The Return

by Ryder W. Miller

The job was not done and he needed to come back. Before everything had gone black he had felt pain shoot through his body as the bullets hit him. He was in a shoot out with a gang of criminals and they had hit him first and hard. Pain flowed through his body originating from a number of spots, from his leg, arm, and ear. He was fried and down. The Smotees gang had shot first and he and a number of his companions had been taken out. They had illegal machine guns. But for him, unlike his companions, there would be another chapter to this story.

Roger Martines remembered the pain and the impacts of the bullets, but after everything had gone black there was missing information. He did not know what had transpired after he went down in the field. But then there was a shock and he could see the bright lights in the emergency room. He tried to look other places but his eyes still hurt by the glaring lights. He sat up from his emergency room bed as the tears ran down his cheeks. He was not fully coherent and felt nauseous. He needed some time to regain his composure.

"Roger are you there?" police chief Ratigan asked him.

Roger could not reply in words but he nodded. The gang had killed all cops on the assignment. They needed to be stopped Roger reasoned as soon as he woke startled.

"The procedure works," Ratigan was beaming. "You can now tell us what happened."

This was a new technique called the Jump-Start. A dead person could be resuscitated, brought back from the dead if the death had only occurred recently, but he would only be functional for a short period of time. This technique allowed the police to find out what transpired. Dead people could be informants, telling Law Enforcement who had killed them, before they could go and rest in peace. They would only have a few days left to live. Most people spent their last few days with loved ones. The procedure was fairly expensive, but in time it would become affordable.

"Tell us what happened Martines?" Ratigan asked.

"We went in without reinforcements. There was a shipment that was supposed to go out. We were seeking glory. We were out gunned. I am sorry Ratigan, but we broke the rules. I don't remember anything more," Martines was saying, keeping the rest to himself.

Ratigan looked annoyed.

Martines would not let them know that he was going to get revenge. They would think that he was going on a final trip to visit his family. He didn't have any family. That was part of the reason he became a cop. It was tough for him to grow up on his own. He had to answer to all sorts of unsavory characters growing up in an orphanage in the slum. Most people he had met were not criminals, but there were some who were bad all the way through. He would try to stop them if he could, but it was tough proving things. There were things cops wanted to do, but could not because of the rules. Some really bad characters benefited from the state not being a Police State. He followed most of the rules, but sometimes the rules put the police at a disadvantage that they could not overcome.

Martines was happy that he had another shot to go out in a blaze of glory. He would get a drink before he went out again. Something strong, but not sweet. He would be unstoppable this time.

The police chief Ratigan looked at him on the operating table.

"Good job Martines. You get all the perks now. You should have few days to set things in order before you go out again," said Ratigan.

Ratigan reached into his pocket and gave him a golden key. "Here is a key to the city for this week. This should help you go out in style. You shouldn't have done what you did, but you were willing to make the sacrifice. We can only ask you to make this sacrifice once."

Martines tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace when he couldn't help but notice the pain again. He would not be around for much longer, at least he would be able to set things strait. He had always found it hard to follow the rules. He got up from the operating table and put on his gun belt and a bullet proof vest. The bullets that had hit him in the leg, arm, and ear, were removed.

"Where are you going?" asked the police chief as he began to walk out the door.

"I don't know yet boss. But I am not still on duty," Martines said as he walked past the medical attendants.

"You are still an experiment Martines. We are not exactly sure what to expect," Ratigan said.

Martines stopped at the doorway and looked at Ratigan.

Ratigan looked him back in the eyes.

"Those bastards…." Martines said.

"They killed cops. Those bastards killed cops. We will get them. You go rest in peace," said Ratigan.

The barkeeper looked at him in a strange way. Martines was still all bandaged and he shuddered with pain, but there he was, a buying customer at the bar.

"One more," Martines said.

"Another shot of Whiskey?"

"Sure. Nothing too expensive. I don't want to cost the city too much," Martines said with the key to the city on the bar before him. He downed it with a grin.

"You are sure you are alright. We can call 911 for you."

"I am fine. I am an experiment. You'll read about it someday in the papers. I am going now."

Martines pulled himself out of the chair and limped out of the bar.

Martines despite the anger tried to remember what had transpired during the first raid. He tried to remember despite the flashes of rage and pain. When everything had gone dark it had stayed dark until he was under the bright lights of the emergency room.

He did not know a lot about the Smotees gang. They were a South American gang who sold drugs and turned young women into prostitutes. They lived on a piece of property south of the city and they had all sorts of firepower. The cops were overwhelmed by their machine guns. They thought about bringing the military in, but people would have protested. Nobody wanted to live under a military state. The police had to play by the rules.

It was hard to catch the Smotees. They had all sorts of allies, lawyers, and johns, in their pockets. They owned a number of businesses in town which also sold other things than just drugs. They sent out their special products with less special products. All sorts of people were involved and most did not know the full extent of it. They thought they were just delivering fun things, but there were also disabling things. There were hard drugs which ruined peoples lives, things that hurt peoples bodies and mind's.

The police had set out a sting operation and approached their "farm" with a dozen armed police officers. But they didn't last long. Martines remembered walking their way over their large front field. They followed the lead over the field. Martines remembered the lead waving them forward. There were lights on the house in the distance. There was even smoke rising from the fireplace.

They were old fashioned. It looked like a pleasant family owned farm, but in the fields drugs were being grown, and inside the house there were a few very well armed dangerous men. The cops were not allowed to search the land. They needed warrants and some of the drugs they sold had once been legal. The Feds and the states had been battling over what was legally allowed to be sold. The Feds had won, and all those who had used those fun things in the past, were now all drug criminals, because of a bunch of "uncool" National legislators.

"This was supposed to be a free country," the dealers said not letting a lot of people see that they occasionally burnt the flag because they were now criminals.

Memories of the day of his first death were now becoming clearer for Martines.

From a distance from the house they heard a bell rang, but the police did not know what to make of it. They still approached the house in the twilight of the evening. It was a long field, overgrown in many parts, but it did not provide cover. When they had got within shouting distance they heard an engine start and then gunfire. The Smotees had seen them walking across the field and opened fire first. A jeep drove out towards them, atop was a few shooters with a machine guns.

From the roof there were three snipers with scopes.

Martines knew they were in for it and he turned tail and ran. Most of his colleagues were hit immediately. The machine guns were taking them out like flies. Martines had been in the rear and he needed to make it to the car to tell the office what had happed. From a distance he was hit in the leg, and then the ear. The pain was excruciating, but he needed to report what had happened. He needed to report what had happened even though the police did not belong there. This was a case of a few cops being great. If they succeed, if they could prove their case, they would be heroes. If they failed? They couldn't fail and they just did. He turned around and was hit in the arm. Martines fell back, but he was on his feet quickly limping towards the gate. He hopped the fence and locked the gate shut so the Smotees could not follow him. He was the only one left and he made his way down the roads despite the gunfire that was occasionally hitting the car.

He made some distance on the Smotees who had problems opening the gate before they could follow him. Martines felt guilty thinking about his colleagues who were now all dead on the Smotees's fields. Martines would avenge them if he lived. As he drove blood poured out of his body wetting the seats of the police car. He would not be able to make it all the way to the police headquarters, but he would call Ratigan first.

"I am dying Ratigan," Martines said into his cell phone, thanking his lucky stars that the Smotees were far behind.

"Drive safely Martines. We are on the way with an ambulance. We can locate you with the GPS."

"They saw us first. They had machine guns."

"You weren't supposed to go in there without reinforcements."

"There were twelve of us. Everybody knows what is going on there."

"The police do not operate that way Martines!"

"We thought we could take them," Martines said as he was beginning to fade.

"I can hear you fading Martines. Park and rest and we will find you."

Martines found a 7-11 and stopped in the parking lot.

His body was full of pain and he could not think for any long period. Maybe they will be able to revive me? he thought as the pitch black darkness set it.

Martines was happy that he had another chance to set things strait. Ratigan would not know what he was up to. He would take the law into his own hands. He would set things right. He would settle the score if he could. They would not be able to stop him now. Ratigan would think he was spending a night on the town. He gave the key to the city to a couple that walked into the bar.

"What is this?" the woman asked.

"Why it is a key to the city. Mail it back to the city after the weekend is over."

"Cool," said the guy.

Martines was getting used to the pain. It was less painful to be dead. This couple would have more fun running around town than he would. He was not meant to have fun. His childhood alone took that out of him. He learned to survive and help others survive. He would seek vengeance. He would be an avenger.

Martines drove out to property in the twilight the next day. He stopped his car before the gate and looked out at the house in the distance. This was no longer technically the city. This was a rural setting and the Smotees officially grew rhubarb and a few other vegetables. The Smotees were old fashioned and rural. Maybe even Southern to an extent. They were probably having dinner now. The fall had gotten cold and they had an old fashioned fire going. There were all sorts that drove up and down the short road from the gate to the house and fields.

Martines wanted to crash through the gate and drive to the house shooting, but the gate was unlocked. He also wanted to make sure they did not have a lot of time to prepare. He had to just get out and unclasp the gate. He looked out over the field and could not see any dead bodies from the day before. The Smotees had hid them. The families of the dead officers would have been contacted the police, but the story may not have made it into the news. But where did they put the police cars? He was the only one with the GPS, but they must have known that that cops would be there again soon. The cops would look like they were in the wrong. The Smotees had the right to bear arms like all others. As far as everyone was concerned they sold rhubarb.

Even though he could not prove it, Martines knew what they were up to. He had had a tough life full of pain, loss, and jealousy. He would go out in a blaze.

Martines opened the gate and walked back to his car. He looked at the house and nobody seemed to notice him. Martines started the engine and started the car up the road. He would follow the road to the house and crash the car through the front door. At first the car was sluggish, it had been hit by bullets on the first unsuccessful raid, but then he revved the engine and it was speeding up the road. He was looking closely to see if anyone had noticed him. He now saw some movement in the windows, but he was already almost at the front door. He had stocked up and he was now loaded with a few police pistols. No rifle use today. He would need to shoot faster.

As he rounded the curve towards the front door, Martines saw the door open and a few of the Smotees made their way out of the house. Martines revved the car and ran over a them as the car crashed through the front door and into the dinning room. There was gunfire now as the car drove over the dinner table and lodged itself into the wall. I must have gotten a half dozen of them already Martines thought as he tried to get his broken body out of the door. It was a sick scene. A dinner table run over. Dead men, woman, children, and food, on the floor. Women crying. There were now men with guns pointed at him.

Martines stepped out of the car with two pistols going off. They were shooting at him, but he was shooting back. He was not minding the bullets hitting him knowing that it would be soon over. He was aiming at those who were shooting at him. He was surprised that they did not have better aim, but they did not having any sniper scoping guns in the living room.

Pow, bam, zoom, Martines heard as he shot them down. Bullets sped past him to hit his car. But he almost stopped as he saw a woman crying with a baby in her arms. Her long brown hair kept the baby out of view, but the baby was also sobbing. He decided not to shoot her.

There were only two gunned assailants left, one on the ground floor with him, another in the balcony. Most of the others had been ran over or already shot down. The car had been hit and gasoline was pouring out of the vehicle.

"You bastards," Martines yelled and the bullets flew in his direction. He no longer felt the impact as they hit him. He aimed both guns at his assailant in the balcony and fired. He fell back into the wall from the impact.

"You came back. You stupid bastard, you came back after we whipped you yesterday," said the last Smotees man standing.

Martines faced him.

"You are a criminal."

"Now you are also a criminal."

They were both distracted as the woman with the child ran out the front door. Gasoline had formed a puddle on the floor and both antagonists were getting their feet wet.

"You are going down. The Smotees are going down," Martines said. He was limping forward from the new bullet shots.

"You killed a whole family here."

"You are going down," Martines said as he aimed his gun towards the gasoline on the floor.

"What are crazy."

"No I am dead. You killed me already," Martines yelled.

The last Smotees ran heading towards an open window. Martines grimaced and shot him twice before he could jump out into the field.

"You crazy bastard," he said as he jerked in pain on the floor.

Martines tried to smile, but he could only grimace.

"You killed my whole family. You bastard," Martines heard a woman scream. She was standing behind him in the doorway with a gun pointed at him.

Martines laughed despite the pain. She shot at him but hit the gasoline on the ground and the whole house quickly went ablaze. Martines could not smile as the flames surrounded him. Calling him a bastard she hit him again twice as his flesh burnt.

"You bastard" were the last words he heard as he departed in the fire.

Copyright Ryder W. Miller 2008