One Second After

“Get out of the car, all of you. You can walk over to the county office; you’ll find Ed there. If he says you can have it back and you got that in writing, fine with me. But for now I’m taking it. You’ll find this car behind the courthouse if Torrell gives it back to you.”

“How about the other way around?” Charlie replied, staying calm. “Get in, ride with us over to see Ed, and he’ll take care of it.”

The cop shook his head.

“I’ve got my orders. Guard this bridge and impound any cars. So the rest of you get out.”

Charlie, exasperated, looked towards John, who shook his head wearily. Nothing worse than a corporal type, with limited intelligence, a gun, and his “orders.” No amount of logic in the world could ever penetrate through to him.

“You know what you sound like with your ‘only following orders’?” John asked.

The cop looked at him.

“A damn Nazi. We keep the car and Charlie here goes in to see Torrell.”

“You son of a bitch, get the hell out of that car, all of you, and hands over your heads.”

“Let me handle this,” Washington whispered.

“Get out, you first, you loudmouthed bastard,” and the cop pointed the AR straight at John.

“Move carefully,” Washington whispered.

“I’m not budging,” John said sharply, loud enough for the cop to hear. “Out, asshole.”

“It’s not ‘asshole.’ It’s ‘Colonel,’” John replied sharply. “Get out now,” and the cop shouldered the weapon, pointing it straight at John’s head.

“Better do what he says,” Charlie said bitterly. “Get out, John.”

“Hey, everybody chill. It’s ok,” Washington said, and his speech pattern had instantly changed from Marine DI to comfortable, laid-back African-American southern.

“Come on, bro,” Washington said, patting John on the shoulder with his left hand even as he slipped the .45 behind his back. “It’s cool; just do what the man says.”

Washington carefully eased out of the car, putting his hands up in the air. He walked up to the cop grinning, his gait loose and relaxed… and a second later the officer was flat out on the ground. The second cop started to swing his AR-15 around, but the .45, that Washington had kept tucked into his belt behind his back was now leveled straight at the second cop’s head.

“Move an inch, Officer, and you are history.”

The cop hesitated.

“No one gets hurt,” Washington said coolly. “Mr. Fuller is going in to see Mr. Torrell. Everything will turn out fine and then we drive away. We’ll all just sit here, wait, and talk like friends. Now son, either drop the gun or I promise you, you will be dead in five seconds.”

The officer laid the AR down.

“Boys, take their rifles. Their pistols, too.”

Washington kept the pistol leveled as Jeremiah and Phil disarmed the two cops, the one who had been knocked flat with one blow sitting up, red faced, blood trickling down from a broken nose.

“Sorry I had to do that to you, son,” Washington said, then turned to Charlie.

“Mr. Fuller, I think you should walk in. If the order is out to confiscate, we’ll definitely lose this car trying to drive to the county office. We’ll wait here.”

“I’ll go along,” John said.

“Ah, Colonel, sir,” Washington interjected. “I think you need to stay here.”

“Why?”

“More cops might come along and I just have these two boys.”

John nodded, took one of the AR-15s, and looked over at Charlie.

“I’ll get back here as fast as I can,” Charlie said. “Now listen, if for some chance I’m not back in,” he looked down at his old-style wristwatch, “make it two hours, go for home. If it looks like you might lose the car, or have to fight, get the hell out and I’ll walk home later. Ok?”

“Sure, Charlie.”

Charlie turned and set off at a slow trot to the twin buildings of the courthouse and county office. Watching him go, John had the same thought he always did when seeing the twin towers of Asheville, the famous local legend how back in 1943 the pilot of the B-17 bomber Memphis Belle, Colonel Bob Morgan, had flown his plane between the two buildings, a buzz job with him banking at a forty-five-degree angle to squeeze through.

Morgan was gone now several years, buried in the veterans cemetery in Black Mountain, and John turned to look back at the cop with the broken nose, the old Edsel, the two wide-eyed students of his…. My God, yet again, it was frightful to contemplate how much had changed.

“You all right?” John asked, trying to sound friendly, squatting down by the cop’s side.

“Screw you, you asshole,” he snapped. “That black son of a bitch broke my nose.”

Washington looked down at him and shook his head.

“You’re lucky that’s all I broke,” he said softly, all sympathy now gone. “And next time you address the gentleman, the first two words out of your mouth are ‘Colonel, sir,’ and as for me ‘Sergeant’ will be just fine.

“Boys, help him to the side of the road; put him behind that Honda SUV.” He turned and looked at the other cop. “Would you mind going over and sitting down there as well.”

The second cop nodded, saying nothing.