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Wiri’s knees failed him and he collapsed into the wheelchair’s waiting embrace. His vision blurred as the force gave the wheels momentum. He coasted backwards as though seeing the scene in reverse, ploughing through chairs and a table which skittered sideways. Myriad tiny cuts stung his left cheek.
Victory flared in Logan’s eyes as he held the gun aloft, fading as the rest of Jet’s crew burst in through the kitchen and screamed at him to surrender. Wiri fought the urge to laugh at the fury in Logan’s face as they forced him onto the ground and confiscated the shotgun. His lips parted in a grin he could never blame on the painkillers. It drooped with guilt as Logan lifted his chin and gave him a withering glare from between the officer’s heavy boots.
Mari sobbed on the floor of her cafe. She drew her knees to her chest, resembling a tiny bundle of discarded clothing as she wrapped her arms around herself. With the build of a child, she seemed easy enough to overlook.
To underestimate.
Glass covered Ted’s counter like early snow. It had cascaded across the pair of stools and lay scattered over the floor. Wiri’s ears still rang with the shock of the report. It reverberated around the inside of his skull like a tinkling refrain soaring on a loop. The discarded shell cartridge had ejected in the seconds after Logan knocked Mari to the ground. It rolled from side to side in the breeze from beneath the door, its plastic housing split like a distended belly. Black powder spewed from between the slit, having missed its one true purpose.
A black shape appeared in front of him. It obscured the rage boiling in Logan’s eyes as the armed police officer kept his weapon trained on him. “You okay, mate? You’re bleeding.” Jet bent at the waist to peer into his face. His lips curved on one side into a sardonic smile. “I figure you have a death wish. Want me just to shoot you and have done with it?” He jerked in surprise at the vile expletive Wiri released. “Oh,” he said, his tone hurt. “Too soon?”
Wiri shook his head and stared past him through the broken window. “Get away from me,” he hissed. “You’re the biggest fake I’ve ever met.” He lifted his damaged hand and jabbed his index finger at the cop. “Never speak to me again.” His eyes narrowed to angry slits. “One day,” he snarled, “one day, I’ll take you down and I’ll enjoy every second.” His jaw ached with the pressure of his grinding teeth. “See you in court, officer!” The pledge gave him courage and a purpose. He knew he’d do it, or die trying.
Jet’s jaw dropped, and he took a step backwards, propelled there by the force of Wiri’s declaration. He glanced down at the weapon slung across his body with such casual abandon. A Glock nestled in a holster at his hip. He knew nothing else but violence. Cause and effect.
Wiri raged inside his own head.
Bent cop and probably bent soldier.
“Let my uncle go,” he snarled. His eyes flashed and his fingers balled into fists on the arms of the wheelchair. His voice held authority. “Fetch the Senior Sergeant. Now.”
Tane appeared, arriving through the kitchen on tentative steps. Rain plastered his blond hair to his forehead and left it in a cockerel’s plume at the crown. He swore beneath his breath at the scene before him. Paramedics followed at a safe distance, brushing past the armed officers as though used to such weaponry.
Tane’s lips tightened as he approached Wiri. The wheelchair gave the sergeant a height advantage over the teenager. His head shook as he arrived before him. “What the hell, man?” he hissed through his teeth. “Why didn’t you call me first?” His voice rose to a squeak and he blinked against the sudden interest of the milling officers. “Leilah told me you showed up looking for answers. That’s my job.”
A paramedic inspected Mari without touching her, an armed officer flanking the activity. Jet stared at Wiri and Tane’s interaction. Anxiety budded in his eyes. The index finger of his right hand tapped the barrel of his rifle. Another police officer held Vaughan’s liberated shotgun in gloved hands, his grip careful not to smudge fingerprints or disturb evidence. He stood astride the discarded shell case and waited for the forensics team to arrive.
“Is he okay?” The second paramedic pointed towards the wheelchair.
Wiri noticed Jet shrug in his peripheral vision. Then he turned away from the paramedic and directed his command to Logan. “Sir, you need to leave.” Jet’s head jerked back at the swearword Logan released, and Wiri sighed in resignation. Tane’s feet shifted in front of him and Wiri realised he’d tuned out the cop’s angry rebuke.
“I’m not leaving without my boy.” Logan folded his arms across his chest. “So, shoot me.” His lips curved upwards in a familiar and effective defiance.
Wiri closed his eyes and let his chin drop onto his chest. Everything hurt. “Mari dumped Ted’s body,” he said, his words lacking enthusiasm. “She attacked Vaughan and shut me in the tank. Ted reconnected the pipes to raise the water level and hide the body.” He closed his eyes against Tane’s shocked expression. “Speak to Leilah. I’m leaving now.” He glanced up in time to see the colour fade from the officer’s cheeks.
“You can’t leave.” Tane lifted his left hand and patted the air between them.
Wiri shook his head and set both hands over the chair wheels. “Just watch me,” he replied.
