Weight of the Badge: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World Book 21)

by T. R. Cupak

  “Taking these two is our best bet before Jesus comes out,” I whisper and get a nod in agreement. “Let’s get closer.”

  Before we get a chance to make our next move, the sirens stop, which is a relief. We don’t want to spook our gangster trash. My watch vibrates, so I check it. Officer Hayes texted to let us know that both ends of the street are covered, and SWAT is en route.

  Not wasting any more time, Deacon and I make our move to cross the street, positioning ourselves closer. Once we’re in place and ready to confront Abel and Chico, we hear a gate close from across the street and out skips a little girl. Motherfucker!

  “Are you playing cops and robbers?” The girl’s focus is on Deacon and me, but the question is loud enough for our suspects to hear her as well.

  “No, little girl. Mind your fucking business,” one of the guys snaps back at her. Deacon is trying to signal to the little girl to go back inside, but she doesn’t understand.

  “Not you, you big meanie. Them. The ones with the guns?” The girl lifts her arm and points in our direction.

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me?

  “What’d you say?” a voice asks, closer than I’d care for it to be.

  Deacon and I are both shaking our heads from side to side while our index fingers are pressed to our lips, silently begging this girl to shut her mouth. Right now, we still have the upper hand and know we can’t wait any longer. Simultaneously, we stand, telling both Chico and Abel to put their hands up to where we can see them, and to get on the ground, face down.

  Turning my head for a split second, I yell at the little girl to go inside and lay down. Her mother comes running out of the house, screaming in Spanish as she grabs her daughter. That’s when the gunfire starts.

  Adrenaline is coursing through my veins, muffling the sounds of what’s happening around me. The gangsters shoot at us, and then we return fire as police vehicles advance down the street. Commotion and chaos surround us. Emptying one magazine, then another, I finally take down Abel Flores. Seconds later, Deacon lands a fatal gunshot to Chico Hernandez.

  Switching our guns to our off-duty ones, we both enter the house slowly from the garage, knowing Jesus Hernandez is still a threat. When we walk into the filthy galley-style kitchen, I go one direction, and Deacon goes the other. At the same time, with our guns still drawn, we walk around the corner to the living room to find Lil Romeo slumped over with a knife in his chest and a note attached: You got snitched out. We’ll be coming for you and your loved ones, PIGS.

  The two young girls are curled up in a corner together, crying.

  “Someone help me!” We hear a woman’s voice call out from a back room.

  Slowly walking down the dark hallway, I check the bathroom to the left as Deacon checks the room to the right.

  “Clear.”

  “Clear.”

  Not knowing what to expect, I go low as Deacon kicks open the last door and swings to the side, using the door frame as protection.

  “Pinche cabrón is gone. El coño jumped out the window. Now untie me, motherfuckers.” Whoever this woman is, she has a mouth on her. I have no problem leaving her tied up until one of our female officers is on the scene.

  “Where’d he go?” Deacon asks her.

  “How the fuck do I know? Untie me, culo.” Her foul-mouth is only working against her.

  “Sit tight. A female officer will be here shortly.”

  “D, get the girls out of here and tell the team to set a perimeter and start knocking on doors. We need to find Jesus—fast. He couldn’t have gone too far. Also, check on the mother and little girl across the street.” Deacon nods and leaves the room.

  As I turn to leave the room, I notice a cracked mirror hanging on the wall facing the unkempt bed, and in the reflection, something outside the window catches my eye two seconds too late. The first shot fired is a headshot to the female, brain matter splattering everywhere. The second shot stings, but with my revitalized adrenaline boost, it doesn’t register that I just got shot. I shoot back, hitting who I assume is Jesus, but I don’t know where the bullet hit him or if he’s dead.

  Turning to leave the bedroom, I use the wall as a crutch to keep me on my feet. When I clear the hallway, and I’m back in the living room, an EMT is entering the house and runs to my side to help me.

  I’m lightheaded and know I will likely pass out soon, so I tell him a woman and the third gang member are down by gunfire, and where to find them. I then follow-up asking if the little girl and her mother are okay. Before he can respond to my question, we step out of the house, and I have my answer. I see Deacon on his knees across the street, covering one of two lifeless bodies, and the world goes dark.

  12

  BRITNEY

  When I get the phone call from Deacon that Kade got shot while apprehending their gang suspects, my head begins to spin. Of course, I ask my brother if he is okay, and when he confirms that he’s not hurt, I feel a little better. After telling Deacon I was coming to the hospital, I begin to feel woozy as my world begins to crumble around me. The fear that I may never see Kade alive again becomes overwhelming.

  I text Sydnee to pick me up and take me to the hospital because I don’t trust my driving. Every horrid image occupying my mind distracts me from the conversation my friend is trying to have with me. Until I see Kade with my own two eyes, I won’t believe he’s alive and will pull through this.

  Shock kept me from crying earlier, but now that panic, regret, and fear are taking over, that’s when the tears start to stream down my cheeks. Giving in to all my feelings is like opening the floodgates. The harder I cry, the more snot dribbles from my nose, and my breathing is borderline hyperventilation.

  “Do you need me to pull over?” Sydnee’s hand grabs mine and squeezes. Looking over at my friend, I see she’s barely hanging in there. She’s trying to remain calm and steady for me when I know she wants to freak out too. Shaking my head from side to side is the only way I can answer her question. Syd squeezes my hand again, letting me know she understands.

  Glancing to the back seat of her car, I see a t-shirt and yoga pants. I grab the shirt, and without asking, I blow my nose with one end and wipe away the tears with the other.

  “Ew,” Sydnee comments.

  “Sorry. I’ll buy you two new shirts,” I croak out, finally finding my voice.

  “Oh, I know you will,” she responds. When I look over at her, she’s still eyeballing my new handkerchief.

  “I said I’d buy you two new ones.”

  “You’re lucky because Mötley Crüe is coming out of retirement. You’ll be buying concert tickets to replace your new snot rag.”

  Looking down, I open the shirt and see that it’s the one she bought back in 2015 when we went to one of Mötley Crüe’s farewell tour concerts. That’s what I get for not thinking and just doing.

  “Deal,” I tell her as I turn my attention out the passenger’s side window.

  “So that you know, I have Kleenex in my glove compartment.”

  Now she tells me. Brat. Reaching forward, I grab two new pocket packs of Kleenex from the compartment and put them in my purse. I’m not about to walk into a hospital with a concert t-shirt as a snot rag.

  Somehow, my friend got me out of my head for a few minutes, just long enough to pull into the hospital parking lot without a hysterical passenger. We both suck in a breath when we see numerous patrol vehicles and fire trucks crowding the parking lot. As I look closer, I notice that it’s not just Los Palomas vehicles. Multiple law enforcement agencies are present, including the Sunnyville Police Department. SPD being here doesn’t surprise me since both my brother and Kade are friends with a couple of guys at that department.

  “Breathe,” Sydnee mumbles.

  “I am.”

  “Not you, me.” Glancing over at Syd, I see her taking slow, steady breaths.

  “Thanks for driving. I know it wasn’t easy.”

  “Easier for me than you.”

  Upon e
xiting her car, we meet around the front, and I grab her hand. As we start the trek across the parking lot, I begin to feel lightheaded. My pace slows, and the building in front of me begins to blur. Everything in my line of sight narrows as tunnel vision sets in. Releasing Sydnee’s hand, I bend over, placing my hands on my knees as I try to regain my equilibrium and sight. Mimicking her breathing from before we got out of her vehicle, I start to feel a little better.

  “You okay?”

  “Give me a sec. I felt like I was going to faint.”

  Patiently waiting, Sydnee stands beside me, rubbing my back as I continue to focus on my breathing. Before I move, I close my eyes, hoping it will help when I stand up straight. As I slowly right myself, my eyes flutter as I open them. When I do open them all the way, I’m thankful they are in focus, and the building before me no longer looks like an abstract scene from a horror film.

  “You good?”

  Nodding yes, I reach over, grabbing Syd’s hand once again. It’s not long before we get to the sliding doors to the hospital, and we’re standing at the unoccupied reception desk. After a minute or two, a security guard comes out from the door behind the counter.

  “Good evening, ladies,” the portly gentleman greets us.

  “Could you please direct us to—”

  “Visiting hours are over,” the man cuts Sydnee off before she can finish her question.

  “My brother’s partner was shot and brought here,” I tell him, hoping he will tell us where to go besides home.

  “Oh. I’m sorry to hear about that young officer. Hold on.” The guard clumsily types on the keyboard before his attention comes back to us. “Looks like he’s still in surgery. Put these on.” He hands us visitor badges. “Take the elevator to the third floor. You can’t miss the crowd of support up there.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Sydnee and I both say in unison.

  We trek toward the elevators. Once there, Syd presses the third-floor button, and the doors open immediately. It’s mere seconds before the elevator chimes and the doors open to the third-floor hall and waiting room, both packed with first responders.

  Stepping out of the elevator, I grab Sydnee’s hand once again, scanning the crowd for a familiar face. Anxiety is slowly creeping in. If I don’t find my brother or our parents, I don’t know how much longer I can hold myself together. With the multitude of people standing around, one would think it would be noisy, but it’s the exact opposite. Those who are having conversations are speaking in a low murmur.

  “Is that Grant Malone?” Sydnee whispers. Grant is with Sunnyville PD and has been friends with Deacon and Kade for a few years now.

  Glancing in the direction she’s facing, I crane my neck to see past her, and that’s when I know she is correct. Grant is talking to someone who is sitting on the floor. As I pull Sydnee in his direction, squeezing through the sea of people in the crowded hall, I see it’s Deacon seated on the floor with his elbows resting on his pulled-up knees and head in his hands.

  A stabbing feeling pierces through my heart. My brother is a strong man, and I’ve never seen him break, not even when I got raped. So, to witness this vulnerable side of Deacon is not something I’m not prepared to handle. My stomach feels like it’s tying itself into a thousand little knots, the closer I get to Grant and my brother.

  “Hey, Brit. Hi, Sydnee,” Grant greets us when we finally reach him.

  “Hey,” I respond as I half step into his waiting arms for a quick hug, and Sydnee does the same. Then I kneel beside Deacon and quietly ask him if he wants to go outside and get some fresh air.

  Deacon looks up at me, and my heart shatters. His cheeks are tear-stained, and his naturally beautiful bluish-green eyes are damn near swollen shut from crying. I need to get my brother away from everyone, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do it while we’re all waiting for an update on Kade.

  “D?” He nods his response, so I stand, holding my hand out for him to take. When Deacon grabs my hand, I nearly fall back to my knees, trying to help him stand. He’s probably been sitting here for a while. I’m surprised he was able to stand so effortlessly. “Will you text if you see my parents, Kade’s parents, or if the doctors come out to talk to someone?” I ask both Sydnee and Grant.

  “Of course.” Sydnee is quick to answer.

  “You might want to get him some water,” Grant suggests. I tell him I will, and with my brother’s arm draped over my shoulders, I lead him toward the elevators. It’s like parting the Red Sea as everyone waiting for news on Kade’s condition makes room to let us through.

  Seeing my brother in such a fragile state reminds me of how I was after being raped in college. A few months after my attacker was in jail, Deacon confessed to feeling helpless, even while he was working with the campus police to find the rapist. I assured him he helped me more than he knew.

  Everything I have been feeling since finding out about the shootout and Kade being shot, up until we set foot on the third floor of the hospital and seeing Deacon hunched over, has me feeling helpless. Now, I understand what he meant. Deacon was my strength when I needed it most. It’s my turn to be his strength.

  We reach the lobby, and I lead Deacon outside. Our bodies shiver simultaneously from the brisk air, and I’m kicking myself in the ass for not thinking to bring a jacket, or a sweatshirt, or something. Looking around the parking lot, I finally spot my brother’s truck. Please have your keys in your pocket.

  “Do you have your keys?” I ask.

  Reaching into his pocket with his free hand, he pulls his keys out and hands them to me. We take our time walking through the lot, and when we reach the truck, I open the passenger’s side door. I’m about to climb in, but Deacon beats me to it and closes the door when his leg is clear. I begin to walk around to the driver’s side of the truck when my cell phone rings. Grabbing it from my back pocket, I see it’s my mom, so I answer.

  The conversation is surprisingly quick. I’m able to persuade our parents to stay home by reassuring my mom that I’m taking care of Deacon, and I’ll update them on Kade when I know more. Mom also made me promise to drive Deacon by their house, even if he refuses. All she wants is to see her son with her own two eyes and hug him. Only then will she be able to rest, knowing he’s okay.

  I open the back seat door on the driver’s side, knowing Deacon keeps water bottles behind his seat. Grabbing two, I close the door get in the driver’s seat. Without saying anything, I hand my brother a bottle of water, and he takes it without any resistance, opens it, and chugs down half the bottle before replacing the cap.

  We sit in silence for what feels like hours when it’s only been minutes. There are so many questions I want to ask. For instance, what the fuck happened? Where was their backup? How did Kade get shot? Were they wearing their vests? But I keep all of my questions to myself. When Deacon is ready to talk, he will.

  “Fuck!” Deacon yells out, throwing his half-full water bottle at the windshield and scaring the piss out of me. I remain quiet. It’s like I’m afraid that if I make a sound, I will be the next target if he throws something else. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” He continues yelling while slamming his fists into the dashboard. “Brit, I fucked up. I shouldn’t have left him when there was still one suspect at large. And that motherfucker is somehow still fucking alive after Kade shot him.”

  “D, you can’t blame yourself. Kade wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.” I try reasoning with my brother, but I know my words are going in one ear and out the other. Hell, they’re probably stopped by the shield of anger that surrounds him. Something tells me there’s no way to talk him off the imaginary ledge he’s put himself on, and there’s a whole lot more to the story than what Deacon has given me so far.

  “Kade shot that piece of shit in the neck. The neck, Brit! The motherfucking bullet missed his carotid artery by a fucking hair. A single, goddamn hair. Jesus Hernandez should be dead like his brother, but no. He’s already out of surgery while Kade is fighting for his life.”

&nb
sp; Reaching over the center console, I grab Deacon’s hand and hold on tight. I may end up with a broken hand if he flies off the handle again, but my brother needs me, and this is the only way I can show him I’m here for him. It’s killing me the way he’s torturing himself.

  “B, our CI got a knife to the chest. But that wasn’t all. A mother and her little girl got caught in the crossfire. The mom was dead before I went back outside after leaving Kade. But the little girl, she wasn’t dead—yet. I fucking held her hand as she took her last breath.” With those words, my brother howls out a visceral cry, like something heard out in the wild. It takes everything in me not to overreact to what he just told me. How do I take his pain away?

  His entire body convulses with each guttural cry, as the reality of today’s events come crashing down on him. Deacon’s tears are flowing steadily down his cheeks. Reaching in my bag, I grab the tissues I took from Sydnee’s car, and after opening the package, I hand it to my brother. Today is going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

  I lift the center console so I can scoot closer to Deacon. Wrapping my arms around my brother as tight as I can from where I’m sitting, I hold on to him, giving him time to cry, or yell, or whatever it is that he needs to do. He needs to let out his emotions. If he keeps it bottled up inside, it’s going to eat at him until there’s nothing left. I’ve seen enough police documentaries to know that can happen.

  “There is no way you could have anticipated the outcome, D. You have to know that. You guys were doing your job. No one can fault you for that,” I say, trying once more to offer some comforting words.

  “We didn’t wait. We couldn’t wait. Those shitbags had two underage girls they were taking with them. We couldn’t wait.” Deacon’s voice is a whisper, and his words confuse me. Releasing my hold, I sit back to stare at my brother and wait for him to continue.