Jason goes to Canada

Ain't no party like a lynch party

Ray had just slathered his hot cakes with the perfect amount of local maple syrup, it's sweet goodness started to mingle with the butter and drip off the sides of the stack, when his radio squawked.
Sigh.
"Come back, didn't copy."
"I said you better get out here, boss."
"Where is here, Harold?"
"Uh, corner of Main and Appling."
"It can't wait?"
"Well, I just pulled over a truck, it's got about eight boozed-up fellas in the back."
"That ain't particularly illegal, Harold."
"They's armed, boss. They've all got rifles and pistols."
Shit. Ray didn't even have to ask, he knew where they were going. After the bodies of those kids were found this morning, fear and anger had been rising like shitty water in a busted toilet. He figured something like this would happen, but not so soon.
"Keep them there. I'll be right out."
"All right boss. Better hurry though, they're in ill temper."
He quickly sunk his fork into his cakes, taking a big bite. Damn that is good. He hated to leave them.
"Make you a to-go plate, Ray?" the cook asked.
"Nah. I'll just try again tomorrow, I guess."
"Okay, be careful, eh?"
"Yuh."

He got out at the intersection, Harold was currently fussing with the driver of the truck, who seemed intent on pulling away.
Ray approached quickly.
He knew the truck.
"Ross, turn off the engine."
Ross looked at him with red eyes, the whole group of them had probably been boozing at Tchad's before they worked up the nerve to gather their guns and load up.
"I think I'll keep it running, Ray."
"I said turn it off. We need to talk, and I can't hear shit over your motor."
"We ain't got nothing to talk aboot." he said, but he killed the engine just the same.
"Where are you boys going?"
"You know where we're going, Constable." someone in the back answered.
"Somewhere you should be." said another.
"Now listen."
Ross held up his hand.
"No Ray, YOU listen. That's THREE people done been murdered out here, friends of ours, Randy was kin to old Bill back there.."
"My damn nephew!"
"...and we're kinda tired of waiting on the Mounties to decide to catch this fella."
"Now Ross, that ain't damn fair! You know I'm doing all I can! But there's ways to do it, guidelines I have to follow..."
Ross spat.
"This killer ain't got no guidelines, and the way I see it, neither do we. Fire with fire, eh?"
"Ross, goddammit, you boys are so drunk you're just as likely to shoot each other as the real killer. Now, if you want to wait, we can organize a real hunting party and.."
"Wait, hell. HE ain't going to wait. There's likely to be another corpse out there tomorrow morning waiting on us. Maybe someone we know. Maybe someone YOU know."
"Ross, I'm telling you. It's dark, the temperature is dropping, and they're calling for a bunch of snow..."
"We prepared for all that. Timmy back there brought us a bunch of handheld spotlights. And you know none of us mind the snow."
"Still..."
He looked into Ross's bleary eyes, and the eyes of the boys in the back, and he knew the only way be was going to stop them was to arrest the whole group of them. They would probably come noisily, but peacefully.
Or maybe not.
"Ah fuck it. If you boys are dead set in going, I'll allow it. BUT...me and Harold go with ya. Leading the expedition. You do as we say, especially out in those woods. That's the way it's gotta be. If you don't like it, well, you can turn this rig around and go home. Deal?"
Ross turned and looked at the group, looking for approval.
A few of them nodded.
One of them turned up a beer and belched loudly.
"Okay Constable. After you."
He got in Harold's prowler, letting his deputy drive.
"Boss, you sure aboot this?"
"Hell no. But it beats trying to slap cuffs on them. We'll let them get out in the cold and sober up. An hour or two of beating the bushes and they'll give up I bet."
"Yeah. But what if we find him, you know. The killer."
"Oh, if we come across a likely suspect, then you're going to help me restrain these boys so we can bring him in peacefully. I have a lot of questions that need answering, and I'd rather get them from a living tongue."
Harold drove quietly, his small chin moving in contemplation.
He turned on his light bar, and together they rode down the roads leading out of town, leading an old truck packed with drunk civilians hell-bent on a reckoning.

A reckoning they would find, but not the one they expected.