C H A P T E R • 15
Obsidian turned back to the desk. “Get me a light.” He was in command mode, kneeling beside the desk.
I got up and snatched the floor lamp so it came unplugged.
“Here Sherlock.”
But he grabbed for it before I could set it on the rug beside him.
“Plug it in.” He was peering at the desk drawer. “Come here and look at this.”
The rug was dirty around the front of the desk. The drawer was split at the top and splintered where it had been forced loose around the lock. He opened it and we saw the contents were a jumble.
“Oh Lord. I guess he had to search all the places I might have put the lists.”
He got up quickly and went to the phone. From where I stood just at the door, I heard him say into the phone, “I want you to have the building searched.”
A rustling noise from the production room in the back caught my attention.
He whirled around when I touched his arm, but kept talking as I touched my ear for noise and held my finger to my lips.
He put one hand up in a stop command like I was some kid at a crosswalk.
I turned away and walked out to the front office and I heard him say into the phone, “There’s a guard in the lobby. The street door wasn’t forced. It was probably unlocked with a key.”
I then tipped down the hall to the production room. The floor creaked as I reached the door. From there I could see a shape revealed in the red light at the emergency fire exit across the dark room. I pressed myself against the wall in the hallway, reached around the doorjamb and turned on the light.
I heard the gunshot and, right after, the sound of Obsidian’s gun clattering against the floor next to me. I was up with his gun in both hands and running for the open, empty emergency fire exit door. By the time I reached the top of the back stairs, the downstairs door had slammed shut. Good thing for him. Because I was good enough to hit him with the six-shot luger at that range. Not just because I was Lt. Knight, but because my father grew up with guns and so I did too. And he took me with him for the pistol practice he loved.
When I turned around Obie was leaning against the wall for support. The only sound the pain made was a deep groaning pushed out on each breath.
He was reaching under his jacket for the radio on his belt with his working hand. The other was dangling from his shoulder.
“Don’t talk and don’t move. I’ll get it.”
I screamed into his cop radio, “Officer down. Captain Bailey has been shot. Second floor. 215 West 1-2-5. Shooter ran out downstairs and out the back. Check building exit at 126th closer to Seventh.”
I dropped the radio and struggled out of my coat and suit jacket and held my jacket against him to staunch the blood coloring the front of his shirt.
“You don’t have on a vest?”
“I’m not supposed to be working. Not so hard. It feels kind of loose in there and it hurts like hell.”
“This can’t be happening.”
“My life’s flashing before my eyes, girl. You’re all over it.”
We were in a bull’s eye of space and I told the man what I wanted him to know in case he was going to die.
“I love you Obie. I always have. I always will.”
“Been waiting for that.”
“This is how you protect me?” I couldn’t help it, even with what was going on. We always gave each other sarcasm and laughter with the love.
“Sorry. I owe you one.”
“I’ll be collecting on the debt. Believe me,” I said, and I had to force it past the fear.
There was a confusion of noise coming down the hall from the front. And a voice called my name.
“Pearl! Captain?”
Max didn’t sound like reinforcements with his kind of squeaky, nervous voice, but I thanked God for him.
“Max. Here! Obsidian’s been shot.”
And then more voices were walky-talky disembodied things. I heard a siren, then another, and another, getting closer. Reinforcements had arrived. They were surrounding us.