in the attic of her apartment. In the confines of her home, Pilar got high all by herself. She knew later tonight would be no exception and she relished the thought.
Suddenly, there were noises at the door and Zippy pushed Detective Divine into the room. Pilar knew by the woman's frowning squint, she was trying to adjust her eyes to the dark and dreary environment.
"What in God's name do you think you're doing?" Pilar asked Zippy.
The mayor watched the detective's eyes widen in recognition. About three seconds was all it had taken for Detective Divine to realize the woman in the auburn wig was the mayor of Los Angeles.
"Have a seat, detective," Zippy said, motioning toward one of the vinyl chairs at the table as he stuck the gun in his waistband. "How are you, Pilar?"
"I'm wondering if you've lost your mind. What in the hell is she doing here? Are you crazy?"
Zippy held up his hand. "Pilar, you are wound up too tight. You really ought to look into the benefits of medical marijuana. I think you'd find a buzz every now and then advantageous. I'm sure we could discreetly get you a doctor's prescription." He looked at Pilar. "Did you bring more money?"
She wanted to take her gun out and shoot Zippy right then and there. The man was an idiot. Here he was babbling about medical marijuana and money when everything was spinning out of control. Now, in order to fix things, she'd have to kill Zippy and the cop. Could she possibly get away with it? Pilar fingered the small revolver in the pocket of her hoodie.
Zippy sat in the chair nearest the door, across from the cop. "After you spotted Detective Divine in the bar at the Temple Street Towers, I took some time to think. I figured you were correct that it was no coincidence she showed up when we were there together." Zippy pulled the gun from his waistband and rubbed his hand along the barrel. "It presents quite a problem. In fact, both of you ladies present quite a problem for me."
Pilar decided it was now or never. Then all hell broke loose.
MADDIE – 106
I hadn't recovered from Sorriano's macho man-handling when I was pushed into the room at the roach resort and found a woman sprawled across the eighties-inspired bedspread, a pastel ménage of Southwest hues. It took me a few seconds to recognize the mayor of Los Angeles in spite of her reddish-brown wig that, naturally, looked good on her. I couldn't believe my eyes, and wondered what the connection was between the mayor and Sorriano.
The 'reformed' gangster told me to sit in one of the chairs at the table to my right. Two rickety plastic molded chairs flanked the plastic-covered pressboard tabletop. The dinette sat in front of the window. I purposely chose the chair facing the door. If S.W.A.T. came in guns blazin', I wanted them to see my face and recognize me. The guys on the team all knew me since Travis worked their unit too, but I didn't want to take any chances.
Clearly the mayor hadn't been expecting me, and she made it known to Sorriano by jumping off the bed yelling at him, calling him crazy. That probably wouldn't be the tactic I'd take with him, but he seemed to take it in stride. Bouncing his gaze between the mayor and me, he slowly advanced on her. I didn't think that was a wise move. Both of her hands were concealed in the pockets of her hoodie, and as a cop, I know it's the hands that kill you. I worried she might have a gun in those pockets.
I wasn't too surprised when she pulled out a small thirty-eight caliber revolver and started capping rounds at Sorriano. At the first sight of the firearm my training kicked in and I yelled, "Gun! Gun!" then dove to the floor. Before I hit the ground, the motel room door exploded inward and gunfire spewed all around me.
I've never been so scared, angry, and frustrated in my life. Here I was in the middle of a gunfight for my life, and I didn't have a freakin' gun! Knowing my best chance of not getting hit was to make myself as small as possible, I wiggled away from the table pushed myself against the wooden platform that held the sagging mattress. I covered my head with my hands and waited for a bullet to split my skull.
Suddenly, there was a blood-covered forty-five caliber 1911 handgun on the floor in front of me. I snatched it up, but the battle was over. Nothing but silence and the odor of gunpowder filled the room.
From where I lay, I could see Sorriano stretched out facing the wall beneath the window. He wasn't moving. I couldn't see my nine-millimeter Beretta he'd taken from me earlier.
Curling myself in a semi-fetal pose, I rolled and positioned my knees so I could lead with the gun and rise above the mattress and take out the mayor if I had to. In one, swift, upward movement I discovered Pilar Luna had been shot in the chest, but was raggedly breathing. Making a mental note of where the mayor's small gun rested on the ruined bedspread, I took the firearm, and secured it in the small of my back. I knew Force Investigation Division would expect me to be able to recreate the crime scene exactly as it was now.
I turned back to Sorriano. I needed to secure the gun he had and be sure he wasn't a threat. I held the Springfield Armory 1911 at a close contact position and crawled to the prone figure of Sorriano. There was a wide ring of blood spreading under his head. I pulled Sorriano away from the wall and took satisfaction at the hole in the front of his head. He was dead. My duty firearm was still in his hand. I pulled it from his fingers and pushed it in my rear waistband as well.
Still on my knees, I surveyed the rest of the room. I was startled to see a pair of feet encased in grey running shoes on the floor at the foot of the bed. In an overload of realization and understanding, I recognized those shoes. They belonged to my husband! I sprang to my feet.
"Travis!" I yelled as I stumbled to the foot of the bed. He was face down, his head turned toward the bed, partially hidden by the hideous bedspread. "Oh my God. Oh my God. Travis! Are you all right? Can you hear me? Say something!"
I set the bloody gun I held on the threadbare carpet. I pushed the fabric away from his face. His eyes were barely open and his breath was labored.
"Maddiecake," he whispered.
"Somebody call for an ambulance," I screamed. I didn't take my eyes off my husband, but I was aware of people beginning to gather outside the demolished door. I leaned down and put my face to his. "I'm sorry, babe. You're gonna be okay, you'll see. You'll be okay." I felt in my pockets for my cell phone to call for help, but it must have fallen loose. I grabbed his hand and cringed at his lack of response.
"I dumped 'em both Maddie," he mouthed. He struggled to get enough air to make himself heard. "Shot the guy 'tween the eyes, an popped the female in the ten ring. Bitch still got a shot off. I'm hit."
"Shhhh, don't talk." I turned my head to look out the door at the whores and addicts who'd gathered. "Did someone call for an ambulance?" I bellowed. The crowd shifted uneasily, but no one spoke and no one left their front-row seat. At the approaching sirens, a few ghouls scattered, but most stood silent, watching me.
"Maaaaddie," Travis whispered, "love you. Sorry how it all tur' out." He tried to lick his dry lips.
My tears fell in his hair and on the back of his neck. "Travis, you're going to be alright. You have to fight. Please Travis," I pleaded. "I'll go to counseling, just like you wanted. Please, Travis."
He took a deep breath. "I saved you Maddiecake. I saved you. They din't shoot off your fa-."
"Travis? Travis?" I lightly slapped his cheek. "Travis, please don't leave me. Please. Don't leave me." Even in my distress I heard the terror in my voice.
He exhaled. And with that breath, he was gone.
I sat statue still. I'd seen enough dead bodies to know my husband was dead. I registered the sounds of squealing tires in the distance and knew, within seconds, the place would be swarming with cops. I stood and used my right foot to push the forty-five caliber 1911 out of reach several feet in front of me. It was then I saw the initials burned into the wooden grips. I realized it was my husband's personal gun.
Travis knew it was important to be armed and prepared, and I'm sure he'd felt naked not carrying a gun. Obviously, his gut instinct drove him to go against the department's edict and
his own worries about his mental status. His instinct and bravery had saved my life.
With robot-like movements, I rose to meet the responding cops, raising my hands above my head.
TIFFANY – 107
Even to a young woman used to being the center of attention, for Tiffany the hospital was a madhouse. Doctors and nurses ran in the hallways, yelling for security to get the paparazzi out of the Emergency Room.
Every time the exam room door opened, Tiffany heard photographers snapping photos, and hospital staff telling them to get back. She couldn't imagine what they were taking pictures of—a floor-to-ceiling drapery pulled around her bed hid her from sight. While she knew her rescue was big news, she wished the media would just leave her alone. Fat chance. She wondered if Brenda was aware of the hoopla over their being found alive. She hadn't seen her friend since they'd left the hotel. They'd been loaded into separate ambulances and brought to this hospital.
She'd tried to rest a little on the ride over to the medical center. It was no use. Adrenaline and relief surged through her body. It was finally sinking in that she was really safe.
Tiffany assumed her father had been called, and wondered how long it would be before he'd arrive. She knew he must have been crazed with worry. But she also knew he'd be furious at her for ditching her
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