The Plodder's Mile -- Chapter Twenty-five

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Logic seemed to slip from the room as John Graham did something incredibly stupid. He decided to try to keep the money. But how? Plod. He took one step forward, and Raymond Johnson was so enamored of his long lost package, that he neglected to keep John Graham far enough away. With one sweep from the left to the right, John used the package as a weapon to deflect the gun away from himself, and with one more crashing thud, used it to whack Ray across the face. The two moves, one to the right, the other to the left sent Ray tumbling down the stairs to the landing, right next to where Officer Jones was crouched just outside the door.

Ray got one shot off as the gun went sideways, and the bullet shot through the drywall in the kitchen. As he tumbled down the stairs, he raged at himself that he hadn’t shot this idiot before now. Gathering himself at the bottom of the stairs, he decided to finish this part of the job right now.



Greg Jones cursed under his breath as his target tumbled to the landing directly in front of him. Now all that separated him and Johnson was the door, which Greg stood back to kick open. He simultaneously shouted, “Police!” as his foot crashed through the door.

Ray was knocked forward by the door, and the shot he fired was low, but still hit its target just below the kneecap. John Graham collapsed at the top of the stairs with a sharp groan, dropping the money. Ray turned and fired once blindly at the force behind him, trying to process all of the data at once; the kicked door, being forced forward, the shout, the shots. Ray knew his only exit was in front of him. He dashed up the stairs, grabbing the money and heading for the heavy sliding glass doors. The alarm had begun ringing by this time.

As Officer Jones had kicked the door open, he saw the shot up the stairs, and then was staring into the barrel pointed back out at him. He ducked behind the rock wall of the front porch, just under the window he had been looking through only moments before. The shot was a wild one, and went straight out the door. Jones realized it had been to cover Johnson as he fled up the stairs. Hearing the heavy footfalls up the steps, ran up the short flight to see Raymond Johnson fleeing out the back door onto the deck. As the sliding glass door was opened, the sirens from the house alarm began wailing, and as was usual in these situations, time slowed to a standstill for Officer Greg Jones.

He kneeled at the side of John Graham, and checked the wound. There was blood, and no doubt there would be pain, but right now Graham was just staring into space, beginning to go into shock. Luckily, Reba crept down the hall and peered around the corner, and after hearing gunshots in her own house, was not eager to enter the front room. Greg called her over.

“Reba, it’s Greg,” he said, motioning her to them. “An intruder has just shot John in the leg, but he’s going to be all right. I need you to get him a towel and hold it on the wound to stop the bleeding.”

Reba stood over both of them, also shocked into inaction. She looked from the gun in Greg’s hand to her husbands’ wound. Greg understood the confusion of the moment, but he only had moments before he could catch Johnson.

“Quick, Reba, go get a towel,” he implored, “I’ve got to go get the bad guy.” Noticing the recognition finally in her eyes, he jumped to his feet and ran out the back door onto the deck.



Ray knew he had only moments to escape, since the cop would stop to help a shooting victim first. But the two options that presented themselves at the bottom of the stairs to the deck were not equally appealing. Although he had crept up the back of the lot along the bushes, the direct path back to the car would make him an easy target, and the yard was long and deep. As the wheels turned in Ray’s head, the other option seemed best, and would probably confuse the cop. So at the bottom of the stairs he turned and ran back around to the front of the house, and was now faced with three options. Turn to the left or right and maybe go around the block to the car, which the cop would probably go straight toward. Or he could go across the street to that darkened house, and wait for the cop to find him, and watch the cop act surprised as Raymond drilled a bullet into him.



Greg dashed to the bottom of the stairs, and looked toward the back of the lot. He needed to cover the car to prevent Ray’s escape, but the yard was so long Greg doubted he had gone that way. Since he had to prevent an escape, Greg ran through the long backyard, hoping to get to the car before Johnson. There was no alternative. Greg just hoped Johnson wouldn’t switch cars again, because if this guess was wrong, there would now be a gunman loose in the neighborhood.

When Greg Jones got to the car, his worst fears were realized. No one was around, and luckily the keys were still in the car. Jones leaned in and grabbed the keys, and then saw the rifle in the back seat. He took the gun and looked around the car. Johnson probably wouldn’t be back to this car, anyway, he thought. He stood and listened carefully. There was not other sound in the neighborhood at this hour of the morning. No other cars were leaving the area, so that meant Johnson was still here somewhere, waiting to escape. Greg thought he heard the sounds of sirens in the distance, and ran back through the Graham’s backyard, ready to brief the reinforcements on the situation.



Cody Merring was running around the far side of the Parker house while Raymond Johnson was running around the near side. Cody had heard the shots, and while sworn to stay at his station, his newly ingrained training kicked in and he leapt from the seat and ran to see if he could be of aid. He knew the protocol though, and wisely called Smitty quickly to say, “I heard gunshots across the street. I’m going over to see if anyone needs help.” It was his first real emergency that was all his own, and he wasn’t going to let the good people of his home town suffer while he could help.



Raymond Johnson got to the police car and quickly checked for keys to make an escape. He thought to himself that this would be the perfect way to slide out of town, just get in the car and pretend to be on the way to an “emergency”. He could even use the flashing lights if he wanted to, but probably the better way would be to just slowly drive from town. But the keys weren’t there. They were jangling from the side of Officer Greg Jones’ belt as he ran to Cody Merrings’ car.

But the radio was working, and as the crackle of the intercom began to rise in the speaker, Ray thought he could hear other noise, but farther off in the distance. Smitty’s car siren could be heard in the distance, and then was also heard over the radio. “Negative, stay in the car. Do not go to the scene, repeat, do not leave the car.” Ray was almost tempted to click the microphone and tell whoever this was that since he didn’t have the keys, he wasn’t going anywhere. But instead, Ray realized these cops he could hear in the background were on the way to meet him. Ray decided he would hide out in this house, and wait to see what developed. No one knew where he was, yet.



Cody heard the gunshots as he ran quickly across the street, looking up and down the street to see if he was exposing himself to any other danger than the one he was certain was in John Graham’s house. He knew he wouldn’t be any help if he was shot, too. He ran to the front door, and since it was still open, even with the frigid night air pouring in, he saw the Graham’s at the top of the stairway. Reba Graham was applying pressure to a wound with a towel that was almost completely blood-soaked. She looked up and only recognized him the kid who used to check out the adventure books when she was a librarian, and she knew that he had taken some of John’s classes. The name jumped to her throat. “Cody, John’s been shot!” Reba sobbed, beginning to lose her focus now that help had arrived.

“I heard. I’ve been training as an EMT. I know I can help,” he said quickly, and just as quickly, she turned her patient over to him. The reddened towel was turning black with blood, and Cody could see the blood leaking from the entry wound. It was probably spilling out of the back wound too. Without a thought, Cody pushed one finger into the bullet hole and held it there. John Graham moaned with pain, and then became unconscious again, slumping against the carpet. Cody felt for the second hole, and found the wound was clear, the bullet had gone straight through, and he kept his fingers in the holes. The blood flow was staunched.

“Mrs. Graham,” Cody asked quietly, trying not to sound urgent, but firm, “would you please get me another towel, and call 911. Tell them John – Mr. Graham has a gunshot wound.”

She looked into the baby face of someone she had loaned books to only five years ago. Now the adventure was in her front room, and her husband was bleeding, and she was unsure just how much to trust this ridiculously young man. But it was only a moment of hesitation, and she went to get more towels. And make the call.

Raymond Johnson crept into the back of the house, wondering where would be the best place to watch the proceedings across the street. So far no one knew he was here, so he could lie low, and quiet, and until a house to house search was conducted, he would be safe. There would be roadblocks, but he had no doubt he could escape. If only he would be quiet and still for just a while longer. As he crossed into the back kitchen, Ray was drawn to the window at the side of the room. He could see the flashing lights of several cop cars approaching the house. Whoever had been in the car just before him must have tipped them off, and he wondered where that other officer was at the moment. Better to stand here and wait for a moment. There could be cops in this house, too, for all he knew.

The cars roared down the street and the sirens, along with the gunshots earlier, got the other people on the street to turn on their lights, to creep out onto their porches and try to see what traumatic event they were missing, hoping to be spectators to the carnage, and then be able to report on it firsthand later to their jealous neighbors who had missed out. Several cars converged on the front of the Graham house, and as officers spilled out of the doors and took cover behind them, a single police officer emerged from the back yard to wave them off, indicating there was no one in the house. Ray heard a voice from the front of the house say plaintively, “Greg!”



Smitty holstered his gun and advanced to get the report from Jones.

Greg spoke up first, knowing that time was of the essence. “Johnson shot Graham in the leg and fled somewhere here into the neighborhood. I haven’t heard any other car activity except you guys. He’s got a handgun. And the money.”



Ray would have sat and watched the cops discuss their strategy, to see if they would point to the Parker house, imagining he was hidden there. But more important, Ray wanted to see the face of his next hostage, who was now standing in the front room looking out at the officers. As he slowly and noiselessly walked up to the front of the room, the rustling of his clothes revealed someone was there. Paula Rogers turned to see a gun pointing at her face.

“Don’t even think about making a sound,” Ray said very quietly, but with such conviction that Paula knew he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. She had reported on hostage negotiations before, and her mind quickly turned over the list of “correct” hostage behaviors which usually helped hostages to survive.

Non-confrontation popped up first. “Okay”, she breathed out. “Whatever you say.” Then she shut up.

Ray liked this hostage. He seemed to recognize her face, and wondered where he knew her from. It was tossing around in his head with the other thoughts of what he might want to do to her besides hold her hostage. The instructions came out first. “Just sit down on that couch, and wait until I decide what we do next.”

She didn’t take her eyes off him, and he freely let his eyes roam over her body. It was a visual assault on her body, and she thought she could see the ideas forming in his eyes. She tried to remain focused, and did as he said. Sitting on the couch, she hoped Greg would get over here soon and check on her.



Smitty called Skinner over and introduced Greg, but they already knew each other, and Smitty grimaced to realize the error. Greg’s deputy Larry Skinner had been killed by this madman, and now his brother Darrell Skinner was here to make sure he didn’t get away this time. The three formed a circle to weigh their options.

“Let’s lock down the town,” he said to the other two. They nodded, and Smitty turned to his second and gave the order. All the roads would be barricaded.

Greg spoke next. “I don’t think he has gone very far, and he may be watching us right now. If I were him, I’d be waiting for a distraction or lull in the action.”

The three nodded again, and realizing they were standing openly in the road, moved over to stand next to a patrol car. “We’ve got back-up coming in from the north,” Smitty said, “and if we have to wait, we’ll wait. What do you think about a door to door?”

They looked around the block and realized that nearly all the doors were already open, with several people standing in doorways trying to watch the drama unfold. As they scanned the scene, the only house with no open door was directly across the street.



“Damn.” Both Smitty and Greg exhaled the word at once, and Skinner looked over at the house as Greg said, “Paula.”