As Cody’s leg extended past him, Arthur delivered a devastating piston-like kick with his heavy work boot directly to the side of Cody’s knee. The joint buckled inward with a horrific snapping sound. Cody shrieked, collapsing into a heap in the aisle, clutching his leg in pure agony. Arthur looked up at Greg and Liam, who were frozen halfway down the bus. The two young men looked at their gym leader crying on the floor by the stairs, and their heavyweight enforcer screaming in the aisle. Arthur didn’t say a word. He simply raised one hand and pointed a calloused finger toward the back row of seats.
Greg and Liam didn’t hesitate. They scrambled backward, practically climbing over each other to get to the furthest corner of the bus, raising their hands in terrified surrender. Arthur calmly reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a small heavy tactical flashlight, and clicked it on, sweeping the beam over the two downed men to ensure they were no longer a threat. Satisfied they were neutralized, he turned his back on them, stepped over Trent again, and sat back down in the driver’s seat. He picked up his radio microphone. “Dispatch, this is Route 42. I have a 10-39 on board. Two aggressive passengers subdued. Requesting law enforcement and EMTs at the mile marker 14 turnout. Over.”
“Uh, copy that 42. Units are on route. Are you injured, Arthur?” The dispatcher’s voice crackled back. “Negative, dispatch. Just a bit of a delay.” For the next 15 minutes, no one on the bus moved. The only sounds were the howling wind outside, the idling engine, and the pathetic, agonizing moans of Trent and Cody. The college student in the front row stared at Arthur, his mouth slightly open, looking at the back of the driver’s head as if he were looking at a superhero or a monster.
Blue and red lights soon began to cut through the blizzard, reflecting off the white snow. Two Oak Creek Sheriff’s Department SUVs pulled up behind the bus, followed shortly by an ambulance. Deputy Sheriff Mike Carlson, a massive bearded man who had been with the department for 20 years boarded the bus, his hand resting on his sidearm. He took one look at the carnage in the aisle, Trent Lawson, the local tough guy, weeping and clutching a dislocated elbow, and Cody, the heavyweight, unable to put weight on his leg. Carlson looked past them to the driver’s seat. Arthur was calmly logging the incident on his clipboard.
“Jesus Christ, Art.” Carlson muttered, stepping over Trent. “What happened here?” Trent looked up at the deputy, his face pale, spit and tears mixing on his chin. “Arrest him!” Trent sobbed, pointing a trembling finger at Arthur. “He assaulted us! He’s a psycho! I want to press charges!” Carlson looked down at Trent. He recognized the kid. Everyone in town knew Trent and his abrasive gym crew. Then, Carlson looked back at Arthur.
