Invasion USA Read Online Free Page B
Author: William W. Johnstone
Fred figured he could make it in two minutes. The cruiserâs engine was already running. He slammed it in gear and hit his flashers as the tires peeled out. He left the siren off, though. No need to let the bad guys know he was coming.
âIâm on my way,â he told Cecil. âBetter call Buddy on the landline, just in case he ainât monitorinâ the radio.â
Sheriff Buddy Gorman would be at home by now, having worked an all-night shift. Buddy wasnât the sort of boss who dodged the hard shifts and kept all the cushy ones for himself. He took his turn, regular as clockwork.
Fred racked the microphone and concentrated on his driving. There wasnât much traffic on the streets of Little Tucson at this time of the morning, but there was some and the last thing he wanted to do was get into an accident on his way to the scene of a major crime. Little Tucson and vicinity didnât have all that many major crimes to start with.
Not until lately, anyway.
But there had already been two murders this week, and now the bank was being robbed. Had to be those bastards from M-15. If somebody had done something about the troubles along the border a long time ago . . . if somebody had tried to put a stop to the illegal activities of the earlier incarnations of the gang before it got so powerful . . . then the evil sons oâ bitches might not feel they could waltz in anywhere and get away with whatever they wanted. The country hadnât seen such arrogance on the part of criminals since the days of Al Capone and his fellow mobsters.
It had taken Eliot Ness and the Untouchables to bring that crime wave under control. But if things had been then like they were now, Eliot Ness would have been reined in by the Feds and slapped with lawsuits by the ACLU. Capone would have laughed in the faces of the Untouchables, knowing that his victims were their own worst enemies because they had turned their fates over to a bunch of incompetent, uncaring bureaucrats who were more worried about political correctness than about right and wrong. Yeah, Eliot Ness would have been up a creek, all right.
But as Fred Kelso pressed down on the cruiserâs accelerator and sent the powerful car rocketing along Main Street, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he had a chance to make a difference, just as Ness had done.
He entered the block where the Little Tucson Savings Bank was located at 9:24.
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Thirty seconds earlier, Carla May Willard turned her Nissan onto Main Street. She saw flashing lights several blocks away and slowed down as she realized they were coming toward her. Even though Main Street was four lanes wide, two going in each direction, she pulled toward the sidewalk to give the emergency vehicle plenty of room. She couldnât tell yet if it was a police car, ambulance, or fire truck.
Then the lights turned sharply off to the left side of the road. They were on a police car, Carla saw, but it wasnât coming toward her anymore, so she sped up. She didnât want Andy to be late for Bible School, either, although it wouldnât be any big deal if he came in a few minutes later than the other kids, she supposed. Still, it never hurt to keep him happy, because if he was cranky he could make her life a living hell.
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Two men came running out of the bankâs front door and piled into a Ford Explorer just as Fred skidded the cruiser into the parking lot. He couldnât block both exits, so he slammed on the brakes and brought the car to a stop so that it slanted across the opening that would be easier for the Explorer to use. To get out the other way, the driver would have to back up awkwardly and avoid several parked cars. Fred hoped the tactic would give him a slight advantage.
He caught only a glimpse of the robbers before they disappeared into the big vehicle with its darkly tinted windows. That was enough, though, to tell him that each man was carrying a canvas bagâand
âIâm on my way,â he told Cecil. âBetter call Buddy on the landline, just in case he ainât monitorinâ the radio.â
Sheriff Buddy Gorman would be at home by now, having worked an all-night shift. Buddy wasnât the sort of boss who dodged the hard shifts and kept all the cushy ones for himself. He took his turn, regular as clockwork.
Fred racked the microphone and concentrated on his driving. There wasnât much traffic on the streets of Little Tucson at this time of the morning, but there was some and the last thing he wanted to do was get into an accident on his way to the scene of a major crime. Little Tucson and vicinity didnât have all that many major crimes to start with.
Not until lately, anyway.
But there had already been two murders this week, and now the bank was being robbed. Had to be those bastards from M-15. If somebody had done something about the troubles along the border a long time ago . . . if somebody had tried to put a stop to the illegal activities of the earlier incarnations of the gang before it got so powerful . . . then the evil sons oâ bitches might not feel they could waltz in anywhere and get away with whatever they wanted. The country hadnât seen such arrogance on the part of criminals since the days of Al Capone and his fellow mobsters.
It had taken Eliot Ness and the Untouchables to bring that crime wave under control. But if things had been then like they were now, Eliot Ness would have been reined in by the Feds and slapped with lawsuits by the ACLU. Capone would have laughed in the faces of the Untouchables, knowing that his victims were their own worst enemies because they had turned their fates over to a bunch of incompetent, uncaring bureaucrats who were more worried about political correctness than about right and wrong. Yeah, Eliot Ness would have been up a creek, all right.
But as Fred Kelso pressed down on the cruiserâs accelerator and sent the powerful car rocketing along Main Street, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he had a chance to make a difference, just as Ness had done.
He entered the block where the Little Tucson Savings Bank was located at 9:24.
Â
Â
Thirty seconds earlier, Carla May Willard turned her Nissan onto Main Street. She saw flashing lights several blocks away and slowed down as she realized they were coming toward her. Even though Main Street was four lanes wide, two going in each direction, she pulled toward the sidewalk to give the emergency vehicle plenty of room. She couldnât tell yet if it was a police car, ambulance, or fire truck.
Then the lights turned sharply off to the left side of the road. They were on a police car, Carla saw, but it wasnât coming toward her anymore, so she sped up. She didnât want Andy to be late for Bible School, either, although it wouldnât be any big deal if he came in a few minutes later than the other kids, she supposed. Still, it never hurt to keep him happy, because if he was cranky he could make her life a living hell.
Â
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Two men came running out of the bankâs front door and piled into a Ford Explorer just as Fred skidded the cruiser into the parking lot. He couldnât block both exits, so he slammed on the brakes and brought the car to a stop so that it slanted across the opening that would be easier for the Explorer to use. To get out the other way, the driver would have to back up awkwardly and avoid several parked cars. Fred hoped the tactic would give him a slight advantage.
He caught only a glimpse of the robbers before they disappeared into the big vehicle with its darkly tinted windows. That was enough, though, to tell him that each man was carrying a canvas bagâand
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