Chapter 18

Lena’s turn:

Things can go south – Dad’s term for disaster – so fast. Here we were coming back from a nice dinner with friends, expecting to take a brisk shower under cold water, and then into our little nest of a travel trailer for some time together. That time might include reading, a head to head card game, or a movie or a few sections of a TV series. Our hilltop had an excellent 4G signal and we had a platinum account for Internet access.

It all went south when we rounded the curve and our gate was yanked apart.

Jay pulled the truck across the end of the drive and told me to call 9-1-1.

“What’s your emergency?” the almost bored-sounding voice said.

“We just got home. Somebody’s yanked our gate down. Broke into our place. We need the sheriff department.”

“Location please.”

I did my best to describe our country road location.

“We’ll have a unit respond. It may be a while. Our patrol units are elsewhere at the moment.”

“Okay, we’ll wait on the road until one gets here.”

“If you need to, feel free to call us back. A deputy may call you directly.”

“Thank you.”

By this time, Jay had a gun. I wasn’t raised around guns, you understand. I was raised in town, and I heard talk, and I watched TV and movies and such, but it wasn’t until I married Jay that I actually got to handle a gun. (No, not THAT gun!) He showed me how to handle them, how to shoot. We had a lot of fun with it. He bought me a particularly evil-looking carbine. Looks like the military’s M-4, short, handy, and I can tear up a target at two hundred yards. I also learned to shoot a pistol and a shotgun.

All that goes with being a country girl, I suppose, although the ONE time that I was surprised by a snake, despite my immediate desire to exercise all ballistic options, Jay reached down and picked the snake up, then held it and showed me a corn snake.

“Ninety-nine percent of snakes you’ll find WON’T be poisonous,” he said. “And NONE of them will chase you. This ‘un’s keeping rodents down. If we don’t mess with ‘im too much, he’ll hang around.”

Darned Jay. Now I’m friends with a snake.

But now ... Jay’s pulled his rifle out of its carrying case and he’s getting out of the truck when we see headlights coming through the wooded trail from our hilltop.

“I know,” he hissed. “Stay back. Out of sight. Back.”

Okay, I can follow instructions, but this is some crap and Lena’s NOT gonna be unarmed. I grabbed my own case, unzipping, making sure there’s a magazine in it, pulling back the charging handle, and oh yeah, sights ... I turned on the red dot sight.

The truck stopped. It was something out of Redneck Monthly, seriously, probably fifteen years old, the hood a different color than the fender I could make out. A guy opened the passenger door and hollered for us to get our truck out of the way.

Jay yelled back that they had our trailer and they were on our land and that the law had been notified.

The guy yelled something rude. Jay told them again. Got another rude comment, then the driver’s door popped open and the driver stood up with a shotgun. He fired once at Jay.

At the sheriff department gun range they have these silhouette targets that are exactly the same size as an average adult male. When I raised my carbine, that’s what he looked like.

We’ve shot at those targets. At two hundred yards, I have to take a little care to make the FIRST round hit, but I can hit. At twenty-five yards with this carbine, I could almost close my eyes and hit it.

He was at twenty-five yards and he’d just shot at MY husband once and appeared ready to do it again.

The guy who gave us the training for our concealed carry permits said that you shoot until you have neutralized the threat, either from him running off or from him ceasing threatening actions.

I put the dim red dot on his chest and squeezed the trigger. And kept squeezing until the guy fell straight down. One of his feet must’ve gotten caught in the truck because he was hanging upside down.

“Oh, shit! You shot Wayne!” the other guy yelled.

I’m on adrenalin now. “DO. NOT. FUCKING. MOVE!” I yelled, then, “JAY! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, babe. You?”

“He shot at you.”

“Keep your rifle on ‘im. He has a shotgun.”

I’m looking at the shotgun on the ground and its previous owner wasn’t moving. In the dim glow of the cab interior light, I can see a puddle of blood growing on the ground.

“Mister,” the guy standing in the other door said, almost sobbing. “Wayne’s ... he’s bleedin’.”

I am seldom a rude person, but then again, I seldom have somebody use deadly force against somebody I love. “Sucks to be Wayne. Don’t you fuckin’ move. Anybody else with you?”

“Jes’ me ‘n’ Wayne ... thet’s all.”

“Keep ‘im covered,” Jay told me. “What’s your name, asshole?” he hissed at the talking guy.

“Alec, mister...”

“You and Wayne picked the wrong campsite to rob,” Jay said. “Get your hands VERY high. There’s another rifle on you right now and she can shoot. Step down VERY carefully.”

Jay soon had a very distraught gentleman on the gravel road, face down.

“Baby,” he said. “Call 9-1-1 back and tell ‘em we need an ambulance.”

I dialed.

“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”

“I called you about half an hour ago. Somebody broke into our place. You’re gonna wanna send an ambulance. ASAP. There’s been a bit of shooting. One guy’s down.”

“Say that again?”

“Shooting. Shot at my husband. I shot the guy. Needs an ambulance.”

“Same location?”

“Yes, ma’am. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Services are on the way,” she said.

“Lena,” Jay said. “Come over here and keep your gun on ol’ Alec. Lemme see if we can help his buddy.”

“Be careful, sweetie,” I said. I hadn’t seen the guy move, but you never know. Still, I walked over a bit closer to Alec.

Jay was very cautious as he approached the guy hanging out of the truck. With one hand holding his carbine, he reached the other out, checking for a carotid pulse.

“Whatcha got?” I asked.

“He’s not gonna need that ambulance.”

“You killt Wayne!” Alec sobbed. “Over a fuckin’ trailer!”

“Oh, no,” I said. “We would’ve held Wayne and let the law figure out what to do with ‘im. Wayne’s dead because he got stupid enough to shoot at my husband. Now shut up. You’re too fuckin’ stupid for me to listen to.”

“Language, baby,” Jay said.

I’m taken aback. We’re in the middle of a robbery, there’s been gunfire exchanged, a dude is dead, and Jay is chiding me about my language. He’s right, though. I never say ‘fuck’. I heard it plenty growing up, heard it more on that project, usually followed by ‘Oops, sorry, Lena’.

I must be fried.

We didn’t talk much for a bit. Finally, way off in the distance, I heard a siren. My cellphone rang.

“Baby, watch ol’ Alec. Let me take this call.”

“Got ‘im.”

I punched my phone. “This is Lena Harris. Can I help you?”

“This is Deputy Yerky with the parish sheriff department. You’re on Brady Loop road?”

“Yessir. Are you coming up the state highway?”

“Yeah.”

“I can hear you now. When you turn onto Brady Loop, we’re a half-mile in from either end.”

“Got it. How do I find you? Driveway?”

“Oh, no sir. We’re parked on the shoulder of the road. Lights are on. There’s a truck with our trailer hitched to it coming out of our driveway. Me and my husband are armed. There’s a guy hurt bad and there’s a guy face-down in the road. We’re holding him until you get here.”

“What’re you armed with?”

“A couple of M-4 carbines.”

“No shit?”

“That’s us. I see your headlights. When you get here we’ll put the guns on the ground and step back. Watch for the guy on the ground. He’s one of the robbers.”

Now the sirens were a duet, maybe a trio.

“I’m coming around the bend. I see lights.”

He pulled up, the nose of his SUV almost touching our truck. When he got out of his vehicle, his gun was drawn.

“Put the guns down slowly,” he said.

You can bet we moved very slowly. Next he came up and saw Alec trying to get up.

“You just stay right there, hoss,” he said. He turned to me. “This is one?”

“The survivor. Yes,” I said.

He whipped a pair of cuffs off his belt and cuffed ol’ Alec and was standing the boy up when the second patrol unit showed up. That deputy had no more than gotten out of his SUV when the ambulance arrived.

Two paramedics or whatever they call themselves got out.

“Hey, Yerk!” one of them said. “Scene secure?”

“Yeah. Your job’s hanging out of the driver’s side door.”

The two of them made their way over there, one carrying a big tackle box. The first one repeated Jay’s quick assessment.

“DRT,” he called out.

“DRT?” I questioned.

“Yes, ma’am,” the other said. “Dead Right There. Bullet hole in the forehead is kinda final.”

Third sheriff department SUV rolled in. It’s getting to be a party.

I noted that nobody moved to cuff me or Jay.

The last deputy to show up came over to us. “Folks, I’m Alvin Frazier. Shift supervisor. I’m gonna need to see some ID.”

“In my back pocket. You want me to get it?” Jay said.

“I’d rather not stick my hand in your ass pocket,” he said.

“My purse’s in the front seat of our truck,” I said.

“Steve,” he told the second deputy, “retrieve the lady’s purse.”

He looked over our driver’s licenses and concealed carry permits. “Not that it applies to an M-4 behind your truck seat, you understand, but we appreciate your sentiment.”

Then it was time to be read our rights – a first time for me. I’m not sure about Jay. He’s been around a long time.

Then I gave my version of the story. “He came out of the driver’s side with a shotgun and fired at my husband. I had to shoot to protect my husband.”

“I understand,” Alvin said. “Along with felony theft, trespassin’, a few other things, assault with a deadly weapon. I’d say I was surprised and I kinda am. Alec and Wayne are frequent fliers. Always in and out of trouble. Got caught stealin’ a four-wheeler a year ago, red-handed, just like this. Both of ‘em spent six months in jail. Funny how when they got out, we started seeing breakins and thefts at hunting camps and such.”

He looked over as the ambulance crew was strapping the former Wayne onto a gurney. “Bet that crap stops now.”

He went back to Jay. “You have proof of ownership of that trailer?”

“Copy’s in the glovebox of the truck. ‘Nother copy in a desk inside the trailer. License plate is in my name.”