A Guardian Angel (10 page)

“When? When I
sped up so we didn't collide or the rest of the time?” Andy let
slip out.

“Do you want
trouble?”

“No, sir.”

“Then watch
your mouth. Don't get smart with me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please step
out of the vehicle,” the officer ordered. He seemed to be
chewing on a piece of gum or something.

Andy obeyed with
reluctance, moving so that he wouldn't upset this volatile
representation of the law. He was instructed to close his door behind
him, which he did.

“Sir, please
turn around and place your hands on the hood of your car,” the
officer instructed.

“Why?”
Andy asked.

“Sir, please
do as you're – ”

“Am I being
arrested?” Andy asked, gesturing to the car. “For cutting
you off?”

“Do not
interrupt me!” the police officer bellowed at him, drawing his
handgun and pointing it at the hitman. “Hands on the hood!”

Fine,
Andy
thought sourly as he did what he was told. The anger was clear upon
his brow. He jumped when he began getting frisked. “Hey!”
he wormed around. “What the hell?”

“Shut up!”
the officer shouted in his ear. He rested the barrel of his gun on
the back of Andy's head. “No sudden movements.”

“It's pretty
messed up to go around finding attractive males like myself and
trying to shove your hand down their pants,” Andy breathed.

Blinding pain
knocked every color out of his eyes. All that was left was white.
There was a ringing that deafened him as he fell to the ground. His
hand shot up to his head and he felt blood trickling through the
broken skin. The police officer had just slammed the butt of his gun
into his head.

“I've got a
suspect resisting arrest,” the officer said into the small
radio on his shoulder. “Backup is requested at the corner of
Elite and Marble.”

Andy groaned and
clutched at his wound while the officer stepped over to him and
pointed his gun in his face.

“Get up!”
he commanded.

Fight or flight.
That's all that ran through Andy's mind at that movement. One
unfavorable movement, however, and Andy had no doubt that this
upholder of peace and justice would unload his magazine on him,
slaying him in the street for cutting him off in traffic. Then
cracking jokes. Seemed such a powerful insult to impotent jar heads,
Andy mused. Although he suspected something greater at play.

He had his
three-eighty auto. Silenced. He could kill this man without him even
knowing. But then what? A dead police officer and half-finished
reports that describe him and the car he drove. The call for backup,
as well.
If I really want to die,
Andy concluded,
I'll
cross this man again.

“Get UP!”
the officer yelled.

Andy managed his
way into a standing position and then put his hands down on the hood
of Steven's car like he was told. The officer was a little taken
aback by Andy's sudden obedience. He hesitated before searching the
assassin again. Once he started, it was a small matter of time before
he found the silenced pistol holstered on his shoulder.

“Suspect is
armed,” the officer murmured into his radio. He removed the
pistol from Andy's holster and threw it into the street.

“Hey,”
Andy started to protest, “I do have a license for that.”

“I don't see
a license,” the officer retorted.

“Of course
not,” Andy said, moving with the officer's nudges to turn
around. “See, you normally would ask for one and I would show
it to you. See, it's right here – ” Andy pulled out his
wallet.

“Don't
fucking move!” the officer screamed at him. “You are
under arrest for hitting a police vehicle, resisting arrest, assault
of a police officer, and concealing an unlicensed firearm.” The
cop started handcuffing Andy.

“Are you
serious?” Andy said, losing his cynical grasp of humor and
coming close to blinding psychotic anger.

“Get in the
back,” the cop demanded as he drug him to the undamaged police
cruiser and opened the door.

Andy obeyed, but
before the door closed, said, “I hope you die painfully and
unnaturally.”

A kick to the head.
Elegant practice of the law.

“Do you need
any help making your stupid fake wounds look real?” Andy called
from inside the car once he recovered. “I'd love to help! I'll
beat your ass to death!”

A second police car
pulled up and the arresting officer and his backup talked together
for a moment. The corrupt mustachio chatted on and on while the other
officer listened patiently, nodding. They both seemed to come to some
sort of mutual agreement and Andy's least favorite cop in the world
climbed into the driver's seat. Neither of them spoke to each other
as the car flared up and drove them down to the Lumnin Police
Department, further up Elite Street.

He was pulled from
the back of the vehicle and led in through the offices until he was
placed in a small interrogation room with an Asian officer in round
glasses. The arresting officer closed the door behind him and leaned
up against the wall.

“Andy Winter,
is that right?” the Asian officer asked him.

“No,”
Andy replied. “It's Summers. Where did you get Winter from?”

“Can I see
his ID?” the interrogator asked the arresting officer.

The volatile man
produced Andy's wallet and threw it onto the table. He stared at the
back of Andy's head.

“Is he going
to stay in here?” Andy asked the Asian man. “His advances
toward me are starting to make me uncomfortable. Flattered though I
am.”

The arresting
officer roared some sort of bestial noise and jerked forward, but was
stopped by the Asian officer's gesture to calm. “Please speak
only when spoken to, Mr. Winter,” he said. The white officer
pouted and reclaimed his unprofessional lean on the wall.

“It says
Summers,” Andy repeated.

“I know what
it says,” the cop replied.

Andy sat back in
his seat, realization washing over him. His minor inklings had grown
into confirmed suspicions. The more he understood, the more he
seethed with hatred. The less attacking these corrupt pigs seemed
like a bad idea to him. His fate seemed to be sealed. The Asian
officer produced Andy's three-eighty auto and set it on the table.

“Is this your
firearm?” he asked. His eyes were piercing.

Andy gritted his
teeth, almost ready to clam up and say nothing more. To become
immovable. “How's Leroy Graves?” he asked.

“I'm sorry?”
the interrogating officer replied, glancing up to the arresting
officer. He had put his hand on his holster but hesitated.

Andy sat forward.
“You can tell him that the deadline is not up,” he
started through clenched teeth.

“Flynn has
finished her report,” the police officer replied. “It's
no doubt already been sent.”

“But she has
physical evidence that she's bringing in person,” Andy
explained. “Something important.” The man seated across
from him said nothing. He just watched him coldly. Andy was half
angry and half scared. He pleaded. “I have yet to act for or
against Decree – ”

The Asian officer
slapped him. Andy had little expectation of this and even the
arresting officer seemed surprised. “Do not say anything that
will get you in any more trouble than you are already in,” he
ordered.

There was silence.
“What are you going to do to me?” Andy asked, his voice
hissing.

“That's not
up to us,” the arresting officer said from behind him.

There was a sudden
knock on the door.

The person on the
other side of it didn't wait for them to answer before opening it
wide and stepping through. He was just a few years older than Andy
himself but had some light graying at the roots of his hair. His
goatee was groomed and his hair combed back with gel. This man drew
the attention of everyone in the room.

“What's going
on?” he asked both of the officers. “What are you doing?”

“We're
processing an arrest,” the white officer told him.

“An arrest?”
the bearded man echoed. “For what?”

“You want to
see the charges?” the Asian officer asked him, offering the
papers that had been sitting before him. The new officer accepted it
while the arresting officer rolled his eyes.

His lips moved as
he read. “Threatening an officer with a firearm?” he
hollered once he was done reading. “Are you serious? How god
damn stupid are you?”

“This man is
a criminal!” the arresting officer whined.

“I just
watched the recording off of your cruiser. You are an idiot. It's
clear there is no crime you can charge him with,” the
domineering cop ordered to the mustached man.

“You must
have seen the speeding,” the arresting officer pleaded.

“Shut up,”
the senior officer demanded. “You're fired. I plan to encourage
this man to press assault charges on you. Mihn, you're on suspension.
I only just started my shift today and I didn't expect to start it
cleaning up after you pissants. Get your act together and figure out
who you're really working for or you're going to be the one
processed.” With that he left the room, slamming the door.

The white officer's
mouth hung agape in elusive protest. Words failed him as he looked to
Mihn who had bowed his head in shame. Then he looked to Andy. As
quietly as he could, he said, “You'll wish it was us who caught
you.”

“The deadline
isn't up yet. Tell Graves. I have until tomorrow.”

“I'm not
saying shit,” the white man who used to be a police officer
said. He nudged into Andy as he left the room.

“I'll do what
I can,” Mihn said, not raising his gaze. “You must
deliver.”

“I will,”
Andy said. Then he left the room.

As he walked out,
the senior officer with the beard approached him with his confiscated
possessions. He even returned his firearm with its respective
license. At this proximity, Andy could finally make out the name on
the badge. “Flynn,” he read aloud.

The man smiled in
response before leading him through the maze of offices until they
were out of a door on the side. He had one of the other cops retrieve
Steven's vehicle from the impound, handing the keys over to Andy. The
hitman thanked him as he climbed into the car.

“You know,
you can't own all of the people all of the time,” Officer Flynn
said before shutting Andy's door behind him.

-Chapter Nine-

True
Intentions

Andy pulled
Steven's car into its driveway while losing his nerve. He was
somewhere between wanting to drink himself to death and kill everyone
he saw. Luckily, he was only in between.

He stumbled up the
stairs, onto the front porch, and against the door. It was unlocked
and Steven was in the shower. Andy made his way to the fridge and
poured himself a glass of cheap wine before slumping into the
armchair. He left everything turned off and just listened to the
water running in the bathroom.

Someone had to go
in just a few short hours. He would have to kill Haley Flynn or
forever watch over his shoulder for Leroy Graves and the men of
Decree. He could run, but where? For how long? With as much ease as
squashing a bug, Graves could turn Andy into an international
fugitive. He killed so many men, done so many horrible things around
the globe. Decree had their ways to dissociate themselves with his
actions and leave him facing the law on his own. He had no alibi. He
only hoped not to be asked.

Steven popped open
the bathroom door, buttoning up a green collar shirt. “Andy!”
he exclaimed. “You're back. How – ” He looked at
his sunken friend who looked like he was trying his hardest to drown
in wine. Steven paused for a second, absorbing the scene. “What's
wrong?”

“I've duped
you,” Andy said, sniffling. Steven stood in the living room
looking concerned. “I'm not who you think I am.”

“What do you
mean?” Steven chuckled. He was very off ease. “You're not
Andy Summers?”