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D Is For Damien 3: On The Run: Front Material/Chapter 1 |
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D is for Damien 3 On the Run Rachel H. [last name omitted] Author of City of the Sun [Per Note: It seems to have originally read, "Author of Akhenaton & Nefertiti."] 8th in the D is for Damien series Dedicated to Mya and the summer of '88 (even though I hadn't thought of Damien yet just then). Copyright ©1992. All rights reserved. Unexpected Assistance HERE YOU GO. Drive carefully, now!" Mr. Marshall Crown said, stapling the receipt to the paper bag and passing it across the counter to the young lady who stood there, waiting. She thanked him and, having already paid for her purchase, took the bag and started for the exit--and entrance--of Crown's Convenience Store. Crown himself didn't like working the cash register during the graveyard shift, but none of his employees would. Only two of them were there now: Tony mopping the floor and Jessica restocking a few items. A man dressed in a black jacket, a black t-shirt reading Black Sabbath with a grinning, dagger-stuck skull on the front, and bluejeans strolled down an aisle, his hands in his pockets, gazing idly at the cans and every once in a while brushing his long hair to the side. Crown noticed he wore a snake earring which dangled over his shoulder, and shook his head. Weird type. Hearing a muffled cough, he turned to see the lady paused near the magazine rack, caught up in a cake recipe. He decided not to intervene; perhaps she would buy the magazine. And if she didn't, did $1.95 really matter much? Maybe it was for a birthday. He turned away as an old red pickup truck pulled in to see how Jessica, new on the job, was doing. He smiled and shook his head again when he saw she'd put a box of ice cream with the pretzels. "Jessica, that goes over there," he said, and she hastily corrected her mistake. Crown leaned on his elbow and was so silent he could hear almost everything. Tony plopped the mop down again (Crown knew he hated cleaning, but what else could he do?) with a splatter. Jessica sniffed and the cans clinked as she replaced a few, and her long earrings jangled. The heavy-metal fan hummed a little under his breath. The magazines rustled. The door opened and the lady screamed. Eight eyes turned to the doorway. The lady backed in slowly with her arms up, her merchandise on the floor and the long barrel of a gun pointed in her face. Crown could swear he heard the heavy-metal guy say, "Whoa." "Looks like we've got us a mess to clean up, eh?" the holder of the gun said. "Well I'm just interested in cleanin' this place out. Move back!" He held his gun up. "Everybody freeze!" Jessica dropped a can, her eyes wide. She was of course faint-hearted. Immediately the gun swung to point in her direction and she shrieked and fainted, taking several cans with her. All of this happened so suddenly that Crown didn't even have a chance to push the alarm button. Now the robber turned on him and hissed, "Put all the money in one of those bags and pass it across the counter. No sudden moves. Keep those hands in sight or the maid here--" he indicated Tony, who now stood stock-still, the mop ceased in its movements--"will be cleanin' bits of your gray matter off the walls. Dimmy!" Crown was horrified to see another robber back in, cautiously darting glances across the darkened parking lot. He held a gun too, and from the look of him it seemed any little move would make him shoot. "Come on, you idiot!" the first robber said with apparent disgust. "There ain't no cops out there, yet. C'mere 'n' keep an eye on this guy. Make sure he don't try nothin'." "I ain't sure about this," the second one, 'Dimmy'--Crown was certain it was a false name--said, still facing the doors. "Just c'mere and do it!" the first shouted. 'Dimmy' moved to the counter, his gun pointed at Crown, but he didn't look convinced. "Hurry it up there," he said, but it didn't sound very threatening. Crown took out some of the money and placed it in the bag, and he was certain he would have been able to get to the alarm with this one guarding him but he decided not to take that chance. The robbers wore no masks, and the leader seemed to be around thirty, with jeans and a jacket, while the second--'Dimmy'--wore a sort of baseball hat with the visor up, Bermuda shorts and a tanktop and seemed to be in his early twenties. [Per Note: I believe Damien is in fact around seventeen when this happens, as I think this is in 1986, after his sister's death. He's certainly younger than "his early twenties." The timeline was obviously not established at the time of this story's writing. Also, I'm not sure about the comma following "around thirty"--I can't tell if it's an existing comma, an erased comma, or just a stray marking.] The first strolled about almost casually, looking over the others like a vulture. Dimmy seemed to be the cowardly jackal. Crown saw his hands shook a little and knew he wasn't used to the gun. Maybe he didn't even know how to use it. "Listen, you--" he started. "Just shut up and fill the bag!" the second said. There was a look of fear hidden in his eyes, but not well enough. Tony abruptly decided to play the hero. He dropped his mop and walked towards the head gunman, saying, "Hey, let's forget about this and you just give me the g--" A shot rang out. Tony stopped short and fell with a wince, grabbing his shoulder. The magazine lady screamed again and the second robber whirled around. "Jack, what the heck are you doing?" he cried, his eyes wide as Jessica's had been. "Shut up, Dimmy!" the first hissed; Dimmy had slipped and used his real name. "But what did you shoot him for? I--" "I said shut up!" Jack spun about and glared at him, then turned back. "Stay right there!" he shouted at the Black Sabbath fan, whose hair was about to turn white. Dimmy, keeping his eyes on Jack, edged closer to the counter. He fired at the wall and pushed Crown back at the same time, then knocked a bottle of catsup off so that it shattered and some splattered on Crown's shirt. "You're dead," he hissed. "What was that?" Jack asked, turning. "He tried to go for the button. I shot him. The money's in the bag already." "Let's blow." "Wait a minute." Dimmy pointed at the magazine lady. "She's wearing a gold necklace. Why don't you check to see if they've got any other valuables on 'em?" "Great idea for once," Jack agreed, and advanced toward the terrified lady. Crown was appalled when Dimmy reached under the counter, felt for the alarm, and pushed it. What in the world was going on? "Take your time," he said to his companion. "No one should notice anything wrong." "Yeah, that's true." Jack took the lady's purse. "See what I told ya? This gets to be child's play after the first time." "Yeah, yeah," Dimmy muttered. His mind was on other things. Finished with the magazine lady, the robber pushed her to the floor and told her to stay there. Crown tried to move but Dimmy pulled the gun on him and he remembered, seeing the spilled catsup, that he was dead. Jack went on to the heavy-metal fan and ordered him to give him his money. The guy fumbled for his wallet and shook so much so that it took several minutes for him to get it out of his pocket and open, while Jack impatiently waited. Dimmy was waiting too, and soon he heard what he was waiting for. The far-off whine of a police siren. Crown saw him tense, then he shouted, "This is a big break! Biggest I've ever been in. This your biggest too?" He was creating a diversion. Jack laughed. "Whoo-ee! I've been in holdups bigger'n' this, friend. Only--" He stopped, hearing the sirens growing louder. Any second the cops would arrive. He turned to face Dimmy, his face registering shock. "You--you did this!" he screamed. Red and blue flashed through the windows. "I should've known better than to trust you, you dirty little piece of--" "COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!" a voice boomed over a megaphone. "WE KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE. DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!" Dimmy slid off the counter and went slowly towards the doors, the gun still in his hands. Jack grabbed the magazine lady's arm and hauled her to her feet, then pulled her with him to the back, behind one of the shelves. Crown struggled to his feet and peered over the racks. Dimmy pushed open the glass doors and went out. Someone yelled, "Freeze!" and "Drop your weapon!" He set the gun down on the asphalt and raised his arms. Two policemen immediately ran to him, grabbed his hands and searched him, then one pulled his hands behind his back and handcuffed him while the other read him his rights. A third cop pushed the door open, gun at the ready, and Crown heard Dimmy call, "There's someone else in the back. He has a hostage!" "That guy's crazy as a loon," the cop whispered. He caught sight of Crown. "You okay?" "Yeah, but he's back there with a lady," Crown said. "Don't you worry, we'll nail that sucker. Stanton! We know you're back there!" Another policeman carefully entered. "What's goin' on?" Crown whispered. "First two guys come in and hold up the place, then one tips 'em off to the cops and now you know who the guy is?" "Sure as heck," the second cop said in a low voice. "Jack Stanton. Wanted for robbery, of course." He watched his colleague go slowly down the aisle to the back. "The other one's Damien. Been in and out of trouble. He ain't a bad sort really but when you get in with the wrong company--" There was the sound of gunshots. The second cop signalled at the door and ran to the back while several more entered, one ushering Crown, the wounded Tony, the heavy-metal fan, unconscious Jessica, who came temporarily out of her haze, and the now-free magazine lady out. Nobody was certain how but Jack Stanton escaped. "I don't see how this could happen. I honestly don't!" The police chief stopped his continuous pacing of the jail hall and stared at the few policemen--a policewoman among them--with flames leaping around in his eyes. [Per Note: It's never clarified whether this "police chief" is Chief Jones (not the same guy as D Is For Damien's Officer Jones) from The Scorpio Murders or not. Jones seems kind of young to be this police chief, but recall that my timeline was then messed up. The policewoman referred to, for example, is likely meant to be Officer Slatinsky from D Is For Damien, the only female cop character I had back then, but she too would have been too young to be involved in all this. Also, what is a defense attorney doing here this entire time?] They'd known this would be coming, and so simply stood and looked straight ahead as if the ranting man and their jobs meant nothing. Off to the side stood a somewhat courtly elderly man, an attorney, a slightly amused look on his face. He was completely silent. The police chief finally gave up and said, "Oh, dismissed!" The five officers left. "Quite an eloquent speech you gave there," the attorney commented. "Oh, shut up. And get that grin off your face." Not that Davison Temple was exactly grinning. "What you lawyers don't know is how many screws are loose in this city." "Oh, I do know Cheboygan has a few screws loose." Temple looked mildly surprised at his own remark. "What I mean is, we have problems, certainly the rest of Michigan and for that fact the United States has its problems as well, so why don't we get us a screwdriver?" The police chief stopped the pacing he'd resumed, turned to Temple and said, "A what?" "Somebody to help us clean up our so-called act," Temple explained. "A person to help us catch Jack Stanton." "And just how do you plan to do that? Stanton didn't have any friends close enough to know--" "He may not have," Temple interrupted, "but I know somebody who would know anyway." The police chief stared at him for a long time. "Who?" he asked, as if dazed. This time Temple smiled. "Mr. Damien." Though the police chief hated the very thought of it, Temple met with Damien the next day. Damien sat across from him at a table in the small room, his arms crossed and resting on its surface. Temple noticed the oddly cold way Damien acted, as if this were nothing new to him. But Temple also knew every move and motive and knew exactly what to do. "Good afternoon, Mr. Damien," he said. "Just plain Damien," Damien returned. Temple clasped his hands together and smiled. "Yes, of course. Pardon me for my mistakes. I believe you've been here before, but never for a charge such as this." He leaned slightly forward as if taking Damien into his confidence, though the police chief stood at the entrance not too far away. "The real reason you're here instead of in prison is because you don't really mean to do things, you're not really bad, and the death of your sister didn't he--well, you know what I mean." He leaned back again. "That's why I've come here to make a bargain." "'Bargain'?" the police chief echoed. Temple impatiently waved his hand to shush him. "The deal is this--you help us--the police, I should say--track down Jack Stanton, which means you come along with us, and if we're successful in catching him, you get released with six months' parole." [Per Note: I believe this should be changed to a certain probation period, since I don't think Damien actually does prison time for this. I didn't seem to understand the concept of parole vs. probation, or that defense attorneys don't typically act like DAs.] "What?" the police chief exclaimed. "Now, you can't do that, Temple--" Temple looked at the chief with annoyance. "I can too, you simpleton. If you'd keep track of things you'd notice I faxed a message to the governor and he granted permission for this to be done." He sighed, exasperated at the look on the chief's face. "Oh, come on. After all, who would you rather have in jail--Jack Stanton who's shot a man and been in various robberies, or Damien here who's never stolen one cent, much less harmed anybody?" [Per Note: Damien should have various charges of assault and battery prior to this.] The police chief started casting glances at numerous parts of the room. "Come now. He's the only person who can help, the only lead we have." Temple turned to face Damien. "What do you say to that?" Damien continued his staring. "Six months' parole, Damien," the attorney repeated. "That's what I offer you. You don't belong here. I know you don't. Well?" He held out his hand. Damien sat there, staring at Temple, then his outstretched hand. After several mildly suspenseful moments, he reached across and took it. Temple smiled again and shook his hand. "I knew you'd see this our way, Damien." He laughed. "After all, you're one of us now!" A plain brown car pulled to a stop at the shoulder of a lonely country road. Temple and two policemen peered out. "What's this?" Temple asked. "That's his trailer," Damien replied. "Next to the field?... Oh, I see it now." "That's private property." "So he's up for armed robbery and land squatting." Damien frowned at the officers' joking. The driver opened the door and quietly got out, followed by the second policeman and Damien, all of them wearing bulletproof vests. Of course Temple stayed behind with a hand-held radio to keep in touch and he watched as they left. [Per Note: There may be a comma after "to keep in touch," but I can't be sure.] But one turned back to him. "No tricks, Temple," he warned. "You may be a hotshot attorney but you're certainly no cop!" Temple smiled politely. "Now what makes you think I'd do something brash, Officer?" The cop snorted. "I know you," he said simply, and left. Damien led them to the trailer through the rough grass. One policeman reached for the door but Damien stopped his hand, shaking his head. He pointed silently to the back of the trailer. The cops glanced at each other and shrugged, and went in the direction Damien had pointed out. Damien stopped them and then did a crazy thing. "Jack?" he called. The cops froze to the trailer's side. "Damien?" Jack's voice hissed. "What the hell are you doin' here?" "I got away from them, Jack," he replied. "I came to warn you. They know you're here." "How? You told them, didn't you? You tipped 'em off. You nearly got me caught, you s___head!" [Per Note: I shied away from the more colorful curse words back then. "Hell" was bad enough.] "It's all part of the plan!" Damien shot back. The police could just barely see Stanton's shadow move. "Plan? You've got a plan?" There was a laugh. "You of all people! Don't give me that crap, Dami." "It's true." "Really?" Stanton actually sounded a little impressed. "You're surprisin' me here, Dami. What is this plan, anyway?" "Later. There's no time for that now. They're coming." "Coming? I don't see--" There was suddenly a terrible wail. One of the policemen dropped his radio and covered his ears. Damien darted towards Stanton, who had dropped his gun, and grabbed it up. Meanwhile a voice boomed, "THIS IS THE POLICE. PUT YOUR HANDS UP!" "Temple!" the second officer hissed to himself. He quickly pulled out a pair of cuffs and dashed around the trailer. His partner did the same. Jack had tried to make a break, but Damien managed to grab his arms and they fell to the ground in a scuffle. It was a moment or two before the policeman could handcuff him. He hauled Stanton to his feet and for a moment Stanton and Damien stared at each other. There was silence. And then Stanton spat at Damien's feet, and looked back up. Damien only stared. Stanton snorted. "Losin' your touch already," he said. "Not long ago youd've [sic] jumped me right here and now." "C'mon," the second cop said, and they pulled him away towards the car. Temple came up to Damien and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Job well done," he said. "A little more paperwork, and you're free, Damien." "But I'm no rat," Damien replied, before he too went back to the car. Temple smiled to himself. "That you most certainly aren't." |