I was eating a raw steak in the kitchen when my roommate came in. He was a police officer, and he was still in uniform when came up to me with tears in his eyes.

“The mayor’s been kidnapped,” he said, “And the cops are stumped. Please Falk, you’re the toughest guy I know. You gotta save him!”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“Why not?” said my roommate.

“Surely,” I said, “There’s gotta be a federal agent or a military person you can call in. I’m just a civilian now.”

“Come on,” said my roommate, “It’s the mayor! The fate of the town is at stake.”

I didn’t like the mayor, because he gutted the budget for public transportation. However, I never admitted I disliked him in public, because of my respect for authority.

“The fate of the town should be handled by the proper people,” I said, “I don’t want to get in anyone’s way.”

“Listen Falk,” said my roommate, “The mayor being absent IS the thing getting in people’s way. Did you know he was supposed to open the new town library tomorrow? But if he’s not there, no one can cut the ribbon. And if no one can cut the ribbon, that library will be closed forever!”

“Not my problem,” I said, because I don’t read books.

“Please Falk,” said my roommate, “This library’s got an adult section.”

“So?” I said.

“It’s got sexy magazines,” said my roommate.

I swallowed the rest of my steak, like a pelican gulping down a squirrel. Sure, I didn’t say anything about the mayor out of respect for authority. But with sexy magazines at stake, it was time for the mayor to respect my authority on rescuing people.

“Who took him?” I asked.

“Terrorists,” said my roommate.

“What kind?” I asked.

“Evil,” said my roommate.

Evil stood for the Elroy-Vinterbeen Integration League. The Elroys and the Vinterbeens were rival gangs who used to destroy the town all the time in their violent feuds. But when everybody else told them to stop, the gangs decided to join forces so they could fight anyone who got in the way of their fighting.

“Evil?” I said, “I know just where to look.”

The Elroy-Vinterbeen Integration League’s favorite hiding spot was Freeman’s Woods, a forest that law enforcement was not legally allowed to enter due to an odd technicality in the state constitution. When I used to be a cop, I would tell the mayor that he should tell the state that it was a bad idea to have a forest where crime is legal. The mayor never listened to me whenever I brought it up.

Now, the mayor was in those very woods, and by the way the Elroy-Vinterbeens were treating him, it was clear that the consequences of ignoring me were upon him.

I hid behind a nearby tree, watching the Elroy-Vinterbeens take turns kicking and punching the mayor as he sat on the dirt floor outside some garishly painted tents. His arms were tied behind him. He had movie star good looks, which were what got him elected in the first place. However, now those good looks were getting bruised and beaten as his face was hit by fists and shoes.

“Please,” the mayor sputtered in between hits to the face, “No more. Ouch. I’ll give you anything. Ouch. Money. Ow. Security clearance. Ach. The deed to the town.”

The Elroy-Vinterbeens laughed as they continued to kick him around. I didn’t think the situation was funny, and I resented the mayor’s weakness. I can’t believe most of the townspeople would vote for a man who’d give over the deed to the town to a bunch of punks.

Still, as my dad said when he ran over my dog, time was of the essence. If this continued any longer, maybe these lowlives would get bored enough to take up the mayor’s weaselly offers.

I scanned the Elroy-Vinterbeen campground with my eyes. There were about ten of them out in the open. All of them looked like bodybuilders in their late twenties, and they were dressed like teenagers at some emo get-together.

In other words, they were shameless and dangerous.

However, here’s the thing about shameless and dangerous people: They’re as dumb as the handful of rocks I stragetically tossed over the Elroy-Vinterbeen punks’ heads.

“What was that?” said the tallest one, who was wearing the skinniest black jeans I had ever seen.

“Sounds like someone was throwing rocks at our camp,” said another punk, who had a nose full of piercings.

“Where’d you hear it?” said the tallest one.

“Over there,” said the one with all the nose-piercings. He pointed in a direction that was opposite from where I was hiding.

“Let’s give that turf-trampler a piece of our mind,” said the tallest one.

“YEAH!” said all the other punks, who were all dressed in a darkly fashionable yet nondescript sort of way.

They marched off to track down the supposedly existent intruder on the north side of the campground. As soon as the mayor was out of their field of vision, I leapt out from behind the tree.

“Falk Wing?” said the mayor, “Are you here to beat me up too?”

The mayor may have been a terrible mayor, but he knew how to read people. Sort of. He could tell when people didn’t like him, but it was pretty dense of him to not recognize my obvious rescue attempt.

“I’m here to rescue you,” I said as I began to untie him, “Though since this place is a legal black hole, I’d like to point out that I warned you about what would happen if you continued to let this forest be a police-no-go-zone.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake” said the mayor, “For starters, you’re allowed to say that whenever you want. No one’s gonna arrest you for criticizing me in town.”

I thought about how if I was mayor, I would definitely arrest people who criticized me in town because to let that sort of thing go would encourage public disorder. Yet I kept quiet. There was no time for a civics debate here on Elroy-Vinterbeen turf.

“Second of all,” said the mayor, because he was annoying, “If you’re not here to beat me up, then you’re an IDIOT for coming out in the open like this to rescue me.”

“What do you mean?” I said, “I got those guards to go away. Though they’ll be back soon if you keep yapping.”

“You don’t understand,” said the mayor, “Those were just the Elroys.”

“Just the Elroys?” I said, “They don’t call themselves Elroy-Vinterbeens anymore?”

“They never did,” said the mayors, “There’s Elroys–”

I heard a gun cock. Lanky ne’er-do-wells dressed like medieval jesters climbed out of the nearby tents into the campground. They were all holding rifles.

The widest of these jesters pointed his rifle at my head.

“And there’s Vinterbeens,” said this wide jester.

I slowly put my hands up.

“Falk Wing, eh?” said the wide jester, “I thought you left the force.”

“The police can’t come here,” I said, “This whole forest is a legal immunity bonanza.”

“Bonanza?” said the wide jester, “Didn’t know people still said words like that out loud.”

He began to laugh. It was familiar.

“Do I know you?” I said.

“Yeah,” said the wide jester, “I guess you do. Let me refresh your memory.”

The wide jester took off his belled jester hat, revealing a bright red mullet that I would recognize anywhere. It was the hairdo of my sparring partner from my days at the police academy.

“Chase O’Callahan,” I said, “What are you doing with these punks?”

“A job’s a job,” said Chase, “I mean, how much money have you made since you left the force?”

“That’s none of your business,” I said, tactically hiding the fact that I was currently unemployed.

“Well,” said Chase, “That’s what it all comes down to: business. Why settle for a government pension when these weirdos have more money than they know what to do with?”

He waved at the other jesters. I noticed that they were all wearing expensive watches and diamond encrusted shoe laces under their costumes.

“That’s blood money,” I said, “It’ll stain your soul.”

“Souls?” said Chase, “I didn’t know you were the spiritual type, Falk.”

“You don’t need to be spiritual to believe in right and wrong,” I said, “To know that evil will always end in oblivion.”

“Yeah, I used to believe in justice too,” said Chase, “But then I realized something.”

“What?” I said.

“Crime pays better,” said Chase.

I saw his finger move closer to the trigger on his rifle.

“Asta la vista, Falk Wing,” said Chase.

As soon as I heard the bullet begin to ignite against the rifle chamber, I ducked low and knocked Chase off his feet with a sweeping leg kick. Sure enough, the bullet whizzed by my head as Chase fell to the floor.

“Still so slow after all these years, eh?” I said.

It was the last thing I remember saying before the rest of those rifle-toting Vinterbeen jesters gunned me down.

To be continued...