Page 56 of Stone Coast
“Citizens’ arrest,” the clerk shouted.
“Fuck you. You can’t arrest shit. What you gonna do? Shoot me?”
He tried to stand up, but the clerk cracked him again in the ribs.
The perp rolled onto his side and groaned. “Okay, okay!” He caught his breath, “Man, ya’ll is some sadistic motherfuckers. I ain’t do nothing.”
“Bullshit,” the clerk said. “It’s all on video, my friend.”
Finally, the warble of distant sirens drew near. Around 20 minutes in, a patrol car screeched into the lot, lights flashing.
Two officers hopped out, drew their weapons, and advanced. They stormed inside, and an officer aimed at me while his partner focused on the perp.
“Put the weapon down!” the pudgy one shouted at me.
“Not her, you dumbass!” the clerk shouted.
With slow, cautious movements, I complied, then raised my hands in the air.
Pudgy’s partner handcuffed the perp, then pulled off his disguise. He read the dirtbag his rights, then escorted him outside to the patrol car and stuffed him in the back.
“Who works here?” Pudgy asked.
“I do,” the clerk said in an annoyed tone.
Pudgy looked at me. “And who are you?”
I told him my name.
“Are you a customer?”
I told him the story.
“So, you discharged your weapon?”
“After I was fired upon.” I gave him a description of the getaway car and the plate number.
Pudgy collected my firearm, demanded ID, then got on the radio with dispatch.
It didn't take long for a news crew to arrive. A camera crew hopped out of the van and soaked up footage. Tessa Vaughn was a tenacious reporter that I recognized from the night Grayson was murdered. I’d seen her on TV a few times since then. She was a striking brunette with glacial eyes and elegant bone structure. But she was no wallflower.
A curious crowd gathered outside. Patrons of the liquor store began to stack up.
"I'm going to need a full statement from you,” Pudgy said.
"I already told you what happened.”
"I want you to tell me again.”
"Is there any confusion about who the bad guy is here?”
He gave me an annoyed look.
“She is the one that saved my store from these fucking assholes,” the clerk said.
I smiled at him with appreciation.
It was about that time when Detective Scarborough pulled into the parking lot. He hopped out of his Camaro and strolled inside.
