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WASHINGTON, D.C.—MARTIN Luther King, Jr. Memorial
No policeman had expected to close in on the assassin so quickly. And definitely not using intelligence from a local hoodlum to nail the killer of a Supreme Court Justice. Detective McGee hadn’t ever been close to figuring out where to start looking for the man in the bank video until she received a call to interrogate, Rudy Briscoe. She was glad to have gotten a handle on things before the whole mess unraveled into another death and planned her retirement celebration.
Detective McGee and her partner were less than thirty yards away from capturing David Thurman. He was headed through a one-lane street with cars parked on each side, which snaked through a park leading to the Martin Luther King Monument. Oh, the nostalgia. They were coming upon the Stone of Hope, a thirty-feet figure of Dr. King emerging from a block of granite located on the Tidal Basin between the Lincoln and Jefferson Memorial.
It was a serene picturesque set, forcing visitors to take a trip down memory lane. At a pedestrian crossing, Thurman stopped—quite the law-abiding driver. What a psychopath. Was he really concerned about the group of Girl Scouts dressed in full uniform bobbing across the street in front of him?
A thoughtful man.
In an unmarked BMW, Detective McGee and Detective Bald Eagle, moseyed right up behind the tattered and bruised truck. They could read the sticker above the New York plate on the rear bumper of the expedition: Make America Great Again.
Operation Hoyasclaw was underway, named for the Georgetown University Hoyas and the MPD claws prepped to pounce on the maniac. Behind the detectives were four vehicles of MPD officers. Two helicopters offered air support and backup. If they were correct, Thurman was headed to perform and spread his sentence rhetoric leaflets at MLK monument. They planned to take him down and couldn’t see how he could escape. Detective Bald Eagle thought ahead about her eventual award for the murderer’s capture. Everyone would be shocked at how quickly he was caught.
But there was a chance this could get bad. Deadly bad.
“We take him as soon as he parks,” Detective Bald Eagle said into a walkie-talkie. She was calm and eager—quite the top cop. She needed this to go down swiftly and without any deaths. She was prepared to take Thurman out, but she needed him alive just in case he had accomplices. Everyone had to be captured and brought to justice.
“This S.O.B. should be in the death chamber in the very near future,” Detective McGee said. “No way the Supreme Court will grant him any stays to allow any crafty lawyers opportunity to help him fight for his life.”
Hoyasclaw was in quite the situation. He had parked and turned to the truck off.
The detectives were two of a dozen law enforcers hopping out of their car to intercept their man at an innocent location. MLK was about to abandon his non-violent ideology. Hopefully not.
Although just after seven a.m. dozens of people were taking in the moment to read some of King’s memorable quotes written on the marble wall surrounding the monument. They were about to be distracted.
__________
The quiet trip to the civil rights era morphed into utter summer insanity. First, men and women were running. Then, guns came out. The man in the Expedition had killed the Chief Justice. This was like arresting James Earl Ray all over again—no longer an uneventful trip to a DC tourist attraction.
Detective Bald Eagle was in the house. Right in the front row. She would’ve paid top dollar for tickets to this show.
She got to the driver’s door of the truck before her partner, as a MPD officer ripped open the passenger’s door. Oddly, she wanted to slap her cuffs on the killer.
David Thurman faced her. He smiled, looking right into the barrel of her gun.
He enjoyed the spectacle of his life flashing before his eyes.
At his back, he heard, “Put your hands on the steering wheel. Slowly. Any other move and you die.”
Execution style!
Thurman was caught off guard. Pure astonishment spread across his face. His show was over. But this wasn’t the way he’d written the final scene.
Well, he had a co-writer now.
Where had he made a mistake?
“MPD. You’re under arrest for murder. Four of them. And possibly another,” Detective Bald Eagle barked at Thurman.
“Ah, the lovely Detective Marissa Bald Eagle. Didn’t expect to be introduced to you under such vicious terms.” David Thurman kept staring at the detective. Finally he had met her. Even if informally.
She said, “Hands up and step out of the truck, asshole.”
Calm and obediently, he complied.
Before his feet settled on the pavement, Detective Bald Eagle cold-cocked him. She threw a hard overhand right that landed on his chin. His back slammed against the car, before he staggered to regain his footing, she said, “Cuff this piece of shit up.”
No one said a word to her. They liked the punch a lot.
It was the cops turn to run the show.