“It’s not a joke,” Clarice replied with fists clenched. “Those people are dangerous. You’ve seen what they do overseas to people who cross them.”
Nick chuckled. “I see now. You two aren’t worried about the politically correct garbage. You’re worried maybe the innocent and peaceful Muslims might think about turning their attention on you two. Don’t. Call me if you see anything out of whack. I’ll take care of it. Phil can tell you from experience what happens when you cross my path with violence in your heart. The school problem is solved. No one will be screwing around with either of you over that. I have to get the kids to school. Why don’t you go and actually show up for work at the Passport Office you’re supposed to be in charge of, Phil. It’ll give you something to do. I don’t care what you do, Clarice. Just do it quietly. See ya’.”
The Salvatores kept their mouths shut as Nick exited their house, which convinced Nick they weren’t completely brain dead. At some point we will have to adopt Sonny or make him an orphan. In the car, Gus was doing Phil impersonations which had the kids laughing and staring at him in disbelief. Nick had already been treated to Gus’s hidden talent of mimicry. He had done Johnny in front of Cala to the point she cried real tears and begged him to stop.
“I see the Gusster has revealed his new bag of tricks.”
“He…he is scary good! If I close my eyes, I’d think my Dad was in the car,” Sonny said. The boy turned solemn. “How did it go, Sir?”
“Very well. We had a nice chat in alternate reality land,” Nick replied while getting the car headed to the school. “I believe I calmed their fears, kid.”
Nick’s phone rang in the cup holder where he stuck it whenever he drove. It played the theme from the old ‘Dragnet’ TV show. “It’s Neil. Can you get that, Gus?”
*
Gus, amused by Sergeant Neil Dickerson’s theme song, answered on the third repetition of ‘Dum da dum dum’. “It’s Gus, Neil. Nick’s driving the kids to school. He’s right beside me.”
“Can the kids hear me if you put me on speaker?”
“Yes.” Gus straightened, holding the phone closer. “Give it to me straight. I’m listening.”
“I…I have a hostage situation. A call went out to report a domestic abuse with kids on scene at Fisherman’s Wharf in Monterey. They put out a distress call for help. My new partner, a rookie name Cheryl Rossdale, drove there because she was close to the Wharf. She’s a hot dog, Gus. She’s been keeping me apprised as I’m answering the call. They put her on crowd control. Two perps… one of them the husband… the other a friend, moved on the husband’s wife and two kids while they walked along the wharf area. They’ve retreated to the buildings at the back of the Wharf near ‘The Big Fish Grill’. The Monterey police have the area secured, but the perps are armed with automatic weapons. They have the wife and kids with bystanders ordered to the pavement in front of the restaurant. The negotiators are busily talking them down by cell phone. Cheryl’s listening to everything. She believes they’re going to kill the wife and kids along with bystanders. They’re getting angrier by the minute because the idiots of course want guarantees of safe passage and no charges.”
“Muerto and I have done some business on the Wharf. I think I know an approach. If I can get into position we’ll need cover for taking the shot.”
“This is bad, Gus. I have no dog in this hunt other than my hot dog partner. They didn’t retreat into a building which set off my alarm bells. They’re staying within cover between the buildings on the left side of the restaurant as you face it from the Wharf area. Cheryl says they fire a burst every few minutes to keep their hostages in place.”
“On it. Stay tuned.” Gus waved a very interested Nick down. “Let’s get the kids dropped off, Muerto. I’ll call Johnny and tell him to meet us at the ‘Lucky Lady’ dock. We have to take this one.”
Nick drove without comment, watching with amusement as Jean and Sonny built their own scenarios from the one sided call they could hear. When they reached the school, Nick walked the kids to the door, exchanging pleasantries with his parental squad of ex-military dropping their kids off. He maintained a smiling persona while plotting through his own speculation about what crisis project at the Monterey Fisherman’s Wharf area meant in terms of action. Jean voiced with frustration what she perceived from the call.
“Dad! You’re going out with the ‘Trio’. What’s happening?”