Remember Tuesday Morning

  A moment later Alex’s voice came over the radio. “Ten-four. On my way.”

  Dispatch updated them with the latest details. Four squad cars were already at the scene, and communication had begun between them and the gunman. The guy was heavily armed, threatening to kill the eight hostages in the building, then hit the school.

  Clay gritted his teeth. If the guy ran, he’d be taken out in a matter of seconds, but maybe not before he sprayed a load of bullets at the school. He added his voice to those crossing the police radio waves. “We’ll send a couple of our cars to the school. Make sure the kids are rounded up on the other side of the building, away from the shooter.”

  “Ten-four, Sergeant Michaels. We’ll contact the school principal and tell them you’re on your way.”

  “ETA three minutes,” Clay barked. His sirens were on and he was in the lead, clicking the stoplights so they’d be green as the line of squad cars reached each intersection. His mind raced with possibilities. What if the gunman wasn’t working alone? If he was making threats about the school he could have one or several accomplices ready to take hostages in the building. The school was in lockdown mode, but that didn’t protect the teachers and kids inside from an aggressive attack, from bad guys willing to bust through windows or shoot their way through doors.

  Clay picked up his radio again. “Reynolds, you copy?”

  “Copy, go ahead.”

  “Have your guys surround the school. Every side. We don’t want anyone getting in that building.”

  “Roger that.” Joe didn’t need an explanation. He and Clay handled the big calls like they were thinking with one brain. Together they were known as the smartest SWAT officers in the department. It was the reason they’d both been promoted to sergeant, in charge of training the new guys.

  But a call like this one would test everything they knew about police work. As they rounded the corner, they saw the squad cars ahead and the barricaded traffic barriers, and Clay did what he always did at this point in a call. “Please, God, be with us … give us Your eyes and Your wisdom, Your strength and Your protection.” He could hear the adrenaline in his raspy, whispered voice. “Go before us, God … in Jesus’s name, amen.”

  For a fleeting moment he thought about Jamie, about how well she handled his job and the possibility that on any given day Clay could take a call like this one and lose his life in the process. But as soon as the thought hit, he dismissed it. He and Jamie lived their lives based on trust in God. Life was His to give, and one day it would be His to take. For every person walking the earth. As for this specific call, Clay believed he was coming home at the end of the night. God was with him; he could feel His presence, His guidance.

  He screeched his squad car to a stop, using another parked squad car as a cover. The other men did the same thing, creating a series of objects they could hide and duck behind as they worked to surround the front and back doors of the bar. In his peripheral vision, Clay watched Joe and his men whip around the opposite corner and head for the front of the school. In two minutes the building would be surrounded, and the danger to the students would be almost entirely eliminated.

  Clay focused on the volatile situation at hand. The bar was a small single-story brick building with dark windows and a limited parking lot. Six civilian cars sat in the lot, three facing the establishment, three facing the road and the school across the street. From what he could tell, the three facing the bar were empty, but he wasn’t sure about the others.

  “Benson,” Clay nodded to the SWAT officer nearest him. “Keep an eye on the cars facing the road. Look for an accomplice.”

  “Yes, sir.” Benson stayed low and scrambled to the last row of squad cars, his gun pointed in the general direction of the parked cars facing the road.

  One more threat down.

  Clay needed to work his way around to the left side of the building, the corner closest to the front door. That was where a deputy now hovered, gun drawn, using a bullhorn to talk to the gunman.

  “I said, ‘Put your guns down and come out with your hands up,’” the deputy shouted the words, and they echoed loudly through the parking lot.

  There was no response, but at that moment Alex’s squad car squealed to a stop a few feet from where the initial deputies were gathered, at the left corner of the building. In seconds, he was out of the car with Bo on a leash and ready to go. He positioned himself adjacent to the officer with the bullhorn, gun raised in one hand, Bo’s leash tight in his other. Clay watched Alex give his dog a command, and immediately the dog began barking, straining at his leash.

  Suddenly, there was an explosion of glass as the gunman kicked his foot through the front window of the bar. “Hey!” he screamed. He used his elbow to push out the rest of the windowpane, and at the same time let loose a string of expletives. “Get the dog outta here or I start shooting!”

  Clay was the sergeant in charge of the scene, and he signaled to Alex. Instantly, Alex uttered another command to his K9 partner, and the dog stopped barking and sat stone still at Alex’s side.

  The gunman waved an assault rifle through the broken window. “I want a thousand dollars, you hear me?” he shouted. His voice was wired and crazed — the guy had to be high on something. “Hear me? I want a thousand dollars.”

  One of the deputies took the bullhorn and brought it to Clay. He was still using a squad car for cover, his gun in his hand, finger on the trigger. He had a direct shot at the guy, but he wouldn’t shoot unless he had to. He raised the bullhorn. “This is Sergeant Michaels. You’re surrounded by SWAT officers. The game’s over, so put your gun down and come out of the building with your hands up.”

  Another string of cuss words came from the guy. “I’ll kill every one of you!”

  “No, you won’t.” From the corner of his eye, Clay saw Alex stay low with his dog, moving from the cover of one squad car to the next. Clay wasn’t sure where the deputy was going, but he hadn’t been ordered to move. He raised the bullhorn again. “Put your gun down and come out with your hands up.”

  Deputies were in place all around the building, but they needed to wait, take their time. They couldn’t rush a hostage situation like this, not when innocent lives were on the line inside the building. Clay was about to give the gunman another directive, when from behind him he heard a car door and a round of gunfire. A man started, “I’ve got the school … I’ve got the school!”

  A bullet grazed the side of Clay’s vest as he took cover low between two squad cars. He turned in time to see the entire drama unfold in a handful of seconds. Alex had maneuvered himself to a position behind the row of parked civilian cars, so when the second gunman leapt from one of them and started shooting, Alex was in position to take him down.

  The commotion brought the first gunman scrambling out the broken front window, shouting for his friend, gun raised. But before he could spray the scene with bullets, Bo burst across the parking lot, flew over the hood of a single parked car, and landed on the perpetrator, biting hold of his arm and flinging him to the ground. His assault rifle fell to one side, and the man screamed for help. All the while Bo continued to bite, wrestling with the man and keeping him away from his weapon.

  With the situation stable, the SWAT team immediately surrounded both gunmen and Alex ran to his dog. Once the first gunman was cuffed, Alex called out to Bo. “Release!”

  Instantly, the dog relaxed his bite hold on the man and returned to Alex’s side, panting and ready to make another attack if necessary. Clay watched the entire scene from his place with three other SWAT members, all of them with guns drawn and aimed at the second gunman. The man had lost his weapon, and he was bleeding out, too injured to be a threat.

  “We need an ambulance,” Clay radioed. “We have a gunman down.”

  In a hurry, paramedics came for the second gunman, and another pair tended to the bite wounds on the arm of the first guy. After that, deputies loaded the less-injured gunman into a squad car and took him to the men’s jail. B
y then, Clay and several of his men had rushed the building and released the hostages. The coroner’s office came for the two bodies inside the bar – both employees. Each of the hostages had to be questioned, so Clay assigned four detectives to the task. By then Clay had already informed Joe that the situation was diffused. Joe promised to lead his men in a complete check of the school and then give the principal the okay to call off the lockdown.

  Only after all that was finished did Clay find Benson talking with the other SWAT guys. Clay pulled him aside, frustrated. “What happened back there?”

  “I didn’t see him, sir. I was watching the cars like you told me, but I had to keep an eye on the gunman too.” Benson blinked, apologetically. “I … I didn’t see him.”

  Clay touched his fingers to the side of his uniform, where an indentation on his vest told him how close he’d come to taking a bullet. Alex had saved his life today, and possibly the lives of every SWAT officer whose back was to the second gunman. But he’d done it by breaking protocol, by leaving his post and handling the scene his own way. Again. Clay scanned the crime scene. “Where’s Brady?”

  “In his car, sir.” Benson clearly felt terrible about the situation. He hadn’t done anything wrong, specifically, and he wouldn’t be written up. But missing the second gunman was a big mistake. Clay strode across the parking lot to the place where Alex’s squad car was still angled next to the left side of the building. Alex was sitting in the driver’s seat, door open, his feet on the ground. Inches away sat Bo, still ready if he was needed. Water dripped from the dog’s jowls, and a half-empty bowl sat next to him on the ground.

  Clay studied the young deputy, the emptiness in his eyes, and he thought he understood what the guy might be thinking. The reprimand could come later. “He’s still alive. For now, anyway.” Clay leaned against the building so the two were facing each other. “You had to shoot him.”

  Alex didn’t respond, didn’t blink. He looked like he was too far away to connect with the moment.

  A sigh came from Clay, his body drained from the intensity of the scene. “I’ve been there.” He lifted his eyes to the smoggy pale blue sky overhead. “It was a day like this one, routine traffic stop on the Ventura Freeway. Turned out to be a carjacker wanted for murder.” Clay remembered the incident like it was happening still, right now, before his eyes. “I pulled him over, but before I could leave my car, he was running toward me, firing at me. I had no choice but to return fire, and that was that. The guy died there on the side of the road.”

  Alex seemed to return to the present. He patted Bo between the ears and looked hard at Clay. “One less bad guy on the streets, right?”

  His answer was understandable, but it didn’t sound like Alex, and it didn’t match the deep pain in his voice. No matter how many bad guys he arrested or took out, their loss of freedom or life would never bring his father back.

  Clay leaned against Alex’s squad car. “You didn’t have permission to leave your location. No one told you to take Bo to the other side of the parking lot.”

  “I had a feeling.” There was no apology in Alex’s eyes. “I saw something move in one of the cars, and I wanted to be ready.”

  “In police work it’s not about what you want. Orders are meant to be followed.” Clay struggled with the reprimand. After all, it was Alex’s instinct and feelings that prevented a tragedy to day.

  “I was following orders, sir.” Anger flashed across Alex’s face. “I was instructed to provide backup. Me and my partner did that.”

  Clay thought about that. Alex had a point. He hadn’t specifically been assigned to any one area, only to provide backup. The fact that he’d moved from one spot to another without exact orders wasn’t — on its face — a violation of instructions.

  Three SWAT guys passed by then, and one of them — Benson — pointed at Alex. “Bravest police work I ever saw, Brady. Way to go.”

  Alex nodded his thanks at the guy and returned his attention to Clay.

  Futility washed over Clay regarding the situation. Any discipline now would be little more than a joke. Everyone on the call that day would’ve agreed with the comment from the SWAT deputy. Alex and Bo had acted on instinct, yes, but they were heroes for their actions that day. Nothing less.

  Clay massaged his temples and released an overdue sigh. “You know the book. You’d established position, and because of the danger in the situation, you needed to receive permission or instruction before moving.”

  “I saw something suspicious in one of the parked cars.” Alex knew the book, knew it well enough to know that by stating he’d seen something suspicious, he created cause for leaving his implied post. For all his passion and determination on the job, he never broke the rules.

  Clay narrowed his eyes. “Tell me something.” He hesitated, as if he was trying his best to read Alex’s mind. “Did you see the suspect’s gun before you opened fire?”

  Alex held his stare but only for a few beats. When he looked down, the answer was obvious. “I saw a gun.” He looked up. “Yes, sir.”

  Clay didn’t want to push the issue, didn’t want to force Alex into a corner that would leave neither of them a way out. Alex was well aware of the rules, no question about that. But the thing with police work was that sometimes the rules didn’t quite fit. He took a step forward and put his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “You worry me, Brady. You rely a little too much on instinct.” He thought about the conversation they’d had the other night over dinner, the one about the REA. But this wasn’t the time to bring up examples. “I will say that in this situation, Benson is right. You acted on your instincts and you saved lives.” He patted Alex’s back. “Mine included. You did good today, Brady. Very good.” He stooped down and patted Bo beneath the chin. “You too, Bo. Good work.”

  The dog cocked his head to one side, but he stayed otherwise motionless at Alex’s side.

  Alex spoke to him. “Down, Bo.” The dog cast loyal eyes in Alex’s direction, then he stretched out his front paws and laid down on the asphalt, at ease.

  “That’s a heck of a dog you’ve got there.” Clay had been around K9 units every day for the past three years, the entire time since he’d been promoted to SWAT sergeant. Always, the connection between deputy and dog was a strong one, but the bond between Alex and Bo was in a category all by itself. “How did he know to go for the other gunman, the one standing in the window?”

  “I already had the guy in the parking lot.” Alex stroked his hand along Bo’s back. “We’re a team.”

  “Right.” Clay felt his heart go out to the young deputy. The guy was such an island, so cut off from everyone but his dog and his job. Clay took a step back. “Well, anyway, regardless of how it happened, you made the department proud today, Brady. I mean that.” He hesitated. “Just be careful.”

  Alex peered up at him, squinting in the midday sunlight. He didn’t smile, and none of the emptiness from before faded even a little. “Thanks, Sarge. I appreciate that. I’ll try to look for permission next time.”

  It was the right answer, but that’s all it was. Clay understood. The thing that drove Alex Brady to fight crime lived deep within him, not on the pages of a sheriff’s department handbook. He gave Alex a final pat on the shoulder. “Get your dog some lunch, Brady. See you back at the station.”

  Clay finished with his paperwork and made sure the detectives had everything they needed. Then, after every other SWAT deputy was released back to the station, Clay walked to his car and left the scene. The whole drive back he tried to put his finger on exactly what was bothering him about the call that day, why he wasn’t as in awe of Alex’s work as everyone else.

  He rolled down his window and rested his arm on the door, letting the warm late summer breeze wash over him. Help me, Lord … am I being too critical?

  A Bible verse flashed in his mind … one he’d come across last week in the early hours of the morning, the time of day when it was just him and God, getting ready for another shift. The verse wa
s from Proverbs, chapter 14. There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it leads only to death.

  What did the verse mean in relation to the prayer he’d just uttered? Clay focused on the road and sorted through the possibilities. Certainly the Scripture applied to the bad guys. It described everything about them. But how did it work for someone like himself, or Alex? Clay slowed his car, wanting to stretch out the trip back. When it came to Alex, Clay had avoided talking about the one way the young guy could find peace — a rock solid faith in Christ. Clay was waiting for the right opportunity, the barbecue when Alex didn’t seem so intense, or the moment when talking about God felt somehow appropriate.

  But what if that moment never came? There was a way that seemed right to man, but in the end it would lead only to death, right? So the verse certainly applied to the young deputy. Clay doubled his determination. He would find a chance to talk to Alex about his beliefs, even if the timing didn’t feel right. Even if it created the most uncomfortable moment in Clay’s entire life. Certainty girded up his determination. He would seize the next possible opportunity.

  Because the way that seemed right to Alex was whatever his heart told him, possibly even taking the law into his own hands. Everything Alex did, the way he was courageous on a crime scene, the way he worked with his dog, and the stony look of determination in his eyes — all of it told anyone watching that Alex Brady had one way that was right to him. He was responsible for eliminating any crime he came across without the help of anyone. Not even God.

  That would never work, of course. One of these days, Alex was going to reach the end of himself, because no man could eliminate all the evil around him. Dealing with evil was something only the Lord could do, and in His timing He most certainly would deal with it. Clay was sobered by the truth, as if a new awareness had dawned on his understanding of Alex Brady. As he finished the drive back to headquarters, he prayed fervently for Alex, that the ways that seemed right to the young deputy would indeed take him to the end of himself, and that when he reached that place he would not find death.