Michael Marshall - The Straw Men

'I don't think Mr Hopkins will be staying.'

Chip was standing in the doorway to the other office. There was a livid bruise across one cheek and

his forehead. 'In fact, I think he'll be leaving very soon.'

'Exactly what we had in mind, Chip. But you're coming with us. We're going up to The Halls, and we need someone to get us in. In your recent capacity as the only realtor working for them, you're in pole position. You can either come with us under your own steam or we can pull you out onto the street by

the throat.'

'I don't think so,' he said, an irritating expression on his face.

There was the sound of a bell ringing as the door to the office opened behind us. I turned to see two

cops. One was tall and black-haired. The other smaller and fair. The latter spoke.

'Good morning, Mr Hopkins,' he said.

'Do I know you?'

'We've spoken on the phone.'

'I don't recall the circumstances.'

'You called the station. We discussed your parent's deaths.'

Behind me I was aware of the rustle of Bobby's hand, as it moved within his jacket pocket.

'Officer Spurring,' I said.

'He's here at my request,' Chip said. 'I saw you and your friend sitting outside. I've already reported

the way you attacked me.'

'I saw it as a minor difference of opinion,' I said. 'Then you had a weird whole-body spasm.'

'I didn't view it that way. And neither do the police.'

'This is bullshit, Ward,' Bobby said.

Chip turned to the two women, who were watching the exchange like a pair of interested cats.

'Doreen? Julia? I wonder if you could go into the back office for a moment.'

'We've come for you, Chip,' I said. 'Nobody else needs to move.'

'Now,' Chip said, staring hard at the women. They got to their feet and trooped past him into the

other room. He pulled the door shut behind them.

'It would really be better if you came to the station,' Spurling said. His manner was calm and very reasonable. 'I don't know if you're aware of this, but there has been damage to your parents' house and a hotel fire that seems to bear some relevance. Officer McGregor and I want to help.'

'You see, the thing is,' I said, 'I'm just not sure I believe that.'

'What's the deal with your partner?' Bobby asked Spurling. 'Doesn't say much, does he.'

The second cop gazed back at Bobby, but didn't say a word. That's when I started to get twitchy.

Guy looks in Bobby's eyes for long with anything less than respect, he's either stupid or extremely dangerous or both.

'Division of labour,' I said, hoping the situation, such as it was, was salvageable. 'Maybe McGregor here is a dab hand at filing forms.'

'You're an asshole, Hopkins,' Chip said. 'Obviously it's genetic'

Spurling ignored him. 'Mr Hopkins — are you going to come with me?'

'No,' Bobby said.

Chip smiled. McGregor took out a gun.

'Hey, easy,' I said, now very nervous. Officer Spurling looked even more surprised than I felt. He stared at the weapon in his partner's hand.

'Uh, George…' he said. But then McGregor started shooting.

We were on the move the moment Chip's face creased into his smug little grin, but it was still too slow. There was nowhere to run in the office. Hiding wasn't going to cut it.

Bobby's gun was in his hand and firing at McGregor. The cop took bullets in the thigh and chest. But the hits didn't make the sound they should have, and I realized he was wearing Kevlar. The impact was enough to smack him over a chair and onto his back, but he was soon struggling to his feet. Meanwhile Spurling remained stockstill, his mouth open.

I was a foot ahead of McGregor's bullet, having hurled myself to the floor in a roll. I came up behind Doreen's desk and shot back, catching him in the shoulder. Something swished right past my head, and I realized that Chip, too, had a little pistol in his hand. After that I really don't remember too much. I just emptied the gun at whatever came up. You get involved in a gun battle on an open plain, maybe you've got time to consider, to take note of the blow by blow, to think. You spend time thinking in confined quarters with two guys shooting at you, you're never going to complete the thought.

Ten seconds later the shooting stopped. By then I was jammed behind Julia's desk and I had a stinging pain on my cheek and forehead where something had sliced across it. Not a bullet, I didn't think. Something that got hit and exploded. I was very surprised not to be more badly hurt. The contents of Chip's head were spread across the back wall. McGregor was nowhere to be seen, and the door to the office was hanging open.

Spurling had gotten hit in the leg and fallen over a desk. He was moving but not very fast. His head was still where it should be. I left it mat way.

Bobby was pressed back against the wall near the door, hand clamped over his arm and blood coursing from between his fingers. I ran over and grabbed him.

We fell out onto the pavement, stumbled across the road, and I opened his door and pushed him in. A passing couple dressed in bright orange ski wear were looking back and forth between us and the shattered realty office windows with their mouths open.

'It's some movie,' one of them said. 'Got to be.'

'I'm okay,' Bobby muttered, as I climbed in the driver's side and started the engine. I jumped on the

pedal and sent us hurtling down the street. 'I'm fine.'

'You've been shot, you asshole.'

'Slow down.' There was a stop sign right ahead, and traffic to be contended with. I eased off the pedal and by chance managed to squeeze through a gap and into the far lane. 'Where are you going?'

'The hospital, Bobby.'

'We can't go there,' he said. 'Not after that.'

'Spurling will back us up.'

'All he knows is a lot of shooting went down. They both got shot and a civilian wound up dead.'

'He knows that McGregor pushed it. And I can get us out on the highway and find the nearest

hospital out of town.'

'Where they'll still have to report it and we'll still have shot some cops.'

'Bobby, you've been shot. I don't want to have to explain that to you again.'

While I kept us heading west, ducking back and forth between the lines of cars, he gingerly removed

his hand from his arm. I glanced across. A fresh glot of blood tipped out, but not as much as I'd expected. Wincing, he pulled the fabric around the hole aside and peered at what lay underneath.

'There's a chunk missing,' he admitted. 'Which is not ideal. But I'll live. And we have a need more urgent than medical support.'

'And what's that?'

'Guns,' he said, slumping back in the seat. 'Big fucking guns.'

I left Bobby in the car while I ran across to the store. It was raining hard now, and the clouds were getting darker. Before I swung open the door I took a moment to gather myself. Many retailers like to cultivate the impression that they're selling machines that are only theoretically weapons. You don't want to run into a gun shop looking like you're thinking of using one right this minute.

Inside, a long thin space. A glass counter displaying handguns like jewellery, and behind it racks and racks of rifles on the wall. No customers and no reinforced shield. Just one white-haired fat guy in a dark blue shirt, standing around waiting for business.

'Help you?' The man placed two large hands on the counter. On the wall behind him were two posters showing the faces of well-known Middle Eastern terrorists. 'Wanted Dead' the legend said. 'Or Alive' had been crossed out.

'Want to buy some guns,' I said.

'Only sell frozen yogurt here. Keep meaning to take that damned sign down.'

I laughed heartily. He laughed, too. It was all very cool. We were having a great time.