Reed nodded to a small cluster of officers in street clothes from the 19th Precinct – his old unit – as he passed, wading through the crowd in search of familiar faces. As he did so a handful of folks glanced in his direction, taking in both he and Billie before dismissing them and returning to their conversations.
A subdued vibe hung in the air as they moved forward, born of equal parts concern and anger. The faces of nearly every person wore the obvious internal conflict on their features, people vacillating on the proper response, no doubt asking each other for the slightest bit of information that might make some sense of what had happened.
Knowing that at this point anything he did pick up would be nothing but hearsay, Reed continued pushing forward, finally making his way to the far side of the room. There he found a cluster of men from his new home, all grouped tight, intermittingly tossing furtive looks at the double doors standing closed nearby, a sign for the operating suite hanging over them.
Officer Adam Gilchrist was the first to notice Reed and Billie. He turned to face them full, his thumbs looped into the front pockets of his jeans, a plain grey t-shirt covering his upper body. The last time Reed had seen him was a week before, a group from the precinct going out to celebrate the completion of his first year on the force. Now he seemed a far cry from the joyous young man he had been then, his boyish features pulled tight into a solemn look.
“Detective,” Gilchrist said, extending a hand.
“Officer,” Reed said, returning the shake. Beside them Gilchrist’s partner Derek Greene turned, a black man just north of 40 with grey starting to show at the temples, and shook Reed’s hand as well.
“How bad?” Reed asked, bypassing any pleasantries besides the handshake.
“Bad,” Gilchrist said.
Greene glanced in his direction, a momentary shadow of disapproval passing over his features at his young partner’s candor, before saying, “They’re both in surgery now. Word is Bishop took a round in the knee. Non life-threatening, but a lot of damage.”
The knot in Reed’s stomach grew a bit larger, pressing against the pizza he’d eaten just a short time before.
“And Ike?”
The two officers exchanged a quick glance, their faces both managing to grow a bit more grim at the same time.
“Touch and go,” Greene finally offered, adding no more.
Reed knew better than to press it, now not being the time for open discussion of such matters.
The feeling grew even more pronounced as Billie settled to a seated position against his leg. Without thinking he lowered his right hand and furrowed the hair between her ears, no sound escaping her as they stood and watched the crowd.
“Any word from Grimes yet?” Reed asked.
“He’s back there now,” Gilchrist said. “The waiting room is pretty tiny, so they’re only letting a couple people go back. Ike’s sister is in there, Bishop’s wife and daughter. Aside from them, it’s just Grimes and Jackie.”
Never before had Reed given much thought to the family situation for either Ike or Bishop, though it made sense. Everything Reed had ever seen of the former, from his manner of speech to choice in clothes, seemed to scream bachelor. His counterpart, different in just about every way, seemed much more the family man sort, in a henpecked sort of way.
“Jackie seemed pretty shook when she called,” Reed said. “You see her?”
Greene nodded once, his gaze moving past Reed, taking in the shifting crowd around them. “She got here about five minutes before you, was a complete wreck. I’m not sure I would have let her go back myself, but she refused to take no for an answer.”
Reed nodded, adding the information to what little he knew. He allowed it to stew for a full two minutes, the humanist side of his mind controlling the thought process, thinking first of his fellow officers and their families. From there he shifted to Grimes and Jackie, captain and den mother of the precinct respectively, and what they must be going through in the waiting room.
Finally, once that was completely sorted out, the other half, the undeniable, detective half of his brain went to work.
So far he had learned that both men had been shot. Bishop’s was non-life-threatening, Ike’s much more serious. That ruled out a car accident, a stray bullet, or any of 100 other smaller things that could have put them in the hospital.
It still did very little to actually tell him what occurred.
With his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatshirt, he leaned forward a few inches, dropping his voice just slightly as he looked at Greene and Gilchrist in turn.
“Okay, what happened?”
Chapter Four
The impromptu circle stood seven strong in the parking lot outside of Mercy West Hospital. Now that the clock was well past midnight, most of the non-essential cars parked outside had vacated, the sodium lights overhead casting down a harsh yellow glow illuminating nothing but bare asphalt. On the freeway nearby a few errant headlights could be seen rolling by, the world as quiet as a suburb of a mid-level city in the fall could be.
At the head of the group stood Wallace Grimes, captain of the 8th Precinct, a post he had assumed after moving over from the 19th. Familiar with Reed from their time together there, he had suggested Reed make the move when his partner Riley was killed in the line of duty 10 months earlier, even going as far as to create the K-9 position for him.
It was an offer Reed had accepted with reluctance, though with each passing week he found his gratitude for the invitation growing exponentially.
Approaching his 50th year, Grimes’s black hair was fast sliding toward grey, his midsection just beginning to show the strain of taking up a permanent desk position. Dressed in slacks and a pullover, dark circles underscored his eyes, and deep parentheses framed his mouth.
By his side stood Jackie, her normal level of vivacity toned down by a factor of 10. Her usual plume of white blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, most of her trademark makeup having been wiped away with tears. She stood with hands shoved into the front pockets of a jacket two sizes too large, the garment seeming to swallow her up, her gaze aimed at the ground.
Third and fourth in line were Gilchrist and Greene, both wearing the same somber expressions they had since arriving. Joining them was a detective named Jennings that Reed had met a few times in passing, though had yet to work with. Like Iaconelli and Bishop he looked to be fast approaching retirement age, his thin blonde hair receding and pushed to the side in a long swoop. Wire rimmed glasses framed pale blue eyes, his jaws beginning to sag a bit.
Making up the rear of the crew were Reed and Billie, Reed assuming his standard pose of hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatshirt, Billie on her haunches beside him. From where they stood they had a good view of everyone present, all waiting in silence for the captain to begin.
“Thank you all for being here,” Grimes said, his tenor sounding a bit more graveled than usual. “I know the families of Pete and Martin have been very touched by the overwhelming show of support this evening.”
A dozen retorts sprang to Reed’s mind, though he very carefully pushed them to the side.
Now was not the time to be cracking wise, or even stating the obvious, when both men we’re in such a poor state of health.
“Martin is now out of surgery,” Grimes said, keeping his gaze aimed at the bare patch of concrete in the middle of the group. As he spoke he made no attempt to make eye contact with anybody, stating the information in an even din that bordered on monotone.
“A bullet struck his right knee, shattering the knee cap. At some point he will have to have a replacement, though for the time being they have stabilized the joint.”
He paused there as if there was more he wanted to add before clearing the thought away with a twist of his head.
Again more questions came to mind for Reed, though he forced himself to remain silent. He could tell by the way Jennings shifted his weight from one foot to the other beside him that he was going throug
h the same thought process, though he too opted not to voice anything.
“Pete,” Grimes said, pausing a moment at the sound of the name. Beside him Jackie’s eyes slid shut, a quiver passing through her entire upper body.
“Pete was struck four times,” Grimes said, raising his voice as if he needed the boost to get out what he was about to say. “One to his right arm, three to center mass.”
Reed could tell there was a significant amount more he wanted to add, but again decided against it.
“There was a lot of internal bleeding,” Grimes said, “which they’ve been able to get stopped. Aside from that, though, there’s still a tremendous amount of damage. The doctors are now removing what’s left of his spleen, trying to do some other clean up.”
The skin around Reed’s eyes pulled into a wince as he listened to the report, Billie nudging a bit closer against his calf. Each of the men beside him seemed to have similar reactions, Jennings continue to shift his weight from side to side, Greene and Gilchrist both tightening their expressions, moving their focus from Grimes to the ground and back again.
“As far as we can tell, this was a routine traffic stop,” Grimes said. “They were about to clock out at the end of their shift when they spotted an SUV driving recklessly. Upon falling in behind it they noticed a taillight was also busted, so they pulled it over.”
For the first time he raised his gaze, looking to each of the men around the circle.
“The run on the plates came back clean, no priors or outstanding warrants. At that time both men exited their vehicle and began to approach.”
With each word his voice seemed to get a bit lower, every person in the circle knowing what was coming. Jackie seemed to retreat even further back into her jacket as he moved toward the climax, clearly not wanting to hear what was about to be said.
“Halfway there the driver opened fire, without provocation. Iaconelli was on the driver’s side, much closer to the shooter, and took a total of four rounds. Bishop only took one, the height of the SUV and Martin combining to create an odd angle, the round hitting him in the knee.”
Picturing the scene in his mind, concern, angst, dread, all drifted to the side of Reed’s consciousness. In their place anger flooded in, imagining the detectives walking up to the SUV, seeing the muzzle flashes as a weapon began to discharge.
“Who called it in?” Reed asked, the question out before he even realized it, the first person besides Grimes to speak.
At the sound of his voice Gilchrist and Jackie both looked his way, Greene and Jennings each looking to Grimes for the answer.
“A man on his way home from a football game saw the driver speed away, noticed two bodies along the road and pulled over,” Grimes said. “He called 911 and stayed with them until the ambulance arrived.”
“The scene?” Greene asked.
"McMichaels and Jacobs,” Grimes said. “They were the closest units. Earl and the crime scene crew are out there now.”
“Any ideas on shooter? Motive?” Reed asked.
Grimes fixed him with a hard stare, his face revealing nothing for a long moment. “Have you been drinking?”
The question set Reed back a bit, his eyebrows rising on his forehead. He’d had a couple beers earlier while watching the game, though that was many hours before at this point. Certainly nothing that was inhibiting his speech or actions, would prompt the question from the captain.
“A beer earlier while watching ball,” Reed said, a hint of an edge appearing in his voice. “Why?”
Grimes held the same expression for a moment before nodding just slightly. “Right now all we have is the license plate number that our guys ran before this took place.”
He kept his attention aimed at Reed and said, “Your investigation starts now. The rest of you, give him whatever backup is necessary. If they can’t help, call and I’ll see you get what you need.”
Chapter Five
Pure, unadulterated adrenaline surged through The Kid’s system. It heightened his senses, brought about a euphoria that far outpaced anything he’d ever gotten from the occasional toke with his friends.
The Kid was just 13 the first time he ever held a gun. Growing up in a place like The Bottoms it was an inevitability, a question of when rather than if.
The first time he ever actually fired one he was 15, taking a rusted Beretta to a field outside of town to shoot at beer bottles. Even at such a young age, a complete novice with a weapon, he had shown an aptitude that his buddies still bragged about. Six out of six on his first go-round, a byproduct as much from luck as any skill he might have had.
From there the sense of excitement, both from the feel of the weapon and the knowing of his proficiency with it, only grew.
The first time he ever pointed a gun at someone he was 18, using it to obtain $83 and a case of beer from the Buckeye Gas and Go a few blocks from The Bottoms. At the time the lady working the counter - a black woman with silver in her hair - had barely batted an eye at him, cleaning out the register and handing over the meager contents without the slightest hint of fear. The odds were The Kid’s heart rate climbed higher than hers throughout the ordeal, though that did nothing to diminish the effect it had on him.
Still, despite more than a decade passing since the first time he’d ever touched a firearm, this was the first time he had knowingly, intentionally, pointed and fired at another human being.
The effect was nothing short of intoxicating as it surged through The Kid’s system, his body still coiled behind the steering wheel, a smile on his face as he replayed the events of the evening.
This was the last step, the final thing he must do, before putting the evening behind him and moving on to the next phase.
He just wasn’t sure he wanted to just yet.
One time after another he played the scene back in his mind, the encounter lasting just under 10 minutes in real time but seeming much longer with each rehashing. On perpetual loop, he thought of how he obtained the car, how he circled the blocks of The Bottoms, identifying exactly who he was looking for, making the errant swipe of the steering wheel to get their attention.
Once they had him alongside the road was where things really got interesting, the visual replay slowing. With each subsequent viewing his mind filled in a few more details, whether they be real or his own imagination not much mattering.
The facial expressions on the pair as they approached, the lights of oncoming traffic spotlighting them, the splash of bright red blood as his bullets found their mark.
He had done it. No longer was it all just preparation for some distant goal.
Big would be proud.
The thought of Big pulled away a bit of the smile from The Kid’s face, his features softening. A stab of something uncertain hit him deep in his stomach, roiling through his body, ebbing away some of the adrenaline.
In its place flooded in a renewed sense of purpose, the realization that he had done well, but still had a long way to go.
Twisting in his seat, The Kid reached into the back and drew up a black duffel bag. Unzipping the top, he took out a can of lighter fluid and set it in his lap, loading his two weapons into the bag and fastening it closed.
Taking up both items, he stepped out of the SUV, leaving the door open as he passed the strap of the bag over his shoulder.
The lot was one he knew well, the very same place he and his friends had come to shoot bottles years before. He knew there was no need to worry about anybody seeing him, the location far from the edge of town, the closest neighbor over a mile away. Little more than a gravel embankment near an old fishing hole, forest pushed in tight on three sides, the clearing just over 50 yards square.
There was even less concern for any of his friends from back then catching wind of the dump and fingering him, all of them either perished or in jail at this point.
Again, the kinds of things that were a question of when, not if, in The Bottoms.
The windows of the car were still down as The Kid
flipped open the top on the can of lighter fluid and leaned inside the SUV. He reached out and jammed down the automatic cigarette lighter on the dash before shooting a heavy stream of the fluid around the interior of the SUV, the scent finding his nose, bringing a sheen of moisture to his eyes.
Moving in a sweeping arc, he expended the entire contents of the can into the space, wet stripes visible on the cushioned fabric seats, the odor so strong it almost caused him to gag.
When it was empty, he flipped the can down into the foot well of the passenger seat before grabbing up the lighter and inspecting the glowing red tip in the moonlight. Content that it was ready, he took a step back and tossed it in through the open window.
Just moments later flames became visible, growing ever stronger in intensity, until they stood out like bright orange fingers against a darkened night sky.
Chapter Six
If Reed had even the slightest indicator that he would be instantly beginning an investigation into the attempted murder of two fellow officers, he wouldn’t have brought the truck. He wouldn’t have had a beer with dinner, even if it was long since out of his system.
He damned sure wouldn’t have left his badge and gun on the nightstand in his bedroom.
As it were, it took him nearly 40 minutes to make the trek home and back to the precinct. The entire way he went heavy on the gas, saying every last question that came into his head out loud, Billie sitting stone still and listening intently.
Based on what little information Grimes had, nothing seemed to make sense. There was absolutely no reason for someone to open fire over a potential moving violation. That meant that either the person themselves was wanted for something more or that there was something in the car they could not risk the detectives seeing.
Even at that, it begged the question of what could be important enough to warrant the attempted double homicide of police officers. No drug charges, no kidnapping arrest, not even the body of a civilian in the trunk, would possibly add up to the final sentence handed down for going after two officers.
The Kid: A Suspense Thriller (Reed & Billie Book 3) Page 2
