Claiming Treasure

St. Louis County Sheriff Deputy Mark Brighton’s POV

Duluth International Airport

“All units, requesting assistance. Federal fugitive Jack Coffey sighted at Gander Outdoors in Hermantown.”

Holy shit. We’d gotten a briefing on this asshole. The Feds in the US and Canada had a warrant out Coffey on suspicion of soliciting multiple counts of murder. I told Max to heel as I hurried out the door with him on his short leash. I hit the remote for the rear door, which opened as we approached, and let Max jump in. I pushed it shut then went around to the driver’s side. I jumped back in my cruiser and pulled away from the curb at the airport. “County 314 Kay-Nine, responding.” I flipped on the lights and sirens as I pulled out of the baggage claim area and onto the road.

Max was excited as always; he and I had been partners for three years now, and he was a great police dog. After his police dog training in Saint Paul, he got additional training in explosive detection. He and I spent a few hours a week at the airport doing random checks. He barked as I accelerate out the exit of the airport. “Let’s get some, Max,” I said as we raced southeast on Highway 53.

It was less than five minutes until we arrived in the parking lot. Three cars from the Hermantown police were surrounding the exit, and I was the first Sheriff. This call would attract more cops than a new donut shop; I could hear the sirens coming from the direction of Duluth as I got out. “Who’s in charge,” I asked as I moved towards the Hermantown cops.

“I am,” Sargent Larry Andersen said. “Suspect is inside at the gun counter. I sent an officer into their store security office, and they have him on camera.”

I looked around as more units rolled up, and men took cover behind their patrol cars with their rifles. “What’s the plan?”

“Get a lot more people here. The FBI is on the way, twenty minutes out. We’re supposed to clear people out and keep him here.”

It made sense. “All units, FBI has confirmed a facial recognition match on the surveillance photo to fugitive Jack Coffey. The suspect is wearing dark blue jeans, black boots, a red plaid shirt, and a Green Bay Packers leather jacket.”

“Are you clearing the store?”

“Quietly. I’ve asked store security and staff to start moving people towards the exits, starting in the firearms area.”

“Anyone watching the back? My dog and I can cover it.” If he spotted the cops, he’d head that way. The loading dock and emergency exits were a lot to keep an eye on.

“It’s all yours, Deputy. I’ll send help when I can spare it.”

I walked back to my cruiser and pulled out, driving around the RV’s and boats on the side to the back of the store. I counted five doors and three loading docks, so I backed up my Explorer near the back fence and parked. I opened the tailgate and donned my tactical gear; knee and elbow pads, gloves, helmet, and a portable ballistic shield. I checked my M-16 rifle to make sure it was ready, then walked up and rested it on the driver’s seat. I opened the back door and brought Max out on his leash and collar. He’d be on standby, as the back of the store was a lot of ground to cover.

“Suspect is moving towards the back of the building on the east side,” the voice said.

“10-4, units responding to rear and side exits,” another said.

I released the flap on my pistol, held the leash tight, and waited.

Jack Coffey’s POV

Gander Outdoors Store

It had only taken a few minutes to find what I wanted. A Remington 870 shotgun with a pistol grip, extended tubular magazine, and short barrel. “That’s great for home defense,” the salesman said as he got the paperwork. “I’ll need your driver’s license.”

I wasn’t worried about the quality of my identification, the license was state issue, although my name was false. I was a reasonable match for the license photo since I’d dyed my hair to match. I’d carefully crafted it over the past twenty years, and this one had a Minnesota address. The background check would come back clean, and I’d walk out with the shotgun.

It was better for my purposes than a rifle or pistol. Buckshot couldn’t be traced, as long as you didn’t leave fingerprints on the ejected shells. At close range, it caused more damage than a wolf could heal. A shotgun had a big psychological impact I was counting on to persuade the Doc to cooperate. As I once saw in an interview with a dealer in South Africa as he explained it: “Around here, some speak English, some speak Afrikaans, others Dutch, but EVERYONE,” he racked the slide back and forward, “EVERYONE speaks shotgun.”

No one could mistake the threat behind that sound.

I listened as he answered a page on the PA system on the phone behind the counter. “Curt, that man is Jack Coffey, a dangerous fugitive. FBI is on the way, keep him calm and occupied until they are ready to take him down.”

“I understand, I’ll get to it after I help this gentleman,” he said back. I looked around as I realized I was in trouble. A man in a store uniform was trying to move people towards the side of the store. I glanced towards the registers, and I could see uniformed officers near the entrance. I had to act quickly before more arrived.

I got the sales clerk’s attention. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, I need to use the bathroom,” I said. Moving towards the boating area, I kept my senses sharp as I looked around the store.

The uniforms and the employees were all tracking me, the police reaching for pistols.

That BITCH! I’d picked up the stench of a Pack Omega on the way in, but I had dismissed the old she-wolf as a threat. I couldn’t believe any werewolf would call the humans on me, but they must have. They probably figured the closest Pack could take care of me later.

Well, this old wolf wasn’t going to go down easy. I looked out to the right, through the glass doors at the outdoor boat and RV section, and I could see two police cars blocking the main entrance road. Turning left, I barged through a door marked EMPLOYEE ONLY and started to run for the back doors.

“HALT! POLICE!” I ignored the shouts from behind me as I ran through the hallway towards the emergency exit. Hitting the crash bar, I pushed through the door as the alarm sounded.

“FREEZE!” The command came from the ten o’clock position, from a sheriff’s car by the fence. I dove behind a dumpster, ignoring the man. “COME OUT OR I’LL SEND IN THE DOG.” I could hear more cars coming from each side, and I had seconds to make my decision. Pulling off my clothes, I shifted into my wolf and sprinted for the fence.

The dog was freaking out, but the cop had no idea what I was. The deputy had his pistol out as he hid behind his car door, waiting for the backup that was coming around the corner. I ran for the fence, skidding to a stop as I saw the problem. It was ten feet high and topped with barbed wire, too much for me to jump.

Escape would mean going through the Sheriff’s car.

I turned and sprinted towards his car. His eyes got wide as he let the dog go; it took two steps before I crashed into it. My teeth tore into the dog’s shoulder while his teeth caught my left ear. He whined as he went flying before landing heavily on his back; I was double his weight. The Deputy turned his pistol towards me as I rolled to my feet. I was on him before he could aim, my teeth ripping into his forearm and crunching bones. He screamed and dropped his gun, and I released him and ran to the front of the car.

Six police cars skidded to a halt at the corners of the rear lot as I jumped on the hood, then to the roof. One leap had me clearing the fence, and I landed and rolled in the grass on the other side. I raced for the trees, hearing the shouts and gunshots behind me fading. “WHERE THE FUCK DID HE GO,” I heard someone yell.

“ALL I SAW WAS THE DOG,” another said.

“SPREAD OUT AND FIND HIM,” the first voice said.

I crossed a road as the sirens continued, before finally stopping to gather myself a half-mile away. The good news? They didn’t get me.

Bad news? I’d shifted around humans, leaving behind my wallet, keys, money, and car. I briefly considered looping around to get back to my car, but my keys were in my jeans, and there were cops everywhere. I’d have to do without.

I kept moving, making my way out of town, using the creek bed to hide my scent. That Colletta bitch thought it would be a good idea to expose our true nature to humans? Well, she was getting her wish, and sooner than she thought. If I couldn’t destroy their Packs, the humans would.