Page 48 of No Safe Place

He pointed both right between Big Joe’s suddenly startled wide eyes.

Bright boy didn’t look so bored anymore, did he? Shaw thought with a tight grin. He had finally piqued his interest.

“Surprise. I’m not a fireman, jackass,” Shaw said. “I’m FBI. So, you can either leave this bar now peacefully or I kick the living snot out of you and then cuff you and drag—”

Shaw heard it then.

The bathroom door beside him opened with a squeak.

From it, staggered a man. He was redheaded and stocky, maybe twenty. He looked like a college kid.

He stood there about five feet away, squinting at Shaw.

“Robbery!” the drunk kid suddenly yelled and immediately lunged at Shaw’s outstretched gun.

Without pausing, Shaw’s finely honed instincts took over.

As the kid went for his gun, he pulled it back down out of his reach toward his waist and as if on its own, Shaw’s finger pulled the trigger twice.

Blood and brain matter splattered loudly against the cheap wood paneling as two .45 hollow points blew the back of the drunk college kid’s red head clean off.

Shaw, rearing back to avoid the kid falling on top of him, glanced up to see that behind the bar, Big Joe was already halfway to the back door.

Shaw leveled and fired. But he missed the shot. A perfect circle appeared on the swinging kitchen door a hair to the left of the running big man’s head and then Big Joe disappeared through the doorway.

He tapped his mic.

“We got a runner! Caucasian. Tall. Fit. Dark hair. Out the back! Out the back!” he called.

“Green light?” said Carpenter.

“Yes! Green light. I repeat. Green light. Anyone with a shot take him down!” Shaw yelled as he vaulted the bar.

43

Most of the patrons out in front of The Forge stuck around for a little while, but after ten minutes or so, some came over to Scotty, paying him in cash or telling him they’d square things up later, before heading for their cars.

We would find out later these wise folks who left were the lucky ones.

They were the last ones to get out right under the wire before it would all begin.

After they were gone there were just five of us left standing there: the two construction guys Brooklyn and Papa Bear, and Scotty, Daisy and me.

Even the chef and the young waitress had gone, and we all stood rooted, looking east up the dark of Main Street like the diehard remnants of a crowd waiting for some Fourth of July fireworks to start.

I looked up the deserted length of Main Street. The grease pencil ghosts and headstones on the plate glass of the stores suddenly didn’t seem so harmless now, did they?

“What in the hell is this?” said Scotty as we still stood there in the cold out in front of the restaurant.

“Look. The lights are on over the river,” Daisy said, pointing away from the town, west of the bridge by the reservoir.

“Must be a black-out just here in town, I guess,” Scotty said.

“Duh, you really think so?” said Brooklyn as he raised the bottle of Corona he’d taken outside with him to his lips.

That’s when we heard the commotion, and we all turned toward Main Street in front of us.

We watched as down the middle of the dark street came a man, a big man running fast.

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