The Reckless

by David Putnam

  Coffman ran up in between Ned and me. His breath came hard from the exertion of carrying the ram. He swung it back. I started to move with the ram to get inside right away. We’d already lost a second and a half, but still carried the initiative, barely.

  The ram came forward and struck the door in the right place right by the knob. Only without enough oomph behind it. Coffman lacked body weight, the muscle needed for the job.

  The ram bounced back. The door remained locked.

  We’d just lost the element of surprise. I shoved Coffman out of the way, went up on my left foot, and booted the door with everything I had.

  The door banged open. I fell to the side, my balance gone from the rebound. Ned moved quickly through the opening, the window of death. He took my position. I was supposed to be first in. But it didn’t matter, the failed entry changed the entire dynamic. I recovered and came in right behind him, right on his ass.

  I caught a glimpse of one suspect, and maybe a second, a shadow of the second.

  Devon D’Arcy, six feet, two hundred and fifty pounds of him, stood at the entrance to the kitchen, backlit by the only light in the house that emanated from the kitchen. The living room was dark without any light except from the now-open front door. He’d heard the first thump of the ram. The moment we’d lost the initiative. He stood ready, his gun raised.

  Ned fired on the run just as D’Arcy fired.

  The round thumped into Ned’s body armor, high to the right chest. The impact spun him around to face me, his expression blank, without any emotion.

  D’Arcy fired a second time.

  Ned’s head jerked forward. A small red hole appeared beside Ned’s nose, an exit wound. The light in his eyes winked out. He wilted to the floor.

   CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  “NED! NED!”

  I went to my knees next to him.

  The shotgun bellowed in Tiny Tina’s hands. The recoil knocked her backward. The shotgun’s pattern, nine .32 cal lead pellets, hit D’Arcy low, at the knees. He crumpled to the floor wailing in pain.

  Coffman stood between Tiny Tina and me and Ned. He fired his handgun. Bang. Bang. Bang. His rounds struck the back wall behind where D’Arcy used to be a half-second before. I shoved Coffman’s leg. “He’s down. The suspect’s down. Call for med aid. Ned’s hit. Call for med aid.”

  Gun smoke filled the room, thick and white and acrid.

  I got underneath Ned and gently cradled his head.

  Coffman took a step closer. His gun fell and hung in his hand by his leg. His eyes focused on Ned, his mouth agape.

  “Tina,” I yelled, “cuff D’Arcy and then call for med aid.”

  She came out of her trance and leapt into action. “How’s Ned?” she asked as she threw the shotgun to the floor, drew her handgun, and moved toward D’Arcy. “Is he okay? How bad is Ned, Bruno? Talk to me.”

  “Watch your ass, watch what you’re doing. There’s another one. I saw another one.”

  Ned lay inert in my arms, his eyes wide open staring at the grimy ceiling in a little shitbox of a house in the middle of the ghetto. His mouth sagged open and his tongue lolled in the back of his throat. The exit wound beside his nose wasn’t bleeding.

  I didn’t want it to be true.

  It couldn’t be true.

  Hot tears streamed down my face. I couldn’t answer Tina about Ned’s condition. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to talk again as the darkness of the world tried to close in and snuff out everything else. I fought off the shock that threatened to shut down my body.

  Tiny Tina made it over to D’Arcy, kicked the gun further away into the kitchen. She fell with both knees onto D’Arcy’s back and holstered her gun. In his agony, D’Arcy floundered on the floor like a harpooned whale, smearing blood in big swaths on the filthy linoleum. She got him cuffed and came away with bloodied hands.

  Gibbs rushed in and froze at the sight of the deadly tableau on the floor before him. “Ah shit. Ah shit. Bruno, I’ll get med aid responding. I’ll get med aid.”

  “Who’s out back? Did you see anyone come out the back?”

  “No, but there was a fence; I had trouble with it. I wasn’t set up before I heard the front door go down. Someone could’ve got out.”

  He turned and fled. Coffman stood frozen in the same place. From the floor with Ned’s head cradled in my lap, I reached up and pried Coffman’s revolver from his hands. In his condition he didn’t need a gun, shouldn’t have one.

  The loss of his weapon must’ve triggered some deep-seated primal instinct drilled into him from his Marine Corps days. His head turned; his eyes finally left Ned as he looked at me. “Is he …”

  I still couldn’t speak; the lump in my throat had grown too large. Coffman let out a roar of grief. He picked up Tina’s discarded shotgun from the floor and ran toward the prostate D’Arcy.

  I struggled to get out from underneath Ned. I placed his head gently on the floor as I yelled, “Tina. Tina, stop him. Stop him.”

  Tina stepped in front of Coffman and raised her bloodied hands. Coffman knocked her aside. He raised the shotgun and brought the butt down on D’Arcy’s head. I tackled Coffman as he raised it to strike downward on D’Arcy a second time. We fell and rolled into the kitchen. Coffman lacked meat on his bones. Something cracked inside him when we hit the floor, ribs maybe. His muscles went slack underneath me as his body moved in racking sobs. He grabbed ahold of me and held on. I let him. I needed the consoling, too.

  In the other room, Tina had moved over to Ned. “My God, Bruno! Bruno! Ned’s … Ned’s …”

  I no longer had the luxury of grief. I needed to take control of the scene or give myself in to shock. I struggled to my feet and left Coffman on the floor to weep alone. “Tina, clear the rest of the house. Do it right now and watch yourself. I saw someone else.”

  She didn’t move and didn’t look like she could if she wanted to as she knelt next to my best friend. I picked up her shotgun and Coffman’s handgun. I went through the rest of the house. Lucky for us Gadd hadn’t been lying in wait along with D’Arcy, or we’d have all been dead. If there had been a second man, he was gone. Ollie’s nephew D’Arcy would never get out of prison. Gadd had pumped enough propaganda into D’Arcy that he’d pulled the trigger on Ned.

  Gibbs rushed back in. “How’s he doin’? How’s Ned doin’, Bruno?”

  I couldn’t answer and just looked at Gibbs. He caught the eye-to-eye communication. “Son of a bitch.” He moved to the wall and kicked holes in it. “Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch.”

  Sirens reached out to us inside the stifling house, hundreds of them. Gibbs had put out code 999, “An officer down.” With a call of an officer down, cops from miles around responded, and not just from the Sheriff’s Department but from every nearby agency. Deputies half-dressed in the locker room grabbed their guns, left their lockers open, and ran to the parking lot to flag down a ride; cops left their food uneaten in restaurants; everyone within earshot of the radio call ran to help. That’s the way it always went when a brother went down.

  11431 Willowbrook would quickly turn into a writhing beast of cops with guns out, looking to make right a terrible wrong with no way to vent their anguish and grief. If I didn’t take immediate control, they would trample and ruin the crime scene.

  I gently took Tina by the shoulders and lifted her to her feet. “Go to your trunk and get out the roll of crime scene tape. Tape off this entire house and the street. Don’t let anyone in. You understand? No one.”

  She nodded, her face wet with tears.

  “Gibbs? Gibbs, you help her.” He, too, nodded and moved with heavy feet out the front door.

  Coffman sidestepped D’Arcy and came into the living room. He’d composed himself and looked ashen but back in control. “Bruno, get med aid in here for this asshole.” He kicked at D’Arcy’s leg.

  Coffman took off his green nylon raid jacket and eased it over Ned’s face.

  Something I should’ve done.

   
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  I STOOD OVER Ned at a complete loss as to what to do next. All ambition and motivation fled as I stared down at him. His one arm peeked out from under Coffman’s green raid jacket. The sleeve of Ned’s tee shirt was scrunched up, revealing a portion of the team’s tattoo, the “F” in “BMF.”

  Coffman took hold of my arm and shook me. “Bruno? Bruno? Pull your head out of your ass and get out front. I want you to take control of the scene. Can you do that for me, son?”

  I looked at him, then over at D’Arcy on the floor half in the kitchen, half in the living room. Coffman read my mind and said, “I’m okay now, I’m not going to do anything to that punk. I’m okay. I’m good. Go on, get out there and supervise.”

  I nodded and tried to pull myself away from where I stood, tried to pull myself away from my dead friend on the floor. I couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t real. Coffman took hold of my arm and tugged me along.

  Once outside, the bright light and the heat of the day reminded me life moved on, nothing could stop it, not even a tragedy of historic proportions. Coffman took his revolver from my hand and put it back in his holster.

  More and more cop cars continued to arrive, their brakes smoking and smelling of asbestos. The sea of cop cars already spread clear back to the intersection. Gibbs and Tiny Tina stood, one on the sidewalk and one in the street, the flat of their hands up as they yelled to keep all the uniforms back. I walked up and recognized in the mob four deputies from Lynwood station. Grief hung over me like a dark cloud, making it difficult to speak. The dry summer air didn’t help. I pointed. “You four, come here.” Tina let them through.

  I placed them on the sidewalk in front of the house. “No one goes in under any circumstances.” They nodded with somber expressions, just happy to be doing something. I went back to the group. “Anybody else want something to do?” All of them in earshot yelled versions of “Hell, yes.”

  “One suspect might’ve slipped out. I need this neighborhood locked down, five blocks in either direction until we can organize a door-to-door search.” The front of the herd of uniforms turned and ran to their cars. The others moved up. “The rest of you that are left,” I said, “I need this street cleared for paramedics and the ambulance so we can get the suspect out of here.”

  Nobody moved to get the cars cleared from the street. I understood how they felt. “Come on, let’s move. Act professional, get these cars out of the way, now.”

  Some of them started to make their way back to their units. Not to cooperate but more to get away from the emotional pain.

  I yelled, “Someone get on the radio and put out code four so we can stop all these cars from showing up. It’s all over. It’s done. There’s nothing anybody can …” I couldn’t finish.

  Paramedics arrived and could only make it to within half a block of 11431 Willowbrook. They left their siren on, pulled up onto the center meridian and drove the rest of the way on the dead grass in between the hundred-year-old pepper trees, and parked. They pulled out boxes of gear and the gurney and wheeled up to the front of the house. I said, “Follow me,” and took them inside.

  D’Arcy no longer moaned and writhed on the floor. He now lay on his side handcuffed behind his back in a puddle of his own blood. The side of his face swelled red and purple from where Coffman butt-stroked him with the shotgun. He saw the paramedics. “’Bout time you all got your asses in here. Git on over here and help me. These fools ’bout killed me. I thought dey was here to jack me. I was defending myself. You hear? You’re witnesses. I thought dey came here to jack me.”

  The paramedics ignored him and set their gear down next to my friend. They pulled away Coffman’s green raid jacket.

  Ned’s dead eyes stared right at me. I grabbed my stomach and turned to the side and threw up until I dry-heaved.

  D’Arcy yelled, “Hey. Hey, you assholes, git your asses over here and hep me. I’m the victim here. Dey shot me for no reason. Din one of ’m hit me over the head with the shotgun. You believe dat? After I was already handcuffed. Dat’s poolease brutality for sure. I’m gonna own dem for it. You wait and see if I don’t.”

  The paramedics cut off Ned’s vest. They took off his body armor and cut off his shirt. They put on EKG leads and ran a tape that showed a flatline. They wanted to be sure. They replaced the green jacket covering him and moved their gear over to D’Arcy.

  Coffman, with a strange expression, walked past Ned without looking down and went outside. I’d seen that look before, years ago, the night in the ER room when he’d come in half-dressed and asked me how many we’d lost, a flashback to a time long ago on a South Pacific island.

  I followed.

  Coffman walked out to the sidewalk and up to Tiny Tina who was still holding the line. He took her by the arm and started across the street, weaving in and around the cars.

  On the sidewalk, I yelled at Gibbs above the din. “Go inside, you got custody from now on. D’Arcy’s your responsibility.” Gibbs nodded and hurried past me. He was a good man. I went after Coffman and Tina.

  I found them standing alone next to the back doors of the ambulance. I stopped by a large tree out of their view and listened.

  Tina said, “I don’t know, Sarge. I don’t know if I can do it.”

  “Listen, Ned Kiefer is lying in there dead, and that little shitass is going to get away with it. The law won’t do anything to him. He’ll get twenty-five years, and when he turns twenty-one, juvie hall will kick him out. He’ll do six years for killin’ Ned. Six years, Mitchell, think about it. Ned’s one of ours. We take care of our own. Now, you’re small, and a girl, and you can get away with it easy, trust me on this. Hand me your gun.”

  Tina stared up at her sergeant, her mentor, drew her handgun, and handed it to him. He unloaded it and handed it back to her. “Put this empty gun back in your holster.” She did. He handed her back the six bullets. “Now be sure to reload it afterward, you understand? You ride in the ambulance with D’Arcy and let him grab your duty gun, put your hip right up where he can see it, put it right in his face. He’ll go for it, I promise you. I know the type. Then you take him out with your backup gun. You have a backup, right?”

  She nodded.

  He said, “Good. Give him all five shots right up close, you understand? Aim for his head point blank, you understand?”

  She looked scared to death at the prospect of committing murder in the name of some malignant, misplaced sense of honor.

  The paramedics came out of the house wheeling D’Arcy on the gurney. The mob of cops in the street went silent, their eyes filled with anger and hate. Gibbs stayed right alongside. When they passed me, I fell in with them. The paramedics slid the gurney with D’Arcy into the back of the ambulance.

  Coffman said, “That’s okay, Gibbs, Mitchell here is going to ride in the ambulance to the hospital with the suspect.”

  With her blank stare, Tina looked like a zombie. I stepped up and into the back of the ambulance.

  “Bruno?” Coffman said. “What are you doing? I said Mitchell’s gonna take this ride.”

  “She can’t,” I said. “She was the one who shot him. That’s a major conflict, and she also has to stay here to be interviewed by the shooting team. I’ll take this.”

  “No!” Coffman said. He looked bewildered and didn’t have a good answer for my logic. Tina caught my eye with an expression of relief as she nodded to me.

  I got in. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t know how I would be able to handle being in the same enclosed space as D’Arcy, but I needed to make sure he got to county hospital safely. That’s what the law dictated. D’Arcy deserved his due process. Ned’s words echoed back at me, the title he’d hung on me, Mr. Law Enforcement. And now, in the quiet calm of grief, I realized I would never live down the fact that Ned died while angry at me, believing I’d betrayed him.

   CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  I DIDN’T GET home until after dark. Booking D’Arcy into LCMC—Los Angeles County Medical Center—took ho
urs. Homicide finally arrived to interview him as I walked out of the jail ward. One of the homicide detectives said to my back as I kept going and didn’t slow down, “Hey, you Bruno Johnson? We need to talk to you. Hold up.” I didn’t care if I talked to anyone else, didn’t think I could for at least a couple of weeks. I ignored him.

  The deputy assigned to give me a ride home sensed my mood and didn’t say a word the entire trip. He made the turn onto Nord. Cars filled both sides of my street; many more double parked, leaving only a one-way path for two-way traffic to negotiate through. In my front yard a hundred people or more milled about a fifty-five-gallon drum burning bright with orange and yellow and red flames leaping five feet in the air. Inky black smoke rose into the dark moonless night. Someone used oil to burn in the drum along with the busted-up wooden pallet protruding out the top of the can. More pallets stood tall next to it. A drumfire, what the hell? With the kind of oppressive heat the two-year drought flung upon us day after day—those people in my yard didn’t have brain one. People who’d come to pay their respects, grieving brother officers who gathered together to be with others of their own kind. Some still wore uniform pants and boots with an off-duty holster. Others wore Levi’s and tee shirts with Sam Brown belts. All drank from red plastic cups, beer drawn from two kegs up by the house. At either end of the yard on the sidewalk, a deputy stood with a shotgun cradled in one arm, security, a statement to the type of neighborhood and to let everyone know now was not the time to mess around.

  Ned didn’t have a house; he’d been staying at mine. That’s why they all came to Nord.

  Everyone went silent when the black-and-white pulled up to let me off. The front door stood open. More people filled the house. Dad stepped out onto the naked stoop. I made my way through the crowd; some of the people I knew, a lot I didn’t. When I passed by, all of them reached out and put a hand on my shoulder or back and mumbled a weak-assed apology. No amount of sorry would help. Nothing would help.