part0005

Darren Lawson followed the gaze of his partner. The vehicle was three cars ahead of Hicks’s gray Ford Taurus. Persistent rain pelted the windshield. Nothing new. Lawson wondered why he’d traded the warmth of Austin, Texas, for frigid Anchorage, Alaska.

“Why not turn the wiper on?” his partner Darren Lawson asked.

“Let the rain camouflage our position. It'll be easy enough to spot our target. Harder for them to spot us.” Hicks was full of useful tidbits and in the few months since Lawson had been attached to the Fugitive Task Force, Hicks had done well to teach him all the tricks of the trade.

Even if that meant sitting in the pouring rain with the car off.

"You mind if I kick the heat on for a quick minute?" Lawson asked.

"This guy is gonna pop smoke and disappear if he walks out of that bar and sees a car idling."

Hicks always used terms from his military service. Lawson had never served and occasionally had to sneak a Google search on his phone to figure out the meaning.

"I'll be fast," Lawson replied.

"Not worried about him running as much as I am about him fighting. He's got a body on him. At least one that we know of. Court dismissal or not, make no mistake, we're hunting a murderer. And to me there is no greater threat. Guys like him aren't going to go easy. They would rather shoot their way out and die in a blaze of glory than see themselves behind bars again."

"Aren't we too close?" Using the side and rearview mirrors, Lawson scanned the area, trying to find a better place to wait.

"We gotta be this close. If we try to roll up, it’ll give him opportunity. Plus, his hatchback could be filled with who knows what. These meth guys roll around with some dangerous chemicals. Volatile, to say the least. I've got seven mouths to feed at home. I don't need this thing ending with a bang."

Lawson was eager to prove himself to the senior and far more experienced Hicks. This was his chance. In Lawson’s mind, the move from Texas to Alaska was the pinnacle of his law enforcement career. It had all changed when Lawson saw the posting in the locker room for an opening on the Fugitive Task Force Unit.

Only one downside. The location.

According to his wife, the move had been nothing but a nightmare. Since arriving in Anchorage, their relationship had been strained, to say the least. This morning's fight was the worst they'd had since arriving. It left him exhausted, frustrated, and considering a transfer back to Texas. It would mean giving up on his dream, although the reality of the situation was different than he’d expected.

He had high hopes when he first joined the US Marshals. TV and movies had glorified the career. Upon his entrance into federal service, Lawson was assigned to judicial security. On the outside it sounded interesting, but he soon realized he was no more than a glorified court bailiff. He’d become hesitant to tell people he was a deputy marshal. They immediately pictured Tommy Lee Jones and would then beg for details about his job. He could see the disappointment when he told them. Being responsible for the safety of the federal court's personnel and its prisoners wasn’t as sexy as a fugitive hunter.

Upon arriving in Anchorage, Lawson learned the unit comprised only two marshals. Hicks and his now former partner, who Lawson had replaced. A two-man fugitive recovery unit for a city of four hundred thousand. There were other marshals who worked and supported the task force when needed, but most of the time they worked with the Anchorage Police Department.

It had been slow since he’d arrived and he hadn't made a fugitive recovery case worth talking about, which only furthered the argument by his wife that there was no point in being there. Until this morning when he walked through the doors of their small office to see Hicks. His normal grin stretched to a broad smile.

"Ready to catch your first big fish?"

They'd been staring at the same Volkswagen hatchback for the last forty-five minutes. One of the local patrol officers had called it in after running the tag, only to find the plate was linked to a parole absconder by the name of Walter Grizzly, the proverbial big fish. Grizzly had failed to meet the conditions of his parole after serving a few years on a local meth distribution case that went federal because of the quantity of drugs and lab used to make it. A prisoner reduction program put him on a path to early parole. And it hadn’t been long until he’d violated the conditions of his release.

Drugs and violent crime filled the pages of Grizzly’s criminal history file. He led a small group of white supremacists known as The Way, who made their money selling crystal methamphetamine. They had a stranglehold on the market and used a heavy hand in controlling their territory. A member received his Mark—a tattooed black W with a red triangle pointing up from behind like a mountain top—by committing murder.

Hicks was right about Grizzly being a killer. Lawson had read the file. His hand had trembled then, just as it did now. About six years ago, Grizzly killed a guy by the name of Trevor Lively in a poker game, breaking his neck with his bare hands in a fight over a few hundred dollars. The key witness disappeared. Evidence was destroyed or deemed inadmissible due to poor handling. Grizzly walked on the murder. Bold red letters atop Grizzly's file listed him as an ADV—Armed, Dangerous, and Violent—apprehension. Lawson stared at the red letters now. He could not will his hand to stop trembling.

Hicks had earlier put in a call to Anchorage PD and requested SWAT assist in the takedown. Anchorage's tactical operations division was dealing with an evolving barricade situation, which had tapped their resources and manpower. A deranged man had abducted a child off a school bus in broad daylight. There was a citywide manhunt underway and most of the city’s units were tasked with assisting.

But Hicks knew the shift commander and was able to finagle two marked patrol units to support himself and Lawson should Grizzly present himself. They were now parked a couple blocks away and given strict orders to stay out of the area until Hicks called for the assist. He didn’t want the cruisers to spook their target.

Hicks had nearly twenty years of law enforcement experience on Lawson. He also had a big family. He never tired of telling stories about his chaotic home life, his seven children ranging from the age of three to seventeen, a pair of twins smashed in the middle. But the job never seemed to bother him. Hicks let stress roll off him like water off an umbrella. Even now, as they sat in their Taurus in the pouring rain and sleet, waiting on a killer to show himself, Hicks's face still held the hint of a smile.

They had an Anchorage PD radio in their car to communicate with their local law enforcement counterparts. They were set up on a back channel and the radio had been silent. Lawson sipped his coffee, now lukewarm. Even though the heat was running in the Taurus, he shivered. The cold didn’t bother Hicks, and Lawson wondered if he’d adjust to it over time. His misery and loathing of all things Alaskan stopped the minute he saw their target exit a barroom.

Walter Grizzly walked towards his Volkswagen. The roof was held on by bungee cords, and the back hatch looked as though it had been replaced from a salvage part and didn’t match the lime green of the other three sides. Lawson was surprised that the bear of a man could fit in the car, and had it not been under such dire circumstances, it might’ve been comical.

Lawson almost didn’t notice the thin, skeleton-like man walking just behind Grizzly as the two made their way to the Volkswagen.

Hicks keyed up the radio from his lap. "Everybody get ready to move. I’ve got eyes on the target. Grizzly is on the move. Todd Lankowski is with him. He doesn't have an active warrant but consider him armed and dangerous."

Hicks then looked at Lawson. "We cannot let them get in that car. Do you understand me? We do not want them getting mobile."

Lawson didn’t think the car looked like it could get very far.

Hicks grabbed the door handle and tossed another glance at Lawson. "You ready?"

Lawson nodded and did the same. He removed the Glock from his thigh holster and drew down on the big man, aiming for the center of his massive chest.

"U.S. Marshals! Put your hands up! Do it now! Walter Grizzly, you are a fugitive from justice, and you are being placed in our custody!" Hicks’s voice was loud, firm, and direct, the exact opposite of his easy-going manner.

He was tense, and Lawson heard it. He fought to control the shaking in his hands. This was the first time he’d ever pointed a gun at another person in a true life or death situation.

Grizzly stopped six feet from the passenger side door of the beat-up Volkswagen. He and Lankowski raised their hands up. The thinner man put his hands up higher. Grizzly only brought his up to about the center of his chest, almost as if he were offering more of a shrug than a surrender.

Lankowski, following Grizzly's lead, lowered his hands halfway. His eyes were wild and, even through the distortion of the rain, Lawson could see that he was high on meth. His head moved from side to side and his feet continually shuffled. He was antsy, adding to Lawson’s nervousness.

Hicks stepped around the front end of the car and was now near the curb. Lawson came up alongside him, their shoulders nearly touching. Hicks continued delivering commands.

"Get on the ground! Face down! Do it now!"

Lawson kept his gun trained on Grizzly who didn’t follow the instructions and remained motionless. Lankowski began to get down, but stopped midway when he saw Grizzly had not.

Sighting down the end of his barrel, Lawson saw the front sight post of his Glock taking on the tremble in his hand. He fought to control the dots’ oscillation when he saw something that sent a shiver down his spine. Walter Grizzly smiled.

"Don’t do it!" Lawson said. "Don’t reach!"

Hicks then started screaming, on a loop, "Get down! Get down!"

Lankowski leapt in front of the Volkswagen's hood, his thin body disappearing.

"Shit!" Hicks yelled as he turned his weapon in the direction of the thin man. "Lankowski's on the move. Stay with the target. Stay with Grizzly."

Lawson had lost sight of Grizzly for a split second and in that time, the large man had brought up a pistol from the small of his back. He fired twice at Hicks before Lawson could return fire.

Hicks yelled as he fell back. Lawson fired, but Grizzly was already on the move. Gunfire erupted.

Lankowski stood up and fired over the roof of the hatchback. Rounds ripped across the Taurus' hood. Lawson ducked and scrambled away from the onslaught of bullets, crawling between the two vehicles. He felt exposed and feared Grizzly would appear and stomp his head into the ground.

Hicks was lying on his back. His hands were pressed on his right side. His eyes were filled with fear as Lawson pulled him away.

"I’m hit!" Hicks’s hands were slick with blood. "Bad one. Below the vest." He coughed blood.

Lawson grabbed Hicks by the collar with one hand while he continued to point his weapon in the direction of the threat. He pulled Hicks along the wet asphalt toward the back of the Taurus while firing several rounds of poorly aimed suppressive fire.

Lawson was halfway from the rear of their car when gunfire forced him to release Hicks and dive for cover. Rounds skipped off the street in front of him. Hicks crawled over and settled against the driver's side wheel well. Lawson fired another volley and came up alongside in a low crawl.

"Keep the pressure on it." Lawson took two deep breaths. "I'm going to end this."

A bullet punctured the Taurus's hood only a few inches from the top of Hicks's head. Lawson took up a more stable shooting platform, trying to recall the fundamentals of sight picture and trigger control from his range training. From the prone position, Lawson steadied his gun hand with his left as he scanned for a target.

The gun battle hit a lull, and the area fell silent except for the low gurgle of Hicks choking on his blood.

"Hang in there. The cavalry is coming." Lawson heard the sirens and knew they were close, but the passing seconds felt like hours. Then he saw a bit of Lankowski's shoe sticking out from the front end of the Volkswagen. Lawson fired and his slide locked back. Empty. As he reached for his spare magazine, he heard a scream.

"Make 'em count, kid," Hicks said between raspy wheezes.

A roar like that of a bear temporarily drowned out the sirens. Grizzly rose on the other side. His gun pointed out toward Lawson. He unleashed several shots. Lawson's left bicep felt like it'd been hit by a ninety-mile-an-hour fastball. The next round hit him while he rolled. Adrenaline masked his comprehension. He felt the hot stinging in the meat of his upper right thigh.

The third round of Grizzly's assault found its mark through Lawson’s trapezius, a few inches from his neck. Lawson collapsed, unable to move. He looked to Hicks and saw the life fading from him. Hicks said something Lawson couldn't hear and then gave a weak smile before aiming and firing two rounds. The bullets sailed through the air, missing both Grizzly and Lankowski, striking the back end of the Volkswagen.

The next thing Lawson knew, he was airborne, rocked back by a fireball. He landed flat on his back. His head thudded against the hard asphalt. Burning flesh permeated the air. Where was the source? Lawson’s body was disconnected from his mind. His vision flickered. Sounds echoed in an endless dark canyon. Slushy snow fell on his blood-covered face. He could no longer feel the tremble in his hand. He could no longer feel his hand. Or anything else.

Blackness encroached from the corners of his eyes. Lawson’s last image was of Lankowski's twisted smile, and the shadow cast by the larger man standing behind him.