Читать книгу Allied Zombies for Peace - Craig Nybo - Страница 23

Chapter 16

Most everyone near Schecky hit the deck, the vets who were beating the hell out of him, those who stood by watching, pumping their arms, the mother who had covered her son’s ears, berating Chuck for his language; they all collapsed, looking for cover. A quell fell over the area, a long moment of tense quiet in the shot’s aftermath. Everyone waited for what would happen next.

At first, Chuck didn’t know what had happened. He knew the little prick with the American flag pants had done something stupid: set off a bomb of some kind or fired a weapon. The kid lay curled up on the road, groaning, his right hand peppered with shrapnel cuts. Whatever the kid had attempted had gone wrong. The explosion had gone off in his hand, leaving it a hamburger mess.

Someone behind Chuck shouted: “He only has one shot.” That sentence sent the crowd into pandemonium. Parade spectators leapt to their feet and fled. Somewhere, a child cried, looking for his mommy. Somewhere else, an old gentleman fell to the ground under the trample of the wide-eyed and panicked. Many spectators, the smart ones, backed up against the buildings seated on either side of High Street, ducking into nooks and behind walls for cover.

NRPL protestors, still holding their slogans and placards, suspecting that the shot had come from one of the veterans, resurrected their chants.

One of the Nam vets ran at a pair of spindly NRPL protesters. The hippies didn’t stand a chance against the well-trained soldier. The G.I. snatched one of the hippie’s sideburns and the other hippie’s Afro. Before either kid could yelp, the vet slammed their heads together with such ferocity that both of them blinked out.

Fern drew his pistol and leveled it at the Vet.

“Put that thing away,” Smash shouted. “We’ll use sticks until the Serge tells us otherwise.”

Fern holstered his .38.

Smash unclipped the CB handset from his shoulder and raised Sergeant Bixbie.

Sergeant Bixbie trotted to the curb where he could better see what was going on down the parade route. He had heard a pop; had someone taken a shot? He couldn’t tell.

The radio receiver on his shoulder squelched to life. Smash Williams’s voice bled through the airwaves. “Serge, you there?”

Bixbie unclipped the receiver from his shoulder and shouted into it: “What’s going on? Looks like a rumble from where I’m standing.”

“We have a shot fired. I repeat: we have a shot fired. Some hippie S.O.B. drew a zip gun and popped off a round at the Nam veterans.”

“Pray for mercy,” Bixbie said to himself.

“I ask permission to engage with firearms.”

Bixbie swallowed hard. “You will do no such thing.”

“But Serge—“

“Williams, if it was up to me, I’d say show some iron. But I got Commissioner Stillman on my ass.”

“Stillman’s a chump; everyone knows that,” Smash said.

“Cool it, Williams; it’s your job if you don’t show respect for the office of Commissioner.”

“Respect for the office, not for the man.”

Sergeant Bixbie agreed with Smash but couldn’t say so on the open waves. Everyone knew Commissioner Stillman was on the take. But the commissioner had covered his tracks; even Internal Affairs hadn’t found his dirt during their shakedown of the precinct after Officer Greer’s indiscretion. Sergeant Bixbie wished he could somehow nail the Commissioner, but that wasn’t likely; Commissioner Stillman had friends in low places.

Sergeant Bixbie cleared his throat and spoke into the receiver. “This is just a rumble, a bunch of kids duking it out. I want you to draw batons and control that crowd.”

“What about the shot?”

“We don’t want a panic on our hands. Find the perp and quietly take him into custody. We’ll deal with the cleanup after this whole thing blows over. And no firearms. You copy?”

“Copy.” Bixbie’s radio clicked and went silent. He bit the knuckle of his right index finger—a habit that annoyed his wife—as he watched the violence unfold down the parade route. Under orders from Commissioner Stillman, Bixbie had only brought a skeleton crew of cops. But they were good cops. They would have this little squall under control in a few minutes.

The truth was, Sergeant Bixbie couldn’t have been more wrong.