by J. D. Martin
“I said drop it.”
The guy wasn’t taking any chances as he stood vigilant. His weapon was steady as he studied me for any indication of fighting. “I’m telling you I’m a cop.”
I pleaded for him to listen as I wasn’t in the mood to deal with this. Getting shot on top of the laceration to my bicep wasn’t exactly the nightcap I hoped for. The thought of a bullet made me force myself to focus on the situation from his point-of-view. I had to let go of my frustration at losing my would-be murderer and work with what was happening in the present.
“I’m lowering my weapon and placing it on the ground,” I said as I slowly knelt and placed it on the sidewalk. “I’m now going to stand back up and take two large steps away from it so we can both feel safe.” I rose very slowly and took two steps to my left. I kept the weapon in my vision so I didn’t lose it, but also made no move to reacquire it as I didn’t want anything rash to happen in the heightened stress of an unknown male running through the city with a gun.
“As I said,” I began as I turned to face him, “I’m a cop. My name is Alexander Saint.”
“Show me some identification.”
Frustrated, I looked down at myself and then back at him. “Do I look like I’m in state that I’d have ID on me? My badge is at my apartment a few blocks away.” I caught myself before I said anything I’d regret and regained my composure.
“Sorry, I know you’re just doing your job. Give me a couple minutes to catch my breath and you can escort me to my apartment if you wish. There should be a couple inside by a blue SUV that can corroborate my story for now. I told them to call 911.”
“That doesn’t make you a cop,” he said as he picked up my gun without taking his eyes or weapon off me. Placing my pistol in his holster, he repositioned to stay a few feet away from me.
“Maybe not, but by now that call should be on record. You can call it in to check. It’s all I can do right now to prove who I am.”
“Turn around and face the wall.”
“Seriously?” I could feel the anger rising again.
“I’m willing to check on your story, but I’m not going to do it while holding a weapon on you. For everyone’s safety, I’m going to cuff you and set you on the ground while I call everything in. I’m going to take a chance on your story instead of hauling you in, but only if you cooperate.”
“Fine,” I said as I turned to face the wall and placed my hands on my head and spread my feet apart. I knew the drill after performing it on others enough that I did what I could to speed it along. He holstered his weapon and stepped closer to pull each of my wrists behind my back. I heard more than felt the clicking of my new bracelets before he helped lower me to the pavement so I could sit with my back to the wall. Only then did he get on his walkie to ask about my story.
I listened for five or ten minutes as he spoke with dispatch. Finally, my lungs had cooled the fire in my chest and my breathing returned to normal. The short, bald man kept me in his sights as he was on the horn. I overheard confirmation of the 911 call from the couple in the garage, but that didn’t prove who I was. But the voice that suddenly patched in must have heard my name come over the grapevine.
“Let me speak to him now,” she said to the officer.
“Yes, ma’am.” He pulled the microphone from his shoulder and held it front of my face as he held down the receiver.
“Hey, cap,” I said.
“What the hell is going on, Alex?”
“Should I start at the beginning with my attempted murder, or jump to the present where I’m sitting in handcuffs on 13th Street?”
“I have people on route to your apartment. Get over there and fill them in immediately. There better be a good reason you were running through downtown with a gun. Give me back to the officer.”
I looked up at the man as he pulled the microphone back. “Yes, Captain Hawthorne?”
“Let him go,” she said. “He is who he says he is. Get him where he needs to be on the double.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said just before releasing me from the second time I’d been constrained that evening. After helping me up, he me escorted back to my apartment.
It was squad-car city in front of my apartment building as my armed escort and I approached the front door. It looked like Stacey pulled out all the stops when she got the call from the couple in the parking garage. I counted ten different black and whites, plus a few others that could be unmarked vehicles. All the surrounding structures were lit up red and blue as faces appeared in the windows wondering what was going on. The block of pavement in front of the building was blocked off from traffic, but there weren’t many cars out this late.
Stepping through the building’s front doors, I entered a rave that I hadn’t purchased tickets for. Bodies were packed in the lobby as the lights flashing outside reflecting off the wall tiles like a dance party. I wouldn’t have been surprised if ecstasy tablets would start getting passed around to take advantage of the light show.
I spotted Bronson in the lobby who took custody of me from my escort. It nearly made me laugh since I wasn’t under arrest anymore, but I appreciated it all the same. Re-acquiring my weapon from the officer before he left, I checked the safety and placed it in the waist of my pants before walking with Bronson to the elevators.
“So, what the hell happened tonight, Saint?”
“Long story; probably should save it and tell everyone at the same time.”
Bronson pressed the arrow to call for the lift. “No problem,” he said. “The captain’s waiting in your apartment anyway.”
“Did she call in an ‘all cars’ or something?” I asked, gesturing towards the outside. “Shit’s nuts out there.”
“Something like that. I was already upstairs with her and I know we didn’t leave that mess, so I’m guessing this will be a riveting tale.” He paused as his eyes looked me up and down. “You couldn’t have cleaned up a bit before inviting us back over?”
The light-hearted jab was its own special language one learned after being on the force. The job was serious enough all by itself without the heavy emotions from brothers or sisters in blue. The rapport you developed with each other became one of belittlement. But in reality, we all knew that it was a way to avoid saying the real things like I’m glad you’re okay. Each of us knew what the other was really saying beneath the words. This was just Bronson’s way of acknowledging what happened and offering a hand of support.
Back upstairs, I found the door to my apartment guarded by two uniformed officers that nodded when I passed. Inside, the room was filled with forensics techs and the men I’d seen mere hours earlier. My partner was in the middle of a conversation with Pinick in the kitchen while Captain Hawthorne stood a few steps away on her phone. They were going over every inch of my home with care because an attack on one of their own was an attack on them.
As I walked up to them, I realized that Delgado hadn’t changed since the poker game. Bronson and Pinick appeared to have made it home for a shower and fresh pair of clothes, but my partner hadn’t been granted the same luxury. Bronson was in a fresh polo and jeans while Pinick got style points with his Vans tee and sweats. It was a safe bet that his attire was the least of his concerns when he got a call that I was in trouble.
“Evening everyone,” I said stepping into the kitchen. “Anybody want a beer?”
Stacey turned to see me an immediately hung up the phone. She dropped the pad she’d been writing on onto the counter and walked up to me. “Are you ok?” she asked. I nodded. “What the hell happened?”
With my usual flair, “That seems to be the question of the night. I throw a party and next thing I know I’m being swarmed by cops. What’s your deal with harassing law-abiding citizens anyway?”
A few chuckles came from the peanut gallery, but Hawthorne wasn’t amused. She had her not-in-the-mood face fully activated. Awkwardly clearing my throat, I decided not to poke the beast.
“I went to the market after the guys a
ll left,” I began. My eyes wandered the room as I recanted the events. I didn’t want to miss any details. “I was out of coffee so I went to pick up a fresh bag of beans. Afterwards, I was walking back home when I got a call from Eric. He told me about the file you had put on my desk,” I said to Hawthorne. “When I got back here, I found the door was unlocked. I assumed I’d forgotten to lock it in my haste to get coffee beans. But when I walked into my room, I saw blood on the wall just before getting clocked in the head. Next thing I know, I’m waking up tied to one of my poker chairs.”
I walked all of them through the events from my encounter with the Hawaiian wonder all the way to my short time in handcuffs a few blocks away. When I finished, it was Pinick that asked the first question.
“In the garage, you said you fired off a single round at him, correct? And it hit him?”
“Barely. It grazed him at best.”
“I need you to take us to where this happened.”
“Why?”
“Do as he says,” commanded Hawthorne.
Instead of asking for an explanation, I did as she said and took a ride with them to the parking garage. At the scene, Edward Pinick was in full-detective mode as he had me once again recant the tale of what happened. He asked that I go over everything from when I came into the garage until I was back outside. I started with them at the entrance and the followed me as I went through all the details of how I’d run up the ramp after the man.
Along with the detectives, forensics followed along with flashlights moving across the concrete. They continued canvassing the first floor as we went up to the second. It had only been an hour since everything happened here, so I could see it all with fresh eyes. When we arrived at the part of the story where I’d fired my service weapon, I explained that I’d aimed at his shoulder before commanding him to freeze.
“I was out of juice and couldn’t continue chasing him, so I hoped to slow him down or even stop him. That’s when I took the shot.”
“Can you stand in the same place you were when you shot him?” asked Pinick. I obliged and took a few steps away from my current position to where I’d been. “Okay, now aim the same direction you were facing when you fired your weapon.”
I held up my hands in a mock display of holding a weapon out complete with thumb and forefinger. With my makeshift gun, Pinick stepped behind me and peered down the barrel of my finger. He squinted one eye as if looking through an imaginary sight. “Are you sure this is exactly where you were positioned, and exactly where you were aiming?”
“I can’t exactly get it down to the exact millimeter, but it’s the best you’re going to get. I wasn’t exactly doing a building survey to map the landscape.” Taking one more glance down the barrel of my faux gun, he walked off in that direction. “Are you going to tell us what you’re on about?”
He didn’t respond, but instead just continued walking. I looked over to the others for answers, but they just shrugged before following him on his trek through the garage. Only Stacey seemed to be two steps ahead as she conferred with a forensics tech and pointed towards Pinick who had made it all the way to the opposite wall.
Running his fingers across the concrete, he remained silent until he paused on a single area. As the tech came up next to him, he pointed at the spot and said something that I couldn’t hear. As he spoke, the tech opened the case he carried and pulled out a tool that looked like a long silver spike and a plastic bag.
“Pinick,” I said. “Come on already.”
“When you fired your Glock,” he said, turning back to face us. “You said he staggered a bit but kept on going. That doesn’t sound like it hit anything vital like a bone because that would have floored him. Since you felt it only grazed him, the bullet could still be here. And sure enough, I found it lodged in this wall.” He pointed at the area the tech was now working on.
As if on cue, the forensics tech stepped away from the wall with the bullet held up by his forceps before dropping it into the evidence bag. He examined the jacket through the clear plastic before nodding at Pinick, “You were right, sir.”
“And now we have a sample of his blood,” Pinick smiled.
Bronson finished the thought for him. “Which means we have his DNA. If the database gives us a hit, we’ll find your Ace Ventura with a Voorhees fetish.”
For being the only one who thought to look for the bullet to get a DNA sample, Pinick felt big in his britches as he grinned from ear-to-ear and stated, “Yep.”
Chapter 22
Captain Hawthorne ordered me to go get a hotel and let the other detectives handle the investigation. I say ordered because she had asked me more than once to get some rest once they had my story and began working the crime scene. Since there was still a forensics team in my condo, that meant I wouldn’t be allowed to sleep in my own bed either. She had offered to have someone drive me wherever I wanted to get lodging for the night, and I had refused. Eventually she had to turn the request into a command just to get me to leave.
I respected Stacey’s concern for my wellbeing, but my state of mind had only sharpened. Catching the man that decided it was perfectly acceptable to invade my home and damage a good dress shirt while he was at it, wasn’t a subject I was going to drop. But she was right that I should get some rest. It was just past midnight and I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days. This time of year always had a habit of interrupting my REM cycle.
Tonight, wouldn’t be any different because how does one just lay down and take a load off after the high-stakes evening I’d just went through? Surely my mind wouldn’t be capable of just easing back into neutral simply by placing the back of my head on a pillow. I’d very nearly died tonight, and even with the life on the KCPD I’d never had a brush that close.
It was true that I’d used my service weapon on the job before, and even taken more than my fair share of bruises. But I couldn’t think of any time before that I’d truly felt like it all might be coming to an end. As I walked along the sidewalk in a fresh set of clothes I’d changed into before leaving the apartment, I could still feel the bindings around my chest as the knife was readying to relieve my body of its life-giving fluids. It was an experience that made me look back at my life so far.
Tragic events always came with the added weight of questioning what a person has done with their life; the choices they’ve made. I was no different. Waiting at a crosswalk for the signal, I thought of the life I’d led so far and the dedication it gave to those lost. I watched as a couple walked past holding hands. The woman was dressed simply in jeans and light blue shirt under her jacket as she smiled into the loving gaze of the man she cuddled up to. There was a love there that I’d never allowed myself.
The man looked at me and nodded in acknowledgement of my presence before looking back down at her and returning her smile. He wrapped his arm around her and kissed her on her head as they disappeared around the corner. I didn’t consider how I must have seemed as I continued looking at the last spot I’d seen them until people started shoving past me to cross the street. The commotion caused me to shake out of it and notice the flashing indicator to walk.
I quickly crossed over the street and pulled my phone out of my pocket, but it started ringing before I could press anything. On the screen was the name Kathryn Morrison. My thumb hovered over the green icon a moment as I considered if I should answer, but I knew she’d be worried if what happened that night had made it back to her, so I pressed it and held the phone up to my ear.
“Oh my god, Alex. Are you ok?”
“I’m fine, Kat.”
“Are you sure? I just heard about what happened. Did they find him yet? Why did he target you?”
The questions came at me in rapid-fire succession as I tried to calm her. It was like a pummeling to my ears that wouldn’t stop. I did everything I could to assure her I was living to fight another day as I hailed a passing cab. Taxis weren’t as prevalent in Kansas City as they were in places like Manhattan, but you could find on
e occasionally while downtown.
As I opened the back door and slid into the leather seat, I covered the phone as I gave the driver my destination. After seeing the couple on the street and getting the call from Kathryn, I knew where I needed to go. I had to see her.
“I don’t know for sure,” I said, returning to my conversation with Kat. “Apparently he’d seen me on television working the Blood Week case and decided to come after me.”
“So, it was him then? The vigilante?”
“I highly doubt it. It was more that he was trying to pin a body on Blood Week and then paint me to be the vigilante all so he could get away with his own murders. Something about his demeanor told me he wasn’t sophisticated enough to behind the real Blood Week deaths. Not to mention some of the other items like the hunting knife that didn’t fit with previous bodies.”
“I should be there with you right now,” she said. “I can’t even imagine what you went through. You shouldn’t be alone.”
As Kathryn said this, my ride pulled into the driveway and I handed him a wad of cash before stepping out and walking towards the front door. “My place is a crime scene right now, so I can’t even stay there myself let alone have guests. Your fellow lab techs are combing over everything as we speak.”
I stepped up to the Tudor style home and knocked on the front door. As I waited, I heard footsteps inside coming closer. “But I promise you’ll see me soon enough.”
The door opened and she stood before me in all her splendor. Tears immediately filled her eyes as she sprang forward, wrapping her arms around my neck as she buried her face in my shoulder. As she held onto me so tenderly, the voice coming through the phone repeated her question.
“When will I see you?” Kathryn asked.
