Outlaw MC

by Dwayne Clayden

  “How’d your meeting with IA go?” Zerr asked.

  “The usual,” Brad said. “They played good cop/bad cop. They asked me why I went to the T & C. I told them to find Lou LeBeau. They nearly blew a wad.”

  Zerr laughed.

  “They asked a bunch of questions. Did I identify myself as a cop? No. Did I call Lou a fag? No, I just said his fat gut would get in the way and he was taking it from behind anyway.”

  “I’d have loved to be there.”

  “The next questions were about the pool cue. They said it was premeditated assault, that I grabbed the cue as a weapon. I told them I hoped Lou would invite me to play pool. I said I used it in self-defense. Then they went crazy because I carry a piece off duty saying it was against policy. I said there is no policy either way. Then I walked out.”

  The radio interrupted them.

  “All units southeast. Explosion with injuries. Seventeenth Avenue and Thirty Sixth Street. EMS and fire en route.”

  Brad grabbed the mic. “Dispatch, TS 110 responding. ETA two minutes.” Zerr pressed the gas and the big Suburban surged forward.

  Black smoke spiraled in the distance. Two blocks closer, flames engulfed a vehicle. A fire truck blew the red light in front of them. It was either hit the fire truck or evade. Zerr smoothly maneuvered the suburban around the big truck, into oncoming traffic and then back in their lane.

  “Freakin’ hose jockeys,” Zerr mumbled. He stopped a hundred yards back from the burning jeep, and they jumped out.

  Sirens wailed in the distance. Behind them, the air brakes on the fire engine hissed.

  Brad sprinted to the twisted skeleton of bent metal and burning plastic. The air was filled with the door of gas, burnt plastic, and the sickly stench of burnt flesh. He was drawn to the twisted hulk. A few flames flickered from the engine compartment. The heat had subsided. He peered into the driver’s side. Charred human remains were embedded in the driver’s seat. Oh, fuck.

  A woman screamed. “Over here. Help!” She was kneeling on the sidewalk holding a child. Brad ran through the shattered glass of a store window. The woman held a blood-soaked cloth on the chest of a boy no more than ten years of age.

  “Zerr, get the paramedics over here,” Brad yelled. He turned back to the woman. “Your son?”

  The woman shook her head. “He was was in front of me … just … oh my god …”

  Brad removed the cloth the woman was pressing on the boy’s chest. Blood flowed from dozens of holes in his chest. With each short, labored breath, small red bubbles formed in the boy’s nose.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Maggie knelt beside Brad and opened her trauma kit.

  “Open chest wound,” Zerr said.

  “Great. Now there’s two of you playing paramedic,” Maggie said. “You two get the stretcher from the ambulance. Grab the spine board and straps, too.”

  Maggie’s partner joined her. He inserted an airway and ventilated the boy with a bag-mask device. Maggie checked the trauma dressing and started an intravenous.

  Brad and Zerr returned with the stretcher and set the spine board beside the boy.

  They strapped him to the spineboard, lifted him onto the stretcher, raced across the pavement, and loaded the boy into the ambulance.

  “I need Sharma and Brad in the back,” Maggie said. “I need a driver.”

  “Zerr can drive,” Brad said.

  “Fine, Andretti,” Maggie said. “Don’t get us killed but get us to the General Hospital as fast as you can.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Zerr climbed into the driver’s seat and accelerated west on Seventeenth Avenue.

  Maggie grabbed the microphone. “General Hospital, this is Medic 2.”

  “Go ahead, Medic 2.”

  “We’re en route with a boy about ten years old, a victim of a car bomb. He’s unconscious with an open chest wound. Intravenous in place. Ventilating with a bag mask. We’ll intubate on the way. ETA is ten minutes.”

  “Roger, Medic 12. See you in ten.”

  Maggie pulled out the intubation kit and prepared the equipment for her partner. Sharma grabbed the laryngoscope and slid the lighted blade into the airway. He crouched low over the small boy, changed the position of the blade, and inserted the endotracheal tube. Maggie attached the bagging unit and squeezed a few times. “Good, you’re in.”

  Maggie listened with her stethoscope as Sharma ventilated. “Yup, it’s good.” Maggie secured the tube.

  The cardiac monitor beeped with each heartbeat. The beeps were fast, then faster. Maggie glanced at the monitor and muttered, “Damn,” then adjusted the intravenous.

  “It’s getting harder to ventilate,” Sharma said.

  Maggie listened to the chest with her stethoscope. “He’s got a tension pneumothorax on the right.”

  “What’s that?” Brad asked.

  “A collapsed lung,” Maggie said. “Not surprising with the chest injury. I need to relieve the pressure.” She searched her kit for a syringe and a long needle. As she attached the needle to the syringe, the cardiac monitor beeped frantically. Then the beeping stopped — a single tone.

  Maggie glanced at the heart monitor—flatline. Ah, shit. “Brad, start compressions.”

  “He’s only a kid.”

  “Use one hand and don’t push as hard.” Maggie grabbed his right hand and placed it on the chest. “Right here. If one hand doesn’t seem right, use two. A hundred times a minute. Do it. Now!”

  Maggie opened a drug kit and pulled out a box. “I’m giving epinephrine. Brad, stop compressions.”

  Maggie flipped the caps off, connected the drug to the syringe, and injected the drug into the intravenous line. She looked at the monitor—still flatline. Come on, little guy. “Continue compressions and ventilations.”

  Maggie grabbed the syringe with the long needle. She cut off the finger of a surgical glove and then pushed the needle through the end of the finger.

  “Brad, stop compressions,” Sharma said.

  “What are you doing?” Brad asked.

  Maggie’s finger traced down the middle of the boy’s sternum and to the right. “He’s got too much air in his chest. It’s stopping his lung from inflating. I’m going to relieve the pressure.” She inserted the needle—air escaped. Maggie removed the syringe and needle but left the plastic catheter and glove finger in place.

  Sharma squeezed the bagging unit. The glove finger fluttered each time he ventilated the boy.

  “Compressions,” Maggie said.

  They were in rhythm. Maggie administered drugs, Sharma provided ventilation, and Brad did compressions. They worked silently on the boy with the broken chest. Maggie glanced at Sharma. He shook his head. Maggie administered more drugs.

  Zerr stopped the ambulance at the emergency doors. Paramedics descended on them and rushed the stretcher to the trauma room. As Maggie gave a report, the trauma team took their place around the boy. Each team member had a role. Not much was said as they worked. Calm, direct orders from the emergency physician, a nurse calling out vital signs with numbers much too low, blood flowing through an intravenous. Maggie needed to leave, but didn’t move. She stood next to Brad in the corner of the trauma room.

  Then sad, knowing looks around the room.

  Twenty minutes after they’d arrived, the emergency physician peered at the clock. “Time of death, 1735 hours.”

  Brad and Zerr leaned against the ambulance outside the emergency department. Devlin walked over to them. “What the hell was that?”

  “Can’t be a random thing,” Brad said. “Who was in the jeep?”

  Devlin stared at Brad. “You don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “That was Lou LeBeau’s jeep. He’s the crispy critter.”

  “Damn,” Brad said. “I don’t give a shit about LeBeau, but the kid is dead.”

  “Fuck,” Devlin said.

  “I wish I smoked,” Brad said. “Seems like the thing to do. Can’t drink out here.”

 
“I know what you mean,” Devlin said.

  “I’ll be back in a minute.” Zerr jogged away.

  “LeBeau and the kid dead,” Devlin said. “Six others injured. A teenage girl might lose an eye—five others with minor cuts from the flying metal and glass. Ident will be at the scene for hours. Nichols is there, too. He’s not sure if the bomb was ignited by remote or the car’s ignition.”

  Zerr was back and held out two long cylinders. “Cigar?”

  Devlin grabbed one. Brad took the other.

  “Where’d you get these?” Brad slid a cigar out of the tube.

  “I carry them with me,” Zerr said. “It was a tradition with my unit. When we got back from a tough mission, we’d go out into the hills and have a cigar. Our way to blow off steam.”

  “I kinda like that.” Brad accepted the light from Zerr, who lit Devlin’s cigar as well.

  They stood in silence. Brad inhaled deeply and coughed.

  “Sissy,” Devlin said.

  Light puffs were all Brad could handle. “It seems Satan’s Soldiers are at war with everyone.” He coughed again. “Even their own.”

  “No one is safe in a war,” Zerr said.

  Brad headed to the emergency department coffee room, hoping Maggie would still be there.

  Maggie looked up from her report. “We meet again.”

  “Getting to be a habit.” Brad sat down.

  “Just like old times.” Maggie set her clipboard down. “Nice shiner. That’s familiar too.”

  Her smile still melted his heart.

  “Occupational hazard.”

  “Don’t shit me,” Maggie said. “I’ve got my sources. That had nothing to do with work.”

  “Yeah, it was connected.” He didn’t want to dwell on that subject. “It seems if there’s blood and gore, somehow you end up bossing me around.”

  “Then stop pretending you’re a paramedic and take the course.”

  “Yeah, in my spare time,” Brad said.

  “New girlfriend taking too much of your time?” Maggie asked.

  “No, that’s over.”

  “I figured that would happen. She doesn’t like bikers?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “It was a hot topic of discussion at a certain bar,” Maggie said. “Word gets around. Just like your little road trip to the T & C. What’re you going to do?”

  “I don’t need to do anything,” Brad said. “The car bomb victim, Lou LeBeau, was one of the guys who assaulted Sarah. His club is doing housecleaning. Or the Jokers are getting revenge for the semi accident with their south members.”

  “Is Sarah under protection?”

  Brad shook his head. “No, she left town to stay with relatives.”

  “Hmmm. I thought she would be enjoying some personal protection.” The smile was back.

  “If that were the case, it would be anyone but me. What time are you done your shift?”

  “Are you changing the subject?” Maggie asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Our shift ended an hour ago. We need to get back to the station so night crew can have our truck. You want to get a beer?”

  “Uh, not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Really?”

  “This biker shit is getting worse. I don’t want you involved.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake. It’s just a beer.”

  “Okay,” Brad said. “Meet you about eight?”

  “Not The Cuff. Too much cop talk there. How about The Place Pizza in Bowness? We can eat and have a few beers.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Brad waited inside the front door remembering another restaurant more than two years ago, the first time he and Maggie went out. He’d waited nervously that night, not sure how it would go. The date itself was great, the ending most unusual. While they were eating, the restaurant was robbed. Brad subdued the suspect. In the scramble, the robber lost his gun. Brad searched for the gun and was surprised that Maggie not only had the gun but unloaded it as well. A most unusual night.

  The door opened and Maggie entered. Her blond hair hung loosely over her shoulders.

  She spotted Brad. “This remind you of anything?”

  “Yeah. I was thinking back a couple of years.”

  The smile brightened. “Me too. Not sure you can top that date, though.”

  “Is this a date?”

  “Maybe,” she said. “Let’s get a seat. I’m starving.”

  The waitress led them to a table.

  Maggie glanced at the chairs, then at Brad. “Your choice.”

  Brad took the chair that placed his back to the wall and faced the door.

  Maggie smiled. They ordered beers and pizza.

  When the beers arrived Maggie said, “Let’s get the awkward, unspoken stuff out of the way.”

  “Uhm, okay,” Brad said.

  She took a drink and paused. “In Banff, it was fun for a while. The shifts were longer, but there were some serious injuries with the skiers at the resorts, and some of the traffic accidents were horrendous. I used trauma skills I never thought I’d need.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Brad said. “In a sick, paramedic sort of way.”

  “Scary too. Just you and your partner. Backup was an hour or more away. It was mentally exhausting.”

  She stared at her glass. “After we broke up, it was hard. I’d hear about you and TSU. You guys were like celebrities. So many successes. You arrested high-profile criminals. You shut down a heroin trafficking ring. Banff seemed like a step backward. I regretted breaking up with you, too. But I couldn’t go back in time. Then I met Anders.”

  Do tell. Brad took a drink.

  “We met at Lake Louise.” Maggie gazed out the window. When she turned back, her eyes were moist. “Woo, look at me, I’m dating an Olympic medal winner. He ordered wines I’d never heard of. Eventually, we moved in together.”

  “That didn’t work out?”

  “It did for a while—at least I thought so. But the cute, young ski bunnies were all over him. He laughed it off, but he had a good trap line. Smooth. Very Scandinavian.”

  “Didn’t you know? There must have been stories, rumors?”

  “Sure, but he picked me. I felt special.”

  “But —”

  “One shift I came home early and found a threesome in our bed, cuties in their teens. Like I said, very Scandinavian.”

  “Ouch. I was surprised when Thompson told me you were back. That you’d been here for a while.”

  “I moved back to Calgary a few months ago and commuted to Banff, but I was tired of all the driving. I applied again to Calgary and they hired me. I’ve got my own station as a paramedic with Sharma.”

  The pizza came and they grabbed a slice.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re back and partnered with Sharma. You two are an amazing team.”

  “Thanks. I’m glad to be back, too,” Maggie said. “What’s new in your life?”

  “Hard to know where to start. That first year after you left is a bit of a blur. I thought I’d feel better shooting Curtis’ killer, but it didn’t help. I got pretty dark. I worked, came home to Lobo, repeat. I didn’t go out for beers. I was a recluse. Curtis was gone and nothing I did eased that pain. Worse with you gone. I didn’t talk to anyone. Steele and Zerr pulled me out of my funk. In the spring of last year, they created a second TSU team, and they promoted me to sergeant.”

  “The stripes look good on you. How’s Lobo?”

  “He’s great. Energetic as ever. Still loves to go on runs and dive for rocks. Steele is helping me train Lobo in K-9 skills. He’s getting pretty good at tracking and finding drugs. He attacks on command—a problem getting him to let go. He’s more protective than ever.”

  “I’d love to see him. How’s the little house?”

  “I’m not there anymore. I moved into my grandparents’ house last year. Grammie has early Alzheimer’s.”

  “I’m sorry. Is it the house on Bowness Park?”

  �
�Yup, that’s the one.”

  “A bit big for you and a dog isn’t it?”

  “I notice when it’s time to clean. That takes forever. But the location on the park is great.”

  “What do you do in your spare time?”

  “Uh, work and Lobo.”

  Maggie shook her head. “That’s pathetic.”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about studying for the bar exam.”

  “Really? I thought you gave up on law.”

  “Archer thinks that it would be good for my career. Not a lot of cops have a degree, and none have passed the bar. It makes sense. I don’t spend much time gazing into the future, but Archer is usually right. He’s pushing it. Maybe I’ll give it a go this fall. It’ll kill a few nights a week in refresher classes and then a lot of studying. I have to figure out the articling part, too.”

  “Not that you’re asking, or even want my opinion, but it’s a great idea.”

  “I’m just thinking about it. We’ll see.”

  They finished the pizza and ordered a couple of drinks.

  Maggie stared at her beer. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out with Sarah.”

  Brad glanced at Maggie. “I thought there might be something there. The first date started okay, but then things went downhill.” He told Maggie about the date at the Highlander, then the explosion at his house and the assault.

  “Holy crap. That second date beats the shit out of any of our dates, and I thought our first date was pretty exciting.”

  “Well, even you would be freaked out if my car blew up when you were around, or bikers tried to gang-rape you.”

  “Good point,” Maggie agreed. “That’s it? Just one girl?”

  “I focused on the job a lot.”

  “But not all the time?”

  “Others just didn’t work out.”

  Maggie finished her drink. “I’m getting tired.”

  “Me too,” Brad said. “I guess we should go. I’m glad you’re back, though.”

  “I’m glad, too. I had a nice night. I like being with you—and no one was robbed.”

  Outside the restaurant, Maggie rose onto her toes and kissed Brad on the cheek. “Good night.”