Slash – A Serialized Disaster: Part 5

“Dad! You’re freaking me out!” Jadey cried as the speedometer just touched 90 miles per hour.

“Yep,” I growled through gritted teeth as I took my foot off the gas and eased it onto the brake pedal. I pushed harder until we started to quickly decelerate right up to the front of the convention center. Despite executing my stop in a completely safe manner, a handful of passersby scurried as if I were going to hit them. Jadey gasped in response.

“Dude, chill,” I shot back. “They’re like thirty feet away.”

I threw the car in park and quickly got out.

“Am I staying here?” Jadey asked before I could shut my door.

I froze. If I really think there’s something crazy about to go down inside, bringing her in is a terrible idea, but I cannot leave her here. I put my hands on top of the car and hunched over so I could peer inside and make eye contact.

“You’re coming with me,” I said sternly. “But you have to stay close by and listen to me.”

“Okay,” she said nervously, and she slowly undid her seatbelt.

I hurried around the car and grabbed her hand, making a beeline for the closest entrance door.

“We’re trying to play it cool, okay?” I said quickly in the vestibule. “Try not to look nervous.”

“Yeah, right,” she gasped sarcastically.

We were immediately greeted by an older woman wearing an event center usher vest who directed us toward a metal detector. Before I could say anything, Jadey walked through first.

“Thank you, honey,” the woman said in a low, froggy voice. “They’re taking tickets right up there. If you still need a ticket, go see that window there.”

I stepped up to the detector and eyed the woman’s nametag: Paula. I leaned in close to whisper.

“Hey, Paula,” I said quietly. “I’m actually a plainclothes detective, and I am carrying right now.”

She took a minute to lean back and eye me up and down. I discreetly revealed my badge from my partially open button-up. She took a moment to look it over.

“Security here sucks,” she croaked. “And most of the officers ditched us to deal with this B.S. down the street.”

“Any officers left?” I asked.

“Just two,” she replied. “They’re trading laps on the upper concourse, right up that escalator. Hey Mark! Hey, get this guy and his girl a pair of my will calls.”

She turned and pulled one of the crowd stanchions back to let me bypass the metal detector.

“Thanks, Paula,” I said. “Between you and me, I think there might be some bad dudes here, but I don’t know what they look like. They would have shown up on foot a little bit ago.”

To my surprise, she nodded her head in understanding.

“Five or six of ‘em?” she asked.

“Yes!” I replied. “How’d you know?”

“About a half hour ago – maybe forty-five minutes – they came in sweatier than all get out. Looked like they had hiked halfway across town. ‘In this heat?’ I thought.”

“But they went through the metal scanner?” I asked.

“Yep,” she replied. “Four or five white boys and an Asian guy. All about your size. Jeans and t-shirts. Nothing obvious, I don’t think. Besides looking half dead from the heat.”

I thanked her, grabbed Jadey, and ran by the ticket window to grab the tickets from Mark. We got scanned and through the line quickly. I walked up the escalator – Jadey right behind me. We crested the top to find the concession area completely packed. Several lines had backed up into small clusters where people were starting to argue about who got to go next.

“Gosh, just like the cars,” Jadey whispered at my side. I was pleasantly surprised to find her gripping the tail of my shirt. She used to do the same thing when she was little. I’d pull her across the kitchen floor on her socks.

We skirted around the edge of the crowd, pushing up against the railing that looked back down over the entry below. I could see Paula watching me. She gave me a little thumbs up. Once we got past the concession area, the congestion really cleared up. Besides a couple

longer lines for the women’s restroom, I could see almost all the way down this long side of the concourse.

“Dad, look!” Jadey called, pointing. “It’s one of the officers.”

“Good girl!” I replied, and we hurried ahead.

We slowed our pace as we approached the officer. He looked steady, but clearly not pleased with his current charge. His name tag read ‘Brown’.

“Hey folks,” he said curtly. “Covering emergencies only right now. If it’s something that can be called in or taken care of over the…”

“Yeah,” I said, cutting him off with a peek of my badge. “Detective Dayson. Hey man, you guys are all alone over here.”

His posture relaxed ever so slightly.

“Dude, it’s stupid,” he replied. “At least I’m out of the heat, but holy sh…” he caught eye of Jadey and stopped himself.

“Hey man,” I said quietly. “I have a very strong hunch that the guys that did the tire thing and tied up traffic are here.”

“What?” he said. “Why? To hide out?”

“No, I think they’re targeting the governor or something – I don’t know,” I replied. “I think they used the tires and chaos as a distraction to pull officers off watch here.”

“Well, it worked,” he said gruffly as he started to look around. “We have a description?”

“All I got is four or five Caucasian males and one Asian male. Jeans and T-shirts. Might look like they ran across town in the heat. Sweaty still, or at least flushed.”

“Let me radio my other guy,” he said, leaning against his shoulder-mounted radio. “Hey Torelli, copy?”

“Yo,” came an answer across the radio.

“Keep a lookout for four or five white males and an Asian male. Jeans and T-shirts. Might look overheated. Potentially armed. Considered dangerous. Over.”

There was a brief pause.

“You screwin’ with me? Over.” Officer Torelli replied.

“Just keep a look out, man,” Officer Brown said. “I’m going to make a lap past the executive suite. Over.”

“10-4,” Torelli replied skeptically. “Over.”

Matt Hebert is an engineer and self-published author. His dopamine-fueled creative pursuits have spanned from chicken keeping, sand sculpture, acting, and public speaking, but writing is nearest and dearest to his heart. He lives in Bellevue with his wife and two daughters. You can find him on Instagram at @jerkofalltradeshebert or email him at matt.hebert.books@gmail.com

Opinions expressed by columnists in The Daily Record are not necessarily those of its management or staff, and do not constitute an endorsement or recommendation. Any errors or omissions should be called to our attention so that they may be corrected. Contact us at news@omahadailyrecord.com.