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Three men were framed in the gap.
In the center was a tough-looking man, with a stony face and a jagged scar on his neck. In the set of his jaw and eyes, May could see the resemblance to his son. His weathered hands held a shotgun. He wore a smart-looking camo jacket and a belligerent expression.
To his right, stood a wiry man with intelligent eyes and a lean, lined face. May pegged him as the second-in-command. And further back stood a third man, big and solid, cradling a sawn-off shotgun. She guessed that he was the trio’s muscle man.
Without a doubt, they were looking at the management force of New Blood, and this was confirmed a moment later when the man in the center spoke.
"I'm Gary Cousins. Founder of New Blood. And police are not welcome here.”
May felt the atmosphere grow from unfriendly to actively hostile. This hard, uncompromising man was not going to give up answers easily.
They had no proof that he was linked to these crimes. Without a warrant, they were here on borrowed time.
And it looked as if that time had just run out.
“I need your help,” she began, deciding that a plea for help was the only way that she might possibly get further.
But he shook his head.
“We don’t help the police. Get out, and don’t come back to bother us again.”
He nodded to his son. “Close the gate,” he commanded. “These guys must get the hell away from here. Now. Or there’ll be consequences.”
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Owen felt frazzled with worry as Gary’s gatekeeper son stepped forward, smirking, preparing to shut the gate in their faces. They were going to get turned away without answers. And the mere fact that the militia were being so uncooperative and aggressive was a big red flag to him.
“Aren’t you willing to fight crime in the area?” he asked, knowing that it was a last-ditch attempt at getting a foot in the door and desperately hoping it wouldn’t backfire on them.
“We fight crime in the area,” the leader snapped at him. “And you know what we see a lot of? Crimes committed by the police! Illegal search and seizure.”
Owen drew in an affronted breath. He was pretty sure, in fact certain, that under Sheriff Jack’s watch, any such issues had long ago been cleaned up. So, this man was not telling the truth and was exaggerating or lying. Maybe in his book the police did wrong by seizing illegal weapons or contraband.
"You're no force for good. You're evil." The second-in-command glared at them.
"The fact that you’re not willing to let us in, when there are serious crimes being committed in this area, is very suspicious,” May pointed out, and Owen nodded supportively.
“Come back with a warrant,” Gary said.
“Do you have an underground storage area?”
Gary folded his arms. “Come back with a warrant. I’m not getting involved in this discussion. You’re trying to trespass on private property. You have absolutely no grounds to suspect us of anything. We're a small, elite force. And we all cooperate. People know the rules when they join."
There were nods all around.
"How many of your people are here?"
"It's not your business how many of us there are."
"It is if they're committing crimes nearby."
"We enforce the law. We don’t break the law."
"We already have one case of assault on the record from your militia group. An innocent hiker was physically warned off and removed from your grounds. He was kicked and slapped. How is that enforcing the law?” May asked.
Gary looked furious.
"What you're doing here, this is typical police behavior. You're stirring up trouble, inciting anger and then you blame the group. But it's you. You started it, and you are the ones who make it worse. As for the hiker, he was the one who started it. He tried to attack us. We are blameless and have nothing to hide."
