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“Hey, look! There’s a truck coming now,” said Daisy by the window.

I hurried past the bar to the blinds beside her.

The police vehicle that was driving slowly down Main Street looked like an armored car that had been jacked up for off roading. It was a dark khaki color and the metal plates and bulletproof glass on the front of it were about as friendly as Darth Vader’s mask.

It was called a Lenco BearCat, I knew from my time in the ESU, the NYPD’s SWAT unit. We used a different kind of truck in the city, more like a firetruck, but I remembered that in many other rural departments they used this kind.

We silently watched its approach. It pulled in at the curb up in front of the body of Big Joe and stopped.

The military-looking vehicle just sat there half a football field away, its diesel engine chugging. I felt a tightness in my chest as I wondered what would happen next. I knew it could hold ten fully equipped officers if not more. Would they try to come in now? Ram the front door? A full-frontal attack?

“What the hell?” said Mathias. “What are they doing?”

“It says Beckford Police on the side,” Scotty said in an upbeat tone. “Maybe they’re the cavalry. Maybe the bad guys left.”

We all took a collective step back from the window as its back doors shrieked open. Beneath its high clearance, boots appeared on the street. Some kind of commotion started at the back of it then the boots disappeared and there was another shriek and a clunk of the back doors shutting.

We all stood silently as it started backing up. As it entered the middle of the street again in reverse, it revealed that the space at the curb where Big Joe had been was now empty.

“They took Big Joe,” Daisy said in a shocked voice. “What on earth? Why would they do that?”

“And why haven’t they come over here to see if we’re okay?” said Mario. “Or even call out with a bullhorn if there’s some kind of situation?”

“Maybe they’re too busy dealing with the bad guys up at The Pinewood,” Scotty said as the BearCat, still in reverse, disappeared around the corner of North Street.

“Maybe it’s police procedure?” Scotty tried.

“They’re not the police,” I said.

“But it says so on the side,” Scotty said. “I saw it.”

“It doesn’t matter what it says,” I said. “If someone is murdered, the police have to process the crime scene. They don’t just grab a body like a bag of garbage and drive it away in their cop car.”

“He’s right,” Mathias said. “They didn’t even lay down a chalk mark. That was crazy. They are the bad guys. Polish those glasses. Open your eyes.”

“No, no, no. You’re wrong. It’s just a kinetic situation,” Scotty said.

I looked over at Scotty. He kept nervously brushing back his long hair with both hands.

The dude was losing it, I thought. Grasping at any straw he could. I looked at the others. The raw fear on their wide-eyed faces.

“Oh, man. This shit is too much. I need a drink,” Mario said.

“Me, too,” said Daisy.

As she and the others began walking over to the bar, I knew this was my chance.