“We can if it’s evidence.”
“What the shite are you talking about?”
“Well…let’s say you suddenly pulled the bat out of the bag, took a swing at me, and then used it to go after Detective Warner. Then we could do whatever we wanted with it.”
Ian laughed.
“Yes, you could, but I’m not going to do that.”
As much as I’d like to.
Lynch gave an ironically cheerful reply.
“Sure, you are.”
The veins in Ian’s forearms protruded as he realized what was going on.
“Like hell you bastards!”
Warner chimed in.
“According to you, your son’s asleep, and I can personally guarantee that about now your mother wishes she could adopt Detective Gomez. There’s no one looking. If you shout, we can have you in cuffs before anyone takes interest. Basically, your best course of action right now is to come quietly and spill your guts at the station.”
Ian stared back at her with murder in his eyes.
“Oh Ian, knock it off. Don’t look at me like that. We’re working straight out of your brother’s playbook and you know it.”
Later, at the station when Ian was questioned as to what happened next, his reply was “They were going to accuse me of it anyway, so I figured what the hell?”
With surprisingly fast reflexes for a man his size, Ian kicked up the canvas bag and grabbed the end of the first bat that poked out of the end. As fate’s colossal joke, it was the orange one. Lynch immediately put a bead on him with his .38. Carrie did the same.
“Hey, hey, hey, Ian! Calm down!”
June Reilly’s middle son was a fast thinker, but not a terribly efficient one. In his mind, the best he could do was get between the two detectives. They wouldn’t risk friendly fire. One or both of them would drop their guns in the confusion, and maybe he could club one and take the other hostage long enough for him to get out of town, hold up somewhere, and think. He was a Reilly. Someone would bail him out.
The problem, simply put, was in order for his brilliant plan to work, his 250-pound ass had to run and jump. He took a running step toward the truck’s gate, putting pressure on his heavy-duty shock absorbers, essentially turning the vehicle into diving board with wheels.
On his second step, the open gate bounced up catching him off balance just long enough for Lynch to reach around the corner of the truck and grab an ankle.
Ian took a header into his new drive way. The bat went flying into the grass as his hands hit the surface, softening the crash. He lay on his belly, stunned. The two detectives shared a satisfied nod and re-holstered their pistols.
Just then, the back door to the house opened.
“Ian, my boy! What did they do to you!?”
Both detectives took their eyes off of their perp just long enough to regard the furious woman at the top of the granite steps.
Thanks, mom.
The interruption was just what Ian needed to get to his feet and lunge for Carrie. Lynch reached for his gun, but there was no need. Carrie knew where that spot was on the jaw that turned out a guy’s lights. As fast as Ian Reilly was up, he was down.
Lynch took out his cuffs and went for the butt-crack showing mass before him, while Carrie tried to console his mother.
“I’m sorry, June. We had no choice. He came at us with a bat.”
The matriarch was about to start screaming and wagging her freckly finger, when a deep Puerto Rican voice sounded behind her.
“Think about it. Think about what you know about your son. Think about what you know about Carrie. You can do what you want, but I know who I believe.”
7. A Chat Room
Philip, (Screen name: MonkeyOnABike) and BOYBANDH8R had not met in person, otherwise the anonymous, private chat room conversation would never have taken place.
MonkeyOnABike: Sup?
BOYBANDH8R: Sup?
MonkeyOnABike: You never got back to me last week. How’d the upgrade go?
BOYBANDH8R: Pain in the ass just like you said, but the specs you gave me def helped. Thx.
MonkeyOnABike: Nice!
BOYBANDH8R: Yep.
A noticeable lull.
BOYBANDH8R: Still There?
MonkeyOnABike: I am. Remember the night you were waiting for CAD Drawings from Vegas. and I was waiting for an email from my idiot boss? We bullshat until four in the morning to keep each other awake.
BOYBANDH8R: Sure.
MonkeyOnABike: Remember that thing we talked about?
BOYBANDH8R: We talked about a lot of things. Which thing do you mean?
MonkeyOnABike: The thing you said was expensive.
BOYBANDH8R: ?
MonkeyOnABike: The guy you said you knew.
BOYBANDH8R: ???
MonkeyOnABike: I think you said his day job was sculpting.
Another lull.
BOYBANDH8R: Oh! Him! Not sculpting, engraving. He’s a digital engraver.
MonkeyOnABike: Were you serious about the other thing you said he did, or were you just trying to keep the convo interesting?
BOYBANDH8R: I was serious.
MonkeyOnABike: Then I have a question.
BOYBANDH8R: Shoot.
MonkeyOnABike: How expensive?
8. Outside the Reillys’ House
Gomez gave a little wave as he watched the squad car disappear around the bend. Ian Reilly was in the back seat. His bulbous head and red buzz cut were visible from two blocks away. Victory removed, the five minutes it took for the uniforms to arrive were not pleasant. Lynch and Warner cuffed Ian’s hands and feet and kept him in the garage in case Braden looked out his bedroom window. The boy was about to go through enough without seeing his father in chains. They sat in silence. Gomez had taken June Reilly aside and asked her to let Molly and Braden know what was going on. No one had emerged from the house since. When the black and white arrived, Ian stood with all the dignity he could manage and shuffled toward it with humiliating assistance from his captors. All he said was “keep your hands off my head.”
Once their perp was safely seated with all four limbs cuffed to the floor, Lynch and Carrie headed for the station. Carrie drove. Gomez stayed behind with Lynch’s keys.
“Make sure the family is okay.
