were spent combing the scene, interviewing Mr. Peterson’s friends, and taking copious amounts of notes. No T’s uncrossed. This case needed to be a slam dunk. The Magic Men had been handed to the OPP on a silver platter, so they couldn’t slip up.
The tallest of Mr. Peterson’s friends seemed to be the most articulate in his replaying of events. As stupid as Picault thought their actions were, he had to commend their bravery. Vigilantes weren’t something he wanted to encourage, but in this case, public intervention helped get these criminals off the streets. He wouldn’t tell them that, though.
After Billings finished his interview with Mr. Morris, Picault opened the back door of his patrol car to find a scene he hadn’t expected. Justin was snoring, laid out across the back seat.
“Mr. Peterson.” He waited a few seconds. “Mr. Peterson!”
The irritating man jolted awake, popping himself upright, which was impressive considering his hands were secured behind his back.
“Mr. Peterson. Could you step out of the vehicle, please?”
“Oh, yep. Sure thing.” He turned his head, wiping his mouth on the shoulder of his black polo shirt, then placed both feet on the ground and hoisted his small frame to stand.
The three other men came running over, along with the furry beast who allegedly saved the day. “Justin, are you all right, man?” Mr. Morris asked.
“Yeah, Whitey. I’m good.”
Picault mouthed to himself, ‘Whitey?’
“So, Picault, what charges am I up against? And you can forget about reading me my rights. I’m married… I know how important the right to remain silent is.”
The officer’s head jerked back in surprise. “You said my name right.”
Justin snickered. “I’m not an idiot. I knew how to say it right after the first time you told me, but I thought a nickname would be fun.”
“You thought Pee-cult was a good nickname for an officer of the law?”
“Nicknames are not his greatest talent,” the Spanish man added.
“Shut up, Scar. I’m great at nicknames. Tell me Whitey Bulger, Scarface, and Corky Romano aren’t three of the greatest mobsters of all time.” Justin scowled at his friend. “And I recognize a man who takes life too seriously when I see one.”
“Scar, Whitey, Pee-cult… and you are?” Picault asked the brunette man whose colour was only just returning to his face.
He breathed an exasperated sigh. “Corky.”
Picault could no longer help himself and burst out laughing. It was the first good laugh he’d had in the months of chasing the criminals, making him and his fellow officers look like incompetent morons. “What are you guys? Some sort of small-town dad gang?”
“Suburban Watchdogs, I’ll have you know. And without us, those guys over there would have gotten away again. So, you can arrest me if you want, Pee-cult, but I have no regrets.” Justin’s voice was loud and confident before it morphed into a near whisper. “Just Remember what I said about my bowels. I’ll need an alternative arrangement to prison.”
The four men all stared down at the spitfire of a man in front of them.
Unfortunately, I remember, Picault thought. “I might not have appreciated your methods, Mr. Peterson, but I can’t argue with the results. Thank you for your help in apprehending these men.” Picault reached for his key ring and turned Justin to face the vehicle so he could unlock his cuffs. “I’ll need you to stick around to answer some questions, but you’re not under arrest.”
“Thanks, man. Call me Fat Tony.”
Picault howled with laughter once again until he saw the straight face of Mr. Peterson staring back at him. “Fat Tony. Sure.”
There was just one thing that had been nagging Picault since the jewellery store robbery, and since the situation was all but resolved, he needed to know. “Say, Fat Tony, how come you were so determined to catch these guys? Most people just turn the other cheek and leave us to do our job.”
Justin’s eyes flicked around from one person to the next until his gaze was directed upward with water pooling in his eyes. “When my ma was pregnant with me, her and my daddy had to run some errands. One stop was the bank because this was before debit cards and ATMs.” He blinked several times, which made a single tear run down his cheek and Picault found himself choked up by the emotion on the man’s face. “Dad ran into the bank while Ma waited in the car. Just then, three armed men walked in to rob the place. Ma was terrified, but because she was pregnant with me, she ducked down to hide in the car so she wouldn’t be spotted. Then she heard gunshots.”
The four men stared at Justin with their mouths agape.
“Your dad?” Picault asked.
“Apparently, he tried to stop them, so they shot him to set an example for the rest of the people in the bank. They used him like a pawn, and there was nothing anyone could do. But because of him, everyone else got out safely.”
Picault’s voice was sombre as he responded, “I’m so sorry, Justin… er… Fat Tony.” Suddenly the man’s motivation to stop his town from being terrorized made perfect sense. He might not be the smartest guy around, but you couldn’t discount his bravery and integrity. “Your dad would be proud of you.”
Justin nodded and issued Picault a meek smile. “When my momma told me what happened—why I never got to know my dad—I promised myself if there was ever a time for me to stop someone from getting hurt, I’d do whatever it took. That I’d be brave like my dad, no matter what.”
The three other men, who were presumably members of the Suburban Watchdogs, gathered Justin into a group hug. The dog, who had been sitting loyally at her owner’s feet, jumped up to join in, nearly bowling them all over, but they included her in their embrace.
“You want in on this, Pee-cult?” A voice shouted from inside the huddle.
“Nah, I’m good, Fat Tony. Thanks.”
The men broke apart and Picault excused himself to tend to other duties for a few minutes, but before he could walk away, Corky said, “If you ever find yourself free on a Friday night, you’re welcome to join us at our headquarters anytime.”
The other three men nodded in agreement, and warmth swelled in Picault’s chest, feeling appreciated by members of the community. Maybe these guys aren’t so bad after all. “I’ll see what I can do.” He walked off with a smile on his face to wrap up the best night of his policing career to date.
He learned an important lesson. Everyone had a story. Everyone had faced some sort of tragedy in their lives. What they chose to do about it was the difference between The Magic Men and Suburban Watchdogs.