the reality was that very few people who owned guns had any idea of how to use them or when. Combat troops and police officers are extensively trained in using deadly force. Most civilians didn’t get any training, and they all thought they were Rambo. They were generally more dangerous to themselves and their neighbors than they were to criminals.
I heard a voice on the left side of the room mutter, “Jesus Christ! Georgia doesn’t have enough assholes of its own? Now we have to import them?”
I smiled at that and looked at the girl sitting next to me. Jenny Cargill was our newest recruit, just off her probationary period. She was young, too, barely nineteen. She had a grimace as she heard about this. I think police work got surprisingly real to her at that point.
After that, Welsinger went over the regular details for the shift and assigned us to our patrol cars. At the end we all stood and came to attention for inspection. Before I could head out, Jenny asked, “What was it like, I mean last year, you know ... I mean, you had to...” Next to her was another rookie, Joe Collister, and he was looking at me also. Joe was a couple of years older than Jenny, but no more than that. He had been to M-Triple-C, and I wasn’t sure he was even old enough to drink yet.
“You can say the words, Jenny. I had to draw my service weapon and use deadly force.”
“Yeah, that.”
“Listen, you two, be careful out there. If you get at all suspicious, call it in to Dispatch and get some backup. Do not approach the vehicle until then. If you know anything about what happened last year with Jerry and me, then you know that the first thing we did was call for backup. The only people who don’t call for backup are TV cops, and you two should both know how realistic that is by now,” I replied.
Joe grinned at that, but Jenny still looked concerned. “And if it is them and they do something before backup gets there?” she asked.
I crossed my arms and looked down at her. “You are a sworn peace officer in the state of Georgia. You will do your duty. If you are fired upon, you will return fire, center mass, and you will put your targets down.” I saw her gulp and nod silently. I wondered if she had the stomach to handle that end of the business. Not all did. “Don’t worry. Remember your training. When push comes to shove, you will react like you’ve been trained. You wouldn’t be here if a lot of people didn’t think you could handle this. Just be careful,” I told them both. After that I grabbed my gear and headed down to Paul Four-Four, my ride for the night.
For me it was a relatively quiet evening. Alabama’s worst did not appear and try to take on Matucket’s finest. All throughout the area, any car with Alabama plates was being stopped and inspected. Realistically, the odds were against the Bolling family. Alabama was undoubtedly flooding their side of the border with hundreds of their own police. Sooner or later, somebody was going to find them. It wasn’t like they were hiding in the woods behind the family farm, surrounded by relatives who would hide them. They were on the move. They would be spotted.
Still, that evening and the rest of the week, Dispatch had to field quite a few requests for backup, none of which panned out. We were also hearing that every police force west of Atlanta was looking for these animals. Finally, on Friday, word came down that three Caucasian males were arrested up near the Tennessee line just southwest of Chattanooga. That happened right around midnight, so I was able to take a deep breath and not worry so much through the last two hours of my shift.
I got home and slipped into bed a little before three, so I didn’t bother waking Kelly up. The next morning, I woke when she did, and we had a very enjoyable interlude before I rolled back over and slept until late morning. One important thing about shift work as a cop in Matucket County - you needed a spouse who was flexible on hours! I ended up crawling out of bed a few hours later, about half past ten, and wandered out into the kitchen in my bathrobe.
“Hey, sleepyhead, you finally woke up!” said my wife.
“That’s debatable. Where’s the coffee?” I replied scratching my head and rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
She came into the kitchen. “Here, let me. The last pot tasted a bit funky. Let me make a fresh one. You go clean up and I’ll bring you a cup.”
I mumbled agreement and turned back around. I would give her a kiss after brushing my teeth - and getting a cup of coffee!
Midway through my shower, Kelly came in and said, “Here’s your coffee.”
I opened the shower door and leaned out, “Thank you!” I grabbed for the cup of coffee.
“You haven’t even given me a good morning kiss!” she protested. “What’s more important, your wife or your coffee?”
“Let me think about that for a moment ... Coffee!” I announced. “Without the coffee I might not stay awake long enough to kiss you.”
“Ha, ha!” Kelly held my coffee at arm’s length until I kissed her, and then passed it over.
I drank about half the cup and said, “Thank you! Want to join me?”
“Hmmmppphh! Not after that performance! No, you need to join me. We need to go shopping,” I was told.
“We?”
“You need to make up for the hurt you caused me by picking coffee over me.”
“I know a better way to make that up.” I did a quick bump and grind.
Kelly groaned and pushed the shower door closed again. “My father was right! You really are a Sassenach barbarian!”
I laughed at that and finished my shower. Dressed, I finished my coffee and went back to the kitchen, where my wife was making a grocery list. “Morning, hun, you hungry?” she asked.
I made a waffling motion with my right hand. “Yes and no. Why don’t we just grab something at the Pig before we start shopping? You can have an early lunch and I can have a late breakfast.” The local Piggly Wiggly had a lunch area near the deli. We could have sandwiches made and eat them there.
“Okay.”
“What’s the plan?”
“Groceries, and then when we get home, you get to mow the lawn.”
I rolled my eyes at that. The riding lawn mower that had been in the shed for years had died the first time we used it, and it was so ancient it wasn’t worth fixing. We did have a push mower, but it wasn’t in much better condition. “I’ll do some mowing, but that’s it. Next spring, we need to get rid of the junk and get a decent mower.” I could mow around the house, but no way was I mowing an acre using a push mower.
“You’d better get some overtime over the winter,” she replied.
“Ever considered letting this all go back to nature? Think of the ecological benefits!”
“Mow!”
Kelly finished her list, and I finished a second cup of coffee, and we headed out in my Camry. Kelly still had her beloved Miata, and it was still in good shape, but it was way too small for groceries. One of these days we would have to get rid of it, since it would never fit three people, which is what would happen if we had kids. On the way over to the Pig Kelly asked, “They ever catch those guys in Alabama?”
I nodded. “Last night. They got arrested up near Chattanooga.”
“Anybody else get hurt?”
I shook my head. “Didn’t get any more details than that. Just three Caucasian males with Alabama plates. We’ll probably learn more on the news tonight.”
“Probably not. Don’t forget, we’re going out tonight. Dinner is at seven over at Mort’s and we need to go over to your parents’ first. We might not hear any details until the eleven o’clock news.”
“So, if we spend a lot of time grocery shopping, I won’t be able to mow,” I said hopefully.
“Forget it!” I gave her a theatrical grumble. Kelly ignored me and asked, “So what happens to those three guys now?”
“The ones in Alabama?” She nodded. “Life without parole, probably. They killed a cop. That would be pretty much an automatic death sentence, but these days, that’s iffy at best. Even if that happens, they’ll spend the next fifteen years on Death Row waiting for it. Realistically, even if they get the death penalty, it will probably be ruled unconstitutional. It’s Alabama’s problem anyway. It’s like I heard the other day during roll call. Georgia has enough assholes of its own. We don’t need to import them from anywhere else.” Kelly laughed at that.
After we got back to the house, I tried to get Kelly to provide some motivation for going out and mowing the lawn. Unfortunately, she knew my habits, so she told me that motivation was out, but that a good job might result in a reward. I grumbled some more but did the lawn around the house and down towards the lake. The reward was when she joined me in the shower afterwards.
Since dinner was at Mort’s we needed to dress nicely for dinner. While not quite as formal as the Armonk House, at a minimum I needed to wear a jacket, and something more than jeans and sneakers. I chose a dress shirt, khakis, and a light blue sports coat that Kelly had given me for my birthday that spring. Like any of the jackets I had gotten since I had joined the MPD, they were all oversized so that I could wear a shoulder holster without looking like I was hiding something under my coat. Kelly wore a nice knee-length green dress with matching heels. Rather than my Camry, we drove over in her Miata.
Before we got there, though, I needed to fill the tank. Kelly was terrible about filling her tank, and usually let it run so low that the idiot light went on ... and then she drove it another ten or twenty miles! “You should have filled it earlier,” I told her. “Now we’ll be late.”
“You worry too much. What are they going to do, start without us?” she laughed.
I pulled into a Quiki-Stop and pulled up to the pump and climbed out. Kelly also got out. “What are you up to?” I asked.
“I need to get some batteries and I forgot them at the store today.”
I nodded and Kelly went inside. As I stood there and pumped the gas, I mused on the fact that the two main convenience store chains in the area, Deli-Mart and Quiki-Stop, were both owned by Bettinger Fuel. The Bettingers owned both companies and at busy intersections would often have a Deli-Mart on one corner and a Quiki-Stop on the opposite corner.
Kelly was still inside when I finished gassing up, so I got in and pulled over to a parking spot. Behind me a blue Toyota pulled up to the pump where I had been. I parked by the door and went inside. Kelly had a pack of batteries in her hand but was now prowling the aisles. “Now what?”
Kelly reached down and picked up a box of Band-Aids. “We need some Band-Aids.”
“Anything else?”
“No, that’s it,” she said, smiling. “See? We won’t be late.”
I just smiled and shook my head, as Kelly moved towards the counter. I looked out the front windows at that point, and it was then that my heart stopped. Climbing out of a blue Chevy with Alabama plates were three men. They were looking around, and I knew the faces. James Bolling and his cousin Adam Koslow were coming into the store. The third man was Brian Bolling, and he was headed towards the pumps. Since nobody else was in the Chevy, I knew that whoever owned it was in the trunk. Why they were here and not in custody up by Chattanooga I didn’t know, but here they were.
I reached out and grabbed Kelly’s arm and pulled her backwards into the store. “Grim?” I kept pulling her back towards the rear corner of the store, but my eyes stayed on the front of the store. “Grim, what are you doing?”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone. I was sure Kelly’s was in her purse, which was probably in the car. I handed it to her and pushed her towards the door marked ‘Beer Cave’. “Kelly, I want you to go inside and stay there. Call 911 and tell them to roll everything.”
“Grim, what’s going on?” she demanded.
“Get in there and stay there and don’t come out for any reason!” I ordered. Then I reached inside my coat and pulled out my Glock 27; I was wearing my off-duty weapon. “GO! NOW!”
Kelly gasped but I heard a door open behind me, so she must have taken me seriously. I couldn’t worry about that now. I began inching my way back towards the front of the store, keeping myself away from the windows as much as possible. The front door opened and James Bolling and Koslow came inside. Both were openly carrying pistols and they walked right up to the counter and raised their guns at the Pakistani working the register.
I knew things were not going to work out well, for anybody. I was in an aisle with snacks on both sides and partially hidden behind an endcap of beef jerky. “POLICE! DROP YOUR WEAPONS!” I brought my weapon up and aimed it towards them.
I had to admit that both Bolling and Koslow moved much, much faster than I expected. Both men turned from the counter towards me and simply started shooting. At what, I wasn’t sure, but they began blasting away. I felt the same old feeling of time twisting and changing, stretching out and slowing down. I fired twice and put two rounds into Koslow, center mass just like in the textbooks. Blood blossomed on his shirt where his heart used to be, and he began to fall forward. My shooting simply showed Bolling where I was firing from, and he turned towards me and kept firing. I felt pain in my left arm and chest as something tore through the thin metal of the display, but I kept on target and put two more rounds downrange and hit Bolling in the center of the chest.
I knew something was wrong, but this wasn’t over yet. I tilted to the left, leaning into the ruined display, but then jerked upright as pain went through my side. I had been hit, but I wasn’t sure how bad. No stopping now. Brian Bolling must know something was happening inside, and he would get away and kill again. I walked slowly to the counter, but it was empty. I looked over and saw the clerk cowering on the floor. “CALL 911!” I told him. He didn’t move, but just stayed there on the floor, as a dark stain appeared on the front of his pants. He wasn’t going to call. I just hoped Kelly had done so.
The thick glass of the windows nearest the register exploded, and I staggered against the counter as I was hit again. My left arm wasn’t working, and I could now taste blood. I dropped down to the floor and twisted around to look outside. Brian Bolling was standing there by the pumps shooting towards the store. He must have seen me through the window. Also just standing there, probably in disbelief, was a middle-aged woman getting ready to fill the tank of the blue Toyota. He ran over to her and grabbed her. It wasn’t over yet.
I knelt and rolled out through the shattered window onto the concrete walkway outside. I came to a knee and brought my pistol up. Bolling was holding the woman with one hand, trying to both hide behind her and force her to get into her car. If he got her into the car, he’d get away and she would die. I shifted my aim and fired twice, putting a round into each passenger-side tire. If he did manage to get away, he wouldn’t be going far. The woman began screaming.
Safiya
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