Jacqueline Druga - The Flu

“Shut up!” Jimmy ordered with a trembling voice to the eight screaming people he held hostage in the Dairy Mart.

Tall, thin and still showing the acne of his ‘barely older than eighteen’ age, Jimmy was one of three who had seized the small store. All of them were armed and tried to portray anything but the panic they experienced in their impromptu takeover of the store.

Berchum’s heels streaked through the blood, marking a path to the door as Jimmy dragged him.

With the glass already broken, Jimmy aimed his voice loudly outside just before he opened the door, “You were warned!”

With a fling through the open door, out went Berchum’s body. “You have one hour!”

It didn’t take long for the FBI to arrive. They probably wouldn’t have shown up at all had Agents Darrell Harden and Jeff Bloom not been en route from Cleveland to Kentucky when they got the call. It was timed perfectly, because when they received the news of the hostage situation, they were pumping gas not four miles down the road. And more serendipitous than being so nearby, Agents Harden and Bloom just so happened to be the ones chasing down a lead on Jimmy Lewis and his gang.

They had him.

The street was blocked off for nearly half a block. Onlookers pushed against the police line. Medina County Sheriff Ben Watson, in a wobbling, bad imitation of John Wayne’s walk, moved to the back of the car. Agents Harden and Bloom had spread paperwork on the trunk while they spoke to Wadsworth’s Chief of Police. The tall, stern, older Sheriff seemed more perplexed by the crowd than the situation in the little corner market.

“Six hours now,” Watson griped. “When we using the gas?”

Harden snickered as he turned his head to the Sheriff. “And what? Count how many those three can take out before the gas takes them down? Trust me, sir, we’re more experienced in these matters.”

“You think?” Sheriff Watson questioned. “Son, I’ve been in law enforcement longer than you been alive.”

Another snicker escaped Harden. “But this is Ohio. I mean, really, how many hostage situations could you have had in Medina County, Ohio?”

“Seven last year.” Watson nodded. “Yep. Carl? What do you suggest?”

Carl Hogan turned from the agents. “I already have a plan in action. This is going on too long. In fact…” the younger Chief of Police smiled and gave a twitch of his head to the incoming sound of a motorcycle engine. “Need I say more?”

“Christ.” Watson shook his head. “You called in the Harley Cavalry?”

Confused, Harden looked to Agent Bloom. “The Cavalry?”

Sarcastically correcting him, Bloom nodded. “The Harley Cavalry.”

“What the hell is the Harley Cavalry?” Harden asked Chief Hogan.

Hogan pointed.

Mick Owens parked the motorcycle in the first available opening and dismounted. He sported a tight black tee shirt and a pair of faded jeans. Other than his shoulder harness, the badge clipped to his belt was the only indication that the big man was a law enforcement official.

Mick’s walk was intimidating, as if his bulky six-foot-five frame wasn’t frightening enough. His shoulder length blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and he wore a black bandana.

He looked every part of the biker he used to be and probably still was. The product of parents who rode all their lives, Mick didn’t come from money and was as down to earth as they came. Growing up poor and living his entire young life in a trailer outside of Lodi, Ohio, made him honest, proud, and a bit rough. Although Mick would argue that fact, claiming his level of roughness touched around the realms of ‘only a little’.

“Hey, Carl.” Mick extended his hand to Chief Hogan, then to Watson. “Sheriff.”

Sheriff Watson grumbled, “Can’t miss a single moment of action, now, can you?”

Mick smiled and tossed up his hands. “Hey, I was perfectly content hanging back.”

“No, you weren’t,” Watson scoffed. “You were monitoring that damn radio waiting for the call.” With a ho-hum nod of introduction, Watson pointed to Harden and Bloom. “Mick, want you to meet the FBI agents on duty here. Harden, Bloom, this is Chief of Police, Mick Owens of Lodi.”

Harden was shocked. To him, Mick didn’t even resemble a police officer. “If you’re the Chief of Police in another town, what are you doing here?”

Chief Hogan answered, “Mick has jurisdiction. Still on the State Police payroll.”

Mick flashed a smile and began to take off his shoulder harness. “OK, bring me up to speed.”

“Another one dead,” Hogan said. “Six hours now. Three armed. Eight remaining, four are women. And you know, the usual I want this-I want that demands.”

Mick cringed. “Why in God’s name do people do that? Do they actually think they’ll be the one criminal that gets away with it?” He looked at the agents. “What do you know about them?”

“Everything,” Bloom answered.

“Give me the personality run downs,” Mick requested. “Carl, you have the plans to the building?”

“Right here.” Hogan pushed the layout forward. “Got an idea?”

“Absolutely.” Mick grinned. “But first, I need to know…” he turned back to Harden and Bloom. “You want them dead or alive?”

It wasn’t the usual attire for a television reporter, but it was a sight that Jimmy Lewis didn’t mind. Hidden behind the one shelf, Jimmy stared out the store window.

“Hey, Jimmy?” Marcus, one of Jimmy’s crew, called from across the store. “Something going on out there?”

“No,” Jimmy answered dazedly, never turning around.

Marcus shrugged to his cohort, Josh. “He must be dreaming.”

Jimmy was. Labeled an ‘easy sucker’ when it came to beautiful, sexy women, Jimmy was transfixed by the television reporter who obviously, to him, earned a special right to do that news report not far from the store. Jimmy swore at that moment he was going to find out what station she worked for and watch that channel faithfully.

He had never seen a reporter dressed like her. Tight black skirt that looked like leather; wrapped against her well-formed body, the garment barely covered her thighs, and it far from covered her toned rear-end every time she bent over to pick up items that she kept dropping. It was a vision Jimmy knew would increase any news broadcast ratings.

He watched her, biting his bottom lip every time she moved, smirking whenever he could see that hint of a purple G string she wore to ward off unsightly panty lines. Gorgeous from head to toe, the reporter captivated Jimmy. Leaning against that shelf, he surveyed her, projecting the results in a distorted manner into his mind, fighting the inopportune post-pubescent hard-on that pressed more tightly against his jeans each second as he slipped into a fantasy vision of his head wedged between her thighs. Just as he brought his bottom lip into his mouth, swearing he could taste her, the slight ‘thump’ of something falling in the back of the store snapped him away from the window.

“What was that?”

Josh answered, looking to the back of the store. “Something fell?”

“Something fell?” Jimmy snapped with sarcasm. “Just fell?”

“Want me to check it out?” Josh asked.

With a motion of his revolver and a nod of his head, Jimmy indicated a woman huddled by the bread rack. “Yeah, take her as your cover.”

“Got it.” Josh reached down and snatched the woman from the floor, causing her to scream. “Shut up!” he yelled, then cast a look at Jimmy, and then at Marcus by the coolers. He roughly pulled her to the back storage area. It was quiet, filled with boxes.

“Anything?” Jimmy called from the front.