May in December (17 page)

“Lieutenant? We just received more information. The last six transmissions from the broken wire were very sketchy, but we have pieced together Big Bear Lake, south of M-32 and Vienna.”

“Copy that. Send Unit Three out; they are closer. We are on the way.” Milton hung up the mic, spun the car around, and headed in another direction.

“Aren’t you going to turn on the lights and siren?” Bruce asked.

“No. I don’t want to alert anyone we are coming.”

The SUV gripped the slick, curvy roads at full speed. Bruce clawed the dashboard in an effort to stay erect. His heart pumped in his ears, and his mouth went dry. Never had he been at these speeds before.

Milton pulled off the highway and drove down a snowy trail until he spotted another police SUV along the side of the road. He pulled over, stepped down from the SUV, and turned his collar up to the cold. “You stay here.”

“Like hell.” Bruce slammed the passenger-side door shut. Nobody was going to keep him from his Jorry.

“Then, for fuck’s sake, stay out of the way.” Milton approached the police officer standing by the other SUV. “Report?”

The young rookie—Officer Stan by his badge tag—seemed excited. “We have Cooke and Baylog at the clearing.”

Milton, Stan, and Bruce silently tromped along the snowy path. The clearing with the natural gas meter station was filled with other parked vehicles. Two policemen walked up from the woods, holding a man in handcuffs.

“You’ve no rights. I was doin’ nothin’ wrong,” the man in the handcuffs guffed.

“Oh yeah?” Cooke, the short policeman, said. “Well, sing that pretty song to the judge.”

“Report?” barked Milton.

Baylog, the policeman with a rifle, spoke up. “We found him standing guard at what we presume is the gate. We nailed him before he was able to shoot a warning shot.”

“So the games are still on?” asked Milton.

“Yes,” answered the policeman

“Stan, go back to the SUV and call for more backup.”

“Chief Swartz issued the order already,” said Baylog. “Unit Seven is coming, as well as back up from Montmorency and Crawford counties. Oh, and the state police have been notified.”

Milton nodded his understanding. “I’m going in. Bruce, you stay here.”

Bruce dug in his heels. “No.”

“I won’t have you interfere with this. It could cost lives.” Lieutenant Milton’s voice grew husky, and he stared at Bruce. “Stay here. Stan, keep an eye out for him. Lock him in the back of the SUV if you have to.”

Stan’s eyes grew wide. “Will do, Lieutenant.”

“Lieutenant,” Baylog began. “Be careful out there. We spotted a couple dogs on the loose.”

“Fighters?” asked Milton.

“No, small dogs, probably someone’s lost pets. Lucky we’re here to bring them in.””

“Lucky my ass,” the man in custody spit. “They were tearing at my heels. I couldn’t get a good shot. Damn hounds from hell.”

Baylog handed him over to Stan. “Lock him in the back. We’re going back in.”

Bruce rubbed his fingers over his beard as he watched Lieutenant Milton and the two other officers disappear into the darkness. Stan nudged Bruce for him to follow as he led the man in custody back to the SUV.

“How long do you think it will take them?” Bruce asked Stan.

Stan glanced back and shrugged. “As long as it takes.” He placed the man in custody in back of the SUV, opened the driver’s side door, and brought out a thermos with two cups. “Here, have some coffee. The doughnuts are in the passenger seat, if you want.”

Bruce accepted the hot beverage and watched while Stan pulled out his flashlight and started writing down license plate numbers. Unit Seven drove up, with another police car behind that. Four more policemen got out of their vehicles, along with a big, fat man with silver hair. The chief of police.

“This is exciting,” Stan whispered to Bruce. “We have been after this operation for a few years now and to see—”

Bang!

Shit. God, no. Jorry…

The policemen drew their weapons and started heading down the path of darkness. Stan and the chief stayed behind.

“What happened?” asked Bruce, shaken from the experience.

“More than likely a spotter,” Stan said, his hand on his gun.

The chief agreed. “The gunshot set off a warning that something is happening. Get ready for a fuckin’ stampede of people.”

While Stan and the chief were preparing, Bruce slipped away and into the woods.

* * * *

Bang!

As far as Jorry was concerned, the sound of the gunshot was just about as bad as being in the pit. Both rattled his brain and stopped his heart. And the gunfire did nothing for the pain in his ankle, which he was sure was sprained.

There was complete and total chaos. People were yelling and screaming, running out of the tent. Some men were trying to rescue their bought women. Others just left them behind.

Howard the Referee flew past El Diablo. “Quick, get out of here.”

Instead, the man screamed and ran directly toward Jorry. A cold sweat tore through Jorry, and he thought he was a goner for sure when El Diablo jaunted to the left and collided with the referee, effectively trapping Jorry between the wall and the fighting men.

“You sold my girlfriend. You’re going down, dickweed.”

“What the hell?” Howard tried to get away but was caught again by the hood of his snowsuit. Blood flew, with chunks of flesh and a broken tooth landing on Jorry.

Gingersnap and Snickerdoodle left Jorry’s side and joined in the fight. They snapped at the heels and calves of the men, and herded them away from Jorry. This enabled Jorry to hobble out of the ring and to the heavy linked chain going across the opening of the pit.

“Gingersnap, Snickerdoodle, come on,” Jorry pleaded. The corgis ignored him as they were too busy trying to dodge the men. Jorry held back, not wanting to leave the two little dogs on their own.

Gingersnap ran rings around El Diablo’s staggering body and then turned and went after Howard. Howard grabbed the little dog, shook her like a dirty rag, and tossed her in the air. The little corgi fell, and her bloodied body did not get back up.

Bloodlust was in the eyes of the referee as he zeroed in on Jorry. “I’ll get you, you skinny little bastard—”

Bang! Bang!

Jorry screamed as gray brain matter, bone, and blood rained down on him. When he wiped his eyes, he saw Lieutenant Milton lower his pistol. Lying by Jorry’s feet were the remains of Howard and the mangled El Diablo. Bile bubbled in his throat, but he managed to choke it back down.

“Oh my gods, you came.” Jorry trembled and sagged against the pit wall. He wasn’t in a position to be manly. If it weren’t for his swollen ankle, he probably would have run up to Lieutenant Milton and given him a huge hug.

Instead, Milton came over and offered Jorry a hand up. Jorry accepted but winced as he placed weight on his ankle.

“Are you hurt?”

“I think I sprained my foot.”

“I’ll call for the paramedics.”

Before Milton had a chance to reach for his radio, Howard’s dead body started to move. Milton raised his pistol again, but before he pulled the trigger, Snickerdoodle came out from under the body, all covered in blood and fecal matter. He ran directly to his sister and started licking her wounds, but Gingersnap didn’t wake up. Snickerdoodle whined and looked at Jorry, and Jorry hobbled over and knelt down.

Lieutenant Milton walked over and checked the dog’s pulse point in her neck. “She’s alive, but barely. While I call for a paramedic, I’ll notify the vet he has an emergency.”

“They came back for me,” Jorry said, his voice clogging with tears. “They escaped, but they came back. You should have seen them try to protect me. Who would have thought they had it in them?”

Milton reached for his radio again. “I have Nelson. He has a sprung ankle. I need medics on the scene.” When no answer spewed back, Milton tried again. “Copy that?”

A strange noise from the front of the tent had Lieutenant Milton pulling his gun again. Out of the shadows came Officer Stan, his cheeks red from running.

“Lorri—” Milton caught himself. “Officer Stan, what are you doing away from your post?”

“Sir, we have a hostage situation.”

“What? Who?”

“Pickworth Johnson has Bruce Deirmann at gunpoint by the meter station. He is demanding safe travel to Bangladesh and Jorry Nelson in exchange for Deirmann’s life.”

Jorry’s world turned with his stomach. “Bruce? Gods, no. What is he doing here?”

Chapter Eighteen

It was nearly dawn when Bruce saw Milton and Jorry come up the now muddy path. Jorry was leaning on Milton for support. Dragged behind them, on a square of ripped tent canvas, was the body of Gingersnap. Snickerdoodle, with a torn ear, led the way.

A tight ball of anxiety loosened in Bruce’s chest. “Thank you, God. He is all right,” he said under his breath.

“Don’t get too excited.” Bill tightened his grip on Bruce, and the gun dug a little harder into his side. “As soon as we make the exchange, you’ll never see Jorry again.”

“I don’t understand why. Why do you want Jorry so bad? I thought you loved my daughter. In fact, today you were supposed to marry her.”

Bill snorted. “What the hell? Do you think this is an episode of Scooby-Doo, where the bad guy confesses everything? Your daughter was just a trophy. I hate being screwed over by a fag more than anything.”

Helpless, Bruce watched his lover try to break away from Milton to run to him, but Milton held him back. Jorry limped over to a paramedic, where he sat staring at Bruce. Bruce couldn’t tell if Jorry had been injured or not. He was shaking and covered with blood. The paramedics took their time examining him, while Chief Swartz talked with Lieutenant Milton.

After what felt like hours, the chief of police’s voice boomed over the open field. “Johnson, are you ready to make the exchange?”

“No!” shouted Bruce. The gun got jammed in his ribs deeper.

“Am I to assume safe travel to Bangladesh with Nelson?” asked Bill.

“That is what we agreed to,” said Chief Swartz.

“Then I’m ready.”

Bruce swallowed the lump in his throat as he saw Jorry rise off the paramedic wagon with his left ankle wrapped and on crutches.

Oh, Robert. Please, if you can do something, anything, do it soon. I don’t want to lose him.

“Let Deirmann go,” Chief Swartz ordered. “Nelson will be walking at the same time.”

“No tricks,” yelled Bill. “If I even have the sense you are up to something, I will shoot to kill.” He let go of Bruce with a shove. “Go tell Lover Boy good-bye.”

Bruce kept his steps slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving Jorry’s face.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful picture than of Jorry alive and coming toward me.

They met halfway, and Jorry practically fell in Bruce’s arms.

“I love you.” Jorry’s voice quivered. “Never forget that.”

“I love you too.”

Bruce reached out and crushed Jorry to him, swallowing the tears that threatened to show. Slowly, and with passion, their lips touched for the last time.

“Come on, enough of the porn show,” barked Bill. “Jorry, come to me now.”

It killed Bruce to let go of the man he loved and walk away, not looking back. Five steps later, a shot rang out. Bruce ducked and turned around.

* * * *

“It’s been called a Christmas Eve tragedy. If you have just tuned in, we are reporting live from Big Bear Lake, where there was a two-hour hostage situation. As it was reported earlier, police were alerted to a fight cell taking place last night. Policemen from the Montmorency and Crawford counties as well as the state police were called in and, after a successful raid, arrested over fifty individuals on charges ranging from illegal gambling to accessory to murder. Thirty of those arrested had outstanding warrants.

“The organizer of the ring, future mayoral candidate Pickworth W. Johnson III from Traverse City, was found at the scene. Apparently, it has come to light that not only was he behind the human fighting cell, but also involved with dogfighting, drug, and prostitution rings in the area. When Johnson tried to escape, he took civilian Bruce Deirmann from Gaylord as a hostage. What Deirmann was doing at the scene is yet to be determined; however, Johnson captured him and demanded safe travel to Bangladesh along with Jorry Nelson, also from Gaylord, in exchange for Deirmann’s life. When the exchange happened, police fired. Pickworth W. Johnson III has been admitted to Mercy Hospital, where he is currently in a coma.

“Ironically, Mr. Johnson was supposed to get married to Mr. Deirmann’s daughter today.

“Here to give us more news is Chief Swartz of Otsego Sheriff’s Department. Chief, in your own words, what happened here last night?”

Kelley fingered his mother’s TV remote and muted it. Bruce was ever so glad the volume had been nixed. He had lived all of it the first time around. He didn’t need a constant repeat, though Milton had advised him to seek professional help in case PTSD kicked in.

“Thank you.” Gail rubbed her head. “I don’t think I could hear any more of this.”

“I want to thank you and Warren for allowing Bruce and me to stay here in your home for the holiday,” Jorry said. “It means a lot.”

Warren stood by Gail’s side. “As I’ve been reminded many times, you’re both family.”

Bruce smiled at that statement. Yeah, they may not have been the traditional family people went on about, but in their world, they were better than traditional. They were real.

Bruce sat back on the sofa, his arm around Jorry. “How are your babies?” He had been worried when the female corgi hadn’t moved.

Gail brightened. “Both of them are spending the day at the veterinarian hospital. Gingersnap had some internal bleeding, and Snickerdoodle needed his ear attended to. Both should be fine.”

“You would have been proud of them.” Jorry fiddled with his crutches. “How they came back and fought to try to protect me.”

“They love you,” Warren stated as he refreshed all their cups with eggnog. “All dogs love you. That’s why you’re gonna make an excellent veterinarian someday.”