Payne was about to reply, but before he had a chance, a booming voice shattered the stillness of the night.
“We see you behind the car,” announced a patrolman through his bullhorn. “Put your hands where we can see them and come out very slowly.”
The two of them did as they were told and were frisked by a team of gun-toting officers.
“Gentlemen,” barked Sergeant Rutherford, the lead officer at the scene, “I’m sure you realize y’all have a lot of explaining to do.”
Rutherford was in his mid-forties and possessed the face of an ex-boxer. His nose was crooked, his teeth were fake, and his face was dotted with several scars. His thick black hair was splashed with gray, but his police hat covered most of it.
“Before I throw you guys in cuffs and haul your asses to the station, you need to tell me what happened here.”
Payne cleared his throat and began to speak before Jones had a chance to say anything. “My buddy and I just flew in to New Orleans earlier tonight for a little R & R. We rented a car, got something to eat, and decided to do something out of the ordinary. A local told us that Jamaican Sam drew the best tattoos in the whole darn state—”
“A lovely state, I might add.”
“It sure is, D.J. Anyway, we decided to come here to check out his craftsmanship.”
“We were impressed. Very colorful stuff.”
“But we were here for less than ten minutes when somebody shot Sam from across the street.”
“We think from that rooftop there,” Jones said, pointing. “With a sniper rifle.”
“We wanted to fight back.”
“But we didn’t have any weapons.”
Payne nodded. “I hid in the corner for protection, and D.J. dove behind the counter.”
“When I was back there, I found two guns. I tossed one to Jon and kept the other for myself.”
“We tried to use them when the madman started shooting at us.”
“But neither of them worked.”
“I left mine on the sidewalk,” Payne volunteered.
“And mine is inside.”
“You can check for yourself. Neither of them is capable of firing a round.”
“Yep,” Jones seconded. “I squeezed the trigger, but it wouldn’t make a bang or nothing.”
Payne paused in thought. “Anything else you can think of?”
Jones shook his head. “Nope. I think that covers it.”
Payne nodded in agreement. “That’s about all we’ve got, sir. Hopefully that makes your report pretty easy to write.”
Rutherford studied the two men and smiled. He wanted to comment on the conversation but was simply too fascinated to speak. Even though Payne’s and Jones’s statements were coming from two different voices, it was like they were coming from the same mind. When Payne started a sentence, Jones finished it. If Jones started, Payne ended it. Rutherford had been on the job for over twenty years and had never seen anything like it.
“Okay,” the cop muttered as he emerged from his trance. “We’ll take a look around and see if your story checks out. If it does, y’all have nothing to worry about. I’ll have you back on your vacation by sunrise. However, if it doesn’t, then you might be staying here in our state”—Rutherford turned his head toward Jones and smirked—“pardon me, our lovely state, for a lot longer than you were planning. In the meantime, why don’t you guys show me some ID? That’ll give me a chance to see if y’all have escaped from a mental health facility, which is a distinct possibility in my book.”
AFTER examining the scene for an hour, Rutherford decided that Payne and Jones were telling the truth. But before he let them go, he decided to discuss the facts with his second in command. “Richie, can you think of any reason to hold these two any longer?”
The second cop, white and overweight, glanced at his notes and shook his head. “Nah. From what we’ve found, these guys couldn’t have been the shooter. The bullet that killed Sam matched the size of the casings from the roof across the street. The two Glocks found at the scene have no serial numbers, probably bought by Sam for protection. And just like the guys said, the damn things appeared to be unfired. We couldn’t smell discharge.”
“On top of that,” Rutherford added, “the two suspects are covered in cuts and scratches, which were probably caused by flying glass. That means they were in the shop when the shooting started.”
“Yep, and the initial 911 call mentioned a sniper as well.”