Chapter I

hen his car was carried past the the first opening immediately in the wall on the right after entering the car wash, he slumped forward in his seat.  Officer Mitt L. Fremont was bleeding profusely from the wound in the back of his head.

On his way home from a long day on the beat, his police vehicle was dirty from the rain kicked up on his cruiser from the highway.  Plus, this was the last day of the week for him.  The sunlight coming in from the side of the building being bright after the rain the previous night.

The time was ten-thirty-one AM when Mitt signed off duty while sitting in the cruiser waiting in line to pay for the wash.  He waved at Lane Wardlow, a close friend as he drove past the CSV Drug Store.  Within two minutes, he merged into the queue, and shifted to neutral when the attendant guided him in.  In less than three minutes, his vehicle would be pushed from the carwash by the huge chain that pulled the vehicles along at the right speed and distance apart.

No one was the wiser from the shot fired from a pistol with a silencer, fired from outside the building, the shooter hidden from view by the ornamental bushes which lined the exterior of the building.  With all the pumps, brushes, water jets, vacuums and blowers running at full tilt, it was hard for anyone to hear anything.

The momentum of the cruiser would carry it across the parking lot where it would gently come to rest against a curb.  Mitt was still slumped forward and bleeding profusely.  A second shot had hit the rear right door window knocking it into a thousand pieces but missed the officer, exiting out the driver door window.  The shooter was not aware of the miss and thinking the officer dead, pedaled his bicycle up to the drivers window.

The engine was still idling where the front wheels of the cruiser had come to rest against the curb.

In the hand of the shooter was a loud iridescent orange sign.  His firearm had been partially concealed on his person being hastily stuck down the front of his jeans.  He fumbled with the sign to drop it through the window of the cruiser.

Then, another shot was heard, this time from a police issued Glock .40 cal.  From inside the car, Officer Fremont had roused seeing the man beside the door and the nineteen-eleven in his waistband.  Without sitting up, Mitt had already pulled his second from his ankle holster weapon and fired from under his arm.  The bullet sank home bursting the shooters' heart.

Astonished and gasping for air, the perp fell from his bicycle landing on his side and quickly rolled to his back to draw his pistol again.  Quickly sitting up, he was surprised to be staring up the business end of the Glock.  The last thing he ever saw was the blossom from Mitts Glock.

He laid back very forcefully as the big .40 slug slammed into his head between his eyes.  Little blood issued forth with the mans brains out the back of his head because his heart had already stopped pumping with the first shot.

Mitt called for backup and an ambulance, unbuckled his belt, shakily exited the cruiser and staggered to the corpse, removing the pistol from reach of the body.  He was taking no chances.  William Travis, had walked into the drugstore after waving at Mitt when he drove through on his way to the carwash.  He was standing in line when saw Mitts car as it coasted across the parking lot with him slumped forward on the steering wheel.

Upon seeing the car stop at the curb and realizing something was seriously wrong, he rudely squeezed his way past the couple in the line in front of him, tossing his choices upon the counter and rushing outside.  He yelled "Mitt, you ok?" and came up just as Mitt was collapsing.

William caught him before he hit the ground, then carried him across the parking lot and laid him down on the sidewalk in the shade.  Ripping off his own jacket to pillow Mitts head, he yanked his handkerchief from his pocket to hold against the wound in the attempt to staunch the flow of his lifes blood issuing forth.

In less than three minutes the first police backup came tearing into the parking lot, and sirens from the coming ambulance was heard close and coming fast.  The first police to respond was Police Chief Amanda Williams being within two blocks of the incident.  She knew William well and acknowledged him as no threat, coming immediately to his side with more adequate first aid.

Within another two minutes, an ambulance screeched to a stop, the fire truck barreling in right behind him.  The loud siren of the fire truck took its time in dying down all the time raising the hair straight up on the back of ones neck.  Within a couple of minutes the crime scene had been secured, the car wash shut down and all patrons out of their cars and alongside the long building with the employees.  They were sequestered in single file facing the wall.

Officer Mitt Fremont was a close personal friend to William Travis and Len Mathers, and had saved Len's life soon after he'd joined the FBI.  Officer Fremont was a friendly type, and had been warned by Len as well as his superiors it could cost him his life.  Although Mitt had never been cocky he still had enemies.

In fact, had you not observed him in uniform, you'd have never known he was a cop.  But he was one of Stillwell Creek Townships finest.  He had served as a superior in one of the larger cities, Chicago I think, but soon his wife tired of the big city life (so was he), and so they pulled up stakes and moved back to Stillwell Creek.

When the perp fired the first shot, it had struck the front of the stanchion between the passenger doors and had barely grazed the back of Mitts head, just above where his cover rested.  Still quite a blow to the back of the head, it had merely glanced and lodged in the thickest part of the car door.  Both door window were blown out covering the seat and Officer Fremont with crystalized glass.

William told Officer Williams what he had observed and she walked over to retrieve the sign, turning it over with gloved hands.  It read "this is in revenge for the unlawful execution of my brother."

By then Officer Mackenzie Treece approached with the dead mans' identification which was Tracy Blanton.  Scrunching up her eyebrows which was typical of the Chief when she was in question about something, she stated "Mitt had never been involved in a shooting.  What is this man accusing with this sign?"

It wouldn't be a mystery too long, but Tracy wasn't the only one with a grudge.  Within a week it would seem as if a whole army of shooters were attempting to wipe out the complete Police Force of Stillwell Creek.  The shooting of Mitt Fremont was but one of three that day.  The other two wouldn't be so lucky.

"I'll need you to come down for a deposition Agent Travis.  Can you be there 'bout two?  I'd like to talk to you about another shooting."

"Sure thing Chief" said William as he stood back and worked at cleaning the blood from his hands.  He watched as they loaded Officer Mitt Fremont into the ambulance.  They were still working on him when the driver shut the door, then hurried around to the drivers door.

"What other shooting are you referring to Chief?"

"Officer Blake was shot this morning while at a stop light.  He never knew what hit him." she responded.  I'd like to know what is happening here all of a sudden.  See you in a bit" she said as she turned toward her own vehicle.

"Wow!"  William exclaimed to himself.  "Two in one day!"

Before William would reach the Police Station of Stillwell Creek, a third shooting would happen.  Only this time it would be even closer to William, Sharon, Len and Melinda.  This time, it would be Police Chief Amanda Williams.

© 2000 - 2025