Douglas Dorow - The Ninth District

At the conclusion of the service, some people shuffled off to their cars, while others milled around to support each other. Jack waited off to one side in the shade of an old oak tree watching the people around him. A few people had formed a line offering condolences to the husband. Jack waited for most of the people to head to their cars before he approached.

“Mr. Humphrey?” Jack extended his hand. “I’m Special Agent Jack Miller with the FBI. I’m very sorry for your loss. I’m a husband and a father, but I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I just wanted you to know that we’re doing everything we can to catch the man that did this.” Mr. Humphrey nodded and Jack turned and strode back to the car.

The brown, leather satchel rode smoothly on its side on the seat next to the Governor. He laid his hand protectively on it and gently rubbed the smooth surface. Soon his dreams would come true; his problems would be behind him. He knew this day would come. A quick glance at the satchel proved what the touch of his right hand told him. It was still there.

Months of planning, learning, plotting without knowing if what he dreamt of could come true. His business was a failure, he would soon have to file for bankruptcy, but now it didn’t matter.

He drove down a long, winding driveway lined with crab apple trees and hosta. He had been here before, in the spring, when the trees were flowering and filled the air with their intoxicating smell and the pink petals created a path to the house. Vadim provided a newly emigrated Russian family with housing in exchange for their keeping up the property. They worked hard in exchange and also served as guardians. One of them appeared from around the corner of the house as the Governor pulled into a parking spot in front of the garage. When the gardener recognized the Governor, he relaxed and walked over to the car and opened the door for him.

“He’s at the pool, sir. Can I help you with your bag?”

The Governor held tightly to the handle of the satchel. “I’ll take it, thanks. I probably won’t be long.”

The sun shimmered on the surface of the swimming pool. A light breeze pushed a blue air mattress around in the corner of the pool where it gently bumped against the side. Vadim looked up from his book and waved the Governor to join him in a lounge chair next to him. A table between the two chairs held a pitcher of something cold. Its sides dripped with condensation from the humid air. “Hello, my friend. Join me. Can I offer you some lemonade?”

The Governor sat down in the chair and gently set the satchel on its side at his feet. “I would love a glass, thanks.” The Governor drank half of it and put the glass on the table. With the pleasantries completed between them, he couldn’t wait to get on to why he was here.

“Vadim, I have been successful in obtaining the final piece.”

Vadim closed his book and sat up. “You got it?”

“Yes, but I have a small problem I want to take care of.”

“What is it?” Vadim asked.

“One of the FBI agents who’s been trying to solve the bank robberies. He’s getting closer than I would like him to be. I have a plan to take care of him and I think the distraction may be beneficial to our other endeavor.”

“How can I help?”

“I need a gun, and a rifle with a scope.” The Governor sat up and turned to look at Vadim. “I need it tonight, and I need to practice some. It’ll be about a quarter mile shot.”

“Let me get somebody to take care of it for you.”

“Thanks, but it’s something I need to do.” The Governor forced himself to relax and speak evenly. “It’s safe. I won’t put the job at risk, but it’s something I need to do.”

Vadim swatted a yellow jacket away from the lip of his glass of lemonade. “You are sure I cannot have somebody take care of this for you?” The question hung in the air. “It would be no problem.”

The Governor shook his head.

One of the gardeners appeared from behind them through some bushes. Vadim and the gardener exchanged some words in Russian before Vadim turned to the Governor.

“Follow him. He will get you everything you need. I will take the satchel. Is everything I need here?”

“Everything but the password.”

The line of oak trees created a horizontal shadow in the distance from the setting sun. Above the shadow, the hill in the background formed a backdrop of greens and oranges as the sun reflected off the grass and wild flowers. In the shadow below, the greens were darker or gray. A series of white discs hung from branches, appearing to hover in mid-air. They hung by monofilament line attached to large branches, twisting lazily in the air like a giant mobile, out of place in the natural setting. The plate on the left turned slowly showing a circle, and then a line as its edge faced the trees and then again, a circle. Then it shattered, leaving a cloud of plaster dust in its place and a loud explosion sounded and echoed off the hill.

The Governor exhaled the remaining air in his lungs and took another breath, as he lay prone on the ground, his eye still at the eyepiece of the scope attached to the rifle cradled across his left arm.

“Very nice. Good timing, just left of center,” the voice said from behind the Governor. Vadim had arranged for the Governor to visit a shooting range run by one of his friends west of the Twin Cities metro area. The men he met here had a variety of rifles for him to choose from and were providing him with some instruction. “Try again. The next plate. Remember to watch the target, anticipate, breathe, relax. It is not too much to remember, no?”

“I’ve got it,” the Governor responded as he watched the plate spin in the circle of the scope, trying to keep the cross hairs centered on it as it came into full view with each revolution.

“When you are near ready, take a full breath, release part of it, and gently pull the trigger.”

The Governor tried to relax as he lay on the ground, the rifle resting on a dead tree that had fallen, and was bare of bark. He wanted to practice in as close to real conditions as he could create. The plate turned slowly, approximately a quarter of a mile away. Taking a deep breath, the Governor tried to ignore the sweat that ran down his temples and back. He exhaled slowly, held his breath. The circle in the scope turned to a line and started to form a circle on the next revolution. He gently pulled the trigger, increasing the pressure on it, feeling it resist until the force of his pull overcame it and the rifle barked, ramming its stock back into his shoulder, causing the Governor to blink. He refocused on the plate and saw it spinning rapidly, a small chip gone from its edge.

“Try again. That is good enough for your purposes. Three more plates and we’ll move on to another exercise.”

The Governor repeated the process, hitting the target on each of his subsequent tries. The rifle began to feel more comfortable in his grip and his confidence grew. The barrel of the rifle felt warm against the skin of his hand. He sat up and reloaded to prepare for the exercise his teachers had planned for him next. The ammunition was not large. He was using smaller rounds to keep the sound down, a quieter “pop” instead of a louder “boom.” The bullets would be effective despite their size.

It had been a long day. Ross needed somebody to talk with so Jack had hung out with him at his apartment for a while when he’d dropped him off. The injury, its effect on his ability to sleep, what had happened to Sandy, it was all taking a toll on Ross, whether he was ready to admit it or not. It was mostly Sandy. Ross had really been interested in her and he was going to get hit hard over the next couple of days by the pain in his heart.