“What’s up with that face?” Mallory fell in beside her, both heading to where the dedicated team of derby husbands were unrolling what would be the track boundaries.
Tanya shrugged and warred with herself a moment before answering, “Cole and I had a fight yesterday.”
Mallory’s lips compressed into a tight line and she nodded. “You’ll feel better once you knock these Sin City bitches on their asses.”
Tanya laughed, because it was true.
“Come on, let’s get this set up before Rose crawls up our ass.”
The track was a flat oval set up on top of the concrete floor. The boundaries were marked with normal tube lighting taped to the floor. It had to be measured out and the turns properly formed or else the bout could be thrown out. With all the husbands and derby girls pitching in, the setup went fairly quickly.
Other girls in the Metro City Derby Dames league who would not be playing tonight because they weren’t on the travel team had the esteemed honor of unloading and moving the bleachers into place, setting up folding chairs and doing the real backbreaking labor. Since Tanya was part of the travel team, her responsibilities ended when the track was set up, which was the first thing they did. Because The Warehouse had only one main entrance both for venue security and managing crowd entry, they had to stagger their set-up time to bring in all the pieces.
Tanya dug her phone out of her pocket. It was past time for Cole to be off work.
One missed call and a voicemail.
She dialed voicemail and listened to the message.
“Hey, babe, I’m headed your way. See you soon.”
The tightness in her chest eased. He was coming. If she were honest with herself, she’d feared he would skip out. She sighed and started to pocket the phone, but it began to vibrate. The picture of Cole grinning and saluting the camera with a fruity drink stared back at her.
Her stomach dropped.
“Hey,” she got out, though her throat felt constricted.
“I got called in.” His voice was grim.
“Of course you did,” she said before she could stop herself.
“I’m sorry. Have a good game tonight, okay?”
“It’s called a bout, not a game.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I hope the bout goes well. Hit some girls, okay?”
“Yeah, whatever. Stay safe. Bye.”
Tanya ended the call and stalked outside. She didn’t need this. Of course he had a SWAT call. Of course something came up. It always did.
Her phone rang again. She answered without looking at the screen.
“Hello?”
“Don’t hang up on me,” Cole demanded.
“What else were you going to say?”
“Tanya, I’ve told you I’m sorry. If I could take back everything I said yesterday and just never say it, I would.”
“I know.” And yet she still felt rotten.
“Babe, I’m not asking for things to be perfect between us, but don’t shut me out.”
“I’m not shutting you out. I want to go get ready. You have shit to do or whatever. Go hunt down the bad guys and I’ll see you at home.”
“Tanya, I love you.”
Those little words stopped her in her tracks, the skyline of Metro City and all the Olympic finery filling her view. Cole was out there somewhere, keeping all that safe. And he still loved her. She sucked in a deep breath and shut her eyes.
“I love you too. We’ll talk later. I’m tired of being angry.”
“I don’t want to fight with you.”
“Okay, let’s not fight.”
“I like this plan. Got to go. Promise I’ll be safe.”
The line went dead and, though she didn’t like Cole not being at the bout tonight, she felt better.
And ready to kick some ass.
Chapter Nine
Cole parked his SUV in a line of other police vehicles along the curb of a trailer park located in the southern half of Metro City. There were a few of these still left in poorer areas of town, though most had been bought up and parceled out into housing developments over time.
There were no children playing in the street. No cars coming or going inside the park or from the surrounding streets. No ice-cream trucks making the rounds, even though middle of the afternoon was prime time for their business. There weren’t even dogs barking.
It was eerily quiet.
He knew from listening to the radio the park had been evacuated. He’d passed lines of residents streaming out as he made it through the police barricade rerouting traffic. There were still officers going door to door ensuring everyone was out of the potentially dangerous area.
He grabbed the essential gear from his backseat and headed to where the staging area was set up on the opposite side of the park. There wasn’t much cover to be had, which accounted for the command center being so far away. They’d rely on helicopters to give them an eye in the sky. Trailer houses were flimsy, and if a bomb went off here it would do maximum damage, something they all wanted to prevent.
It was obvious which house was the one with the potential suspects in it. The trailer sat on a back corner lot, alone like a kid relegated to his own table at lunch. Several spaces were cleared on either side, the ground overgrown with weeds and clogged with trash. The house sat right up against the chain link fence that circled the park on two sides. On the other side of the fence, brush, trees and trash lined the perimeter clear down to what Cole could only guess was a creek or storm drain.
It was a tactical problem.
They would have only two clear paths by which to approach the location.
The staging area wasn’t anything more than a few brass vehicles parked in a rough circle at the moment. He spotted his captain amidst the group and headed for him.
O’Neil must have felt Cole’s gaze on him because he glanced up. “Sergeant Westling, we’ve established a perimeter around two sides of the house. We’re getting two teams together to cut through that fence on both sides. I want you to get your team together and be on the ready.”
Cole nodded and came to a stop at the hood of a Charger with papers and clipboards spread out over it. “Anyone checked in yet?”
“Griffith.” O’Neil glanced at someone at his shoulder and the two men descended into an intense conversation.
Cole glanced at the paper the men were examining, which appeared to be a topographical map of the area. It was a great place to be hemmed in because of its defensible position, bad place to try to dig someone out.
He headed for the perimeter boundary, which was where Aaron Griffith would be. It was easy to spot their SWAT gear amidst the officers moving purposefully around the patrol cars set up as barricades and for cover.
The radio on his shoulder chattered information, but Cole was still missing some foundational pieces of info. He approached his teammates’ position behind another SUV. The two men glanced at him, nodding, their faces grim.
“What do we know?” he asked.
Aaron shifted so he could see both Cole and the trailer house. “Narcotics picked up our drug dealer turned landlord from last weekend’s bust. They put pressure on the fucktard and he started talking. Said he put those three guys up in a trailer house he usually sells cheese and prescription medication out of.” Cheese was the latest concoction made from over-the-counter cold medicines and the cheapest form of black tar heroin. It was a gateway product that led to worse. In this instance, that worse was bombs.
“Have we established contact?” Cole took the down moments to adjust his bulletproof vest and settle the gear attached to it into a more comfortable position.
“Not yet. Seen some movement in the windows, but no one’s gone in yet,” Aaron replied.
Cole stared at the house with its dirty windows, many blacked out with tinfoil. “Well, O’Neil said they’re sending some guys around to cut through the fence to get around behind it.”
“Yeah, that’s Rylon and York’s teams. All their guys are here, we�
�re just late to the party. Bomb trailer’s on the way.”
Cole nodded. It was as good as it was going to get under the circumstances.
The most logical plan was to be establish a 360-degree perimeter, send in a bomb unit to get some eyes in there, maybe break out some of the windows with less lethal rounds and figure out how dangerous the landscape was inside. Still, he didn’t see this as being an easy or short siege.
They were here for the long haul.
* * * * *
Tanya stepped up to the starting line. She tried not to peer into the sheer mass of people. Last she’d heard there were only a hundred tickets left and a line out to the street. A sell-out for sure.
She rarely had performance anxiety when it came to bouts, but this crowd was feeding into her nervousness.
Hell, there were already two beeramids made out of hundreds of beer cans in the turns. The crowd was rowdy and toasted, which was typical of their bouts. It also made it easy to tell the regulars from the Olympic spectators, simply because derby fans were not the most refined slice of humanity.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight’s bout between the Sin City Rollers and—your—Metro—City—Derby—Dames!” the announcer, Go-Go-Randy, complete with racing jumpsuit, bellowed into the mic.
The crowd went wild, stomping their feet and rattling the signature Metro City Damagers, which were little more than coffee cans with rocks in them and the team logo taped to the exterior.
“We’re going to explain the way modern roller derby is played, and how you’ll see it done tonight. Each team gets five players on the track.” Go-Go-Randy jogged over to where Tanya and the other blockers were gathered behind a taped line on the track. “These eight ladies are the pack. At the head of the pack, each team has a pivot that wears a striped helmet cover.” Tanya and the Sin City pivot straightened and waved. “Now, back here…” Go-Go-Randy jogged back twenty feet to two players separated from the rest. “These ladies are your jammers. They’re your point scorers.”
Go-Go-Randy backed up to the center of the track. Referees and game officials with clipboards and a big dry erase board moved around him with practiced ease.
“This bout will be an hour long, played in two half-hour periods. A play, or as we call them, jams, take place in two-minute increments. A jam starts when the referee blows the whistle one time.” Go-Go-Randy gestured to a tall, lanky man on skates wearing a referee shirt.
The referee blew his whistle one time and Tanya started skating slowly along with the other girls in the pack. This wasn’t the time to be aggressive, but she did eye her fellow pivot.
“When the last girl in the pack has passed the starting line, our head referee, Dick Woods, will give his whistle two good tweets.” The referee complied, blasting two short notes. “The jammers will take off. Their goal is to get through the pack. The first girl though the pack without a penalty will be,” he paused for effect, sucking in a deep breath, “your—lead—jammer!”
The crowd whooped and hollered. Tanya glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of the two jammers rounding the first turn, closing in on the back of the pack. In turn, the girls in the pack began to jostle one another a little. They were all ready to seriously play.
“Each team wants to get their jammer through the pack first, so they’ll do everything in their power to help her through, even body checking their opponents!”
It was automatic—as soon as the jammers reached the pack they began shifting into blocking positions. Two of Tanya’s teammates held the back of the pack and let their jammer, Pele, pass into the pack first. Goldie Fuckers offered Pele her arm. Pele took it and Goldie propelled the jammer forward and straight for Tanya. A Sin City blocker came out of nowhere, sideswiping Pele, but the Dame jammer shook it off.
Tanya reached back, grabbed Pele and whipped her around the front of the pack.
“The jammer scores points on each pass she makes through the pack. For each opposing player she passes, she gets one point. Now, if she passes them illegally, she gets no points.”
Pele powered forward, leaving the pack behind in a burst of speed.
“Your lead jammer is the Hawaiian fire goddess herself, Pele!”
Pele straightened from her crouched-over skating position and slapped her hips with her fists, thrusting her pelvis forward. Tanya and the rest of the pack put on the brakes and began coasting.
“The lead jammer can call a jam off if she’s lead jammer by putting her hands on her hips, as Pele has demonstrated. Now, penalties! A skater can incur penalties for things like pushing, tripping or elbowing their opponent. Four minor penalties or one major mean a minute in the sin bin.” The crowd hissed appropriately as their Mistress of Penalties slapped the metal folding chairs with a flogger. “Okay, I can talk you to death about the rules of derby, but I always say you learn by doing. So, let’s get these girls on the track and play some derby!”
Tanya and the rest of the girls reassembled at the starting line. She bit down on her mouth guard and took the inner track position. Pele and their coach had agreed that a fast pace out of the gate would benefit them.
Tanya tipped forward so she stood on her front two wheels and toe stops. The group assembled on the line, bodies tense, ready to spring forward.
“Count down with me, everyone,” Go-Go-Randy bellowed. “Five, four, three, two, one!”
Dick Woods blasted the whistle. Tanya shot forward, leaving the Sin City pivot in the dust.
“On your right,” Goldie called.
“Faster,” Tanya called over her shoulder.
The Sin City pack was pounding around the turn, fighting to keep up. There were rules about the pack having to stay together, which forced their opponents to play at their speed. For now.
Two blasts, the crowd roaring and squealing skates meant the jammers were on their way.
“Incoming,” Goldie yelled.
The Sin City team was yelling back and forth as well, struggling to work their way back into the pack.
“Sin jammer, Sin jammer,” Goldie practically screamed.
“Knock her on her ass,” Tanya called to her teammates.
The Sin City jammer blazed through her teammates, getting a double push from two girls at once. The rear two Derby Dame blockers tried to jostle her, but misjudged her speed and bounced off, one on either side right after each other.
Tanya crossed one leg over the other heading into the turn. The beeramid was right in line.
“Hit her,” Tanya cried.
Goldie quickstepped as the jammer tried to pass and executed a great hip-check, but the other woman was too solid on her skates.
Tanya was not about to let the other team’s bitch get the first lead jammer.
She roared and let her momentum push her to the outside of the turn as the jammer tried to pass her. Tanya threw on a burst of speed and laid everything she had into the jammer, hitting her from hip to shoulder. They hit the outside boundary, Tanya’s skate tripped over the rope lights and she pitched forward. The jammer tucked and rolled, hitting the beeramid square in the middle and sending cans flying.
Tanya let her momentum roll her to her stomach, got her skates under her and sprang to her feet. She was off and running on her toe-stops before she could draw the next breath.
“Pele is your—lead—jammer!”
One whistle blared close to Tanya and she glanced around. A referee scowled at her, pointing to the penalty box. Somehow she’d managed to incur a major penalty in the first jam. Just her luck. She rolled her eyes and sped around the outside of the track as fast as possible to get her ass into the seat.
It was going to be a long two minutes in the sin bin.
* * * * *
Cole’s uniform stuck to his back, sweat trickling down his spine. Debris and the remains of what had been the trailer house in an almost abandoned lot fluttered to the ground. His ears rang from the explosion seconds ago. Officers were jumping to action, pulling stunned individuals back farther and
providing cover for the firefighters who were at the ready across the park.
“Suspects are fleeing on foot,” someone nearby yelled, a cry many were echoing.
He shook his head and peered through the flames at three figures climbing the opposite bank of the creek behind the house.
Immediately officers began sprinting after the men, but the explosion had given the suspects a considerable lead.
Cole hit the chain link fence and skidded to a stop. The suspects were already hidden from sight by a thick brush line and a wooden privacy fence.
“Sergeant Westling, get your team loaded and pursue,” the Captain yelled.
Cole’s instinct was to follow the suspects until they ran them to the ground on foot, but he couldn’t ignore a direct order.
“Yes sir. Alpha Team, to me.” He jogged back to his SUV, the other members of his team falling in behind him.
This was the situation nightmares were made of.
They loaded into Cole’s SWAT SUV in near silence. Their attention focused on the radio and the officers calling out positions.
“Suspects are in a brown Buick southbound on Fuego Street,” one voice said louder than the others.
Cole accelerated as fast as he dared, lights and sirens blaring, passing three incoming fire trucks on his way. He gripped the wheel and leaned forward. Contrary to TV, it wasn’t every day an officer was given leave to pursue. It was the ultimate rush.
Jake grabbed the radio from the passenger side front seat. “SWAT is in pursuit.”
“Copy that, SWAT,” a nameless voice replied.
“What the fuck happened back there?” Jake asked. He’d arrived minutes before the explosion, and hadn’t had time to be briefed on the situation, much less anything else.
Cole turned onto Fuego Street and gunned the engine. Ahead, he could see other lights, more officers engaged in the chase.
Cole rattled off the information Aaron had relayed to him.
“How did they get out? I didn’t see them exit,” Aaron asked from the backseat.
“Don’t know,” Cole replied.
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