The Last Innocent

by Rebekah Strong

  Rounding the curve, she found herself in a small meadow with the creek winding around to her right. The old stone skeleton stood on the sandy bank where it sloped down to the water. The chopper’s floodlight pierced the hollow windows. Tully started toward it when she heard a clank to her left.

  On the far side of the clearing a tall fence marked the edge of the park. She saw a flash of white against the thick growth climbing the chain link. It disappeared through a gap.

  “He went through the fence,” she gasped when she was able to catch her breath. A few yards brought her to it and she slipped through. A narrow stand of trees on the other side gave way to a weedy road. She stopped at the tree line and scanned left and right.

  On the other side of the gravel road a crumbling building stood on a small peninsula surrounded by the Savannah River on three sides. In both directions the road ended in the river. Rotten spires of once bustling piers spiked out of the dark water. Whatever World War era products the factory had produced were long forgotten. The tall arched windows gaped, nothing left to hold the glass in. Piles of brick lay beneath gaps in the façade that was two-football fields long. A loud crash came from inside the condemned building.

  “He’s inside the old factory,” Tully whispered. She hunkered down in the tree line for a minute. He couldn’t go out the back unless he wanted to swim. There was nowhere to tie off a boat. She doubted he had one anyway. She picked her way across the road and pressed her back against the decaying brick.

  Whumping from the helicopter grew louder and light flooded the area. The sirens stopped and Tully heard brush and trees rustle and hushed talking as the team came through the fence. Close by a K-9 barked.

  The smart thing to do was wait for everybody else. Or better yet, back the hell up to some decent cover. This maniac already tried to kill her once. But a perimeter meant one thing. A standoff. He’d made it perfectly clear he wasn’t giving up, and letting this bastard check out with a bullet from his own gun was not okay. Every victim should get the chance to face their maker.

  Screw cover.

  The faces of this man’s victims swam into her head. If this rat died, those women would never watch him answer for the abuse and humiliation endured at his hands. She’d stood at every bedside and swore they would see that happen.

  Monsters feared exposure; being on open display next to their deeds. The swollen faces turned up in bitter smiles at her promise. She had plenty of mistakes to redeem but breaking this promise would not be among them.

  Captain Timothy was on the radio screaming, “Tully, post up. Do not engage. Tully? What’s your 20? Tully?”

  She slipped off the headphones and the radio from her waistband and dropped them in the weeds. Through the window she spied a tall pile of railroad ties. She hopped through the opening, rolled behind them and crouched listening. Another loud crash and a curse told her he was about thirty yards ahead, but she couldn’t see him. It was pitch black. Even the helicopter search light punching through holes in the roof didn't reach far enough to illuminate the massive space.

  Tully could just make out several more piles of discarded material in the general direction of the last noise. She positioned herself at the edge of her cover and shouted. Her voice echoed through the void. “Hey, Blondie. You probably already know this, but you’re surrounded. You got like two options. Handcuffs or a body bag. Douchebag’s choice, but you better get to choosin.”

  She darted behind a small pile of bricks and listened. He didn’t answer, but a loud clank told her he was moving. Toward her it sounded like.

  “Hey, Blondie…okay if I call you that? You can use it for your prison handle, I don't mind. You can totally say you came up with it.”

  She kept moving, speaking, then moving. In the darkness she saw a patch of white too bright to belong in the drab environment. It was working. He was moving toward her, picking his way across the rubble-strewn floor.

  “Of course, you could come out here like you got a pair and give me your real name.” She crouched behind a steel beam.

  “I’m gonna kill you, bitch.” His voice was deeper than she remembered on the bridge.

  “I wonder if blonds are in demand in prison. Better work on that gag reflex.” She darted behind a crumbled partition wall. “Then again, they might prefer someone with a bigger dick. Everybody said yours was really small.”

  Bricks clattered as he moved to find her, zig zagging to avoid the search light.

  “I wonder if Ripley’s has a category for world’s smallest dick.” She tiptoed to a large pile of rubble.

  A shot rang then burnt out in the cavernous space. Tully knelt but kept her head up watching the dark. Noise bounced around, but his muzzle flash marked him.

  Outside, a bullhorn began barking commands at the man inside the building to come out with his hands up. He was surrounded. Tully glanced around to make sure they weren't breaching the building.

  She looked back where she had seen muzzle flash and felt a surge of adrenaline. Her distraction gave him enough time to move, and she didn’t see where.

  Shit. Where is he?

  For the first time that night she suppressed panic. Feeling around, she found a brick and heaved it as far as she could. Two shots flashed in the direction of the noise.

  There you are.

  Blondie ignored the hovering chopper and the men outside, all his rage now directed at the woman mocking him. She would be his victim even if she was his last. And he had two shots left.

  Tully heaved another brick. It clanked against metal. As soon as it left her hand, she moved to another rubble pile closer to the last muzzle flash.

  Blondie no longer cared if he was quiet. He made his way toward the noise. Tully stalked him until she was right behind him. “Sup, Blondie.”

  He froze as a cone of brilliant light found them. Tully saw the man’s shoulders flex and his gun hand whip around.

  Enough.

  She was in pain, and from the way the Captain sounded, in big trouble. It was time to go home.

  Her right hand caught the swinging arm at the wrist. Driving her left palm as hard as she could, she connected with the back of Blondie’s elbow. It bent the wrong way and a jagged bone tore out of his bicep.

  The revolver hit the ground. He staggered but didn’t go down. Tully held onto the mangled arm and coiled her left hand across her body. A crushing backhand to his temple dropped him to his knees.

  He uttered a guttural sound as Tully bent over. “If you’re gonna play in my town, you better to better be ready to pay up,” she whispered in his ear. Then she planted her foot in his back and kicked hard. He hit the ground moaning, cradling his useless arm.

  Tully flipped his gun away with the toe of her running shoe and squinted into the blinding light and waived. Soon yelling reached her ears over the whumping of the chopper. The pilot had radioed to the others. Backup was coming in.

  She sat on a pile of railroad ties as uniformed and plainclothes officers swarmed around her, all pointing guns at the whimpering mess on the ground. Without further ado five of them pounced on the prostrate figure and cuffed him. When they touched his shattered arm, his screams pitched higher and he started fighting again.

  With some sideways glances and a few grins at Tully, the group scooped up the bad guy not taking any pains to be gentle. Halfway out of the building he began screaming and kicking again. The party stopped for a minute and dumped him on the ground. Tully couldn’t see what was happening at the bottom of the pile, but she saw hands and elbows rising and falling. A few moments later they picked him up, hog-tied, and proceeded. He was still screaming, but now he couldn’t move.

  She laughed and looked at her partner. Pete drew his thick, muscled frame up to its full 5’5”. He looked like a short, pale hulk. He was furious. “What the hell was that, Tully?”

  “What?” She shrugged and grinned. “He wouldn’t stop.”

  Pete’s nostrils flared. “Get up.”

  “Why?”

>   “We’re going to the hospital.”

  “It’s not my job to interview that jackas…”

  “Are you kidding?” he interrupted. "As usual, I can’t tell if you’re oblivious or if you like the pain. You’re bleeding,” he pointed at her shoulder, “again.”

  She looked down realizing her arm felt wet. Her left deltoid was laid open. Blood glistened all the way to her elbow. “Ohh,” she raised her arm to get a better look, “His knife must have caught me at the bridge. I didn’t feel…”

  Rubble bounced away from the boots of a stern-faced uniform marching toward Tully and Pete. As usual, Captain Timothy’s mood was three steps ahead of him. And he was seething.

  Smart comments lined up to escape Tully’s mouth, but when she saw him shake his prematurely graying head and pinch his nose, she swallowed them. If poked too hard after the nose pinching began, the congenial Captain had a reputation for making life unpleasant. And after the stunt she just pulled, she needed to diffuse the situation.

  Pete crossed his arms as much as their girth would allow, his expression smug. He was going to enjoy the ass chewing she was about to get. Tully narrowed her eyes at him as he nodded to Captain Timothy. “Cap.”

  The red in the Captain’s face dissipated. He slapped Pete on the shoulder as he passed. “Good work, Son.” Then he turned to Tully.

  The urge to yell seemed to have passed, but he leveled his steely blue gaze on her without his trademark toothy smile. She rounded her eyes to look more innocent, then dropped the act when his lips pressed into a razor thin line. She was pissing off everybody today.

  “Sup, Cap?”

  It looked like he might pinch his nose off. “Tully,” he said finally throwing a hand in the air, “you’re killing me. You’re gonna give me another heart attack. We’ve had this conversation before and here we are again.”

  “What conversation, Cap?”

  One look made her back down. “I’m sorry.” She lowered her chin and looked up at him, contrite, through her eyelashes. Randolph Timothy had been a father figure and mentor to her for many years. She was like his own daughter. Especially when he was yelling at her.

  “Don’t look at me like that. You better be sorry. And let’s get one thing straight. When you’re on the job and I tell you to do something, that’s what you do. Understand?” His voice grew quiet, “I won’t say it again.”

  She nodded. He always said that.

  “You have got to stop this lone ranger crap, you hear me? I owe it to your father to watch out for you, and that’s exactly what I intend to do. Even if I have to fire your backside.”

  “You’re not gonna fire me,” she teased. His face grew red again, so she added, “Sometimes you just roll with it. You taught me that.” Her tone grew serious. “Cap, I couldn’t let him kill himself.”

  “Dagnabit, Tully. You’re in that ER every other month.”

  As hot headed as the Captain was, she’d never heard him cuss once in her entire life. She grinned. “It’s been at least six.”

  “Stop it.” He pointed a finger at her, but one look at her bloodied shoulder and his face grew soft again. “You’re gonna have to make room on your trophy shelf. They’ll be lining up to give you awards after this. But you gotta be alive to accept them.” He put the finger in her face. “If you ever disobey another direct order, you’ll never carry a badge again. You direct?”

  “Yes.”

  His head dipped to kiss her forehead, but he caught himself in time and squared his shoulders. “Don’t make me bury another Meara.” He squeezed the back of her neck and turned to leave. “Take a few days off. Ah, ah, ah,” she sat forward to protest, but he cut her off. “If I see you at the station before Monday, I really will fire you.”

  “So, you were just kidding before.”

  “Goodnight, Tully.” He disappeared into the swirl of blue flashing lights.

  “How’s the hip?” Pete asked.

  “My hip?” Her deltoid had nearly been split in half and he was worried about a four-year-old injury? She sat forward and arched her back trying to stretch it out so her limp wouldn’t be so pronounced. “Fine,” she said.

  “Um hm.” He never believed her anymore. Especially when the word ‘fine’ came out of her mouth. “Let’s go.” Pete pulled her up by her good arm. He was mad, and she didn’t blame him.

  She dropped her elbow and pain seared to her neck as Pete helped her up and toward the waiting ambulance. The adrenaline high had blocked the pain but the sight of blood dripping down her arm undid it. Wincing, she clutched her arm to her body waiting for the tongue lashing she knew was coming. But it never came. She stole a look at Pete and saw his lips pressed together so hard they had turned white.

  “Better than meatloaf and movie night, huh?”

  “Shut your mouth.”

  Tully laughed.

  FOUR

  “How’s the shoulder?” Pete and Tully stood in a tiny shaded parking lot off noisy Bay Street, heavy with daytime traffic. The midday sun blurred as though it could muster the strength to give oppressive heat but not brilliant light.

  They leaned against a cruiser watching the bustle pass by. Pete nursed an enormous cup of coffee. Tully’s water bottle was almost empty.

  “It’s really good, actually.”

  He shot her a withering look. “You're working too hard.”

  “Nah,” she waved him off. “Trying to find something to do at home is working too hard.”

  “Three days is not enough time to heal. It was deep.”

  “That’s what she said.” Tully guffawed and nudged him hard in the ribs.

  Pete shook his head. She saw his eyes flick to her bottle. Today's model was stainless steel. He knew what that meant, but she didn't care.

  “Who pissed in your grits?”

  Pete traced the rim of his coffee cup. “Just tired.”

  “How is the little nugget?" Tully said, grateful for an opening to change the topic. "Shipping off to college?”

  “Well, she can't roll over yet, but I guess it’s never too early to research schools.” Pete finally smiled. All it took was a reminder of why he was tired.

  The way his eyes lit up when he talked about his daughter sent a spike through Tully’s gut so sharp it physically hurt. She pushed away the thought and took a sip from her bottle.

  “What are you doing next weekend?” Pete’s sunglasses slid down his sweaty nose, and he pushed them back up.

  “Nothing. You’re not going to your dad’s place?”

  “Barbecue. My house. Melissa and I are having some people over. Nothing extravagant, just beer and my world-famous brisket.”

  “Cool, who’s coming?”

  “Actually, you won’t know them, so you probably haven’t told any of them to piss off yet. Old friends of mine from…”

  “Uh-uh,” she said flatly. “Nope. You’re not setting me up with any more school friends.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Fuck off, Easton.”

  “Don’t worry. They’re cops, Tul. Some old buddies of mine from state.”

  “Nope. No more. It’s always an unmitigated disaster when you try to set me up with someone and I’m not going to be a part of it anymore.”

  Pete threw his head back laughing.

  “Keep laughing, you son of a bitch,” Tully snapped. “Your ‘friend’ CAME OUT to me. On a blind date. I can’t believe you didn’t know…” She stopped as it dawned on her.

  Pete doubled over laughing and she aimed a punch at his kidney. Coffee sloshed as his hand clenched popping the top off the paper cup. He dropped it away from him as Tully massaged her stinging hand.

  “You bastard. You knew he was gay when you set us up.”

  Pete backed away with hands out as Tully bore down on him. “I wondered how long it was gonna take you to figure it out. That was payback for that little April fool’s stunt,” Pete gasped with laughter. “If it makes you feel better,” he wiped a tear from his eye, “he was just
as surprised as you. I had him believing you were a man. He set me up with a dude in college and I never paid him back. I guess we’re all even now.”

  Tully put him in a chokehold and threw herself forward bending him over at the waist. “That really doesn’t make me feel better.” With her free hand she was reaching back for her pepper spray when a young couple walked by with a double stroller. The twin girls in matching dresses pointed and laughed while Mom and Dad gaped at the two uniformed police officers fighting. Tully spotted them and let Pete go.

  Pete coughed and started laughing again. At the sound of Pete’s laughter, the man grabbed the stroller, and his wife’s waist and hurried them down the street. Tully put her hands on her gun belt and took a deep breath glaring at her partner. The radio chirped to life dispatching them to a call.

  “You better keep your eye open, Pardner. Payback’s gonna be a stone-cold bitch.” Tully poked a finger into his chest then opened the passenger door.

  “That was payback, Tul.”

  Over the roof, she glared at him. “Stone cold.”

  Pete mumbled into the radio and a few minutes later they pulled up to Tasty Day Chinese Restaurant. An old Buick with faded brown paint and a primer trunk was stopped on the busy street. West Boundary Drive traffic snarled as cars tried to get around. Tully threw on the blue and whites as Pete called in the tag.

  They approached and looked through the tinted glass. Trash covered the torn seats and a strong smell of cats wafted from the interior. It was empty.

  Pete tried the door, but it was locked. Tully walked back to the cruiser to radio for a tow truck, while Pete positioned himself on the curb by the rear bumper to write a parking ticket. A wrinkled old white woman came screaming out of the restaurant.

  Her gray hair was streaked with white and she wore a thick blue cardigan despite the summer heat. The hot pink t-shirt with a napkin still tucked into the collar clashed with her flowery purple skirt. Cowboy boots with metal toes completed her ensemble.

  “What are you doing?” She yelled, eyes wide.