West stopped the car.
‘GET DOWN!’ Brazil yelled as he pushed Hammer to the floor and band members jumped out of the way and the cymbal hit a little dip in the road and picked up speed, flying past loudly, scattering the Mason clowns, sending Sergeant Santa scurrying, almost running the mayor’s car into the crowd. The Florettes dropped their batons.
Jed saw the cymbal coming before Lelia Ehrhart did, and he suddenly threw the red Cadillac into reverse.
Azalea bushes jumped off the back seat, clay pots breaking, bees darting out of harm’s way, dirt flying everywhere as streamers of blue ribbons changed direction and flew in Ehrhart’s face.
The blond cop Jed had picked up in the cemetery the other day had just leaped out of Chief Hammer’s car and was running like hell. Jed slammed on the brakes. A pink azalea bush sailed over the back of the front seat and Ehrhart shrieked. The cymbal went screaming past, flashing in the sun like a runaway gold chariot wheel.
Jed jumped out of the Cadillac without opening the door, neglecting to put the car in park. It began moving forward on its own as Ehrhart fought with streamers of blue ribbons, getting more entangled, and Patty Passman, nearby in the rioting crowd, threw down her Death by Chocolate ice cream cone and pushed people out of the way.
‘MOVE, FUCKHEADS!’ She shoved and punched, sugar-charged and unstoppable.
She chased the red Cadillac and hurled her fat body over the driver’s door, landing with her feet in the air, grabbing the gear shift and jamming it into park.
Smoke was momentarily confused by the commotion. The plan in his head turned to page three and stopped. He looked around and backed up a little, almost slipping on the grass. At first it didn’t register that the blond cop he had heard at school, and Weed and a street person were running toward him at top speed.
‘EVERYBODY GET DOWN!’ the blond cop was yelling.
The crowd started panicking. The cops lost interest in the fat man. They charged toward Smoke, too, the blond cop running the fastest.
‘YOU SON OF A BITCH!’ the fat man screamed at Smoke.
The picnicking couple dove out of the way as the fat man ran across their red-and-white-checkered tablecloth. Smoke panicked and pulled out the Beretta. In his confusion he forgot how to take the safety off.
People were thundering toward Smoke from all directions, with Weed in the lead, the plume on his black hat straight back as he ran at incredible speed. Smoke dropped the Beretta and groped for his Glock as Weed leaped five feet in the air and punched Smoke in the nose and grabbed his hair, knocking Smoke to the ground. They struggled over the Glock. Smoke let go of it when Weed bit his wrist hard.
‘I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!’ Weed kept yelling as he pummeled Smoke with his fists.
Brazil struggled to handcuff Smoke, who was rolling in the grass and yelling, clips of ammunition falling out of the stolen tool belt around his waist. At this point, community involvement was making matters worse.
Bubba was poised, taking jabs at Smoke whenever Weed left an opening. Pigeon was on the ground, trying to hold Smoke’s ankles. Other cops were grabbing at Smoke and getting in Brazil’s way. Unfortunately, one of them started squirting pepper spray. Then everyone was rolling on the ground, hands over their eyes, yelling in pain.
Smoke kicked straight up and caught one of the cops in the groin and grabbed the Sig Sauer pistol out of the other cop’s holster. Smoke was bloody and breathing hard as he gripped the pistol in both shaking hands, his eyes watering and crazed with rage. He didn’t see the two women cutting through the space between the two houses behind him.
Hammer and West had their pistols out and were moving in fast. It seemed Smoke was trying to figure out who to shoot. He wildly pointed the gun at a fat man Hammer recognized as Bubba. Then the gun was pointed at Brazil and the other cops on the ground, then out at the fleeing crowd and participants in the parade.