Chapter Four: Authored by H.J. Nealson

     Trooper Clive Jenson chuckled to himself. Dispatch told him to keep the dog awake. Bullet was a notoriously lazy canine, his name being a sort of false advertisement. “You hear that Bullet? You need to wake up. There might just be some dangerous motherfuckers coming up.”
     Bullet barely even picked up his head to look at Jenson. 
     “Three minutes, Bullet, and then…”
     Suddenly the radio erupted.
     “SHOTS FIRED!” the radio screamed. “I HAVE SHOTS FIRED! THIS IS EVANS! I COULD USE SOME BACKUP! MULTIPLE TARGETS FIRING ON MY POSITION!”
     “I’m on my way, Evans!” Clive said into the radio. He then buried the gas pedal as far into the carpet as it would go, lights and siren announcing his coming. Hold on buddy, he thought hoping that the message was telepathically sent to Evans. 
     At the top speed his cruiser would go, Jenson could now see Evans’ vehicle with Evans taking cover behind it. The back of the pulled over UHAUL was open and he noticed that there were two armed men pointing their firearms in the direction of Evans, who was returning fire. One was in front of the 620 cruiser and the other was flanking on the driver side.
     Jenson could see Evans trying to pick his shots by looking underneath the car to see where the gunmen were. Evans was not giving up, and Jenson was not going to let him down.
     Obviously still focusing on killing Evans, the flanking gunman did not even see Jenson’s patrol car until it was two yards away from sending him to the pearly gates with St. Peter and the whole she-bang. As soon as he made contact with first gunman, Jenson saw a Mini-14 fly straight up, saw the torso pop up and to the left, and felt the legs crunch underneath him. Stomping on the brakes, he slammed the car into park and heard the gears grind like a wind up toy until the car skidded to a stop. 
     Evans was still firing toward the back of the UHAUL, so Jenson flanked in the direction of the blood splatter on the highway to avoid getting hit in crossfire. With his Remington 870 in his hands, Jenson saw muzzle blast repeatedly flaring up from the back of the UHAUL. There was no way to get a good shot without completely exposing himself. 
     “Evans,” he whispered in his radio. “Cease fire. Hold still. Let him think he got you.”
     The gunman from the UHAUL fired five more shots towards Evans, but received no return fire. Three more shots rang out. Still no return fire. The gunman jumped out of the back of the truck, his weapon at low ready. He looked to the right to make sure the road was clear so he could confirm Evans’ death.
     That look to the right was all that Jenson needed. The last thing the gunman saw was the blasting barrel of the Remington spitting double ought buckshot towards his skull. At that range, the only thing that remained was a slumped back neck. Behind the falling, already deceased gunman bits of skull, hair, and teeth were scattered amongst the thick blood, that looked brown against the wooden interior of the truck.
     “Clear!” Jenson shouted as he ensured that the truck was completely empty. He turned to make sure Evans was alright and ran to his location behind the patrol car.
     Evans was lying on the ground, bleeding from his left leg, but did not appear to be in extreme pain. He looked up at Jenson.
     “You always steal all the thunder, you cock block,” he said to Jenson then laughed softly.
     Jenson looked at his leg. “You okay, buddy?”
     “Yeah. I just skinned it on the fucking highway. Lucky for me these motherfuckers had a spray and pray outlook on shooting. They must not pray enough.”
     Jenson keyed the microphone on his radio. “4-0-2 on scene with 6-2-0, several shots fired. Two armed suspects, Code: Black. Send EMS. Officer down.”
     “Officer down?” Evans said. “Really?”
      Jenson looked at him and laughed. “You are a member of the law enforcement community and you are on the ground.”
     “Thanks, man. Seriously. If you hadn’t been here…”
     Jenson cut him off. “…If I hadn’t been here then you would have shot these fuckers dead and I would have had no fun at all.”
     Evans stood up and brushed his shirt. He looked at the downed gunmen. 
     “Shit, Jenson. You don’t fucking play.”
     “No, I don’t. Here sit down in the back seat. Relax for a minute. The bean counters will be here poking and prodding with our heads shortly.” He helped Evans to the back seat.
     Dispatch was screaming at them on the radio.
     “Dispatch, this is 4-0-2, what do you need?”
     “This is dispatch, is everything okay now? We have several state and county law enforcement agencies heading your way. Are you and Evans okay though?”
     “Yes, dispatch. Been a little busy though. Will advise if situation changes, but we are ok.”
     “10-4, 4-0-2. Good job.”
     Jenson leaned on the car next to where Evans was sitting. He put a large amount of Skoal Wintergreen in his left lip and offered some to Sam. Sam took it and emptied the rest of the can into his mouth.
     “Thanks,” he said as he handed Clive the empty can. Clive laughed out loud and threw the can inside the car. They could hear several sirens approaching from behind them.
     “Here comes the cavalry,” Evans said dryly. 
     “Yep. You sure you are okay?”
     “Yeah, I just wish I would have seen this coming sooner.”
     “You can’t see stuff like this coming. You thought it might be drugs?”
     “Yeah.”
     Jenson watched the Sheriff’s Department coming. “They are gonna keep us separate to make sure our stories match up, Sam. You got my number. Call me tonight. I am gonna need a drinking buddy.”
     Evans looked up at him. 
     “Will do, Clive. Will do.”
     The sirens cut off as the Sheriffs all pulled up and exited their vehicles, scanning the location for any signs of trouble.