R is for Retribution

Part I

It was just after eight am in the morning at Station 51. As they changed back into their street clothes at the end of another rotation, the men of A Shift chatted among themselves before heading out starting their days off. Their last shift had been busy enough to pass quickly, but not so busy as to have been exhausting.

"So guys - who has plans for the next couple of days?"

Johnny tugged on his shoes as he spoke up to answer Marco.

"Camping with Roy and his family. We made plans for it last Christmas. Weather's gotten warm enough and we're supposed to have clear skies as well."

"And Johnny's answer covers me as well."

"Sounds good. How about you, Mike?"

"Getting together with an old friend from my high school days."

"Hey, Chet? You're taking off on vacation next rotation still, right?"

"True enough, Marco, old pal. I'll be so tired by the time I come back, I'll be glad to see my cot."

"Why will you be so tired? String of dates lined up?"

"Man, don't I wish. My mom found out I had some time coming and I think she has nearly every second planned out for me. I'd really been hoping to get away and at least spend a day or two fishing, but it looks like I'll be painting my mom's house - inside and out - the entire time."

"Ouch. Hey, you find you can use an extra pair of hands, amigo, give me a call."

"I wouldn't put a friend through what I'm about to go through, Marco, but thanks for the offer, pal. That reminds me. Sam Davis is going to be filling in for me. Guess I should warn you guys that he's a bit of a character."

"If he's replacing you, he'd have to be."

"Don't strain yourself trying to make jokes, Gage. And don't say I didn't warn you. Because for once? I'm being serious here."

Roy shot a look over to Chet and then glanced back to Johnny, who was pretty much blowing off Chet's warnings. For his part, Roy wasn't so sure. Chet really did look like he'd meant what he was saying. 'Oh well, It will only be for one rotation. How bad could this Davis guy be?'

As they all went their separate ways, Chet stopped first to fill his gas tank, grumbling at the price. Sixty-seven cents a gallon? How did these people expect a guy to be able to make his bills and keep his tank full with these prices? But there was no choice but to fill the tank. He knew that one thing he was bound to be doing was making multiple trips back and forth to the paint store as his mother changed her mind. He loved her dearly, but things had to be done precisely 'her way' and generally that meant redoing things several times while she figured out what 'her way' was.

Next stop was the dry cleaners where he dropped off his uniforms followed by a quick stop at the nearby diner where he got their breakfast special to go. It was a sort of potato/ham/scrambled eggs thing with salsa dumped on the top. Looked messy, but tasted great.

Pulling up at his place, he yawned. Eat the take-out, take a long hot shower, grab a short nap, then over to Mom's house by mid-afternoon to begin work. His thoughts were wandering over all of that as he was reaching for the door knob. Just before he took hold, it suddenly registered on his tired brain that his door was already partially open.

Before Chet could react any further, the door jerked open a little farther and he found himself facing a gun. He really counldn't focus past the weapon to look at the face of the man behind it, but he recognized the voice without any visual aids. A cold feeling formed in the pit of his stomach.

"Well hello, Kelly. Remember me? Of course you do. Don't just stand in the door. Come in. And unless you really want to get your neighbors involved, don't kick up a fuss."

Reflexively, Chet cast a quick glance over his shoulder, thankful that it was past time for the school bus. Part of him wanted to make a break for it, but he could hear the lady that was always working out in her garden during the early morning hours. Her toddler was normally right by her side. He couldn't put them at risk. Swallowing hard, Chet took a deep breath and stepped inside.

"Good boy. Put that box down and close the door behind you."

Not seeing any options, Chet laid the take-out box on the little table where he tended to drop his mail and then turned to close the door. As he started to turn back around, he caught sight of something being swung toward his head, but he didn't have enough manuevering room to avoid it. He felt the impact and that was the last he knew for awhile.