A Story – Chapter 6 – It’s Fucking Over

My mind was racing back in time.

I first flashed back on a time when Mike and I were in high school.  We were at a friend’s house.  Jim was showing us his father’s rifle collection.  His father must have had fifteen or so rifles of all different varieties.  All lined up symmetrically on a homemade rifle rack in his basement.

Mike picked up a .30-06, Springfield, bolt action rifle and leveled it directly on my face.  His finger was on the trigger as he laughingly said, “Right between the eyes.  Stearley, I could blow your head clean off.”

I angrily slapped the barrel away and said, “Don’t you ever fucking do that again!”

“Ah, Stearley, calm the fuck down, it’s not loaded.”

Jim chimed in, “Yeah, my dad never keeps his weapons loaded.”

My gaze was bearing down on Mike and he felt the weight of it.

“Here, I’ll show you.”  Mike pulled back the bolt and a cartridge flew out of the chamber.  “Holy shit!  I’m sorry man!”

***

My mind jumped ahead a few years to a time when I was visiting my parents over spring break from college.  My brother Ray was still living with my parents and he had his girlfriend Carly over.  Ray and Carly had gotten into some argument.  I have no idea what it was about, but the yelling from the living room had woken me from a nap.  I came out of the upstairs bedroom and hollered down at them to knock it off.  I was trying to get a little peace.

Carly suddenly stormed up the stairs, ran into my brother’s room opposite of the bedroom I was in, and grabbed Ray’s .44 Mag deer rifle.  She was chambering a round as she brought the gun up and pointed it squarely at the center of my chest.   She was only a half dozen feet away and she was yelling at me, calling me a “perverted asshole.”

Ray hit the top of the stairs in a bound and aggressively disarmed her.

I was simply stunned as this reaction came out of nowhere.  Later Ray would tell me she was insane, had been locked up in the mental ward before, and that he only saw her because he liked the sex.

Jesus.

***

Back in the present.

This was the third time a loaded weapon in someone else’s hands was pointing at me.  This time at my back.  And I didn’t much like it . . .

***

We had doubled back to Vince’s house, and I had backed into the drive to make a quick getaway.  The situation was really awkward though because the rental properties in this area were stacked so closely next to one another.  There were eight rentals in a semi-circle branching off this common drive.  The closest neighbor was only a few feet away.  And there was a well-lit business across the street from us.  Our shadows preceded us to the back door.

There was no master plan here.

We kicked in the door and Mike immediately headed for what he had been eyeing all along.  I discovered that from the day he first met Vince, Mike had wanted his high-end stereo system.  My situation was just being manipulated so he could take what he’d been wanting to steal all along.

“Come on Stearley, grab a speaker!  Get a move on, this isn’t a game!”

No, it wasn’t, and messing with this bulky stereo system was just slowing us down.  After I loaded the speaker in the back seat, I left Mike to forage for himself while I tracked down the thing that might have some instant value and not require fencing or pawning.  Frank had tipped me off about it.   Vince had a steel, fireproof, lock box in his bedroom.

I nabbed it and yelled at Mike to get to the car, this train was leaving the station.

By the time we were rolling, the neighbors had called the cops, and it turns out they weren’t far away.  The cops had been staking out Vince’s home off and on for months hoping to get the break they needed.  They knew what he was up to, but didn’t have enough evidence to get a warrant.

But these were local yokels.  Not the brightest bulbs in the chandelier.

I didn’t even know they were after us immediately till later, but after a couple of quick turns I had lost them.  I drove down the back streets to another friend’s house.

Sam and his wife Sue were away on a canoe trip and I knew they always left their garage unlocked.  We stashed the goods there.  All except for that lock box.  We were curious about what would be inside.   Drugs? Money?  What else would a dealer keep locked up?

Had we been thinking the slightest bit we would have stashed everything in that garage, our guns included.  But we were high as usual and the thrill of the robbery mixed with the fear of getting caught, or worse, had pumped our bodies full of adrenaline.  And we had gotten away, so we thought, still wielding those imaginary superpowers.

We could have also gone and met the women at the bar as we had planned.  Built that alibi right then and there.  But we thought we had time to drop the box and the guns back off at our apartment.  Then we’d make the alibi.

While these police weren’t the brightest, the neighbor had given them my license plate number.  They had looked up my registration and had staked out our neighborhood.  As we drove into the apartment complex, they swarmed us.

I was slowly heading to the parking lot with a police car practically locking bumpers with mine, and it was then that Mike began freaking out.

“What the fuck do we do now Stearley!”

“It’s over Mike.  It’s Fucking Over.”

“Unload the guns and put them in the glove compartment.  I don’t want to get shot tonight!”

A second cop car had swooped in behind the first.

Mike was so fucking nervous that when he opened the cylinder of my revolver, he let the bullets all drop to the floorboard.  Then I heard the slide of his .45.  Over and over again!  All Mike had to do was hit the clip release button and he would have only had one round to clear from the chamber.  Instead, he was ejecting each cartridge one at a time and they were flying, one-by-one, over his shoulder into the back seat!

“Jesus Mike!  What the fuck are you doing!  There’s bullets all over the fucking car now!”

But we didn’t have time to argue.  As I entered the parking lot, one cop car blocked us in from the front and the other from the rear.  And the officer from behind the car was yelling!

“Show me your hands!  Show me your hands!”

I rolled down the window and yelled back, “Sir, yes sir!” As I stuck my empty hands up and out the window.  I was going all military respect here.  They had the power.

Mike quietly followed suit.

The officer ran forward, pulled open the car door and then backed up yelling at me to get out slowly.

“And don’t turn around, or the last thing you’ll see is the flash from a bullet leaving my service revolver headed straight for the center of your spine!”  I could feel that gun on my back as though he was pressing it up against me.

“Sir, yes sir!” I yelled as I got out.

“Hands to the back of your heads!  Now walk backwards slowly!”

When we reached the rear of the car, the officer took my hands and slammed them down on the trunk stretched out in front of me, kicked my legs apart and forced me to bend over the trunk.  The other officer was mirroring the same with Mike.  And after a quick pat down, they asked for ID.

I was smart enough not to move and told the office that my wallet was in my back left-hand pocket.  Mike was not so smart.  He immediately reached for the bib in his bib overalls, only to have his hand grabbed, get cuffed and then have his face slammed back down on the trunk of the car.

The officer then reached into his overalls and pulled out a bag of pot – not a wallet.  He had missed that in his pat down.

The first officer was staring at my ID as he came around to look at my face.  “Stearley, don’t I know you!”  It was officer Pond.  The same cop who had busted Ray in my hometown some five years earlier.

“No sir, I think you must be thinking of my brother.”

“Runs in the family, eh Stearley?”

He cuffed me.  Then asked if they were too tight.  And when I said “no sir,” he ratcheted them tight enough to cut into my wrists.

“Are there any weapons in the car Stearley?”

“Yes sir, in the glove compartment sir.”

Office Pond walked back to the front of the car and shined his flashlight in.  “What the hell, there’s bullets everywhere!”

I looked back over at Mike and just shook my head.

Officer Eckles, the second cop, walked up to the passenger side of the car, open the door and then opened the glove compartment revealing the handguns.  “Man, that’s a lot of firepower for a couple of little guys like you two.”

“You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can used against you in a court of . . .”

It was midnight.  Twelve hours to the minute when I ran that red light and pronounced to Frank that I was making the rules today.

Apparently not.

The last thing I said to Mike before we were separated and placed in the back of the cage cars was, “Keep your fucking mouth shut.”

We had to wait for another unit to arrive on the scene along with a tow truck.  They were impounding my car, preserving the chain of evidence the right way.  Officer Pond was going to be sure I didn’t walk anytime soon . . .

***

To be continued . . .

Disclaimer:  As I’ve pointed out before, the same disclaimer made in Chapter 1 applies to every chapter of this story.  *Parts of this story may be based in truth or fiction, or possibly a mixture of both.  Any similarity to any actual event or to any person may be totally coincidental.  Also, it’s easier to write myself into the story to tell it in both first and third person 🙂

Photo:  I found this photo on the Internet in the public domain.  It traces back to an article in the “Independent,” titled: Police questioned over ‘ridiculous’ incident where handcuffed man escapes and goes on run for six days.

Prior Chapters:  You can find the first five chapters of this story here:

A Story

A Story – Chapter 2 – Bad Chemistry

A Story – Chapter 3 – Occupational Hazards

A Story – Chapter 4 – Burning the Candle

A Story – Chapter 5 – Rules Schmules

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