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Subject: Kathy by Morgan (M/F) Chapter 15a
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To:  story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us
From: morg105829@aol.com
Subj: "Kathy" Book II, Chapter 15a (M/F) (231 lines)
January 18, 1998

Thanks for the (mostly) friendly comments.  This is the eighteenth section (I
think.  I may have lost count because of split-chapter uploads) of a book that
runs 26 chapters.  This ends (abruptly) purely because of upload limitations.
Put it together with 15b.

Readers are most strongly urged to read Kathy from the beginning.  It will
make no sense otherwise.  I hope to have the balance of the book posted within
a week or so.

Comments (of any kind) will be appreciated.  Contact me at morg105829@aol.com.
Although this is substantially more tame than many postings on A.S.S.M., the
usual disclaimers apply.  Permission is granted to repost, but only on non-
commercial sites.  Please inform me if you do so.

"Kathy"

(c) 1991, 1998 by Morgan.

Book II

Chapter 15a

When she returned to her apartment after leaving Jim and Sally, she turned on
the VCRs and rewound the tapes to see the evening news shows that she had
recorded.  The three network stations had major coverage of the shootings the
night before.  One of the anchors commented that the two gunman had been
convicted of three killings between them.  He continued by saying that,
regardless of what one may think of the deterrent value of the death penalty,
those two men would never kill again.  Overall, Kathy was pleased with the
tone of the newscasts.  The next morning she glanced at the morning paper
while she ate a quick breakfast.  It, too, played the Saturday-night shooting
prominently.  There were sidebars with eyewitness interviews coupled with
statements from several officials.

On Monday, Kathy had no idea how the staff in her office would act.  When she
walked in, everyone dove for the floor.  Her laughter broke whatever tension
there may have been.  Pete motioned for her into his office.  She sat down in
her customary chair, adopting her usual pose.  He looked at her.  "Knock off
that Junior League shit, for Christ's sake!  It looks natural, but it's an
act.  A very good act, understand, but an act.  Saturday night was *not* an
act.  Kathy, you could have been killed."

Kathy stuck out her tongue.  "I rather like my Junior League bit, too.  You're
mean!"

Pete ignored her and went back to the papers on his desk.  "We have a bunch of
stuff that hasn't been released to the press, yet.  Some of it never will be.
The medical examiner's report is interesting.  I've never seen one quite like
it.  Instead of the usual technical jargon written in a studiedly
dispassionate tone, this one was written with overtones of awe.  It seems the
cause of death was identical in both cases: two .38 caliber bullets entering
the chest cavity from the left on a slightly rising trajectory.  Both bullets
passed through the heart and imbedded in the upper right quarter of the body,
in or near the shoulder.  All four bullets have been recovered.  They match
the rifling of your LadySmith and the spent brass retrieved from its cylinder.
Death was instantaneous.  Either bullet in each body would have been
immediately fatal.  The two reports are identical.  Do you have any
explanation?"

"The place was crowded with people.  I wanted to be sure bullets wouldn't be
ricocheting around the room.  Did they find and recover the other bullet fired
by the gunmen?"

"The police dug it out of the wall panel separating the rooms.  The Navy
turned over the slug extracted from O'Rourke's arm.  The guy on our List
gunned O'Rourke.  His buddy's bullet hit the wall.  The police can't recreate
the scene with accuracy good enough to determine how close it came to hitting
him but it isn't important anyway.  Paraffin and other tests were run on the
bodies.  Results are conclusive:  Each man fired his weapon once before he was
hit.  The recovered bullets match up, and so forth."  Mahoney stopped and
looked up.  "Never in my years in law enforcement have I encountered such a
clear-cut case.  It's so good, even the usual gun- control nuts haven't opened
their mouths.  As soon as the inquest can be scheduled, there will be a
finding of justifiable homicide in the line of duty to prevent further injury
or death.  The mayor is waiting for the official finding to award you a
commendation for exceptional performance.

"For chrissakes, Kathy, even the damned Navy wants to get into the act!  For
some unfathomable reason the Admiral commanding the Naval Base wants to
present a commendation at a formal Admiral's inspection and review next
Sunday.  It seems some of his people who were at Charley's Saturday night
stated that the two gunman started firing with a crazed look in their eyes.
They said the guys were going to keep shooting and would have wasted a lot of
highly-trained naval personnel.  The governor is watching developments.  He
would like to do something dramatic but hasn't figured out just what to do
yet.  To top it all off, just before you came in I get a call from that dumb-
ass head of the police pistol range!  He wants to see you as soon as possible;
he had you shooting at full-face targets and didn't fill you in on target
areas of the body from other angles."

Kathy continued sitting, but her face looked grim.  She waited for Mahoney to
speak while he waited for her.  He broke the silence.  "I'm sorry, Kathy.
Damn it, I'm scared!  The best assistant in the whole damned state, and
possibly the whole country, in a shootout!  The experts are unanimous.  It was
the finest police work they've ever seen.  It is the only exchange that went
*exactly* by the book.  One shot each from the bad guys and they're wasted.
The District Director of the FBI won't stop talking about *two* shots.  'Not
one, two.  Right by the book.  Fire at least two to make sure.  Every bullet
lethal.'  Kathy, I am proud.  Scared as hell for you, but proud.  I find
myself believing what the Dean told me:  You *do* get the job done."  He rose
and went around his desk.  Kathy also got up, thinking they were leaving the
office.  Instead, Pete stopped, took her in his arms and kissed her.  Kathy
calmly kissed him back.  When he released her, she heard a barely-perceptible,
"Wow!"  Peter started muttering about getting a lot of shit from Personnel for
sexual harassment.

The hearings and paperwork were handled in record time.  About all Kathy
remembered later were people with their hands out congratulating her.  Often
they were trying to get into news photographs with her.  As soon as she could,
she got away from the office after ensuring that her assistants were staying
on top of their cases and pushing ahead as fast as possible.  She went out to
visit some police stations to check on morale, the critical variable in her
law-enforcement equation.  On her first set of visits announcing the program
she had been received with skeptical support.  "We'll give it a try, *but*..."
Left unsaid was the thought that it wasn't going to work.  The atmosphere she
found on this visit was totally different.  She was treated with the deference
accorded Queen Elizabeth of England on a state visit.  The attitude was shared
from the newest rookie to the most senior watch officers.  "Kathy, you're one
of *us*.  You've been there."

In spite of always being armed, the typical police officer spends his entire
career without ever firing a shot in anger.  Some observers feel it's a good
thing considering what all too often happens:  Dozens, and at times hundreds
of rounds are fired without hitting the person at whom the shots were
supposedly aimed.  Gun battles in which more passers-by are hit than bad men
occur all too often.  It is not frequent but often enough to hurt the police
self-image.  Police officers detest, most of all, appearing to the public to
be a bunch of Keystone Kops.  Kathy had been involved in the most dangerous
possible situation encountered in police work: shots fired in a location
crowded with innocent civilians, with the civilians as the target.  Her
response was instantaneous, exactly correct and, most of all, deadly accurate.
All the officers knew this.  None of them put it into words.  Kathy had buried
two of the worst gunmen in Tidewater.  The police appreciated it.

She went into a small station in East Norfolk.  The desk sergeant saw her come
in and did a double-take.  Instantly, he was out from behind his desk to shake
her hand.  "Miss Smith, what you did was perfect, simply perfect.  Thank you."

Kathy, without thinking, said simply, "Thanks, Sergeant."  and kissed him full
on the cheek.  The sergeant turned bright red and glowed.  'Kathy Smith kissed
me on the cheek,' he thought.  At that moment he would have cheerfully died
for her.

Kathy went back to the small squad room.  A single detective stood up, came
over and shook her hand.  He didn't say anything but just kept shaking her
hand.  A pair of patrolmen entered the station and saw her.  One stiffened to
attention and saluted smartly.  The other's jaw dropped.  Kathy heard him
mutter as she passed, while returning the salute of the first, "It's her!
It's Kathy Smith.  She's here!"

At the end of the day, she sat in her library and tried to evaluate the day.
She couldn't.  It had certainly boosted her ego.  On the other hand, the
tributes she received were genuine and heartfelt.  There were no fancy
speeches.  There were people who respected her for what she had done and were
grateful for the opportunity to show this respect.  She finally decided that
the day was positive for both her and for the uniformed forces.  When she
entered her apartment, her answering machine showed twelve messages.  It was
an extraordinary number since so few people knew her phone number.  When she
played back the tape she found no messages at all.  Because her machine marked
the time of each call, she did notice that they came about every thirty
minutes, beginning about six hours earlier.  The most recent call had come in
about fifteen minutes before she returned home.  'If the caller follows his
schedule,' she thought, 'the next call is due about now.'

At that instant the phone rang and Kathy picked it up.  "Kathy, it's Julie.
I've been trying to reach you for hours!  How are you?"

"I'm fine, Julie.  What's the trouble?"  Clearly something was very important
to cause Julie to maintain the call frequency.  For some reason she wanted to
deliver a message personally without placing her trust in a machine.

"Kathy, I told you once before that we hear things.  I also told you that you
have important support in surprising quarters.  Well, Hon, 'the surprising
quarters' just about declared today a holiday in your honor!  Those creeps you
burned are not missed.  In fact, their passing was greeted with cheers.
Incidentally, you have achieved a level of respect with some people who, uh...
use weapons in their profession.  One man with particularly good firearms
skills believes it was perfect shooting.  He kept repeating, 'Not good...  not
great...  Perfect!  It can't get better than that!' At any rate I have been
asked to pass on a warning.  A rumor has reached town that some special talent
may have been imported to take you out.  This rumor has started activity in
very high councils.  It's a matter of turf, you understand.  No one knows if
the rumor has substance, but I was ordered to tell you, 'For God's sake, keep
your head down and be careful.'  Honey, you were unbelievable.  Good-bye."
The circuit went dead.

Kathy had noted particularly Julie's use of the word, ordered.  It said to her
that this was a direct communication from the top of the organization in
Tidewater.  It was interesting.  She took out her gun-cleaning kit and cleaned
and oiled her pistol.  She replaced the bullets the lieutenant had given her
with four from her box of special match-grade ammunition.

The next day was Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving.  Kathy felt she had
to bring a gift to Jane and Bob when she visited on Thanksgiving.  As she
headed out of the building, she was preoccupied trying to think of an
appropriate gift.  As she walked slowly toward the curb her brain registered
something wrong.  A car was moving slowly down the line of parked cars as if
looking for a curbside parking space to open.  Kathy was at a spot on the curb
where parking was not permitted.  The curb in front of her was clear for a
space of about two car-lengths.  Just then the approaching car accelerated.
Kathy hit the sidewalk, rolled once, drew her pistol and fired one shot as a
shotgun blast went over her head.  The car sped away but Kathy thought she had
hit the gunman sitting in the passenger seat.

She got to her feet and looked down.  Foolishly, all she could think of was
that wonderful medical phrase, abrasions and contusions.  She assumed the
doctors felt better treating abrasions and contusions than they would treating
scrapes and bruises.  While she stood there wool gathering, the sounds of
sirens were heard coming from all directions.  The glass door in her building
had been destroyed by the shotgun blast.  Made of safety glass, it had
disintegrated into thousands of pieces.  The force of the blast had driven
most of the broken glass back into the building's lobby.  Fortunately, no one
was hit by either the pellets or the flying glass.  In moments, police
cruisers screeched to a stop at the curb.  Officers jumped out with their guns
drawn.  The first arriving officer immediately recognized Kathy.  At the same
instant she felt faint and went down on one knee.

The officer grabbed his radio microphone and screamed, "It's Kathy Smith!
Someone tried to kill Kathy!  Send an ambulance!"  He followed with the
address of the district attorney's office, grabbed his first aid kit and ran
to Kathy's side.  He took off his coat, folded it to make a pillow for her
head and made her lie down.  She tried to get up but the officer insisted that
she remain flat on the sidewalk.  The officer started to weep, "The dirty
bastards tried to kill Kathy."  Other patrol units had arrived by this time.
A second officer took off his coat and gently put it over Kathy as a blanket.
In moments, there was a phalanx of police surrounding Kathy with drawn weapons
in case another attempt were made on her life.

The ambulance arrived.  Emergency Medical Technicians quickly determined that
she had not suffered a life-threatening wound requiring on-the-spot attention.
Carefully they transferred her to their stretcher, covered her with a blanket,
and loaded her in their vehicle.  The two officers retrieved their coats.  As
the ambulance roared away towards the hospital it was accompanied by four
police cruisers, two leading and two trailing.  The police were taking no
chances.  At the hospital, she was rushed into an emergency treatment room.
The time lying on her back, both on the sidewalk and in the ambulance, had
allowed her faintness to pass.  Although she wanted to get up, the staff
wouldn't let her.  They carefully undressed and examined her.  She had bruises
and abrasions on her right arm, elbow, hip, knee and calf from hitting the
sidewalk.  The doctors found two shotgun pellets had ripped through the back
of her dress.  Idly, Kathy wondered if she could write off the now-destroyed
garment as a business expense.

After the sustained seriousness following the shooting she appreciated the
trauma specialist who examined her.  He was a young physician of about thirty.
Kathy looked at him, smiled to relieve the tension she felt and asked him how
she was.  The doctor frowned, and looked very serious.  "Miss Smith, I'm
sorry.  I've treated girls with more serious injuries sustained jumping rope!"
At this he grinned and started to chuckle.

Kathy had felt a sinking sensation when she had seen how serious he looked.
When he finished his statement, she yelped.  Then she started to laugh.  The
doctor held her in his arms as her laughter turned to tears when post-trauma
shock hit her.  He just held her as she slowly calmed down.  Finally, she
pushed away and really smiled.  "How much do you charge for holding patients
in hysteria, Doctor."

He looked very thoughtful for a moment before he answered.  "Well, it depends
on how attractive they are with rates inversely proportional to beauty.  I'm
afraid, Miss Smith, I would be paying you a great deal."  He stuck out his
hand, "I'm Charles Miller, Miss Smith.  I'm delighted to meet you, but I wish
it had been under more pleasant circumstances."

Kathy gripped his hand firmly, "Please call me Kathy, Doctor."  She had become
more aware of her surroundings.  She was seated on an examining table wearing
the standard hospital gown that is both very short and open in the back.  She
looked down at herself and then at the doctor.  "I wonder...  I think this is
the perfect dress for the Thanksgiving party tomorrow, don't you?"  They both
laughed.

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