A Terrible Thunder by Peter Hernon

Author:Peter Hernon [Hernon, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-189105348-1
Publisher: Garrett County Press

“You got the safety on, don’t you?” a fireman asked.

“Do I got the safety on? You think I’m some fool or something? Shit yes, I got the safety on.” The man’s deep-set eyes hardened.

There was more firing, a powerful blast from one of the upper balconies followed by a furious exchange from the street. Ricochets pinged against the side of the truck.

“I can tell you right now, you ain’t gonna get that nigger from down here,” the veteran said. “You’re gonna have to go in there and put one right inside his brain pan.”

“For Christ sake, man. Will you come off it?”

“Look, son. I was in World War Second. I got experience in these things. You boys is just foolin’ with him. A job like this calls for know-how, and I got it.”

“If you’re such a hero, then why don’t you go in there and do something,” one of the firemen said angrily. “Go on, run right into the hotel and kill him. We’ll give you another medal. But just do us a favor, will you? Stop your damn jawing.”

Startled, the man looked at him. There was a peculiar squint to his eyes. Then without a word, he ran for the hotel, carrying the rifle in front of him with both hands on the stock. He reached the door safely and disappeared inside. That was the last Hutzler and the others saw of him. He was later ejected from the building by police.

Across the street, Detective William McDonald peered from behind the statue in front of the library. Earlier, McDonald had been sent to the police armory by Major Morris with orders to bring back rifles and ammunition. When he arrived there, some of the gun lockers had been broken open, splintered by men unable to find keys to the locks. He returned to the hotel with a trunkload of rifles and carbines and several heavy canisters of ammunition. The weapons were distributed quickly.

McDonald, who was using a scope, saw a black man, leaning on his elbows, look out over a balcony. He was wearing a green fatigue jacket and had a medium-brown complexion and a bush haircut. The black disappeared for a few seconds but then reappeared, lifted a rifle, and aimed. There was a shot and McDonald fired twice. The sniper’s bullet hit near the statue, throwing up chunks of sod; McDonald’s shots were also off the mark, and the gunman ducked back into a room.

Unlike McDonald, Thomas Casey of the Felony Action Squad had brought his own rifle; to be precise, he had brought two — a fully automatic AR-180 and a target rifle. The latter, which fired a high velocity .22-caliber bullet, was a bulky weapon designed to be bolted down to a bench. An hour earlier, Casey had been in Picayune, Mississippi, where he had concluded the purchase of a new pickup truck. When he learned of the shooting at the Howard Johnson’s, he sped back to New Orleans, covering the forty miles in half an hour and worrying all the way that the engine, which was not yet broken in, would burn out.

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