THE INGLEWOOD COP put his hand on my shoulder. “You good here? I have to get back and maintain that crime scene.”
“Yeah. Thanks man, you did great.”
The young cop smiled, got in his car, backed up, and left. Had he been more experienced, he wouldn’t have left me; he’d have secured me as a witness or an involved party.
Down the long drive to the hospital entrance, at the driveway to the street, Mack’s midnight-blue Honda skidded, the tires roiled with white smoke. He let off the brake and hit the gas as he made the turn. The Honda bounced violently, its headlights shooting skyward and then back down. The undercarriage banged and sparked. Two LAPD patrol cars in pursuit of him bounced the same way right on his tail. He’d picked up the cop cars in his headlong race from Santa Monica. They thought he was a vehicle-code violator who wouldn’t yield.
I stepped out a little from the building to let him see me and waved. He skidded to a stop, got out, and ran up. His eyes took me in, all the blood. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. I pointed to the door to the emergency room as the patrol cars stopped and the uniforms got out, guns drawn. They yelled at Mack to freeze. Mack ran into the emergency room.
The cops came around the open car doors to give chase. I held up my hands, but not too high to raise my shirt to expose the Sig in my waistband. “It’s okay, he’s a cop. He’s a cop. His wife’s been shot.”
They shouldn’t have believed me, but they did. They stopped by me and lowered their weapons. Barbara’s blood all over me, my clothes, my hands, some on my face, all of it gave my statement credibility.
The lead cop with sandy-brown hair and wire-framed glasses said, “Is that what that mess is back on the corner?”
“Yeah, it’s an OIS, and Mack”—I pointed to the Honda—“that’s his wife. She’s the chief of police for Montclair. She was working a kidnap. The suspects had one of the children with a gun to her head. His wife took the shot. Took out the suspect, but she caught one too.”
“No shit. Is she going to make it?”
I couldn’t answer and just shrugged.
They holstered their weapons. Their bodies, pumped up with adrenaline, started to calm down.
“You want me to go in and get his ID for your report?” I asked.
“No, man, he’s got enough to worry about.” He took out his notepad. “What’s his name and where’s he work?”
“His name’s John Mack, he’s a detective with LASO. That’s his car, the Honda, and it’s registered to him and or his wife, Barbara Wicks.”
He finished writing. “Hope it works out for him. Tell him our thoughts are with him.”
“I will, thanks. I’d shake your hand but—” I held up my hand, let him get a better look at the blood.
“I understand. You take it easy.” They got in their cars and left.
The license plate on Mack’s car, once they ran it, would confirm everything I told them.
I didn’t like being alone. I sat down on the asphalt with my back to the wall. More cars arrived. Uniformed cops and plain-clothes detectives ran into the ER. I should’ve gone in as well but couldn’t face Mack.
A few minutes later, the double doors to the ER wheezed open. Out came Mack with a stunned expression.
I stood, brushed my hands off. “How’s she doin’?”
His eyes refocused on me. “Emergency surgery. They won’t tell me anything. What the hell happened, Bruno?”
“They’re professionals, John.”
“What are you talking about?”
“These aren’t street-thug dope dealers we’re dealing with. These guys are professionals, probably ex-military, Special Forces or something like that. It doesn’t make any sense, but that’s the way it is.”
“I don’t care about all that shit. She was with you, Bruno. What the hell happened? Tell me.”
“I am, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Look at their tactics, the sniper, the Suburban, and the silenced weapon. And—”
He grabbed a hold of my shirt and yanked me up close to his face, his breath humid on my skin. “Tell me.” His emotions were boiling up and he didn’t know which way to turn, what he should do, who to blame.
All of a sudden I wanted him to hit me. I wanted him to put the boot to me and spit on me. I deserved every bit of it. Instead, my old training kicked in, and I gave him the official report. “Barbara and I tracked the children to a possible location, two blocks from here, just down from the corner of Arbor Vitae at Prairie. We believed the suspects would be moving the children at any time and wanted to take them down before they did. We didn’t believe there was time to wait for backup. We created a ruse to draw them out. I took one apartment and confronted the suspect I recognized from my prior contact with her on the pier. She fired a silenced handgun at me, and I was forced to shoot her. Barbara—”
“Chief Wicks to you.”
“That’s right, Chief Wicks went to the second apartment and made contact with a second suspect who had both children. The suspect had a gun to the head of one of the victims. Chief Wicks, fearing for the safety of the children, took the shot. The suspect’s gun fell to the floor and discharged, striking Chief Wicks.”
“Where were you? Where were you, Bruno, exactly?”
“Behind her.”
He pulled back and slugged me. I caught it just below the eye. My world lit up. I bounced off the wall. My knees turned weak and I sagged. I kept my hands down at my side. I deserved it and a lot more.
Mack grabbed hold of me and propped me up. “I’m sorry, Bruno. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
His emotions bled off just that fast.
“I know you did what you could, you did what was right. I’m sorry,” he said. “You got the kids back, that’s what counts. That’s what Barbara would say. Right? That’s what she would say.”
I held my hand over my eye. “I don’t know how to express how sorry I am.”
“I know.” He pulled me into a hug. “Come on inside. Let’s wait inside.”
“I’m good. I think I’ll stay out here for a few more minutes. I’ll be in. You go.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Go.”
He backed up, watching me, then turned and disappeared into the hospital to wait word on his fiancée. My good friend.
I put my back to the wall and slid down until I sat on the ground. In a gradual shift, my grief and guilt turned to anger, building steam without a place to vent. Those people shot a good friend of mine. Those people kidnapped my grandniece and nephew. Those people groped and menaced my wife, rammed our car, jeopardized the welfare of our unborn child. Those people still had my brother. I stood and brushed my hands together, knocking off the grit. I pulled the keys to Barbara’s Dodge Charger out of my pocket.
I started to run.