“Sure, big man with a big blade, all talk. It’s easy to slaughter mothers and kids, old people are right up your alley too I guess you fucking Abo.”
“What did you call me?” Indiwongga growled and began creeping toward Bobby, the racial slurs had done exactly as Bobby intended.
Salt the wound Bobby! Salt the shit out of it!
“But you won’t, you can’t. The big, bad, black Abo hiding behind a hood just like the great white men who hunted your ancestors. That was a sport down there right? The Sunday hunt after church? Go out and bag a few Boori? Ironic right, you make your life this whole one man war to fight for your people, you sacrifice everything for equal rights and freedom, only to end up a slave.”
“I’m no slave gubba!” the big Reaper roared.
“So this is just a hobby?”
Indiwongga stalked closer.
“A real warrior has honor. A real warrior wouldn’t just murder defenseless women and children. A real warrior, real American warriors like the Mohawk, the Apache and the Crow, they fought with honor. Shit, you ever watch Jeremiah Johnson? Those were warriors dude. You, look at you! You’re like seven feet tall, three hundred pounds and you’re still a nothing but a coward. You’re not a warrior! You’re a bully! You’re a coward…a big, shit-talking, kid-killing, kangaroo-fucking, cock-sucking coward!”
Indiwongga stopped, his dark eyes locked on Bobby’s. “You want a fair fight, eh mate?”
“I ain’t your mate.”
“Look at you, you’re as soft as your mum’s tit. It can’t be a fair fight because you’re not man enough to make it fair.”
“Says the man with the weapon.” Bobby rolled his eyes. “Excuses, excuses.”
“It’s no excuse mate. You’re a pathetic, milk fed Yank. I shit harder than you.”
“That’d probably hurt if Ortero hadn’t reamed you out back there.”
“You know what lulli? Let’s go! No weapons, just me and you, one on one to the death, eh?” Indiwongga stood his scythe against the wall and beckoned Bobby forward with a curled finger.
“You sure you want to ruin your record asshole?”
“Now who’s stalling?” Indiwongga snarled.
Bobby pulled his hood down and rolled his head from side to side, he’d seen fighters warm up that way and hoped he was doing it right. He needed to look the part, he needed to seal the deal. “Let’s go Abo! Hood down shithead, no tricks.”
Indiwongga ripped his hood off his surly mop of curls and sneered. “You won’t even land a punch you cunt.”
Bobby smiled as the big warrior approached, “Who said anything about a punch you dumb fuck?”
Indiwongga’s expression was priceless. If Bobby could have snapped one photo over the course of his entire existence, it would have been of that moment when the Aboriginal realized he’d been played. Bobby raised the Gloch he’d swiped from the unconscious cop and aimed it at Indiwongga’s broad chest.
“You cheating fuck,” Indiwongga growled.
“If you ain’t cheating, you ain’t trying,” Bobby recited his favorite saying and squeezed the trigger.
The gun bucked as its deadly projectiles exploded from inside. Indiwongga staggered backward when the first bullet tore through his chest. The second struck him in the left shoulder and set him spinning. The third caught him in the side of his face, ripping it apart as he crashed into the wall next to his foolishly abandoned weapon and slid slowly to the floor.
His robe began to shrivel as its contents crumbled to a fine black dust. An invisible breeze swirled the pile into the air and whirled it into the still sizzling portal a moment before it closed. The shrinking robe, its rough fibers popping and snapping, spun itself into a ball before vanishing from existence without a trace it ever had.
*
“Good shooting!” Jackie cheered.
Bobby nodded and smiled. He couldn’t talk, he could barely move, he was still in shock and still trying to decide if it had all been real.
“So what now?” she asked.
Bobby held up one, long, shaky finger, the international and apparently interdimensional nonverbal request for patience.
I need a break, a vacation or a fucking time-out at least. Where are the Angels anyway? Shit, this is way late even for them.
Bobby’s mind caught on a snag, a mental splinter that buried itself deep in his brain.
If the living are killed by the dead, are they claimed by anyone? Maybe there was no claim? Maybe they, whoever they were, didn’t even know that the woman and her kid were dead? Maybe they were considered claimed by the ones who killed them. Maybe they were fucked and there’s nothing I can do to fix it? Shit! Like I don’t have enough on my fucking plate right now
*
“Shots fired. Officer down! Officer down! EMT down!” Bennet’s voice echoed from the apartment. “Back-up and medical needed immediately! Repeat. Shots fired! I need some fucking help here!”
“Shit! Roger! Lenny!” Bobby pulled on his hood and took off down the hallway, despite the deep wound in his leg that protested angrily, toward the only life that really mattered to him.
Every inch of the once spotless kitchen floor was covered in blood. Bennet stood with the aid of the counter as he surveyed the scene. “Wagon 53, two minutes out!” his radio blared.
“What’s happening? Who are you? What are you? Who was that British jerk?” Jackie and her questions followed Bobby back into her home.
He answered the only one he could. “Australian.”
“What?”
“He was Australian.”
“Motherfucker I don’t care if he was from Mars, he killed my boy! He killed us!” she screamed, her voice, as well as her mind, giving out under the pressure.
“Ms. Simmons.” Bobby stopped outside the kitchen where Bennet crouched amid the bodies checking for signs of life. “Give me a few minutes, I gotta…”
“You gotta what? What do you gotta do other than explaining to me who you are and why a guy dressed just like you, a guy you apparently knew, killed me and my son?”
Bobby heard her and knew she was right. He lied, he had to, knowing the truth would set her against him, the last thing he needed was another enemy. “He was a Reaper. He was here to claim your daughter’s soul.”
“But…but…my Wendy was a good girl,” she whispered.
“Yes but those Reapers weren’t. That’s why I tried to stop them.” Another not-so-white lie.
“Wendy?” her despair deepened at the thought of her daughter being taken to Hell.
“She’s fine, the Angel took her,” Bobby offered the only good news he could.
“Angel?”
“Yeah, one of the good guys.”
“Are you a…an Angel?”
She knew the answer, he saw it in her eyes, but answered anyway. “No.”
“So why are you helping us?”
“I’m…I’m trying to fix it,” Bobby replied, it sounded pathetic even if it was the truth.
Jackie studied Bobby. He looked young and small even wrapped in the long, thick robe he wore. In the shadow of its deep hood she saw a kind face caught between desperation and fear. “You’re in trouble too,” she said.
“I’m in way over my head and sinking fast lady. This guy, these two EMTs, they’re the key to this mess and if they die, then we’re all so fucked!” He saw the boy flinch and push deeper into his mother’s arms at his outburst, “Sorry little dude. I mean that we could be in really big trouble if something happens to the big guy.”
Jackie almost smiled. The oddly dressed young man apologized for swearing even after she’d dropped a dozen or more bombs in the last few minutes. No servant of Satan would do that, no real one anyway. He may look like the part but he definitely didn’t play the role. She was a good judge of character, always had been, and sensed nothing but goodness in him. “Can you take us to my Wendy?” she asked gently.
“I will do everything I can, I promise.” Bobby meant every word.
Jackie no
dded. She knew the truth when she heard it.
16.
Four cops swarmed the apartment, guns drawn and adrenaline pumping. Once they determined the place was safe, they called in the waiting EMTs to tend to the injured. The two cops got top billing, the EMTs had no choice and their fellow officers would have it no other way. Once Sanchez and Bennet were on their way to the hospital, the EMTs quickly got to work to save their own.
“Lenny’s okay. Pulse is steady and strong. The holes look clean, the slugs went right through,” the EMT examining him informed his partner.
One of Roger’s legs was spouting blood with the slowing cadence of his heart, weakening with every one. “Rog wasn’t so lucky. The bullet shattered the femur, splinters everywhere, must’ve nicked the femoral artery,” the woman examining the big man explained. “Gotta pinch it or he’ll bleed out.”
Her partner dug in his bag for the tools she’d need without question. “Clamp,” he said and handed it to her.
“Thanks Rick. Call it in and make sure they know it’s one of ours.”
“Signal four,” Rick replied and did as he was told.
“Scalpel?”
“Scalpel.”
“Cutting.” She cut, widening the puncture, giving herself room to work. “Get a bag in him.”
“Bag in, steady drip, pulse still slowing, pressure dropping.”
“I see the slug. Oh, there it is. Shit! The arteries shredded.”
“Can you clamp it Jane? Want me to get a tourniquet on it so you can see it better?”
“Good idea, do it.”
“On it.”
Rick wrapped a thick rubber hose around Roger’s meaty thigh and cinched it down tight using his Maglite as an impromptu handle.
“It’s working!” Jane gasped in delight. “Good job! I…I…I got it!”
“Great work Jane!”
“Keep that tourniquet on. I don’t want the clamp blowing off.”
“His leg though?”
“My call. A leg or a life, I’ll take the life every time,” she replied, confident Roger would agree. “Let’s get him out of here double quick.”
The cops helped them load the big man onto the stretcher. “We’ll need an escort boys, he’s not out of the woods yet. Stay with Lenny, another wagon’s inbound.” It wasn’t a request.
“You got it sister,” a heavyset, middle-aged officer replied and barked the orders into the radio handset on his shoulder.
“Clear a path people!” Rick roared, bursting from the apartment with Roger strapped snugly to the squeaky trolley.
“I have to go with him,” Bobby told Jackie.
“We’re coming too,” she said, grabbing Jordan from the couch.
“No, stay here,” Bobby ordered. “The Angels might show up and you need to be here when they do.”
“No way! What if those other creeps show up again?”
Good point but I don’t think Indiwongga will ever show up anywhere ever again.
“Hide, go to a neighbor or something, and don’t come out unless you see a big, white flash.”
“Seriously?”
Bobby felt Roger’s presence fade, he was too far away. “I have to go! I’ll be back!”
“You better not leave us here…like this!” Jackie shouted after him.
Bobby entered the bustling courtyard of nosy neighbors and tense police as Jane slammed the ambulance doors. He sprinted through the crowd, diving into the wagon as it surged from the sidewalk.
“Hold on Rick this is going to get hairy!” Jane shouted, stomping on the accelerator.
“Don’t worry about me just get us there! He’s fading!”
“No! Roger! Come on buddy, hang in there! You gotta hang in there! Do it for Lenny! Do it for Maria!” Bobby shouted in his ear, hoped he could hear him. “Fight big guy, fight!”
*
Bedded side by side, Roger and Lenny hosted a parade of visitors and inquisitors. Every EMT in the borough made their way through the balloon cluttered, flower filled room to wish them a speedy recovery, to bust their balls and to show their support. The detectives that joined the procession were there for different reasons.
Sanchez and Bennet had painted a very bizarre picture in which the two EMTs featured prominently. “We got two dead kids, a dead mother, two injured NYPD officers and you two,” Detective Treanor said, peering over the thick, granny glasses perched on the end of his bulbous, red nose.
Roger and Lenny nodded in unison.
“And you want us to believe that neither of you remember anything?” the second detective, a tall thin man with a faint Haitian accent, added.
Roger shrugged. Lenny shook his head.
“Nothing?” Treanor wasn’t buying it.
“Blood loss detectives,” Lenny croaked, his throat was raw from three days of oxygen.
“Blood loss?” Treanor’s partner repeated the weak explanation.
“That’s right Detective Trujillo,” Bobby backed up his partner.
“Our officers told us they were both attacked from behind. Never saw the perps, never even knew the mother and the boy were murdered until we told them,” Treanor continued.
Roger and Lenny nodded again, they’d heard the same thing two or three times a day, every day, since the doctors allowed the NYPD access to them.
“So who shot you?” Treanor nodded toward Lenny.
“I don’t know,” Lenny replied calmly but his voice was hardening with anger.
“And you?” Treanor turned to Roger, ignoring Lenny’s disapproval of their continued interrogation.
“I don’t know,” Roger replied in the same tone.
“Who killed the boy?” Trujillo joined in.
Heads shook.
“The mother, Jackie Simmons?” Treanor pushed.
“Your prints were on the gun, both of your prints,” Trujillo accused.
“The one that killed the mother and her kid?” Lenny knew the answer but asked anyway.
“The one used to shoot you two,” Treanor answered, his voice cracking under the strain of restraint.
Bobby and Lenny watched and waited.
“You two have a little lovers quarrel?” Treanor smirked.
“Nope,” Lenny snapped.
“Maybe trying to get out early, you know, a bullet in the ass and its early retirement with full pay right?” Trujillo winked as if he sympathized.
“Just so we’re clear about this, you two fine detectives think we knocked out two cops from behind while standing in front of them, murdered two little kids and their mom, and shot each other the day before our wedding. Brilliant deductions boys. Sherlock Holmes got nothing on you two. A round of applause for such magnificent detective work.”
Lenny golf clapped, Roger joined him, their eyes beaming with antipathy.
“You had help,” Trujillo revealed a new twist in his cobweb thin theory.
“An accomplice? Good one detective!” Roger cried in amazement. “Did you get a description from any of the dozens of witnesses?”
Treanor and Trujillo glanced at each other nervously.
“So an invisible accomplice, that makes more sense, way to connect those dots boys,” Lenny growled, he was losing his patience.
Treanor fixed Lenny with his tired, blood-rimmed eyes, “If you two would just tell us the truth about what really happened we could get out of your hair and put this thing to bed.”
“Look at us asshole, we’re already in bed! We got shot while doing our job! You giving Sanchez and Bennet this kind of bullshit? You asking them about early retirement schemes? You accusing them of killing people? Fuck you Treanor and fuck you Trujillo! Do us all a favor and get the fuck out of our room and stop wasting our time!” Lenny erupted and his heart monitor beeped frantically.
“Temper, temper,” Treanor whispered with a grin.
“We did nothing except respond to a call. Shit went sideways. We don’t know how and we don’t know why but we were supposed to be under your protection. We’re
the victims here! We’re the fucking victims! I’m never going to walk right, my fucking career is over, and all you two stupid fucks want to do is find someone to take the fall. It ain’t us! We’re the fucking good guys! We’re supposed to be on the same fucking team!” Roger roared.
“We need answers,” Trujillo fumed.
“Then go fucking find them because you’re barking up the wrong tree here,” Lenny replied through teeth clenched by rage.
“Maybe and maybe not,” Treanor smiled, getting under people’s skin was his favorite part of the job.
“So here’s the deal,” Roger announced. “Get out and don’t come back unless you plan on arresting us. See that card there on the table, that’s our lawyer’s. Anything else you need from us you call him. He’s a nice guy, you two will love him.”
Treanor reluctantly plucked the card from the table and stuffed it in his pocket. “You two aren’t telling us everything.”
“All we know is that we’re being harassed,” Lenny replied, regaining his composure. “And our union isn’t very happy about it.”
“Lawyers, unions, what’s next?” Trujillo snapped.
“Ideally?” Roger looked him in the eyes. “You do your job and find out who did this to us.”
Trujillo nodded, there was a glimmer of shame in his eyes. Treanor grunted, unconvinced, but shuffled toward the door knowing he’d get nothing more from the two EMTs, “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Like your career?” Lenny wasn’t about to let the asshole get the last word.
Treanor smiled, “I’ll find out what happened and when I do…”
“Write me a postcard asshole!” Lenny cut him off.
*
“Scene of the crime and all that shit, ya’know,” Roger said as Lenny pulled into a spot beside the looming brick towers.
“Just two minutes, in and out,” Bobby assured him from the back seat of Lenny’s Jeep.
“This isn’t a good idea,” Lenny agreed. “If we’re seen here, we’ll be back on Treanor’s radar before you can say asshole.”
“Just stay here Lenny, we’ll be back in a minute.”
Bobby had spent a lot of hours talking with Lenny over the two months since their release from the hospital. He was good to his core, almost to a fault.
Death Sucks Page 33
