Eric Walters - The Rule of Three

“The cars from Burnham could be hauled in and parked in the school parking lot while those from Erin Mills Parkway could be stored in the mini-mall parking lot,” Mr. Gomez said.

“Excellent, just excellent,” my mother said. “Now, do we have anything further to discuss or can we allow everyone to get on with their work?”

“I have nothing else on my agenda,” Judge Roberts said. “Let’s adjourn and reconvene tomorrow at the same time.”

“Cover up,” Brett said.

We both pushed down the visors on the riot helmets we wore, and he took his nightstick and smashed out the window on a pickup truck. The glass shattered into a million little pieces, covering the whole bench seat of the truck. I popped up my visor and then reached in, unlocked the door, and opened it up. With a gloved hand I brushed off the driver’s side.

“I never thought breaking into cars would be part of a police officer’s job,” Brett said.

He handed me the screwdriver. I jammed it into the ignition and turned it enough to unlock the steering wheel and transmission. Now I could shift the vehicle into neutral. Brett waved for the group of kids hovering by the side of the road to come over.

They raced in our direction, pushing and laughing as they came. Practically before I could climb out of the truck, two of them jostled to get into the driver’s seat—the bigger of the two won the contest and pulled the door closed to seal the deal. He was somewhat older than the rest, maybe thirteen or fourteen. The other one joined his companions at the back of the truck. Funny how much older I felt than these kids. Actually I’d always felt older than everybody who was my age and quite a few grown-ups. Throughout this whole situation I’d been entrusted with information that almost nobody else knew, information that made me feel older, weighed me down.

“Make sure you get the tank filled up, and then get somebody else to steer it down the hill into the neighborhood,” Brett said.

Each vehicle was being filled up at the gas station, with gas hand-pumped out of the big underground storage tank, and then it was steered down the hill into the neighborhood, safe and filled with precious fuel to be used for other working vehicles or for the generators.

“I can take it all the way!” the kid behind the wheel said.

Brett leaned into the truck and I could feel his glare without having to see it.

“You drive it to the gas station, and then somebody else, somebody who has a driver’s license, drives it down.”

“It’s not like it has an engine that works or—”

“Are you arguing with me?” Brett asked. “You don’t drive it.”

“I won’t,” the kid said, although he didn’t sound that convincing.

“I’ll be watching,” Brett said. He smacked the nightstick against the door and the kid jumped slightly in the seat. “This nightstick can do more than smash a window, understand?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Good. Now get going,” Brett said. He turned to the other kids. “Get in gear!”

They put their shoulders into the back of the truck and started pushing it away. The kids were all still laughing and joking around. This whole thing had the feel of a charity car wash. I guess part of the reality check was the weapon I was wearing and the sentries posted along the length of the road, rifles in hand.

“A couple of those kids could use a swift kick to the rear,” Brett said. “My father didn’t take any garbage, and me and my brothers turned out the better for it.”

I didn’t reply. My parents didn’t believe in physical discipline—my mother always said she hadn’t met any violent offenders who hadn’t had violence done to them by their parents.

“That was the last of the screwdrivers,” I said, changing the subject. “I guess we’ll have to wait until they bring back a few.”

“How many cars have we taken?” he asked.

“At least forty.”

“It’ll be good to get this section of the road clear,” Brett said. “I hope they’re working as hard on clearing Burnham Drive.”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

Brett walked over to the next car—a nice Buick. He took his nightstick and swung it at the car, and the front right headlight burst into pieces.

“Why did you do that?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I have to admit I like the sound of shattering glass. You sure you don’t want to smash a few windows?”

“I think I’ll pass on that.”

“Don’t say I didn’t offer. You know, if they weren’t dealing with all that paperwork crap we could be moving faster.”

“They’re just taking down the details, ownership, registration, VIN, that’s all,” I said.

“Let’s get real—we’re stealing cars.”

“The judge said it was no different from cars being towed off the highway after a snow emergency,” I said.

“No matter how you spin it, we’d still have some pretty angry people if they come looking for their cars,” Brett said.

“I guess they would be mad,” I agreed. “Although at least they’d have a full tank of gas.”

“I just wish we’d stop pretending,” Brett said. “To tell you the truth, I wish we were gathering something else.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Rumor is, there’s a herd of deer down by the river. Do you know if there’s any truth to that?”

“I’ve seen them,” I said. “We used to play down there all the time when I was a kid.”

“So you could show me where to go hunting for them,” Brett said.

“I could show you.”

“Have you ever done any hunting?”

I shook my head. “My only shooting has been at targets.”

“Hunting is so much better. Man versus animal, a real contest.”

“It would probably be a better contest if the deer had a gun,” I said, using a line Todd had once said to me.

“It’s a much more even contest if you use a bow and arrow,” Brett said.

“You’ve done bow hunting?”

“Lots of times. It’s much more personal when you’re looking the animal in the eyes.”

There was a strange look in his eyes. It wasn’t just about hunting. But a deer would be meat for a whole lot of people. And if one deer would help, then two would be better and a whole herd might make a huge difference.

“You just stick with me, kid, and I’ll make you a good hunter and a good police officer.”

“I think I’ll stick to being a pilot.”

“Shame you don’t have a real plane to fly.”

“It’s just about the most real thing in the air. Are you still afraid to go up with me?”

“I’m still too smart to go up with you.” He laughed, then stopped suddenly. “Uh-oh. More people coming,”

I turned and looked around. It was a family; husband, wife, and two kids, both very young. The man was pulling a wagon loaded with possessions, and the woman was pushing a grocery cart.

“They look pretty harmless,” I said.

“I think they should be turning everybody away when we’re out here working.”

“They’re just trying to get somewhere. The patrol is giving them a break,” I said.

“There’s only one break I want to be involved in and it’s this one.” He smashed the side window on the car beside him, and one of the little kids screamed out in shock.

“Sorry,” I said to the family. “We’re supposed to be doing this.”

The woman nodded and gave a hesitant, forced smile.

“We’re moving them off the road,” I added.

“You could do it without smashing all the windows,” the man said.

“Do you have a set of keys for every car in the world?” Brett snapped.

“You don’t need a set of keys if you have the right tools,” he said.