The townsfolk did not rally around their besieged police station as Otis had hoped. They heard the gunshots, and a few even ventured close to the action to get a better view, but no one stepped up to help their lawmen. Their sheriff had fired so many rounds his hand was going numb from absorbing the constant kick from the handgun.
A black nondescript Crown Victoria with official state plates raced through the town toward the shootout, raising anticipation that help was on the way. The car screeched to a stop a block from the station and Corporal Maggie Armstrong climbed out of the passenger side, followed by the driver, her partner of six months. Both unholstered their weapons and approached the scene with caution.
Friar was the first inside the station to see them. “A couple more are headed this way.” He took aim.
Otis spotted them and ordered a cease-fire. “They’re law.”
Randle carefully positioned himself to peer out the corner of the window. “State?”
Otis crawled across the floor and leaned against the wall near the door. “Looks like it.”
They all watched as the two state police officers moved slowly toward the bullet-riddled truck. One by one, Boss and his boys stepped into the open with their hands behind their heads.
Friar barked out a laugh, followed by a raucous hoot. “Well, ain’t that a sight? They just walked up on ’em and took ’em down without a fuss!”
Randle frowned. “That raises a question or two. I don’t know much, but I sure don’t peg Boss as the type to fold so easy.”
“Me, neither,” Otis said, standing. With his back still to the wall, he inched his hand out to the door handle. “You boys stay on your tiptoes.”
“What’re you doing?” Randle asked.
“I’m gonna get a weight on this thing and see what we’re up against.”
“You ain’t going out there.”
“Can’t assess nothing from here,” he said, pushing the door open.
“It ain’t a good idea,” Randle said.
“But they give up,” Friar said.
Otis paused before stepping through the doorway. “Clear out the back. Cut through the feed store parking lot and find you a car. Take whatever you can. Don’t let no one give you lip on the matter. You’re on police business. You understand?”
“Not a chance in hell. Otis—”
The sheriff cut Randle off. “Goddamn it. You gotta get on and help Dani out.”
Randle’s face turned beet red. “I’d never say such a thing to her, but that gal don’t need no help. She’s more cop than the three of us put together.”
Otis’s cheeks matched his deputy’s hue. “I ain’t asking you to help out a fellow deputy. I’m asking you to help out my niece. You get me?”
Randle nodded.
“I’ll keep the focus on me. You don’t break stride no matter what.” He stepped out the door before either one of his remaining deputies could protest.
Randle peeked out the window one last time and then ordered Friar to follow him to the back. He pushed the emergency exit open and searched for signs of Boss’s men. When he was satisfied things were clear, he nodded to Friar, and they bolted out the door. The two deputies reached the patch of woods that led to the feed and seed store without incident.
Otis felt a whisper of wind swirl around him as he walked across the small parking lot. In those quiet footsteps, he came to miss his wife. She nagged him near dead on more than one occasion, but he loved it. He loved her, and he loved their life together. Most folks saw them as a bickering old couple, but those same folks would be hard-pressed to recall when the sheriff and his wife ever had a real fight. They loved each other so much that every problem they had was small in comparison. There was no need to really tear into one another in ugly and hurtful ways over this and that because this and that never outweighed the desire they had that the other end each day with a smile.
Otis holstered his weapon and stood before Maggie Armstrong. The wind intensified just the slightest as he let a smile spread across his face. When the state police officer raised her gun and aimed it at him, the smile grew bigger. He would end this day thinking of his bickering wife and how much he cherished her.