All the PVs were watching now, but the only one who seemed to be seeing where this was headed was the leader.
My point is, gentlemen, that you always have two. Two snipers per target. That gives you say, in a place like, well, this street, with this light, and high competence with quality high-powered rifles and, well, targets totally out in the open, about a 98% certainty of a first shot kill.”
The PVs looked around, nervous – at least, most of them. Do-Rag still seemed puzzled.
“Let me break it down for you,” Turnbull said, seeing Do-Rag’s bafflement. “If for some reason, any reason, this left hand comes down – because you shoot me, because I trip, because I feel like fucking with your dumb asses – these pissed off townspeople kill you all. My left hand is a lot more efficient than a radio. Hand up, check fire. Hand down, smoke you all.”
“If you got sixteen snipers,” the leader says, pausing to multiply, “where are they?”
Turnbull smiled, hand still up, but wavering a tad. “Well, since they undoubtedly had some time to prep because they saw you asswipes coming down Route 231 miles ago, they’re probably in really good, concealed positions since it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that you geniuses are going to stop in the center of town for your little party.”
“I don’t believe you have sixteen guns on us,” the leader said, his AK starting to drop toward his opponent.
Turnbull smiled, stepped right a foot to position the leader between him and the other thugs, and in a swift, fluid motion drew out his jet black Wilson .45 from the small of his back with his right hand and pointed it at the face of his opponent.
Its hammer was cocked. Turnbull’s left hand remained upright.
The leader froze; the rest of the thugs scrambled, their weapons now all pointed at Turnbull.
“I only need fourteen shooters,” Turnbull said. “And you can’t swing a dead cat around here without hitting fourteen ex-deer hunters just aching for the chance to take some PV asshole as a trophy. There’s no limit either, and it’s the opening day of the season.”
The leader said nothing, did nothing.
“Okay, maybe I’ve taken the metaphor too far. I do that a lot. So let me get to the point. Get back in your tacky ass Chevy shitboxes and get out of my town before we kill you all.”
The leader stood there for a moment, thinking.
“The best case scenario is that I’m lying and only you die,” said Turnbull. “Maybe I get Do-Rag too before the rest of you get me, but that’s your best day – just you dying. Now, do you really want to die just so your pals can loot some shit from this town?”
“I ain’t afraid to die. I’m a warrior.”
“No, you’re a punk with an AK and a stupid D-Yazzy concert tee. I’m a warrior,” Turnbull said. “By the way, Yazzy’s rhymes are lazy and derivative.”
The leader blinked.
“Go,” said Turnbull. “Just go.”
“Okay, you got me. This time. We’ll roll.”
“Great, because my left arm is totally cramping. My trigger finger’s still good, though.”
“We’re leaving,” the leader shouted over his shoulder.
“Fuck that,” shouted Do-Rag.
“You got him, or do I…,” Turnbull wiggled his left hand.
“Get your dumb ass back in the car!” the leader shouted over his shoulder.
“Oh, and leave your guns,” said Turnbull.
“What?”
“The guns. Leave the guns, and any spare mags, if these dipshits thought to bring any.”
“Ain’t leaving our guns.”
“Well, you ain’t leaving with them. I mean, we’re willing to pass on shooting you and burying your asses somewhere in those woods you passed coming into town, so I think you’re getting a really good deal, and you should take it. Now put the fucking guns on the deck right now because my arm is getting tired for real.”
The leader considered, the black Wilson’s yawning barrel looming a foot or so in front of his face. He squatted, placing the AK on the asphalt. The rest went along, then wordlessly got into their cars.
“We’re coming back,” said the leader. “And with a lot more of us.”
“I know,” said Turnbull. “But you seem smart, so let me recommend you get yourself a desk job, because the next time you PVs show up in Jasper, we’re going to kill you all.”
As they drove away, Turnbull waved good-bye with his still raised left hand.
People shyly poked their heads out of the buildings and businesses, and stepped back outside. Bellman and Chalmers stepped over to Turnbull in the middle of Main Street. The puppy was along too, still clenching the flat frog in its mouth. It growled.
“Collect these AKs and dig up your guns,” Turnbull said. “I think we just ruled out a nonviolent solution.”
6.
“Who is he?” she demanded.
Deputy Cannon stood there in front of Lieutenant Kessler’s empty desk, his mind racing. He finally spoke.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? You know everybody in this shitkicker town. You freaking grew up here!” she yelled and slammed the desk with her dainty fist.
“I don’t know who the guy who scared off the PVs is. I have no clue.”
Of course, that wasn’t quite true. He had something like a clue; more like a gut feeling. He had seen that big guy the day before when they were helping Dale to the dentist, but he didn’t recognize the guy. He just knew the stranger looked like bad news. And this was all bad news.
“They have weapons now, eight AKs plus ammo stolen from the PVs. Where are they? Somewhere in this town. We’re going to find them, and the people who did this.”
“I can ask around. I’ll talk to the mayor.”
“The mayor – what’s his name? Silver? He’s everything wrong with this town. Another smug, privileged cis-het male. When he finds out his kind is going to be disqualified from holding office, it’ll break his heart.” Lieutenant Kessler smiled.
“Look,” said Cannon, ignoring her rant. “I can try to get whoever took them to turn them in. Maybe we give amnesty to whoever turns them in.”
“Sure, amnesty. Just allow them to point weapons at the servants of the people because they don’t feel like being punished for their arrogance. No, we’re going to find and deal with everyone involved in this, Deputy. And these people are going to learn.”
Lieutenant Kessler settled back at her desk, her voice returning to normal. “Your townies are on my last nerve, Deputy. You saw what we did to the Langers when they provoked us. This isn’t a game.”
“Lieutenant, I know it isn’t a game. But you can’t have these People’s Volunteers punks coming into town and beating the shit out of our people.”
“Our people? That’s your problem. You have dual loyalty, Deputy. Your people, your only people, should be the people of the People’s Republic, not these renegade fascists who won’t accept their place in the new order. They never do. We always have to teach them.”
“What did they ever do wrong, Lieutenant? These are normal people, good people. Just leave them alone. Let them live their lives.”