He paused. His hand was now on his weapon, and he felt better. And maybe that made him bolder, too bold, he thought later.
“Is there a Sensei?” he asked. “A person who’s guiding these men to you?” he said, then
ducked quickly to the side of the doorway. But it was still a close call. Too close. He hugged the wall just outside the exit and pulled his own weapon. He eyed his vehicle. He had no plans to shoot the old man.
But he had no plans to get shot today either.
He moved on a diagonal to his right to avoid stepping in front of the entrance or exit, and then, on another diagonal to his left to the 4-Runner. He got in, started the truck, his gun still loosely held at his side. It wasn’t until he was driving out of the parking lot that he safetied the gun and set it down. He looked back.
Malloy was standing in front of the entrance watching him leave.
“Jesus Christ, what the fuck was that about?” he said out loud. His hands shook.
He found a roadside bar near the I-5 freeway and pulled into the parking lot. He went inside, ordered a Mountain Dew. These old working-man bars always had them, he’d found. He had never been brave enough to check the expired by date on the bottom of the can, but they had them. He drank it thirstily then ordered some fries.
While he was waiting, he pulled out his computer, typed up his notes from the encounter with Malloy. Sent them into Janet’s queue. When the bell above the door clinked, he looked up as two uniform cops came into the bar. The waiter brought out his fries, and asked the cops what they wanted today, encouraging them toward the patty melt blue-plate special.
One of them said something, gesturing toward Mac. Mac saved his file. Shut down the computer. Ate some fries.
“You just out at Andy Malloy’s Gun Range?” the older of the two cops asked him.
The cops were young, white and carrying enough weaponry to launch an assault on a Taliban stronghold. The slightly younger and taller of the two stood back, his thumbs hooked in his belt. Mac looked at the one who spoke to him.
“I’m Mac Davis, a reporter for the Seattle Examiner,” he said evenly. “I just wrapped up an interview with Andy — he invited me out there. Call Craig Anderson, he set it up. You know Craig? Over in Marysville?”
From the expression on his face, he did know Craig.
“Andy doesn’t like you,” the cop said.
Mac shrugged. “Andy doesn’t like most people,” he said.
“Maybe you should forget the fries and leave Arlington now,” the other cop said. “Be a shame for us to have to run you in on a citizen’s complaint.”
Mac stood up, started putting things in his bag. His phone rang. Janet.
“Hi boss,” he said, holding up one finger to the officers. They weren’t taking it well that he’d answered his phone. As if he gave a flying fuck.
“Yeah, I thought it was interesting. But get this. He put in a call to the Arlington police, and they came to roust me while I ate lunch.”
“What?” Janet said. “Are they there right now?”
“Un-huh.”
“Ask them for their names and badge numbers,” she ordered.
Mac looked up at the cops. “It’s my boss at the newspaper. She wants your names and badge numbers?”
“Fuck that,” said the shorter cop.
“Did you hear him?” Mac said. “Seems like an odd name.”
Janet snorted. “Don’t bait the man, Mac,” she said dryly. “Just read the badge on his chest.”
“Brown, L. #32,” he said. He squinted a bit. “Winters, C. #44.”
“What does she want with that?” Brown said, suspiciously.
Mac shrugged. “Janet, he wants to know why you want those?”
“Because I’m going to call the Arlington police chief and complain,” she said exasperated.
Mac looked back at the cops. He ate another fry. They’d been pretty good, but now they were cold. And cold fries sucked.
“She said she’s going to call your boss and complain,” he repeated. “And I’m going to get on my way, before she remembers she’s my boss and chews me out a new one for not heading directly back to the office.”
“We’re not done here,” Winters said.
“Yes, you are,” Mac said coldly, now that he was standing up and in a better position to defend himself.
“Mac, don’t swing first,” Janet warned him.
Mac laughed. “She says I can’t swing first,” he repeated to them. “Note she didn’t say anything about what happens if one of you punches me.”
The cook came out from back. “Gentlemen, if there’s going to be a problem? Could you take it outside?”
Mac used it as a diversion to slide past the officers. “Good fries, man. Sorry these guys screwed it up, and they got cold.” He tossed a $20 on the counter and with a nod, he exited the bar, the bell above the door ringing again.
“You still there?” Mac asked as he got back in his car. The cops were still inside. Maybe they’d eat lunch before coming out themselves. Or maybe they were waiting for back up.
“Yeah,” Janet said. “You OK?”
“I’m almost on the freeway, and headed out of Arlington. If I’m lucky, for good,” Mac assured her. He hung up, then called Rodriguez and told him what had happened.
“Sensei?” Rodriguez asked. “Doesn’t ring a bell, except you know as a cheesy gimmick thing in some movie.”
Mac laughed. “Yeah. Couldn’t believe he was serious. Still wasn’t sure until the cops showed up.”
“I’ll see about asking that guy from this morning,” Rodriguez said.
“You picked him up?”
“Yeah, he’s none too bright,” Rodriguez groused. “Who runs away from their arsenal? Without a weapon?”
Mac laughed, and focused on driving south through rush
