Page 52 of A Touch of Murder
He was about to turn onto Main Street when a call came in from dispatch. "All units, report from a contact at Chubby's that one of the suspects in the Wilson case just left. He walked out and got in a red semi cab. No trailer on the truck. Caller can't tell if others are in the cab. It's parked on that dirt patch just south of Chubby's. Caller is on phone with dispatch and will alert if the truck leaves."
Barret turned on his lights and siren. They were minutes away. Vance called in that they were responding, and Barret wasn't shocked to hear everyone else on duty call in that theywere also in route. Could they really have them? Would the men be stupid enough to come back through town? They had to know they'd left D.N.A evidence and would be identified.
"Think it's really them?" Vance asked.
"I sure hope so." Barret wanted nothing more than to arrest these men.
Dispatch came across the radio again. "Caller states the name on the door of the truck is West Raven Trucking." She followed up with the license plate number and the USDOT number on the truck.
Barret pulled up behind the truck at the same time two other officers did. He pulled his gun as he got out but saw Captain Russel was taking lead. He stayed back behind the door of his car and noticed Vance doing the same. It had been a while since he'd performed a felony stop, and adrenaline rushed through him as he listened to Captain Russel call out for whoever was in the truck to come out with their hands up.
"I can see movement in the driver's side mirror," Barret called out.
The truck engine started.
"Take out the tires," Captain Russel called.
Barret didn't hesitate. He checked the area, making sure there was no one in the line of fire, then shot twice, taking out two of the back tires on the driver's side.
"Got the back two on this side," Vance called.
Despite the bullet holes, the tires didn't lose air quickly, but hopefully it would be enough to slow the truck down if they started moving.
"I can get the driver's front tire if I can get over by that dumpster," Barret told Vance. "Cover me." He eyed the dumpster about twenty feet away. It sat in the back of Chubby's parking lot. He took off at a run, his full focus on getting to cover.
He heard the shot ring out and cursed as he saw the bullet hit the ground less than two feet from him. He rolled the last two feet until he was safely behind the dumpster. He righted himself and was careful to keep his cover the best he could while he aimed at the front tire of the truck and pulled the trigger. He knew the shot was good, but again, it would take time to deflate.
"You good, Whitestone?" Captain Russell called over the radio.
"Ten-four. I can see two individuals inside the truck. Looks like our two suspects, but can't confirm. One shot fired toward the dumpster. Someone make sure everyone is secure inside Chubby's." The last thing they needed was someone walking out and getting shot.
Officer Steller's voice came over the radio. "I'm inside Chubby's. Everyone is secure and safely moving to the basement storage room. Cars in drive-thru told to move on. Headed out to move my car to block the entrance to Chubby's."
Barret listened to other officers confirm their locations and he realized that they had the truck surrounded. The problem was that big semi could easily push past any of their squad cars, even the larger pickup trucks. He glanced at the tires, wishing they would deflate quicker and that he dared move to get a shot at the front tires like he'd initially intended.
"Come out with your hands up," Captain Russel called again.
Another shot rang out, this time toward Captain Russel. He ducked and Barret saw the bullet hit the windshield of the captain's truck.
"Truck comes back registered to West Raven Trucking out of Washington State," the dispatcher informed them.
Barret ignored the information. None of that mattered right now. What did matter was getting those men out of the truck and behind bars without anyone being injured or killed. In Seattle, they had SWAT teams and other teams trained for situations likethis, but in small town Idaho, it was up to Barret and the others to bring this to a peaceful conclusion.
Two more shots came from the truck, both aimed at Captain Russel again. Vance fired back, taking out the passenger window of the truck and one of the side mirrors. From where he was, Barret could see the driver's area of the truck, but he couldn't see anyone moving around. He guessed both had moved to the safety of the sleeper cab for the time being.
For a moment, silence fell over the area and Barret found himself struggling to remember procedure. He'd been in this situation more than once, but he had never been in the situation with these officers. While he trusted them to have his back, he wondered if they were trained well enough to handle this. He tried to recall where each officer came from but at the moment, he could only remember that Captain Russel had worked somewhere in California for a while before coming here and that had been many years ago.
He cursed and chastised himself for even thinking his co-workers weren't ready to handle this. They were trained, and they all knew how to do their job. Just because small town policing was usually simple didn't mean that they weren't trained and ready for the hard stuff. They could easily be worrying about him the same way. It was unfair, and he was sure later when there weren't bullets flying, he'd feel guilty for even having the thoughts.
The driver's door opened, and someone started shooting toward Barret. He ducked behind the dumpster, hearing bullets ting off the other side. His heart raced and he longed to return fire. He carefully went to the corner of the dumpster and snuck a look. One bullet hit the lid of the dumpster, then another the front. Barret saw Stevenson in the driver's seat, shooting. Barret took aim and shot, pleased when his bullet struck the man in the arm, but screaming in his own pain as fire coursed down his armand he dropped his gun. Barret fell back behind the dumpster and looked down at his arm. Blood splattered his forearm, and he couldn't straighten his elbow. Pain coursed through him, but he wasn't about to give up. He evaluated the wound, seeing it was barely bleeding. He didn't even bother to put pressure on it. Wasn't sure he could because of the pain.
"You hit?" Vance called over the radio.
"Flesh wound. I'm fine," Barret called back. He wasn't about to worry about his wound when he had two killers to take down. He tried to make a fist but the pain along his arm was too bad. That was okay. He could shoot with his left hand, just not as well. He knew he should have practiced left-handed shooting more often. Still, he could do it. He used his left hand to grab his gun, then laid it in front of him.
More bullets tinged against the dumpster, then he heard glass shatter. Daring to peek around the dumpster again, he saw that his squad car now had a bullet hole in the front window. Vance still took cover behind the passenger door, and Captain Russel now crouched behind the bed of his truck.
A shot came from in front of the truck and Barret saw Stevenson take the hit. Barret wasn't sure where the man had been shot, or who had shot him, but he knew it had been a good shot when he saw Stevenson's body fall from the driver's seat of the semi and hang there after his foot caught on something. The man wasn't moving. That left Cohen.
