HotTango

by Sidney Bristol

  Jake cleared his throat. “Was there anyone else in the house?”

  Everyone was silent for a moment, save for the squealing tires as Cole turned the SUV down another street.

  “We don’t know,” Cole replied when no one else did.

  “Suspects are headed northeast on Industrial Boulevard,” dispatch radioed out.

  “That’s toward the Olympic Bowl,” Jake said.

  Cole’s blood flashed cold then hot. The Olympic Bowl and the Village were the two busiest areas. They had the most security and would be kept informed of the situation in the city. “If anything is prepared for them, it’s the Bowl and the Village.”

  Still, Cole turned on a street parallel to Industrial and floored it. Traffic skidded out of his way, but at least it was less crowded.

  The radio crackled to life, and the nightmare worsened. “Shots have been fired at Industrial and Oakmont.”

  Aaron leaned forward between the seats. “What do you want to bet the guys down at the Bowl set up a barricade?”

  It sounded like a practical move. If he were on duty at the Bowl, it’s what he would do.

  “Suspects are on the move, headed due south on Buffalo.”

  Cole’s pulse kicked up and he glanced at the street sign.

  Jake was already grabbing the radio. “Dispatch, this is Officer Jake Vant, we are on Buffalo.”

  “Copy that, SWAT.”

  The Buick flew over the top of a hill, swerving through traffic. Cole could tell the moment the driver saw his SUV. The Buick jerked and clipped a Jeep’s fender. The Buick turned in front of oncoming traffic, trying to get out of Cole’s way.

  “Dispatch, this is SWAT. Suspects are headed south on Zara Avenue. We are in pursuit.”

  The radio came alive with other officers calling in a series of small explosions from debris dropped by the Buick. It was confusing and difficult to identify each voice, officer and site.

  “Sounds like a pileup,” Aaron muttered.

  “This is fucked nine ways to hell and back.” Cole swerved around a slow-moving vehicle.

  “Coke can,” Jake yelled.

  Cole didn’t think, he jerked the SUV to the side. Oncoming drivers slammed on their brakes and parted. A pop much like a flash grenade exploded near their right fender. The SUV shook and the rear of the vehicle dropped. They could feel the rim hitting pavement, or worse.

  “Fuck,” Cole yelled. He let the SUV roll to a stop and punched the steering wheel.

  “Dispatch, this is SWAT. The suspects are dropping explosives into the street. We have a flat. Suspect is still headed south on Buffalo.”

  Cole kicked his door open and dashed around the back of the SUV. The others poured out with him, unloading his gear to uncover the spare tire.

  A line of SWAT vehicles and patrol cars flew by them, two cars and an ambulance peeling off to check in with Cole and begin searching the area for evidence of the bomb. They were lucky that no one and nothing seemed to have been injured besides Cole’s tire and possibly the rim. It was still in good enough condition to drive at the moment.

  “Officers, here.” An elderly man jogged toward them with a jack in hand.

  “Thanks, man.” Jake and the man shoved the jack under the SUV and began cranking it up.

  Two other civilians approached with wrenches. They didn’t even ask if they could help, simply jumped in and set about getting the wheel off. Between the elderly man, who had more nimble fingers than the men half his age, and Aaron, the tire was back on in less than five minutes. The racecar pit scenario might have been comical, were lives not in danger.

  “Load up,” Cole called to his men. The delay really chapped his ass. He waved at the civilian help. “Thanks.”

  “No problem, Officer.”

  They jumped back in the SUV and Cole put a call into their captain.

  “Westling, where are you?” O’Neil asked without preamble.

  “On Buffalo on the suspect’s trail. We had a tire blown out.”

  “This is a circus. Stay on the road. We’ll get these bastards.”

  “Where are they? All I’m hearing is chatter on the radio.”

  “Butler and Parkwood was the last I heard. I’m with the command center. If they run these guys to ground, you’ll be the senior SWAT officer on-site and I want you to organize the guys.”

  Cole almost didn’t hear the last half of what O’Neil said. His world narrowed to the space between the cars in front of him and putting the SUV through it.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, Westling?”

  “Sir, there’s a sold-out roller derby game going on at Butler and Rogers. There’s at least a thousand people there. More if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Fucking hell.”

  This was a bad dream. Something that happened in the movies, not in reality. Not in his world.

  “Sir, my wife is playing in that bout tonight.”

  * * * * *

  Tanya had one eye glued to the Mistress of Penalties and one eye on the track. Her two-minute time-out was almost up and she’d missed two whole jams. The score was six to four in favor of the Dames. Sin City had brought their best girls and Tanya itched to get out there. With her in the box, they were skating at a disadvantage.

  “Get ready, Hot Tango.” The PVC-clad Mistress slapped the back of her chair with her flogger, gaze glued to her stopwatch.

  Tanya kept her ass on the very edge of the chair, slid her mouth guard back in and rolled up on her toe stops.

  The pack rounded the fourth turn and blazed down the length of track directly in front of Tanya. The crowd was yelling so loud it practically rattled her helmet.

  “Five—four—three—two—one. Go!” The Mistress of Penalties flogged the back of Tanya’s chair, but she was already gone.

  Tanya sprang to her feet, but made the last-second decision to stop out of bounds. If she entered now, she’d have to skate twice as hard to catch up. It made more sense to allow the pack another lap and enter as close behind the other players as possible. The pack headed into the start of the turn skating hard and fast. She hunkered down and watched Lotta Byte trying to force her way through the back of the pack. She’d replaced Pele as the jammer, but the smaller woman was having a hell of a time against the larger blockers.

  The pack passed her, but two Sin City blockers had Lotta Byte hemmed in way behind the main pack. And Tanya couldn’t enter until everyone had passed her position.

  “Illegal blocking,” Tanya yelled at the outer track passing ref, who happened to be a Sin City referee. He turned a blind eye on the penalty. “Fucking cunt blower.”

  Lotta Byte and the two blockers passed Tanya’s position and she was finally able to enter the track. She ran a few strides on her front two wheels and toe stops, building up speed.

  “Lotta, behind you,” Tanya yelled.

  The two blockers eyed her. The girl on Tanya’s right swung out, creating a false opening.

  A whistle blasted nearby. “Illegal blocking,” an inner track referee called, pointing at the two Sin City blockers.

  “Come on, Lotta.” Tanya skated up next to her jammer. They were now far enough behind the pack that she could not legally assist.

  “Can’t,” Lotta gasped.

  “Yes you can. Move your ass,” Tanya demanded.

  They hunched down and Tanya took the front, letting Lotta Byte draft off her.

  “I’m going to get you through the back of the pack and whip you around the outside,” Tanya called over her shoulder. Talking around her mouth guard made it difficult, but she had practice.

  “I can’t,” Lotta said. “Here, take the jam.”

  Lotta Byte took off the stretchy helmet cover with the star sewn on the side and held it out to Tanya.

  There was only a split second to make the decision. She grabbed it, shoved it over her helmet and pitched forward, throwing all her effort into hitting the pack with as much speed and force as she could.

  The three Dame blockers
had their hands tied keeping the Sin City jammer inside the pack. She had yet to break through, and chances were there would be no lead jammer this round and they’d go for the full two minutes. At their current speed, that was murder on endurance, and they weren’t even ten minutes into the bout.

  All of the Sin City blockers seemed to turn as one and catch sight of Tanya at the same damn time. She took a deep breath and picked a woman of average size to take on first. Except a thin, petite woman dropped back, her whole focus on Tanya.

  Tanya didn’t shrink from her. Most people thought the little blockers would be easy to blow over, but the truth was that their lower center of gravity made them much more difficult opponents. Still, Tanya had the determination.

  She swerved to the inner track and the blocker shadowed her. Tanya feinted to the outside and the blocker quickstepped, committing to the move and opening up the inner track. Tanya blazed past the woman without landing a hit.

  Now that the pack’s attention was on Tanya and Tanya could protect her from the Sin City blocker, Lotta Byte powered past.

  “I’ll whip you,” Lotta called. “Dames! Dames, help your jammer.”

  The Sin City blockers were divided now, one helping their jammer get past two Dames blockers, and the remaining jostling for position to either help or hinder Tanya.

  “Whip me,” Tanya yelled.

  Lotta sped in front of her, threw her arm back and Tanya grabbed it. Lotta planted her feet and used her momentum to propel Tanya forward in a textbook whip maneuver.

  There was something thrilling about moving at a speed no human could go on her own, rocketing toward certain danger. Tanya’s teeth rattled in memory of other hits she’d taken at similar speeds.

  A Sin City blocker swooped in on her right, hitting Tanya with her hips. Tanya was ready for the blow, so it only shoved her toward the center track. She put her shoulder into the woman, got her right foot in front of her opponent and powered forward.

  Tanya was so close she could feel it.

  Two Dames blockers, two Sin City blockers and their jammer were all that stood between her and the front of the pack.

  “Hot Tango, here,” one of the Dames blockers yelled, waving her hand.

  She took the hand and let her teammate pull her through the almost comical double attack as the two Sin City blockers tried to sandwich her. Except they were too slow, or Tanya was too fast.

  “Go, go, go!” her other teammate cried.

  The Sin City jammer broke free a beat behind Tanya and they sped away, jostling each other. Tanya threw her hips against her opponent and got caught by an elbow to the chest.

  Three blasts on the whistle and Tanya stopped moving her feet, letting her momentum carry her back to the bench. She pulled the helmet panties off and gave them to the assistant coach before sinking down on the bench. Someone passed her a bottle of water. She spat her mouth guard out and drank deeply.

  This was going to be a fight. A full-on battle.

  Lotta plopped down next to her. “Thanks. They just kept hitting me. I couldn’t get through.”

  “It’s okay.”

  A crash and screams rent the atmosphere of rock ’n’ roll, adrenaline and beer. As one, the crowd and players turned toward the main entrance. Curious, Tanya stood along with half the other girls on the bench.

  Go-Go-Randy held up his hand at center rink. “Ladies and gentlemen—”

  People at the far end scattered and a man holding a large automatic rifle strode toward the middle of the track.

  Tanya’s world narrowed to the man, the gun and the thing he held in his hand.

  Chapter Ten

  Cole shoved the SUV into park and jumped out of the vehicle. Officers were establishing a perimeter around The Warehouse. The Buick blocked the single door entry point. He knew from attending at least part of a few bouts that there was a dock rolling door a few feet from the single entry door in the front, and one side door.

  Erick, Aaron and Jake flanked him as they made their way across the street to a cluster of officers who seemed to be in charge.

  Cole shoved the personal out of his mind and switched on his cop persona. “We need to get a perimeter established—”

  “Cole—”

  “And start coordinating with the officers—”

  “Cole!”

  Aaron grabbed Cole’s arm and jerked him around. “Man, get a fucking grip.”

  “I’m doing my damn job,” he snapped back and ripped his arm out of Aaron’s grasp.

  “Your fucking wife is in there, you’re not calm.”

  “The hell I’m not.” He jabbed his finger against Aaron’s chest. “We’ll get everyone together, coordinate a perimeter, get some eyes on the side door and wait for the negotiators and the command center to get here. How’s that for fucking calm?” He spread his arms wide for a moment.

  Aaron stared at him, a grim expression on his face.

  They quickly assembled over a dozen SWAT officers on scene and began swapping out police officers with SWAT members on the perimeter and filling holes.

  Another group of cops was across the street in a vacant storefront interviewing people who had run from the building or been outside when the hostage situation began. It was amazing that not more had escaped, except The Warehouse was built like a kill chute—only one real entrance or exit, metal walls, concrete floor. It was a death trap waiting to happen.

  And his wife was in there.

  Tanya, with her fearless heart and innocence. Part of him knew that if anyone would work against the suspects from the inside, it would be her. The other half of him prayed she knew better than to do anything rash.

  Fuck.

  Why had they been fighting?

  He listened to his radio with one ear. There was chatter about multiple 9-1-1 calls from inside The Warehouse. Three gunmen with explosives.

  There was no negotiating with terrorists. They didn’t want money or things.

  Cole stepped behind a car and stared up at the sky. His throat constricted and his eyes stung. What if he never saw her again? What if they never drank lemonade and talked about the future? What if they never had the three kids they’d been talking about?

  The very tangible reality that this could be the end was a weight in his gut.

  But freaking out wasn’t going to help Tanya or the other hostages.

  Cole pushed the grim reality to the back of his mind. He had a job to do and, while he wouldn’t trust himself on the frontline, he was a good officer and knew his role.

  A white Mack truck rolled up to the cross street, the command center trailer behind. Cole jogged over and helped the driver park behind the shopping area. A dozen vehicles followed it and the staging area was set. At least four B.E.A.R. trucks with the remainder of the SWAT team moved into tactical positions around The Warehouse.

  They were digging in.

  O’Neil was one of the first to head toward the trailer.

  “Westling, heard from your wife?”

  Cole shook his head. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

  O’Neil’s grim expression didn’t change. “Okay, the bomb squad is going to unload Teda and go investigate the Buick. Pitch in with them.”

  Cole nodded and peeled off to connect with the second trailer that was down the street. Bomb squads were different in every city, some were patrol officers, others fire department, but in Metro City, they were SWAT. Cole let himself into the trailer. Two officers eyed him but none questioned his presence.

  “O’Neil sent me to be support,” Cole announced.

  There was a single beat of silence before Officer Becca Jameson stepped toward him.

  “I’m going to be rolling Teda out there. Can you give me cover?” she asked.

  Cole jerked his head. “That I can do.”

  “Okay, get your gear. Meet me outside in five.” She grabbed the controller and followed him back onto the street.

  Cole retrieved his riot shield from his SUV and rendezvoused with Becca o
n the street, already getting Teda lined up for approach. He fell in beside her, walking just ahead and acting as a physical shield. The remote control unit allowed the operator to stay inside the truck, but Jameson was known for her hands-on approach.

  “Here,” she said, and set the controller on the front of a random patrol car. She grabbed her radio and spoke into it. “This is bomb squad Officer Jameson, sending Teda in now.”

  The Teda unit rolled past them, a little robot with a big mission. Officers sidestepped and there was a noticeable charge in the air. They were about to find out how bad these guys were.

  Cole tightened his grip on the shield and watched the robot navigate the curb, truck between cars and slowly approach the Buick shielding the single entry door. The camera lifted and he glanced over his shoulder at the screen.

  “What do you see?” he asked.

  “Some trash, but nothing.”

  “They threw a soda can at us with explosives in it.”

  “No cans. Papers, some plastic bags and that’s it. Going to check the backseat… Nothing.”

  Teda rolled around to the trunk and after a few minutes and plenty of expletives from Jameson, the trunk popped open.

  “More nothing. That’s good, but fuck.”

  “What about the undercarriage?”

  “You’re a demanding bastard,” she said without spice.

  The camera lowered, tilted and lowered some more. Jameson kept making tiny adjustments, forward, backward, up, down. She slowly inched Teda around the Buick.

  “It’s clean.” She grabbed the radio and reported at length what she’d seen through Teda’s lens.

  They were all on edge, but nothing was happening. There were no windows to shoot from or look out of. No one was engaging them. It was all quiet, which only made him worry more. Almost a thousand hostages should not be so quiet.

  The similarities to the trailer house scene did not escape him. He just hoped that this time the suspects’ getaway didn’t involve blowing up their hideout.

  * * * * *

  Tanya’s job with One World had taken her across the world and into many dangerous situations. Regardless of what she’d seen or been through, nothing could prepare her for staring down the barrel of a semiautomatic rifle. She slowly lifted her hands and tried to force herself to look at the face of the man behind the gun rather than the weapon itself, but her gaze kept dropping to the barrel of the gun.