What Goes Around by Michael Wendroff

Prelude

I’ll remember the day I died for the rest of my life.

Prologue

The sign at the gate read, “Trespassers will be shot. Survivors will be shot again.”

It was before dawn, the night sky still dark and the compound silent as a cemetery. The cabin loomed in the distance: a den of crime, a place where the armed drug dealers spent much of their time. The police team approached as quietly as they could, the crunch of twigs beneath their boots the only sound to break the eerie silence. Fear tiptoed through their souls, its icy fingers tracing the contours of their restless thoughts. They took a collective inhalation of breath, not knowing if they were walking toward their death. They knew the property owner, the leader of the group, wasn’t kidding with his sign.

What they didn’t know was that a baby was crawling on the floor of the cabin they were about to storm.

***

Jon Eddie considered himself a champion. Now he understood he was in for the fight of his life.

Forty-two years old, with bulging eyes, a bushy beard and Fu Manchu mustache, he’d covered himself in self-righteousness, the way his tattoos covered almost every inch of his bulky body. He was proud of the group he’d brought together. Eddie liked to believe he was simply an entrepreneur, as his annual white power music festival, Nordic Fest, attracted skinheads from across the country. Full of music from “hatecore” bands such as Angry Aryans and No Alibi, supported by shouting speakers spewing their idiotic ideology, it provided a nice source of income—in addition to the dues Eddie charged, and the contributions he asked for. His major source of cash, however, was a raging drug-dealing business, his biggest sellers being meth, molly, and of course opioids.

His girlfriend, Krystal, was yelling at their baby to stop crying. Krystal, no mother of the year, picked the baby girl up and was about to shake her when Eddie noticed movement at the front of his property.

** *

Outside, the thundering silence was deafening. Two police officers accompanying the core team were selected to check the dense tree line that surrounded the compound’s fence. They knew there were often guards stationed behind the evergreens—if so, they needed to take them out as quietly and quickly as possible before the main assault could begin.

Everyone was on high alert. Though it was cool, sweat darkened their uniforms. Up ahead, closer to the cabin, they spied a truck with monster-size tires. Through binoculars, a sticker affixed to a large dent on the rear bumper was evident. It was a monstrosity, with a silhouette of crossed AR-15s next to the slogan, “Yours for White Victory.”

One cop, Jack—built like a sequoia tree—towered over the policewoman beside him, even though she was above average in height. He pointed his head toward the tree line and looked down with a smug expression. “You ready for this, Jill?” he asked, his voice full of confidence.

She rolled her eyes. Her uniform was pristine. “Shh. You know I can take care of myself,” she whispered.

He laughed silently. “Sure you can, Jill.” Then, under his breath, said, “Just don’t get in my way.”

Jill gritted her teeth and ignored his taunts. She’d always been competitive with him, ever since they were in the police academy together; they were like two racehorses heading neck and neck toward the finish line. Jill was determined to prove she was just as good as he was. No, better.

They looked at the team leader, who nodded. The two of them slowly moved forward, their breathing becoming more rapid. As they approached the fence, they heard rustling in the trees.

***

Krystal had never wanted to be a mother.

She’d really had no ambition to be anything at all. Stuck in a rut of life, like a sailboat without wind, she’d been tending bar when she met Jon Eddie. It wasn’t much of a bar; as you pushed open its dilapidated door, you were immediately hit with the pungent smells of bitter beer, cigarette smoke, and salty sweat. A long, sticky bar dominated the dimly lit

interior, lined with shaky stools and chipped coasters. The walls were covered in peeling, nicotine-stained wallpaper, and the floor was littered with discarded peanut shells and spilt spirits. Normally, the regulars, their lives littered as well, would sit hunched over their drinks, staring blankly into the distance. Unless Jon Eddie was around.

Eddie often drew a crowd, a mix of people in awe of him and people in fear of him. His mannerless mouth and domineering demeanor attracted Krystal. He clearly thought he was the shit, and just as clearly was a mean son of a bitch. But Krystal thought he was someone who could protect her. At first, she would shrivel from his drivel. Later, not knowing any better, she began believing him, impressed by his purported big ideas that the men around him enthusiastically nodded their heads up and down to. When the bar closed one night, he was in the parking lot, hovering, waiting for her, wanting her.

She went out the back door and saw him.

With an almost imperceptible shrug, she got into his truck. She stayed the night with him, which then became a month of muddling. Once she was pregnant, she was there for good. Or so she thought.

***

“Grab the guns!” Eddie yelled over the baby’s wails. Krystal looked at him, frozen, as she held the baby. “Leave the damn kid on the floor. Just grab the guns!”

** *

They could see two guards ahead.

The guards were behind a large oak tree, chatting quietly while looking at a cell phone. One laughed.

Jack motioned to Jill to wait a moment as he silently made his way to the larger of the two guards. Before anything even registered on the guard’s face, Jack started in on him.

Jack got him down, using a headlock and fireman’s carry maneuver that landed the guy on his head. He was knocked out and would have a concussion, but he’d live. Jack allowed himself a quick smile, then turned to the other man, who was backing away, suddenly preferring flight to fight. Jill had watched momentarily in admiration of Jack’s fighting skills but couldn’t admire for too long; the other guard was her job, and she had to be just as capable with him. He’d turned to run but had a gun in hand.

Jill moved catlike toward her prey. A tree root tripped her. The guard stopped. His gun hand was shaking.

Fast and agile, Jill quickly recovered, jumped, and landed a swift kick to his shaved head. Her steel-toed boot landed right in the center of his swastika tattoo; blood immediately gushed onto the soil. All those years of martial-arts training paid off. The gun fell out of the man’s hand, and Jill kicked it away before kicking him in the stomach to make sure he stayed down. The man’s eyes were wide, and it looked like he’d had enough, so she stopped, not wanting to overdo it. Jack watched her, ready to act, and looked similarly impressed, though he didn’t say a word to her after they’d cuffed and muzzled the guards.

Other cops quickly came over and dragged them away.

“Well, that was the easy part,” Jack said.

Jill, panting, just stared at him, knowing those words to be true. For a second, she thought of her dad, a former cop, and hoped his fate wouldn’t befall her.

The core team warily walked forward, heading into the unknown. Jack followed closely behind. Jill wiped the blood off her boot with some leaves and joined them. Her heart pounding, but with a lot of backbone, she put her best foot forward.

** *

The team leader, Nic, was as determined as a bulldog with a bone. He knew he had to stop the drug dealing, and he hated the group’s ideology. But even more, he was given this mission because an informant had told of a plan this group had to blow up a government building. Tomorrow.

As they came closer to the cabin, he scanned the area for any signs of activity. He saw movement within the cabin.

He could feel the sweat dripping down his face, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. While his officers were highly trained, he could see the fear in their eyes. It wasn’t a surprise. It was too easy for things to go bad.

He motioned for the team to spread out and be ready, with two officers heading around to the back. He knew they were dealing with very dangerous people but hoped to take them in without bloodshed. Especially their own.

***

The smoke bomb exploded on the floor.

Chaos. His vision clouded, an officer yelled, “Police, come out with your hands up!” There was more movement inside; Eddie was fuming. But no one emerged from the thick fog of smoke. The cops moved in, like a tidal wave crashing onto shore.

One of the team members was hit immediately; he was dead before his body hit the floor.

More gunshots rang out. As the men frantically searched the rooms, the team leader headed straight for the source of the gunfire, bullets whizzing by at a dizzying pace. Amidst the mist, Jill saw a woman on the floor, bloodied and unmoving. She then heard a cry, and looking down, saw a baby. Holy shit, she thought, and tried to yell to the others, but in the mayhem, she knew no one would hear or understand. A hail of bullets came their way, and Jill got down, covering the baby with her body, like an embryo in the womb.

Another gunshot rang out, and Jill saw blood.

***

Excerpt from What Goes Around by Michael Wendroff . Copyright 2024 by Michael Wendroff . Reproduced with permission from Michael Wendroff . All rights reserved.