Juvenile(Anthony Colombo) JUVENILE

"Can you tell me what the hell we are doing here?" asked Howard.
"We are here because we are both at the bottom of the food chain, unless you made sergeant in the last twenty-four hours," said Howard’s partner Tony.
"Yeah, I know, but if Sergeant Thomas got the tip about the break in why don’t he and his team sit here in the cold and get bored to death all night?"
"Like I said, we're at the bottom of the food chain, and until one of us gets promoted to lieutenant, we'll sit, freeze and be bored."
"How 'bout we slip over to Willies on Second Street and get some coffee," asked Howard.
"Well at least you think like a sergeant even if that kind of thinking will keep you from ever becoming one."
"Come on get real. When has Thomas ever given us anything that turned out to be a good go?"
"The law of averages, we 'slip over,' and that liquor store gets broken into," answered Tony.

There is something about stakeouts. In the movies, a stakeout can be exciting in that there will be a shootout, or you see the cops watching a beautiful girl undressing, but in reality, that only happens on somebody else’s stakeout. Tonight, Tony and Howard were watching a liquor warehouse in the upper north sides’ industrial section of a city with a population of 35,000 that seemed to grow to over 100,000 during the summer. Like any city, this one had neighborhoods that are prone to higher crime rates than others; this was one of those neighborhoods.

Sergeant Thomas had been a sergeant for almost thirty years and had hit the burnout factor two days after he cleared probation. Now, his most ardent ambition was making it to his retirement. Getting out in the field, for him, meant going out for lunch or going home. Still, he was the kind of man that civilians felt they had to talk to. He had received the training all new sergeants get in interrogation techniques, but his skill was more than what was taught in a classroom. He could be standing on the corner waiting to cross the street and some down-n-outer would come up to him and confess to everything from the great Brinks robbery to the assassination of President Kennedy, and his tip on the warehouse burglary happened just about that way.

Thomas was pumping gas into his SUV and watching the price wheel spin like the slot machines in Vegas. He was thinking of the days, as a kid when gas was 25 cents a gallon; days when he and his buddies would take up a collection and drive all night with enough left over for burgers and fries. Not today. ‘talk about rip offs,’ he thought.

“Hey, you, you a cop,” asked a voice from the other side of the pump?
“Who wants to know,” answered Thomas.
“That’s none of your business. If you’re a cop I got some information for you. If not, see-yaw.”
“OK, I’m a cop, sergeant out of the second district.”
“Good, ‘cause that’s just where it’s going down.” Thomas moved to see around the pump and the voice said, “Stay there! No names and no faces. If you want what I got, just stay where you are and I do the same.”
“Fine, lets have what you got.”
“A couple a guys are going to hit the liquor warehouse on Columbus near Fenton tomorrow night.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I got my reasons. Tomorrow night. Oh, yeah, tell your guys to try not to shoot anybody.”
“The voice went silent and an old faded green Ford pulled away from the pump, and no, Sergeant Thomas didn’t get a plate because there was none on the rear of the car,” said Tony to Howard’s unasked question.
“So, a gas station ‘deep throat’ said the place is going to get hit, and we sit.”
“No, we sit because a car without lights just pulled to a stop down the street,” replied Tony.
“Where,” asked Howard?
“About two doors down from the warehouse by the open field see it?”
Howard had to stretch across Tony to see the car. “I don’t see anybody. You sure there is someone inside?”
Tony said, “I saw the passenger door open but it is too dark to see much so, I don’t know if, or how many got out, but I am pretty sure that there is at least one person in the car as a lookout.”
“OK, how we going to handle this?”
“We’ll cross the street here, hug the shadows and take the car one on the street and the other sidewalk. Which side do you want,” asked Howard?
“Hell, street or sidewalk? Either way I got my butt sticking out. Open field or street? I’ll take the street,” answered Tony.
“Figures, this time of night there is no traffic and I got who knows how many behind me.”
Smiling, Howard said, “then we better move our asses before they return.”

The two men got out of their car and hugging the shadows made their way to the corner. This was the only area where both would be exposed. There was a light on the corner. It lit the sidewalk and street where they had to cross. There wouldn’t be any cover for them at all.
They paused for a moment to catch their breath and to check out the car. Howard said, “I can see the top of his head. He looks like he is looking at the field. I don’t think he knows we’re here, what do you think?”
“I think we go for it,” answered Tony.

Both men, in a crouched sort of run, darted across the street. Once more in the shadows, they pressed their bodies against the wall of the nearest building trying to avoid the light from the corner. It took almost five minutes for them to cover a distance that normal walking would cover in a few seconds. As they reached the rear of the car, they paused for only a second. With the unspoken precision of time-tested practice, both men drew their service weapons and split up to take the car, and the man behind the wheel.

Tony ducked below the trunk of the car, testing the lid quietly to make sure no one was inside, and stopped at the left rear fender to wait until Howard gave the signal to move to the driver’s side window. Howard took only a second to get set and then nodded, the signal to move. Tony stood and edged his way to the open window.

No sooner had his right foot moved forward than an ear-shattering roar ripped through the still night air. Tony felt as if he had been hit in the chest with a baseball bat.
Howard’s head jerked up and turned to see Tony sliding to the ground against the fender of the car. Acting upon instinct supported by years of training, his head and hands moved as one. Just as suddenly as the first sound, two flashes of light appeared followed closely by two explosions causing a crimson cloud to envelop the driver’s head where the two 9mm rounds entered. One copper coated bullet entered the neck between the shoulders and the other about four inches higher in the back of the driver’s head.

Howard moved to make sure there was no more threat from inside the car. The driver was slumped forward against the steering wheel, light shining on the clotting blood around two tiny holes. The rest of the car was empty except for several empty beer cans and candy wrappers that made the inside of the car look like an out of control teenagers, bedroom.

Satisfied that the car was now safe, Howard returned to Tony. “Tony! Tony! You OK?”
“I’m hurt. I can’t tell how badly, but I can’t move my right arm.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get you help. You’ll be OK, just hang in there.” Then Howard fumbled through his pockets for the department’s two-way radio. Damn where did I put the damn thing, he thought.
“Howard are you trying to kill me? Calm down, I’m the one shot.”
“Use mine. Here.”

Howard put his hand out and took the radio from Tony’s extended left hand. He started to raise it to his face when he noticed the blood, Tony’s blood on his hand. The blood was transferred from the radio when he took it from his partner. Howard shook his head trying to clear his mind and collect his thoughts with little success, “radio Sam Lincoln 2, requesting a clear frequency for emergency traffic,” he said with a breaking voice.
“Sam Lincoln 2, go ahead, all other units hold your traffic.”
“Sam Lincoln 2, my partner’s been shot. I need a code 3 ambulance to Farlow, and…, no, Fellow…, no, OH hell I don’t know…”
“Damn Howard its Fenton and Columbus.”
“Yeah, radio to Fenton and Columbus. I also need a sergeant and some patrol units to secure the crime scene and a liquor store for unknown number of outstanding suspects.”

The dispatcher then took over and with the professional calm that comes with years of experience, she began assigning units to different street locations so that traffic out of the area could be monitored, and traffic into it could be restricted. She assigned two sergeants to supervise two different crime scenes. Each item being checked off of an imaginary punch card filling the positions she knew to be important to the successful apprehension of any outstanding suspects and completion of the case.
Howard on the other hand was a nervous wreck. He sat looking at Tony; his training was taking a back seat to the tragedy happening in real time to his friend and partner.
“Howard, you going to let me bleed to death or you going to get me something to put over the hole,” asked Tony?
“OH, gee yeah. I’m sorry. I’ll get something,” and started to look around where the two men were sitting.
“Damn, Howard, get the first-aid kit in the trunk of the car.”
“Yes, yes the car, I knew that the car.”

Units began arriving from all directions. It took a total of 4.22 minutes, per the dispatch computer, from the time the request had been made to time of the arrival of the first unit. The ambulance was another thing; it followed the fire truck by ten minutes, a lifetime for Tony. The senior sergeants made the on-scene assignments and had the building sewed up tight. The Crime Scene Unit brought in electric generators and lights and had the building flooded in light from two sides lighting up the front back and the exposed left side.

When everything was in place, the announcement was made, “you, in the building, come out with your hands up. Come out now or we will send in the dogs,” and as if on cue the dogs began to bark. A small face appeared at the window peeking out of its lower corner. There was silence, so the announcement was made again followed by the dogs barking. There was a moment of silence, and then the front door creaked open about four inches and a girlish sounding voice squeaked, “don’t shoot we’re coming out.” The door opened the rest of the way and framed by the jam was a boy who couldn’t be more than thirteen or fourteen, and behind him was an even younger looking boy.

Howard, watching all this from behind the fender where Tony had been sitting said, “OH no, the driver!” He got up and went to the driver’s door. Until now no one had paid any attention to the driver relying on Howard’s opinion that the driver was dead. Howard reached through the open window and gently moved the head back. He could now see the damage the exiting bullet had made to the face, but there was still enough to see that it belonged to a boy not a man. “OH God, forgive me.”
“You going to be alright,” asked a faceless voice from behind Howard, as Howard continued to stare at the lifeless body behind the wheel. “Howard!” The voice said with more emphases, “you going to be alright?”
“He is only a boy,” Howard said ignoring the question.
“Howard, he had a gun, and he tried to kill your partner. That makes him a man. He didn’t care about what he did to your partner and I’m sure he wouldn’t care if he killed you either.”
“You’re right, but that doesn’t make it any easier, he’s still a boy even if he was a boy with a gun.” Then he added, “I’ll be alright. Let’s get Tony to the hospital!”

“Howard, buddy, Tony’s ambulance left already. You sure you’re going to be alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure, I could use a ride back to the department and someone to get our car to the garage; can you do that for me?”

Sergeant Tim Murphy was a veteran with twenty years behind him. He had seen many dead people, had even been in two shootouts during his time, but even so, he had never shot anyone. As he drove Howard to the department, he wondered what it was like to take a life. During training he recalled the departments offer to provide a shrink to help officers cope and he recalled too that he always felt that a real man could deal with the problem on his own. He had been to the movies and seen the whimps that turn from cops to; well, he was wondering how Howard would handle it now. “Who is going to take the lead in the interrogation of the kids,” asked Howard interrupting Tim’s train of thought.
“I’m not sure. I think ‘radio’ will call Sergeant Michelson in from home. After all he is the senior juvenile sergeant,” answered Tim.
“I want to be there.”
“Not a good idea and you know it.”
“Yeah, and I still want to be there.” Then almost as an afterthought, he added, “Get radio to call the hospital to see how Tony is doing, will Yah?"

The response to Howard’s question came as he walked into the front doors of the PD’s public reception area. Tony had lost a lot of blood and had the bones in his right shoulder rearranged but he would survive and even be able to return to work without restrictions. The news helped Howard, but the dead boy was still on his mind and that wouldn’t change anytime soon.

Just the other side of the security gate, at the end of the hall, Howard saw Sergeant Michelson come into the building. “Sergeant, Sergeant Michelson can I talk to you?”
Michelson walked up to Howard and said, “I heard about Tony. I’m glad he is going to be OK. What can I do for you?”
“You can let me sit in on the interrogation.”
“I don’t think so. That’s not a good idea.”
“Sergeant, I got a vested interest in these boys.”
“Yes, you have and that is the reason you aren’t sitting in. We both know how emotion can affect the results and even the admissibility of what is said, but what I will do is let you sit in the recording room and monitor the tape for me. That way you can keep the tape running and still hear what is said. Take it of leave it.”
“Is that all I got?”
“That’s it, and you better keep your head screwed on and not dick with that tape or I swear I’ll have your ass on a plate.”

The boys, eleven and fourteen years of age respectively, had been sitting in the interrogation room for about ten minutes. While they were in there alone, they were not unobserved. Both the hidden camera and mike were running and recording everything they did and said, so when Sergeant Michelson entered the room, he already had a lot of information. “Well boys, it’s been a long night, hasn’t it?” The room was silent. “Come on guys that wasn’t a question that’s going to cost you two anything, was it?” The room was still silent. “OK, boys’ here is the deal. Do either of you know what the felony murder rule is?”
The younger one said, “What’s that?”
“Well, my young friend that is a rule in law that makes both of you guilty of the death of your friend.”
The older boy shouted, “Wait a minute! We didn’t kill anybody the cop shot Billy not us.”
“Yes sir, that sure is what happened, but you see you two were committing a burglary, a felony in this state, and according to the law any death committed during a felony can be pinned on the people committing it, even if they didn’t do it themselves.” The sergeant took his time pronouncing each word carefully, while looking at the reaction they caused in the eyes of each boy, as he said them. “So,” he continued, “let’s see, one count each of burglary, and one count each of murder in the first degree just to mention the two most serious ones. Now, do you think we got anything to talk about?”
Meekly, the younger boy asked, “What do you mean, ‘just the two most serious ones?”
“Well boys, there is still conspiracy and who knows, I’m sure that we will come up with a few more before you two get to court,” now Michelson had a smug little smile at the corner of his mouth. There were always visual clues that he had hit home, and he enjoyed hitting bad guys even if it was only with words. To him it was like opening Christmas gifts as a small boy and it was fun to just sit back and watch reality sink in. “How ‘bout it boys, do you think there is something to talk about now?”
The older boy became the spokesperson, “look we didn’t shoot anybody and we gave ourselves up right away, that’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?”
“Son, I have never lied to anyone even if it meant I didn’t get a confession. So, that doesn’t count for jack! Do you get my drift?”
“Well, what do you want from us?”
“Frankly boys, I don’t think any of you were smart enough to think this thing out, and I know that you don’t have the connections to get the kind of weapons you boys had. So, for starters, who put you three up to this?”
“Billy was the one that got us all the stuff and he was the one that told us what to do. He is older and smarter than us. We always do what he said.”
“’We always do what he said’,” mimicked Michelson, “and you expect me to believe that. Like you didn’t talk about what you were going to get out of this. You do all the dirty work because Billy said to and like good little boys you go home to bed without getting a thing from the job.”
“No, it wasn’t like that.” The sergeant hit a weak spot, ego. “We aren’t that stupid, man, we were going to get a part of the pay off after the stuff was sold.”
“OH, and now you expect me to believe that you three were smart enough to find buyers for hot booze.”
“Why not?” asked the younger of the two. “We could be that smart!”
“Yeah, you could be, but you weren’t smart enough not to get caught, and not so smart that you didn’t get a cop shot up and a partner killed. No… I don’t think you two are that smart, and I know Billy is the dumbest dead guy I have ever seen.” Sergeant Michelson stopped for a second to let the boys think, then he added, “well, with that said, I guess you know where I stand, how ‘bout you?”
The older boy picked it up from there, “so far all we’re getting out of you is what we aren’t. What I want to know is what you are going to do for us?”
“Simple boys, I’m going to put you away for a long time, and if you two were a little older, I’d do my best to get you the death penalty. What would you like?”
“Man, that’s not how the cops on TV act,” said the younger boy with tears in his eyes.
“Could that be because this isn’t television,” said Michelson. “Here’s the deal boys’, either I start getting information from you, or we end this and you take what the law gives. Or you can trust me and let me do what I can for you, and that will be a damn sight more than the guy that put you three up to this has done.”
“We got to talk. Can you give us some time,” asked the older boy.
“Sure, but don’t make it too long. I tell you what, would you two like something to drink?”
“Yes, please,” said the younger boy, tears flowing freely now. “Could I get a glass of water?”
“I’ll give you until I get back with the water, how’s that?” Both boys nodded.

Sergeant Michelson stepped out of the interrogation room where Howard stopped him. “What the hell are you talking about? You really plan to make a deal with these two…”
“That’s why you’re not in the room with me,” said Michelson cutting Howard short.
“They shot Tony and he could die, and…”
“And nothing, they didn’t shoot anyone, and even if they did, the court would never execute someone as young as these two. So, start thinking like a cop and not some emotional mother. Anyway, I called the hospital before I got here to see how Tony was. They told me he will be sore for a while; three days in the hospital and a couple months on disability and then he’s back to work.”
“You called the hospital?”
“Yeah, that’s what cops do before they start talking to suspects. They find out what kind of ground they’re on before they talk deals.” Howard stood staring at the sergeant. “Well while you try to figure out which hat you’re wearing, I’ll get the boys some water, and you might start thinking back to your academy days before you get so pissed off.”

Michelson had taken about five minutes to get the water. When he returned, the hall was empty; Howard had gone back to the recording room with his tail between his legs. The boys were a little more in control, the younger had stopped crying and the older was sitting with his hands resting on the tabletop. “Well, how about it guys, do we have anything to talk about?”

The older boy said, “Look you aren’t going to believe this but we don’t know too much. Billy is the one that made all the contacts with the old guy and it was Billy that got the guns and where we would go and what we would do. Billy told us that this old guy had the job all checked out. Billy said that the old guy said it would be easy. The door would be unlocked and we would just go in. Billy said the old guy told him where the safe was and what the numbers to the combination were. Billy even said the old guy said we could take any of the booze we wanted, but he said we shouldn’t take more than two bottles each. Billy told me he wanted the Royal Crown, but I didn’t know why he would want soda when we could have any of the good stuff we wanted.”
“I don’t know for sure, but I think Billy meant Crown Royal,” said Michelson. “It seems to me that this ‘old guy’ knew quite a bit about the job,” continued Michelson. “Let’s see, he knew the door would be unlocked. He knew not only where the safe was but the combination too, is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s it! The old guy knew all about the place. It was like he lived there.”
“Did Billy ever say anything else about this old guy? You know, like what he looked like? Where, the two of them met to talk over the details of this job? The kind of car the old guy drove, anything, anything at all?”
“Yeah,” the younger of the two boys said. His eyes were dry and sparkling now, “he said the guy drove an Al Capone car. Billy said it was ‘cherry’.”
“An Al Capone car,” Michelson repeated, puzzled over the description of the car.
“Yeah,” the younger boy repeated, “a ‘cherry Capone car,’ that is what he said.”
“How did Billy know what kind of car the old guy drove?”
The older boy picked up the story once again, “Billy told us that this old guy would pick him up near the playground near Williams and 35th Street. Billy said he always came in the same car and then he would drive to Central Park where they would talk. Then when they were done the old guy would drive Billy back and leave.”
“How did Billy know when to meet this old guy,” asked the sergeant.
“I know that Billy has a cell phone, but I don’t know if that’s how.”
“Do you know Billy’s phone number?”
This time it was the younger boy’s turn to answer, “Yeah, I got it here,” and he fumbled in his pocket finally pulling a crumpled piece of paper out. He unfolded it and handed it to Sergeant Michelson.

The sergeant studied it trying to make certain that he had the numbers correct because the numbers were faded and written by a hand not too well practiced in the art of writing. “555-9091, is that right?”
“I think so.” said the younger boy. “Let me see it.” The younger boy took it and studied it himself, and finally handed it to the older boy, “they are nines, aren’t they?”
The older boy, probably the author, said, “Yeah that’s it” without hesitation.
“Ok boys; is there anything else you can tell me? Had you ever seen this old guy for yourselves? Have you ever seen the car?
“No, all we know is what Billy told us. We really didn’t want the cop to get hurt. We want you to know that we were told this would be easy and we didn’t think Billy would really shoot anybody,” said the older boy, now with water in his eyes.
“I know that, but you see, the problem is that you did something that is against the law, and when you do something like that you accept the responsibility for everything that follows,” said Sergeant Michelson as he got up and moved to the door.

Howard was sitting in the briefing room, the chair next to him, Tony’s seat, was empty and had been since the shooting. It was the day after the shooting that another police officer tried to sit there and had his head removed by Howard, “this is Tony’s place, he’s not dead you know,” said Howard. No one made another attempt to sit there after that.
Today, however, Howard saw a blue pant leg from the corner of his eye and began to lash out at the poor unsuspecting soul only to be reined in, “Tony? Your back! How are you? You look great.”
“Finally admitting that I look better than you,” said Tony.
“Maybe, but you’re not smarter, you still let me talk you into taking the street side, didn’t you,” snapped Howard.
“I only did that because I know that your mommy won’t let you in the street without an adult holding your hand,” laughed Tony.
“Well, what did the doctors say about your wound,” asked Howard.
“He said the sergeant is here and you should be paying attention to the briefing.”

Howard had a lot of questions, but he could tell that Tony either wasn’t or didn’t want to talk about being shot. The department was making a hero out of him, and his name had been on TV and in the papers off and on for over a week. Tony thought it was time to let it die. So, it wasn’t what Howard wanted but it would have to be.

Once on the street again, however, Tony was back to his regular self. He was out and doing and that made him feel great. Routine to Tony was a new definition and Tony was at the top of his game. Still, there was one bit of unfinished business that kept eating at him, the liquor warehouse shooting and the dead boy. The two boys that had been caught were now part of the California Youth Authority, commonly referred to by those in law enforcement as CYA. The boys, because of their ages and lack of intent, were sentenced to fifteen years. But there was one dead boy and an “old guy” still running around. That old guy kept eating at Tony. He had to go to jail, or better yet, if the old guy made the right moves, he too would die.

Michelson had gotten a search warrant for Billy’s phone records, but Tony wasn’t sitting on his hands either. Whenever Tony could, he would drive to the two parks the boys told Sergeant Michelson about and to the warehouse. He tried checking the internet for Capone type cars. Howard said, “Everyone keeps talking about this Capone car. What the hell is a Capone car?”
“Well it was an awesome thing. It had bullet proof glass with gun ports and armor plating around over and under the passenger compartment and a V-16 engine that could get up to 120 miles per hour. Did you know it also had a siren under the hood, answered Tony.
Howard just sat and stared at Tony. “Where you find all this out?”
“The internet, where else, and it was a 1930 Cadillac Imperial Sedan. Now how many 1930’s Cadies are on the street today?”
“Should be easy to find the . . .,” but Howard was cut short.
The radio squeaked to life, “23peter2,” came from the speaker mounted below the dash.
Howard took the mike from its hanger and said, “23peter2, go ahead radio.”
“23 Peter 2, Sergeant Michelson is requesting a 1087 at Fenton and Columbus. He will meet you south of Fenton on Columbus.”
“Check radio, in route ETA 5,” answered Howard.

Howard and Tony found the sergeant about a block away from where the shooting took place. Sergeant Michelson was outside his unmarked car talking to an older man. The second man looked like one who had a working knowledge of the streets. As the two uniformed officers approached, Sergeant Michelson said, “Guys I’d like you to meet Knuckles Brown. Knuckles this is officers Jacobs and Burns.”
“Jacobs, you’re the guy that got shot over there,” said Knuckles.
“Yeah,” answered Tony as he stuck out his hand to shake Knuckles’ hand.
“Tony, Howard,” said Sergeant Michelson, “Knuckles is a longtime friend of mine and there isn’t anyone on the street that doesn’t know more about what is going on. I got hold of him just after the boys went to CYA. He knows the whole story and did some nosing around for me. Well, he came up with a name, Ralph Dunning.”
“Hay, serge, I know that name. I’ve been doing some checking on the internet, and I saw a Dunning in connection with a 1930 Caddie, I mean a ‘Capone car.’
“That’s our boy, ‘the old guy,’ and he is here. He is the owner of the warehouse and was working on an insurance scam. It seems that he had made some bad bets and to cover them he was going to inflate his losses from a burglary. He thought that by hiring kids, he could trust that no one would believe a word they would say if they were caught. It might have worked too, if Sergeant Thomas hadn’t been tipped off.”
“Howard and I have been here or in the area hundreds of times and we haven’t seen hide or hair of the car,” said Tony.
“Yeah,” interrupted Knuckles, “He has it locked up in the back of the warehouse. He heard that the car was hot and is keeping it out of sight.”
“So, what’s the plan,” asked Howard.
“Well, no matter what, this time you are going to take the street,” said Tony with a smile on his face.
“We aren’t going to take him in the street. He is in his office, and I have made an appointment to talk to him there. He thinks I want to help with the insurance report for his refund. You two will come in from the rear and secure that end just in case he gets itchy feet.”
Knuckles asked, “What do you guys want me to do?”
“Nothing Knuckles, you have done enough. We take it from here, and thanks, I’ll make it good later,” said the sergeant.

Everyone could see that Knuckles was upset, but he said nothing and left.
Tony and Howard returned to their patrol car and drove the long way round to the rear of the warehouse, something they didn’t have time to do the night Tony had been shot. When they were in position, they notified radio who in turn reported the situation to Sergeant Michelson, and he stated that he was entering the warehouse.
“All units of channel 3, Sergeant Michelson is making entry the frequency is now secure all units hold your traffic,” said the dispatcher.

Just after the dispatcher made her announcement, Tony and Howard drew their 9mm Berretta automatics and approached the rear doors. One set of doors was large enough to allow semitrucks and trailers access to the inside and next to them was at smaller door for people access. The large doors were closed, so they tried the knob on the smaller door. It clicked when the knob was turned, and the bolt retracted allowing the door to open slightly. Tony looked over his shoulder at Howard, and said, “This isn’t the street, so I’ll go in first.”

He pushed the door open slowly, and when it was open enough to permit entry, he slid in and to the right. Howard followed but moved to the left, that way they had most of the interior covered. In front of them sat “The Car.” It was all that the kids and the internet said about it. It was something else, Tony said, “Holly cow if he gets to this thing, we will need a tank to get him out.”
“Simple,’ said Howard, “we don’t let him get near it.”

The warehouse office was on a landing just below the ceiling. It was connected to the door on Columbus by a flight of stairs between two walls. Once on the stairs there was no cover for Sergeant Michelson. He was sticking his neck out and he knew it. If Dunning wanted to shoot him this was an ideal killing zone. The sergeant’s only hope was that the ruse about helping worked so he could get into the office where he had a little more control.

At the top of the stairs Michelson drew his 45 caliber Colt 1911 and held it in his right hand hanging at his side. With his back to the wall, he reached out and knocked on the door. There was no need for a second knock because the upper right side of the door exploded. Dunning was waiting with a sawed off 12-gauge shotgun. The nine pellets, about the size of 32 caliber balls shredded the door and two entered Sergeant Michelson’s left arm, one at the wrist and the other just below the shoulder. The force spun Michelson around and caused him to lose his footing. Crashing down the stairs he landed on his back at the foot of the stairs looking up at the office door. After a lifetime of waiting, Michelson saw the door open slightly. Bruised, bleeding and hurting, he lifted his right arm and fired two rounds without taking time to aim. The bullets impacted the door jam, and startled Dunning slammed the door shut, turned and ran across his own office to another door in the rear of the room leading to the warehouse.

Tony and Howard heard the exchange and took cover expecting to be fired upon through one of two large windows overlooking the storage area from the office. Instead, they saw the door at the top of the stairs open and a man in a black and gray pinstriped suit dart through the door and down the stairs. Howard stood and yelled, “Stop, police,” but Dunning just looked up, fired one round from his shotgun, and continued to run.
Tony yelled, “He’s trying to make the car.
“The hell you say,” answered Howard. Still standing he took careful aim and fired once. The hollow point 9mm bullet hit Dunning dead center in the chest and the impact lifted him off his feet, turned him 45 degrees and plopped him on his back dead.

Tony and Howard moved to Dunning's body. Tony using his foot kicked the shotgun out of reach. Only then did Howard bend down to check first for other weapons and then to see if Dunning might still be breathing. While Howard was bending over Dunning, Sergeant Michelson walked up holding his injured left arm in his right hand, “Well,” he said.

Howard looked up and answered, “Cops 1, bad guys zero.”

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