"I still don't think anyone is home." I said it calmly, hoping this guy would take the hint and it wouldn't come to anything, but I was prepared anyway.
He turned to me. "I thought I told you to fuck off!"
I pulled the Glock into view and made it obvious when I flipped off the safety. His eyes went wider, if that was possible. I started speaking in a kind of flippant tone. "And I think you are being rude and uncooperative. If you want to be more cooperative, then I think I can put this away. If not, you are going to have a very bad day and I'm going to have to explain to the cops what a fuckwad you were. I would hate to have to do all that paperwork and explain myself to them for hours on end, but you know what?" I stopped being so nonchalant and changed to a more commanding voice. "One way or the other you are leaving. I don't care if it's on your own power or after I have to call an ambulance, but you are leaving. You have ten seconds." He just stared. I waited for about 5 seconds and then started a countdown. "5... 4... 3..." He bolted down the stairs toward the front door.
As he reached the last landing he yelled something about coming back to take care of me. Fuck! Why did I have to threaten a lowlife like him? He was now going to be a continual problem and I was going to have to do something about it. I shouldn't have let my anger get the best of me, but I was also afraid for the three women in that apartment. I can't imagine what business he had with them, but maybe Sam was not the best at choosing her male companions.
I waited in my apartment for a while, keeping the weapon readily available. I finally decided to go out. I had made sure that I applied for a permit for carrying the weapon, but I had not received the approval yet and I was very wary of carrying it anywhere. If I had to go into a bar or restaurant, many of them had further restrictions and I didn't want to have to worry about that.
I went out to my car, a used nondescript Honda that I had purchased just to have something to drive. I still had one other car that I was going to have to sell or transport out here soon. I had to find a place to park it. I couldn't leave it outside in this weather. It was a 1965 Mustang convertible that I had purchased on a lark. It had some mileage on it and didn't have all original parts, so it was not a show car. But it was fully restored and painted so it looked good. It was also fun to drive and I had always wanted one. When I moved out here I left it back in Virginia with my daughter. She was working in that area during the summer and spent a lot of time there when out of school. She said she had no problem living there. I think it was a comfort to her because all of her childhood friends were there, but it had been torture for me.
I drove over to a movie theater and found a movie to occupy me for a while. I wanted to get out of the apartment and see something on the big screen, so I found an action film that was at least somewhat entertaining and enjoyed some popcorn. After the movie, I wondered if I should head home. I figured I had to at some point, so I left and got home when it was around 8pm. It was just getting dark and I made sure to hurry my way upstairs to my apartment. I went inside, locked the door and retrieved my weapon.
I was hoping I was not going to regret it too much, but I already did a little. I grew up with a bit of a chip on my shoulder and hated it when anyone got pushed around. I hated it when people were treated unfairly and that's part of what drew me to the military. I had wanted to do something that I thought was "right" for the country and military service was something I felt right about, and also felt that many more people should do. It worked for me. I got a degree out of it, an advanced degree, and several tours in foreign countries, some of which were a blast. There were also a couple of "other" tours where I was sent unaccompanied to deal with assholes. Those were not fun, but anyone who has been in those situations realizes that the feeling of accomplishment and camaraderie with the other soldiers was something that could not be duplicated anywhere else.
So there I was, sitting on the couch, surfing on my laptop, the TV on, not really paying much attention to either when there was a loud knock at the door. Very loud. It made me jump. I picked up my 9mm Glock and walked into the second apartment and looked thru the peephole. Nothing was visible. I cracked open the door slightly and was able to peek around the jamb to see who was there. There were three guys. One was the guy from that morning and the other two were bigger. One was a massive body builder type and the other a mean looking tattooed man with a crowbar. I ducked back inside and made my way to my kitchen. I held my gun in my right hand and punched in 911 on my cell with my left, leaving it ready to dial immediately if things went bad. "Who is it?" I said it in a sing-song voice.
The door was hammered with something heavy three times before it burst open. I was standing behind the kitchen counter with the weapon leveled at the door. My cell phone was next to me and I had dialed 911 as soon as the first blow had struck. The operator was asking something, so I picked it up and spoke when the three men stopped and stared at my gun. "There are three men who just broke into my apartment and I'm getting ready to shoot them. Please send the police and an ambulance."
The three stared at me. The very large body builder looked closely at me. "You don't want to do that, man. There are many more of us, and we will find a way to get to you. We'll make sure you don't ever threaten one of my men again."
"Guess I'll have to buy more ammo."
The large tattooed guy held up his hands. "Whoa! Whoa! Let's calm down here. We just need to know why you threatened our boy Jack here." There's the leader.
I stared at him and thumbed the hammer back. "You have a funny way of just 'stopping by' to ask that question. Your boy Jack here is a major fucking idiot, and because I asked him to leave when he was pounding on the door across the way for a half hour, you come back and break down my door. I'll have to have the entire door and frame replaced. Are you going to pay for that?" Without a word being spoken, they started spreading out a little and I stood up straighter. "Move too far away from each other and I'm going to shoot at least one of you to be able to focus my attention on the other two. I suggest you exit the way you came or I'm going to shoot and worry about the police later."
They stopped and the other two looked at the tattooed man. He was so cocksure and full of himself that he grinned and challenged me. "You got the balls to pull that trigger, little man."
The sound of a gun going off is loud enough that everything else seems real quiet for a moment afterwards; all you hear is a ringing in your ears. When I pulled the trigger it was aimed between the tattooed man's legs. I was trying to miss him, but if I hit him, so what. I would worry about that later. Evidently, I missed, but he knew where it went. They all stopped moving and the other two looked down at the ground between the tattooed man's legs where the bullet had entered the floor. The fear in their eyes was apparent, but the tattooed man just looked angry. I decided to bait him a little.
"Anything else you want to say, smart-ass?"
He stared at me and motioned for the other two to get out. "That was not a smart move. I'll find a way to fuck you up, you piece of shit."
I smiled. "We'll see won't we?" Oh, well, we were well past the point of me getting out of this without completely pissing them off.
Suddenly, before they could get out onto the landing there was banging and shouting and lots of noise as the cops swarmed up the stairs. I put my gun on the counter as they reached the landing and put my hands up. The tattooed man just stared at me, his glare full of menace. The other two were not as calm and acquiesced to the cops' commands immediately. The tattooed man just stood there and stared at me as they took him and cuffed him. Then another cop came in and looked at me and the gun. He told me to put my hands on the counter and I did so. He took my Glock, did a quick search of my person, and then handcuffed me. He picked up my phone and shut off the connection to the 911 operator. I guess there was no avoiding this.
We got to the police station and I didn't see the other guys. They must have arrived before me because I could see the cars they had been transported in. I was muscled out of the car and into the station. They processed me like any other suspect. They took and inventoried my wallet and keys, which was all I had in my pockets. I was photographed and fingerprinted and then taken into an "interview" room where I was handcuffed to the table. After about 30 more minutes a detective came into the room. At least I thought it was a detective because he was in street clothes with his badge displayed from his belt.
"Are you John Jackson, Lieutenant Colonel, U. S. Army, retired?"
"That's correct."
He held up my Glock. "Is this your weapon?"
I looked at it. "Appears to be."
"I see you just applied two weeks ago for a concealed weapon license."
"Correct."
He stared. "Nothing to add?"
"Like what? You didn't ask me a question."
