An Ordinary Decent Criminal - By Michael Van Rooy Page 0,2
yet so we couldn’t call the cops.”
I thought about it and continued. “They’ll be here soon enough, anyway.”
There were curtains on the front window and I could see through the gap. I’d laughed when Claire had put them up first thing, but now I appreciated them. The sirens were louder, and a blue and white Crown Victoria sedan pulled up to disgorge two Winnipeg cops, a youngish blond man and a brown woman. She yanked the shotgun out of the holder built into the dashboard and carried it at port arms up the path, but that didn’t surprise me, it was that kind of neighborhood. I felt a little thrill. I hadn’t dealt with cops for a while and I wondered if these were any good.
“Sound good?”
“Fine.”
Claire’s voice was clipped and I turned back towards the dead bodies. Already they were starting to settle as the air left the lungs and the piss and shit seeped out to mingle with the blood on the carpet. Fortunately, we were renting.
“Stall ’em a second, hon. A little panic/fear/rage would be appropriate.”
Fred started to cry when the dog began to bark, which he did as soon as the cops passed into the front yard. I put the pistol on the table and then pulled a plastic baggie with extra bullets from the dressing gown pocket. The unarmed man had fallen on his back, and I opened the front pocket on his black nylon windbreaker and dumped in the six lead and copper rounds. I shredded the baggie into a half-empty box of cutlery and then came back as the cops reached the porch.
“Police. Open up.”
They were doing it right, one on each side of the door and a long reach to knock and announce. Claire glanced at me and I nodded and opened the door. Before I could do anything, there was a thumb-wide shotgun barrel jammed into the hollow of my throat and a pale brown face staring down the receiver. The gun was crude, primitive, and lethal, and eminently capable of blowing my fucking head from my fucking neck so I slowly exhaled and made no movements at all.
“Police. Hands up, please. We have a report of shots.”
Her voice had a West Indian lilt that sounded like music and she smelled like cinnamon mixed half and half with gun oil. Slowly my hands went past my shoulders and she smiled and nodded. Her partner slipped past me with a Buck Rogers-type pistol in both hands, pointed at the ceiling.
“I want to call a lawyer. My name is Samuel Parker and this is my house, my family just moved in and we have no phone yet. The woman behind me is my wife and the baby is my son. Three men broke in with guns and knives to rob us and I killed them in self-defense. I want to call a lawyer.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the younger cop blush furiously when he saw Claire standing there naked. Reflexively he moved to holster his piece. “Jeez,” he said.
The woman with the shotgun made a gentle spitting sound like a chicken critiquing her young and her nose wrinkled in disapproval.
“No, Officer. You keep the gun out. You ignore the pretty naked lady. You check the house. Then you call for an ambulance. Ma’am? Please don’t move. This has to be done a certain way to avoid unpleasantness.”
The boy cop held onto his gun and started into the dining room, staying near the wall and out of the lady’s line of fire. Fred cried and the shotgun stayed steady at my throat as Claire spoke with a voice that cracked with the same cold rage. “Goddamn you. Take that gun off my husband, he didn’t do anything wrong. Go do your job.”
The bright eyes sighting along the shotgun didn’t even twitch and the cop’s cheerful voice dropped half an octave. “Be quiet, ma’am.”
The other officer finished checking the first floor and came into view out of the corner of my vision. “We got three deaders back there.”
He looked blank and started talking into the walkie-talkie on his belt. “We need two ambulances plus crime scene and homicide to a private home on Aikins. No sirens. Repeat: no sirens, one suspect, and needing crime scene and homicide. Reference officers Ramirez and Halley.”
Our dog Renfield, a Frankenstein-mixed mongrel, ambled up to sit pretty beside me with a battered Frisbee in his mouth.