Amnesia by Simnitt Rick

Author:Simnitt, Rick [Simnitt, Rick]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: RickSimnitt.com
Published: 2012-08-30T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 10

Bill Lowell swerved around the corner from Parkcenter Boulevard onto River Run, allowing his anger to control the speed of the Volt. He completely ignored the screeching of the tires, and quickly compensated for the fish tailing the loss of traction caused. Once he had straightened he picked up more speed, despite the narrow residential lane. His only concern was for his friends that awaited his arrival. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw headlights swing in behind him; Lissa in her borrowed Lumina following only slightly slower than he.

He turned the last corner to Lissa’s apartment, and squealed to a stop in the parking lot. His peripheral vision noted a white Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme with a black top pull out of one of the stalls, but gave it no heed. His entire focus was on the man standing on the second floor landing, banging on one of the doors. He also noticed that Lissa had pulled into her appointed stall, but was wisely staying near the car.

He reached over and unlocked his glove compartment and pulled out his backup service revolver he kept there. It wasn’t the traditional Glock semi-automatic that most Boise cops wore; instead he kept his father’s old favorite Smith & Wesson J-frame .38 Special revolver. It was much smaller and lightweight, but was just as lethal in the hands of the expert Bill was.

He left the car tucking the gun into his belt at the small of his back, ready if needed but concealed from the perpetrator, leaving his hands free. He quickly moved over to the stairs, pushed his back against the wall, and slowly ascended the stairs until he could just see over the floor of the landing. He looked around again, ensuring there were no innocent bystanders, and then proceeded cautiously to lure the man away from the door.

“Good evening!” he shouted above the banging of the door. He couldn’t see the perpetrator, but knew the man would be hugging the wall and peering around the corner to see who was accosting him.

“What do you want?” the man shouted back. Bill could hear the anger tinged with fear in his voice. This was a man that was used to getting his way and was infuriated at the feeling that the situation was slipping from his control.

“What seems to be the matter sir?” Bill called back. Police training told him getting the man talking was the imperative key to cooling emotions and diffusing the situation.

“What business is it of yours?” the man growled back, unwilling to show his hand.

“I’m a friend of the people in the apartment.” Again training played into his thinking, and he held back the revelation that he was a peace officer. Soon enough he would have to play that card, but this early in negotiations it would actually enflame the perpetrator, making him reckless—fear driving him into desperate acts.

“Well, friend,” he responded, speaking the appellation with heavy sarcasm, “my wife is in there, and I’m here to take her back home where she belongs.

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