There was a brief moment of silence, accompanied by distant cries of seagulls. The Police Chief was the first to recover.
"Enough of this bullshit!" He shouted, "Cuff them, read their rights, and if anyone resists – shoot them! I have dinner plans!"
The order was clear, but no one dared to move. Only the young man slowly untied himself from Qing Yue's hug and turned toward the Governor. He intended to say something when he abruptly turned toward the south.
It was a sunny day, and one could rather clearly see the distant Los Angeles skyline. But what caught the young man's eye weren't the iconic towers of LA downtown, but a tiny dot in the sky.
Only after a good half-minute did the rest of those present recognize a quickly approaching helicopter. It was one of those fast and expensive ones – not that there was anyone who hadn't seen those before. This was LA, after all.
The helicopter halted thirty feet above the only flat patch on the steep mountain slope where the most police cars were clustered. It was the only spot it could safely land.
The problem was the thick whirlwind of ash that engulfed everything in the vicinity like a sandstorm. In an instant, police officers forgot about their arrest duties and covered their heads, trying not to choke on the ash particles that made the air thick and dirty.
It was hard to blame them. The Governor tried to assess the situation, throwing a quick glance around that only resulted in him squinting and tearing up.
As expected, the place was a mess, but the shocking part was the young man watching the helicopter above his head, seemingly unperturbed. Qing Yue and Javier had been stuffed back into the car, while he stood there leisurely, hands behind his back.
The cripple, the Hollywood Butcher, stood next to him, but he resembled something closer to a failed work of modern art than a living being.
Just when the Governor and police officers thought they had experienced enough shock for the day, the helicopter's door opened and a bright figure jumped out, softly landing on the ground right in front of the owner of the vineyard.
Like in old movies, the person cupped their fist and gave a short bow to the young man, then rushed over to the Governor.
"Phew! We're not too late!"
It was peculiar how the person's voice was loud and clear, not disturbed by the ruckus caused by the hovering helicopter. He had an accent – a strange one – but even before he spoke, the Governor knew that the newcomer was one of those people. It wasn't a premonition – the fact that someone effortlessly jumped from the height of a three-story building was evidence they weren't a simple person.
The next part was the final proof.
"Your patron sent me." The man said with an assuring smile.
Only now did the Governor notice that there was not a single speck of dust on the newcomer's bright white attire. Well, attire was the only term that came to mind to describe something between a hotel bathrobe and a martial artist's gi.
"What does she want me to do?" The Governor said, but his voice died under the oppressive gusts of wind.
The man heard him clearly, though. He said, "Call your men back and forget this whole matter. And next time, be more careful."
Trying to ignore the knot in his throat, the Governor forced the words through his teeth, "There's a mass murderer, and a person sheltering him. I can't … even if he's protected ..."
"It doesn't matter, Governor Oldman!" The newcomer said, "You have misjudged the situation, and this is not your fault. I'm here to support you. You may trust me!"
He paused, then added, "I also suggest you allow the heli-machine to land. There is another supporter you will want to rely on."
Suddenly, the Governor felt a stone lift from his shoulders. There would be a lot of headaches clearing up the whole mess – rumors, maybe even humiliation – but if the person in the helicopter was who he thought they were, it was worth it.
There was a reason he was the youngest California governor of all time. At thirty-three, very few had his brains and wit.
"Jerold!" He shouted, turning towards the Police Chief, "Call your men back. You all may leave now!"
"What?!" The Police Chief's face carried all possible feelings – shock, anger, unwillingness. But he heard the Governor clearly.
"Jerold, these people are from a special U.S. Marshals unit." Oldman made random stuff up on the spot, "To avoid further casualties, they will be the ones to take the suspects into custody. Order your men to go back. I'll explain everything later."
"Explain?! Later?!" The Police Chief angrily shouted at him, ignoring the ash and dust going into his eyes, nose, and mouth, "Hundreds of people were killed! They injured tens today alone! We need to …"
"We need to let the U.S. Marshals do their job." The Governor could only inwardly pat himself on the back for coming up with the right move, "Go! Quickly. They intend to shoot to kill!"
The Police Chief froze, then seemingly understood the implication. The Hollywood Butcher would be no more in a bit. It was a pity he couldn't witness his death himself, but clearly the President himself had sent someone to execute this bunch of murderers. And Oldman would cover for him and his men. They would be unwilling, but a hint here and there would be enough for them to understand what happened.
Good!
Within minutes, the police left, under their noses mumbling and cursing. The place didn't become deserted, though. Now, besides the old Caddy and Oldman's limo, there was a shiny helicopter.
The good part about the change was – not only was it not as crowded – under the warm rays of the sun one could once again enjoy the stillness of the Santa Monica Mountain range right at the Malibu coast. Despite the fact that the vineyard was burnt down, it was clear why the owner picked the spot.
An old man climbed out from the helicopter and slowly approached the rest.
His suit was obviously expensive, and so were his shoes. The dark beret made him look elegant, even a bit cute, and the only thing that was out of place was his cane, made from a simple branch. And it was obvious the old man didn't need it – his gait was that of a fit teenager, not an elderly man.