The cowboy strolled into the police station as if he owned the place. He was wearing a straw cowboy hat, boot fitted jeans, a white shirt, round-toed boots, and a belt buckle with an agate stone gracing it. In one hand he carried a small foam coffee cup. In the other, he had a large stack of papers.
He walked over to the desk sergeant and said, "Howdy."
"Howdy back at you," the desk sergeant said amused by the greeting.
He took a second to look over the man standing at his counter. It didn't take him more than a few seconds to recognize him as the cowboy who was the center of a lot of bad publicity for the department.
A reporter who hung around the police station in case there was a story of some kind walked up behind Sonny and started listening to the conversation. He had recognized Sonny the minute he had walked into the station. Now he was busy writing down everything that was said.
He asked, "When did they let you out of the hospital?"
"This morning," Sonny answered.
He had been released from the hospital in the middle of the morning. They had let him go without filing any charges against him. That didn't mean that his ordeal was over. He was still considered a suspect in the deaths of the gang members.
Sonny dropped the stack of papers on the desk sergeant's counter.
"What's that?" the desk sergeant asked.
"I stopped by the country clerk's office and they gave me this stack of papers to fill out. I'm going to need a little help with it," Sonny answered with a wry grin.
The desk sergeant picked up a sheet from the top of the stack and looked at it.
Puzzled, he said, "This is an application for a restraining order."
"That's right. I want to file restraining orders against every member of a local gang. You know ... the gang that the two guys who robbed me belong to," Sonny said.
"Are you crazy?"
The reporter was grinning ear-to-ear, as he listened to the exchange. This story was going to be great. He could just read the headline, "Gang Restraining Order." He was curious about who was going to be brave enough to try to serve the papers to the gang members.
"No. Why would you ask that?" Sonny asked.
"A restraining order won't do a bit of good against a gang," the desk sergeant said tossing the sheet of paper back on the stack of forms.
This was the most ridiculous thing he had experienced in years sitting behind the desk. He was pretty sure that the gang members would laugh at the idea. Restraining orders did little to protect someone, and they wouldn't mean a thing to the gang.
Sonny spit a bit of tobacco juice into his foam cup.
He said, "Well, I want the full protection of the law against those desperados."
"You are crazy," the desk sergeant said. Shaking his head, he asked, "Why are you here?"
"Well, it turns out that I can't get a restraining order against the gang as a whole. I have to do it on an individual-by-individual basis. As a result, I need the names of all members of the gang. I understand that you can provide that for me," Sonny said.
"I don't know about that," the desk sergeant said.
He had never had anyone come in and make a request like that. He wasn't sure if they were allowed to give out that kind of information. There were rights of privacy issues, despite the fact that they were members of a gang.
The reporter piped up and said, "The gang unit has that information, Sonny Daniels."
The desk sergeant looked over at the reporter and said, "Don't do this to me, Arnie."
"Well, the gang unit does have that information," Arnie said. He grinned and asked, "How are you planning on getting those restraining orders served?"
Sonny answered, "It is my understanding that the police will do it, for free."
"That's true," Arnie said writing that down in his notepad.
Imagining what would happen to a police officer who walked into the strip club occupied by the gang members, the desk sergeant said, "You aren't going to find a policeman crazy enough to serve gang members."
"Can I quote you on that?" Arnie asked with a grin.
"No," the desk sergeant answered. He took a deep breath and said, "I'm afraid that we can't help you with the names of the gang members. Our records are highly sensitive."
Sonny spit into his foam cup earning a disgusted look from the police officer.
He asked, "Is that your final answer?"
"Yes," the desk sergeant answered.
Sonny said, "I guess I'll just have to ask my attorney to get that information released to me. I'm sure there is some mechanism ... something like the freedom of information act ... that I can use to force you to give me the names of all known gang members in the Los Angeles area."
It was suddenly difficult to hear over the sounds of half a dozen police cars, with sirens blaring, pulling out of the police station. The radio on the front desk filled with so much chatter that it was nearly impossible to make out a single word. The last time the desk sergeant had heard that much excitement over the radio, there had been riots after some policemen had been found not guilty of police violence.
The desk sergeant asked, "What the hell?"
He picked up the telephone to find out what was happening. After a minute of animated conversation, he hung up the phone and stared at Donny.
He said, "We just got a 911 call from the strip joint where that gang hangs out. It appears someone has reported explosions and injured people there."
"Really?" Sonny said. He looked at the reporter and said, "They must have made someone angry."
The reporter immediately asked, "Do you know anything about this?"
Sonny spit into his foam cup before he answered, "How could I know something? I was standing right here with you and the police officer here."
"What about the gang member who was killed outside the hospital you were in?" the reporter asked.
This was actually the first time anyone in the press had been in a position to ask Sonny questions directly. He wasn't about to all that opportunity to pass. He had a lot of questions to ask.
"How could I know anything about that? I was lying in a bed, in the hospital," Sonny replied.
The desk sergeant said, "It seems to me that there are a lot of problems with that gang, when you're around."
"I noticed that too. That's why I wanted the restraining orders," Sonny answered gesturing to the stack of papers on the counter. "A car full of them fellows drove by when I returned to the campus."
"You wouldn't happen to have a relative who is stirring up the pot, would you?" the desk sergeant asked suspiciously.
Talking to a policeman in the middle of a police station was the perfect alibi. A suspicious man might wonder if it was entirely coincidental, and the desk sergeant was a suspicious man by nature. Years spent in a patrol car had only increased that natural tendency.
"My mother and brother are in Montana," Sonny answered. Seeing the expression on the officer's face, he added, "My Dad was killed by a drunk driver when he was coming home from a rodeo down in Oklahoma. I was just knee high to a grasshopper, at the time."
"Any other relatives?"
"I've got family all over the country. I've even got one overseas fighting in the Army. I don't even know where some of them are," Sonny said.
He spit in the foam cup.
Warming up to the topic, Sonny said, "So many kids my age do their best to leave the country behind. I've got a cousin who is married to a guy that doesn't even know what direction to face when riding a horse.
"It is kind of sad really. I've been going to school out here, and I'll probably get married to some city girl who screams the first time she sees a bug or something. My kids will probably grow up listening to that rap 'music', or something just as obnoxious. They probably won't get too many chances to make it out to the country. Odds are that they'll never learn to ride a horse, rope a cow, or drive a tractor."
Sonny stood there with a hand over his heart and then said, "It is a real shame."
The desk sergeant and the reporter just stared at Sonny.
In the silence, the police radio reported, "We need at least six more ambulances and two more fire trucks."
Sonny said, "Six ambulances. Wow! It sure sounds like someone put a lot of hurt to some people."
"We need someone from the morgue, over here," the radio blared.
Arnie asked, "Sonny, what do you have to say about this?"
"It sounds to me that it isn't safe being in a gang," Sonny answered as he spit in his foam cup. "It must be that disregard for the law that gets them into so much trouble."
The radio blared, "We've got burn victims."
The desk sergeant watched Sonny for a minute and then said, "If there's nothing else I can do for you then I suggest you head on out."
"You're not going to give me the names of the gang members?" Sonny asked.
"Not today," the desk sergeant answered.
He was positive that Sonny knew exactly what was going on. As soon as Sonny left, he was going to call the detective in charge of the shooting case at the hospital.
Sonny spit out the smokeless tobacco into his foam cup. He dropped the cup into a trashcan and then picked up the stack of papers he had set on the counter. He made a big production of straightening the stack by tapping the edges on the desk.
Smiling, he said, "I guess I'll be back tomorrow."
"Maybe there won't be an explosion the next time you come here," the desk sergeant said.
"You never know what is going to happen," Sonny said.
He turned and left the police station. Arnie and the police sergeant watched him leave. Arnie looked amused. The police sergeant was frowning.
Arnie looked over at the desk sergeant and asked, "What do you think?"
"I think it is highly 'coincidental' that he was standing here when that explosion took place," the desk sergeant said. He snorted and said, "Imagine trying to get restraining orders against that bunch."
"He's liable to do it just out of stubbornness," Arnie said, thinking that he had rather liked the cowboy.
"All hell is about to break loose. I've seen his type before. If you ever make one of them mad, they will never give up making sure the score is even," the desk sergeant said.
"What do you mean?" Arnie asked.
The desk sergeant said, "I've got some family back in the coal mining area of Pennsylvania. If you mess with one of them, they won't stop until they decide the score is even. I've got a feeling that we haven't had the last 911 call regarding that gang."
Arnie asked, "Don't you think it is ironic that the gang calls you when they get attacked?"
"It is a crazy world," the desk sergeant said while picking up the telephone to call the detective.
"I'm going to follow that guy, and see what he does," Arnie said heading towards the door.
He caught up with Sonny just as the man was about to enter a bar down the street from the station house. He was familiar with this bar since a lot of off duty policemen hung out there.
Aware that he was being followed, Sonny entered the bar and looked around at the men inside. They were all facing a large screen television watching a local news station. The news station was broadcasting events at the strip club.
He sat down at the bar and told the bartender, "I'll have a beer."
"One beer coming up," the bartender said. He glanced up at the television and said, "Look at that mess. It couldn't have happened to a nice bunch of guys."
The broadcast switched over to a live aerial shot of the strip club. Even though it was night, the parking lot was lit up. Three cars were on fire, and they provided the majority of light. There were bodies on the ground. Most were moving, but a few were still.
The news announcer said, "We have reports that there are a dozen fatalities and two dozen injured. We haven't been able to get confirmation of those numbers, but judging by the video feed we're getting, there are a lot of people who have been hurt."
Arnie sat down next to Sonny. He figured this would be a very good chance to learn more about what Sonny knew about the events at the strip club.
He said, "It looks like a scene from a third world country."
"Sure does," Sonny said nodding his head in agreement.
Pointing at the television, Arnie said, "If they are reporting a dozen fatalities this early then the real number is probably closer to six."
"Are you suggesting that the press is prone to exaggeration?" Sonny asked sarcastically.
He accepted the beer from the bartender and slid a ten-dollar bill over to the man. The man looked down at the bill before turning towards the cash register. He marked the bill with his 'counterfeit' marking pen, before ringing up the sale.
Arnie was about to give a retort when he realized with whom he was talking. Sonny had probably heard a lot of speculation about his situation over the past two weeks. There probably were some hard feelings towards the press on Sonny's part. Arguing with Sonny wasn't going to get him an interview.
He said, "It happens sometimes."
"It seems to happen a lot," Sonny said.
Arnie shook his head and said, "It used to be the print media was the main source of news. That's why I got into the print news business. I wanted to be one of the first to know what was going on. In the old days, we had the time to get the facts. The deadline for getting in a story was pretty late in the day so we had a chance to do a pretty thorough job. We could actually stand there and count bodies.
"Now the main source of news is television and the internet. Unfortunately, television stations are broadcasting the news as it happens. They've got helicopters, and remote broadcasting vans, that allow them to go directly to where events are happening. The problem is that you can't just run video of events happening, you have to comment on them as they occur. For the most part, the reporters are just making it up as they go along, based on what they see and what they think they know."
"They are making it up?" Sonny asked looking over at Arnie.
Arnie said, "If I was on camera right now, I'd be talking about how the cars got on fire. I'd speculate about Molotov cocktails, or explosives being used. After all, it isn't all that easy for a car to catch on fire like that. The problem is, that I don't actually know how they caught on fire. Still, I would be standing in front camera having to talk for at least two minutes, to keep from having 'dead airtime'. Two minutes is a long time."
"It sounds to me that they aren't reporting the news, but are improvising," Sonny said.
"That's about right," Arnie said. He accepted his usual drink from the bartender and said, "Put it on my tab."
All of a sudden the fire around one of the cars started spreading. The television reporter was talking about fears of the cars exploding.
Arnie said, "The gas tank finally gave out. Did you know that they don't actually explode when the fire reaches the gas tank? An explosion requires the gasoline to be in vapor form."
"I knew that," Sonny said. "We used to make potato guns when I was a kid."
"What's that?" Arnie asked.
"You take pipe that is sealed on one end and with a small hole drilled in the side near the sealed end. You put a little gasoline in it and then shove a potato into the open end. When you take a match to the little hole, the potato gets shot out. You can shoot a potato an eighth of a mile," Sonny said.
"Sounds dangerous," Arnie said.
Sonny asked, "How do you think a gasoline engine works? It is the same principle."
"I didn't think about it like that," Arnie said.
He took a sip of his drink and pointed at the screen. It showed the firemen retreating away from the fire while trying to pull injured people away from the flames. Another fire truck was showing up at the scene.
Arnie said, "Fire departments don't like gasoline fires like that. They can't use their hoses to put them out."
"It sure looks like a mess out there," Sonny said.
The television was now broadcasting a split screen. It was showing the action with the cars burning on the left side of the screen. On the right side of the screen were a reporter and a member of the gang. The gang member was covered with blood.
Donny pointed at the screen and said, "It looks like they are going to interview one of the gang members."
On the television a gang member was saying, "There was this explosion which was followed by two or three more explosions. I felt like I got stabbed a dozen times all at once and fell to the ground. I looked up and three balls of flame descended from the sky. The cars then went up in flames."
The reporter asked, "Did you see anyone?"
"No," the gang member answered. "I've been shot before, but nothing like this."
Sonny said, "He looks like he's in pain."
"He does," Arnie said nodding his head. "What do you make of the explosions?"
"From his description, it could be anything," Sonny said. He looked over at Arnie and added, "It wasn't a potato gun."
"I didn't think it was," Arnie said dryly.
He watched Sonny take a drink of his beer.
When the cowboy had set his mug down, he said, "I think you know more about what is going on then you are letting on."
"I'm just a college student who has gone through a rough patch," Sonny said. He asked, "How long do you think it will be before they get things under control there?"
"Three or four hours," Arnie answered. "I'm sure that your name will come up soon."
"It wouldn't surprise me," Sonny said with a smile. "Of course, we both know that I was nowhere near there when it happened."
"You've got an iron clad alibi," Arnie said.
"Alibi! I was trying to think of that word," Sonny said snapping his fingers. "You wouldn't happen to have a business card, would you?"
Detective Mike Saperstein sat down next to Sonny. He had been in charge of the investigation concerning the shooting at the hospital. The desk sergeant had told him that Sonny had been in the station when the initial reports of events at the strip club had been called in on the radio.
He leaned over to Sonny and said, "That sure is a mess down there."
"I agree," Sonny said.
"Do you know what I think happened?" Mike asked.
"I have no idea," Sonny answered.
"I think a bunch of your redneck friends came down here to teach that gang a lesson. That mess is their handiwork," Mike said watching Sonny's reaction.
Sonny took a sip of his beer. After setting his glass down, he said, "That's an interesting theory."
"I am going to catch them," Mike said.
Sonny asked, "Like you caught those two fellows who shot me?"
"This is different," Mike said regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.
He noticed Arnie writing down everything that was said. He knew that he was going to have to be very careful about what came out of his mouth or it would be a headline on a newspaper.
Sonny snorted and said, "Right. In my case, an honest law abiding citizen was shot, so you don't do shit. In their case, criminals are injured, so you send out the National Guard."
"That's not what I meant," Mike said.
It was actually a question of visibility. A guy getting shot in a store robbery wasn't news. A gang getting attacked made the national news.
Sonny said, "If it had been you that had been shot instead of me, then every policeman in this state would have been searching for those two gunmen. Don't lie to me, and tell me otherwise."
Mike pointed to his forehead and said, "Do you know how I got this scar?"
"No, and frankly, I don't care," Sonny said.
Mike glared at Sonny. "I'm going to tell you anyway."
"I'm not going to stop you. It's still a free country. You can talk all you want," Sonny said.
After taking a deep breath to get control of his temper, Mike said, "We were busting a crack house. We had the suspects on the ground, and were putting hand restraints on them, when the neighbors came out and started throwing stuff at us. I got hit by a bottle. They were upset that we were arresting people they knew. It didn't matter to them that we were closing a drug house that was operating in their neighborhood. They ran off before we could even arrest them. That's the reality that we work under."
"You should have just shot them," Sonny said dismissively.
"We can't shoot drug dealers on a whim," Mike said.
Sonny snorted and said, "I wasn't talking about shooting the drug dealers. You had them under control. I was talking about shooting the people that were throwing stuff at you."
"They were bystanders who got a little angry," Mike said shocked at the suggestion.
Sonny said, "That's where you're wrong. They were attacking you, and you would have been entirely justified in killing them."
"They weren't armed with real weapons," Mike said trying to get this guy to understand how things worked in the real world.
Shaking his head, Sonny said, "Maybe you need to read your Bible, again. Don't you know that David killed Goliath with a stone?"