Grand Theft

Fat Tony was trying to stall. He wasn’t as stupid as everyone thought. Being underestimated had always been his greatest asset. He was known as the shrimp, the runt, the guy everyone overlooked. In order to survive, he needed people to sell him short so he could slide in under the radar. Sure, staring down the barrel of a gun was terrifying but being paralyzed by fear wouldn’t improve the situation. The bear mace in his holster also wouldn’t help because if he made a move for it, there was no guarantee he’d be fast enough to avoid getting shot. He had to appear unfazed by the threat and keep the men talking. He was confident the rest of the Watchdogs would have his back at the right time.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted his loyal friend creeping around the three-corner of the building. Stealth-mode activated, moving with a panther-like grace. He smiled to himself, and when he heard sirens in the distance, he knew he had to act or the men who had been terrifying the people of this great town for months would run.

“Chock-a-block!” Fat Tony shouted, staring at the Goliath wannabe who was about to meet his David.

The man-mountain’s face twisted in confusion hearing the unusual word, but that was short-lived as a copper-coloured beast flew through the air with precision as if she was fired out of a skilled slingshot and locked her jaw on his gun-wielding arm. He pulled the trigger, but Karma’s assault forced his arm to the right, so the bullet grazed past both Whitey and Fat Tony. Sirens grew louder and help was getting closer by the second. The big man was frantically trying to release the dog from his arm, but she was fierce and determined.

Three police cars came screeching to a halt on the road in front of the doctor’s office, boxing in the Sprinter van parked at the curb.

An unfamiliar officer was the first to shout, “Nottawasaga OPP. Everyone put your hands up.”

“Karma, release.” Fat Tony placed his hands in the air but called off his dog, hopeful the police would stop any of the three outlaws from shooting him in the side of the head while he was turned away from them. Karma returned to sit at her master’s side, wagging her tail.

Whitey was standing beside Fat Tony, hands in the air, completely silent. Corky and Scar had moved around from the side of the building with their hands raised as well. The only ones not complying were the crooks caught red-handed. The three of them had their hands lowered at their sides, guns still in their grips.

“Drop your weapons and put your hands over your head. This is your final warning.”

The police officers were staying back, shielded behind their open car doors and the crooks’ vehicle, weapons drawn. As far as they knew, they’d arrived at an active shooting situation, and it wasn’t obvious if anyone was on their side.

“These guys here have been runnin’ amok in our town, making everyone scared. We caught them in the act, robbing this here doctor’s office.” Fat Tony didn’t turn his head to look, but he could sense the tall man glaring at him. “Arrest them. We’ve got your backs.”

A loud growl sounded from beside Fat Tony, and it wasn’t Karma, but before the big man could do any harm, an officer fired a taser, dropping the man to his knees. Quickly, the police moved in, forcing the other two men to drop their guns, and the entire encounter was over.

With the big man laid out on the ground, Karma strolled over and slurped her tongue across the hulking man’s face, leaving a thick layer of drool. “Get this thing off of me.” He spit multiple times. “This is police brutality. Somebody stop this thing!”

He should have known you can’t stop Karma.

When Picault pulled his patrol car to a stop in front of the medical clinic that he had noted in his potential targets list, he couldn’t believe his eyes. He spotted Justin Peterson standing before a man who could be mistaken for a Nephilim, with no fear on his face whatsoever. His delinquent dog was dangling from the arm of the big man as he flailed about, and two other men watched on in horror with guns dropped to their sides. Mr. Peterson and three other men were dressed in black polo shirts and khaki pants like some kind of GAP-sponsored dad uniform.

The Sergeant first on the scene announced their arrival, which was a requirement when approaching an active crime scene—like the sirens, flashing lights, black and white cars, and uniforms didn’t make it obvious—and the rest of them pulled out their weapons. Some officers opted for their firearm, but Picault and Billings took out their tasers, hoping to diffuse the standoff without deadly force.

The situation appeared to be reaching a boiling point, as they usually did with Justin Peterson involved. After giving his beast the command to release the tall man, Justin still couldn’t resist running his mouth, forcing Picault to fire his taser at the man. A small part of him wouldn’t mind seeing Justin get a little roughed up, but given the size difference, it wouldn’t be a fair fight. Plus, Picault took an oath to uphold the law, so that would be immoral. Entertaining, but immoral.

After the three men in question were arrested, the other four were separated to be interviewed, and three out of four didn’t cause an issue. The men followed their assigned officers to different spots in the general area and proceeded to explain their perception of events.

Once again, Picault drew the short straw and was forced to deal with the man who was as likeable as a thumb-tack-studded toilet seat. “Mr. Peterson. I warned you multiple times that if I found you around another crime scene, I was going to arrest you. Turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

“Ah, come on, Pee-cult. We were trying to help. We knew you guys were strapped and overworked. We just wanted to stop these guys.”

“Whatever your intentions were, you’ve gotten in the way more times than you realize, and I’m a man who keeps my word. Now, stop resisting and turn around.”

Justin winked. “Well, shoot, Pee-cult. I could never resist you.”

Justin’s comments made patting him down more awkward than it should have been, but Picault found something he hadn’t expected. “Mr. Peterson, are you wearing body armour?”

“Just a vest.” He shrugged with his hands placed on the roof of the patrol car. “And the bear mace, there.”

“Do I want to know where you got it?”

“Oh, Canadian Tire. The vest is June’s.”

“And June is…”

“My neighbour. Her husband was an RCMP Sergeant Major. She left her gun in my wife’s van too, but I never touched it.”

It took a moment for Picault to digest that information. First order of business was to get Justin out of the way. Picault secured handcuffs around Justin’s wrists and placed him in the back of his patrol car. He had no intention of taking the man to the station or pressing any kind of charges, but after all the times the man had been an intense irritation, this was the easiest way to keep him out of trouble for a while.

Once Mr. Peterson was handled, Picault walked toward the curb where three angry-looking men were seated. Detective Staff Sergeant Chen was asking questions, trying to get one of them to break, but naturally, when they were together, no one would snitch. Questioning them together could sometimes breed a false sense of security.

“So, which one of you fine citizens dropped the cell phone for us to obtain our intel?” Picault stood over the seated men with his thumbs hooked in his pockets.

The smallest of the three men cowered.

The big man’s face turned red at an alarming speed, and he lurched his body toward the smaller man. “Dunne, you idiot. Is that why you changed your number? You didn’t think to tell us? I knew you couldn’t have had a psycho ex girlfriend.”

Constable Dunham separated the men, who both had their hands restrained behind their backs, so at best they’d knock each other out with head butts.

“Gee, I wonder why, Gordo!” Dunne shouted in reply once he was moved a few feet to the left. “You’re so understanding and level-headed. I should have just come clean. You would have understood, right?” He huffed out a mocking laugh and turned away from the gloomy red giant.

Their unified front is cracking. Excellent.

“Both of you, shut up. They’re trying to turn us against each other. Keep your wits about you and don’t say another word.” The crazy-haired man, who looked the least intelligent of the group, was the first one to say something smart.

Once those words were spoken, neither of the other two would say anything else, so the next step was individual interrogation. Chances were, one of them would cave when they got back to the station, where the real questioning would begin. They were caught red-handed with stolen goods and illegal firearms, which they discharged in a residential neighbourhood. No judge in their right mind would let them loose for a long while.

Karma had finally caught up with them.