Silver Justice

by Blake, Russell

  This one wouldn’t be easy. There were pedestrians everywhere, and any public assault would cause instant panic. He eyed her over his newspaper as she moved through the doors, and resigned himself to a dull day hanging around waiting for an opportunity.

  He was just about to go grab breakfast in one of the greasy spoons across the street when she exited again and trotted down the sidewalk towards the garage. He had confirmed that was where the car she used for official business was kept. His senses quickened. This could be it.

  The man folded his paper and walked parallel to her, sixty yards behind and at a slower gait so as not to arouse suspicion. The garage had two exits, and he’d spent time studying the layout, so he knew that he could get in through the smaller walkway or through the main auto gate. Judging by her trajectory she would almost certainly go through the main entry, so he cut down the alley and entered through the pedestrian entrance.

  He was about to make a cool fifty grand.

  ~ ~ ~

  Silver hoped the holiday traffic would be light and that it wouldn’t take too long to make it to the crime scene. She’d needed to drop in and collect her field kit and sign a few vouchers before heading out.

  As she strode through the garage entrance, her phone beeped an instant message notification. She waved at the attendant as she read it and noted that half the stalls were empty – that was hopeful. As she rounded a van and texted a reply she caught movement out of the corner of her eye – just an impression, at the far end, fairly close to her car. She relaxed when she saw that it was only Hank, the neighborhood homeless man who cleaned windshields around the block for spare change. He was pushing his cart of precious treasures, one of the wheels clattering as it vibrated erratically, something wrong with the bearing.

  Hank had been eking out his grim existence near the garage for the five years she’d been working out of the building. He stopped his trek when he saw her and straightened his hunched form to attention, doing his best to hold a salute. The filthy clothes and stained, cast-off overcoat did little to augment the gesture, but she waved anyway, as was her custom. He waited until she passed, and then she heard the clamor of his cart lurching back into motion.

  Her mind was churning over the implications of another killing – a little over a week after the last one. The Regulator was accelerating, which didn’t portend good things given that the crime scenes were still devoid of clues. This was the worst kind of killer to pursue – one whose actions would continue until he made a critical mistake or the FBI just got plain old lucky. And that didn’t seem likely any time soon.

  She stiffened as an explosion of feathers burst from between two cars, and a pigeon flapped its way noisily towards the exit. Her nerves were closer to the surface than usual. Probably the anxiety over her ex and the financial pressure, as well as that of batting zero for five now on the killer. She hadn’t been sleeping well, was on edge from a combination of sleep deprivation and caffeine jitters.

  Silver sighed when she saw the familiar outline of her car.

  From behind her, a man’s hoarse voice screamed, “Hey! HEY! LOOK OUT!”

  Silver spun around and registered a man barreling towards her, the unmistakable outline of a pistol pointing at her head. She instinctively hurled her briefcase at her attacker and dropped to the ground. Everything began to happen in slow motion. Hank stood petrified at the far end of the garage after bellowing his warning as she tucked and rolled and simultaneously grappled for her service weapon. The window of the sedan next to her exploded in a shower of glass inches from where her head had been a moment earlier. As she watched the careening briefcase bounce harmlessly off her attacker’s shoulder, her fingers found her Glock’s grip. She pulled the gun loose just as her assailant’s eyes narrowed in preparation for another shot, then rolled through the broken safety glass, raised her pistol in front of her, and squeezed off three rounds.

  An orange bloom of flame erupted from his gun and a burning pain shot across her left buttock, but she continued rapid firing and was rewarded as the shooter’s chest erupted with smoking red wounds. He tried one more shot as he stumbled forward and crumpled, but the slug went wide. A burbled groan sounded from him when he hit the concrete, his gun clattering beside him onto the floor of the garage.

  Silver held her position on the ground, weapon trained on the man’s form, and watched as his body heaved, struggling for breath, and then shuddered and lay still. Her ears were ringing from her Glock’s detonations in the confined space. She shook her head to clear it and wiped sweat from her eyes with the back of her hand. It took a few moments for her to stop shaking from the adrenaline, even as she fought to maintain calm and kept her gun pointed at her would-be killer.

  After what seemed like an hour, Hank hesitantly approached. She heard her voice, sounding distant and eerily foreign.

  “Stay back. Do not approach. Hank. Stay back. Stay where you are!”

  Her eyes instinctively roamed over the other vehicles, searching for any additional threat. It appeared that it was just Hank in the immediate vicinity. She rose unsteadily to her feet, gun clenched in front of her with both hands as she’d been taught, muzzle still locked on the inert attacker. Hank had frozen twenty yards from the carnage, eyes glued to the spectacle.

  She took several cautious steps towards the body, and after detecting no danger, closed the distance, kicking the assailant’s pistol five feet further from his outstretched hand. He wasn’t moving, so she sidled behind him, and she saw three exit wounds in his back. A small voice in her head noted that it was a nice grouping considering the circumstances – rolling through glass while trying for an erratically moving target with no real time to aim.

  The pain from where she’d been hit flared into her consciousness. She lowered her pistol, changing from a two-handed grip to single so she could probe her injury. Her left hand came away shining with bright red blood, which she wiped on her jacket before reaching for her phone. She thumbed the speed dial and got Seth on the third ring.

  “Seth. I’m in the garage by the office. Shots fired. I’ve been hit. I got the shooter – he’s down, but I need backup and an ambulance.” Silver was surprised how calm her voice sounded, still as if from a distance due to the gunfire-induced tinnitus.

  “How badly are you hurt?” Seth asked.

  “I’ll live. But get me some backup and an EMT. I’m bleeding and don’t know how long I’ll be conscious…”

  “Done. I’ll call right back. Keep the line open once you answer.” Seth hung up.

  She registered the wail of distant sirens competing with the ringing in her ears.

  A wave of dizziness washed over her, and then her knees gave out, and she slumped against a nearby car, Glock still pointed at the man’s bulk, her hand clutching the telephone as she sank to the floor. She laid the handset on the ground, pulled out her badge and slipped the nylon cord that dangled from it over her head, smearing blood on her face in the process.

  When the first squad cars arrived, followed by a group of FBI at a run from the building, they found her still alert, weapon steadily pointed at the shooter’s corpse, sitting in a small puddle of her own blood and looking like she’d fought her way through hell.

  It took three tries to get her to lower her weapon.

  She blacked out a few seconds later.

  Chapter 11

  The bouncing movement that woke Silver made her wonder if she was being tossed in the air by a group holding a blanket. She squinted open her eyes to find a concerned male face staring down at her. There was a mask over her nose and mouth. She raised her hand, and the man gently pushed it back to her side.

  “You’re on your way to the hospital. In an ambulance. Don’t take the mask off until someone does it for you.” He winked. “Insurance rules.”

  Silver shook her head. “But I feel better. I don’t need help breathing. I got shot in the ass, not the throat.”

  “You lost a lot of blood and have been through a very difficult or
deal. Just play along, and it won’t be my problem in another five minutes. We’re almost there.” He gave her a friendly look. “You don’t want me to get fired, do you?”

  “What a con artist. I know it’s harder to fire you than it is a congressman. Who are you kidding?”

  The ambulance swung right, and they bounced a few more times before pulling up outside the emergency room entrance.

  “Weeeee’re Heeeeeere,” the paramedic announced as he ceremoniously swung the rear doors open.

  Silver was on a gurney with a small oxygen tank mounted on one side and an IV bag on the other. Quite a fanfare for a grazed butt, she thought, but the fight had gone out of her. The gurney was hauled from the back of the ambulance, and then she was being rolled through the doors to the emergency room, where she was clearly a high-priority patient. Within seconds she was in the rear of the ward with a curtain pulled around her, and a concerned, tired-looking doctor who looked like he was all of twenty-seven took her vitals as they shifted her to a hospital bed outside of one of the staging rooms that led to the operating rooms.

  The doctor narrowed his bloodshot eyes. “Gunshot. She’s an FBI agent. Let’s keep the line going and get a look at the wound,” he barked at the two nurses on either side.

  “I got hit in the butt. It’s not the end of the world. Hurts, though…”

  “I’ll bet it does. Let’s get these pants cut off, and we’ll give you something for the pain.”

  “Do you have to cut them? Really? Can’t I just take them off?”

  “Lady, you’ve been shot. Don’t worry about the outfit, okay? Just let me peek at what we have and assess the damage.”

  Silver acceded and shifted over onto her side. “Can you take the mask off me?”

  The doctor nodded at one of the nurses, and she removed it.

  “That’s better. Thank you.”

  Another pair of hands efficiently cut away her pants and panties, while a third pulled off her jacket and put it into a plastic bag. Soon, she was in a gown, her modesty a non-issue to the medical staff who saw naked women and gunshot wounds on a regular basis.

  “You’ve been lucky,” the doctor said. “It looks like the bullet creased the top of your buttock but missed the lion’s share of the muscle. Still, you lost a lot of blood.”

  “I told you it was no big deal.”

  “I didn’t say that. You’ve been shot. What I need to do is clean the wound and stitch you up. I’ll put you out, and within no time you’ll be running marathons.”

  “No. Just use a local. I have work I need to do today.”

  “It’s your call, but I’d go for the general if I were you.”

  “You’re not me.”

  “How’s your pain tolerance?” he asked.

  “I gave birth to an eight-and-a-half-pound daughter. Have you?”

  “Fair point.”

  The doctor swung around to the staff. “Get her into OR number three, and I’ll be in shortly. Prep her.”

  He turned back to Silver and offered a fatigued smile. “This will probably leave a scar. Maybe not much, but it will be there.”

  “There goes my pole-dancing gig. Although maybe I can get some sympathy cash for it?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I. Maybe I’ll get a marijuana leaf tattoo to cover it up.”

  He regarded her.

  “I’ll see you in about ten minutes,” he said and moved to the foot of the bed. “I charge extra for the tattoo. The nurse will bring you a book of designs. I like the Kanji script ones for this type of scar. Says something like ‘I wonder what the hell this says’ in Japanese.”

  Silver sighed.

  She was in good hands, even if he did look like he should be in class somewhere instead of working in a hospital.

  ~ ~ ~

  Once the short procedure was over, Silver was wheeled to a private room.

  Within half an hour Seth, Richard and Brett appeared.

  “I’m going to need some new clothes. They cut mine to pieces,” she grumbled by way of greeting.

  Seth nodded. “Monique can pick up whatever you need. What are you thinking?”

  “A pair of pants, and some, er…underwear. She knows about how big I am.”

  “Size…four?” Seth guessed.

  “Nice try. Given where the bullet hit, let’s go for more like a size ten to twelve. Little more room. You can tell her the problem, and she’ll figure it out.”

  “I’ll sign off on the expense report,” Brett said. “Definitely line of duty.”

  Seth moved to the window and made a hurried call to Monique, then gave Silver the thumbs-up sign.

  “It was nice of everyone to come down, but I’m afraid it’s anti-climactic. It was really just a scratch. That’s why I want some clothes – so I can get the hell out of here.”

  Brett and Seth exchanged glances.

  “You should probably rest, Silver,” Seth advised her. “We’ve got it handled. The latest victim is still dead. The scene is being processed. Not a lot for you to do.”

  “Guys. Please. A bullet grazed me. It was nothing. I could have put a few Band-Aids on it, and it would have been fine.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” Richard said. “A lot of your blood was left pooled on the garage floor, from what I could see – I stopped there on the way over.”

  “Right. Which was replaced by the IV fluids and the frigging orange juice they’ve had me drinking like it’s holy water. It’s been three hours. I got a scratch. On the battlefield, I’d be back shooting by now. Give me a break.”

  The door opened, and the doctor entered holding a chart. He looked at the small group assembled in the room and then focused on her.

  “You’ll be good as new in a little while.”

  “That’s what I was trying to tell them. Now let me out of here.”

  The doctor shook his head. “Not quite so fast, I’m afraid. We still need to keep you for a few more hours before I can let you go. Purely routine. Once you’re discharged, try to take it easy for a few days. People process shock in different ways, and you just underwent a trauma.”

  “A few more hours? You’re kidding me.”

  “Just doing my job. That’s all I have for you. The nurse will be in shortly to take you off the drip, and then you’ll need to sign a stack of forms – that should burn through the time and keep you occupied.”

  “Thanks a lot…”

  “Look at the bright side. No charge for the tattoo. My treat.”

  The three men stood silently as the doctor left the room.

  “What? It’s an inside joke,” Silver said, enjoying the expressions on their faces.

  Brett cleared his throat. “You’ll need to do a psych evaluation first thing in the morning, Silver. All part of the drill following a shooting, as you know.”

  “I hear voices.”

  “Then you should have no problem,” Brett assured her.

  “Since I can’t go to the scene, what do we know about the shooter? Who was he? Any info?”

  Seth shifted uneasily. “Name was Leonid Sudenokov. Thirty-six years old. A driver for a meat wholesaler – at least that’s what his work papers claim. Based on the extensive body art and a few older wounds, we can safely assume he was Russian mafia. Likely ex-military. A few of the tattoos were consistent with their special forces group – spetsnaz. As you might have surmised, he was dead on arrival.”

  “The wrong end of a Glock will do that for you,” Brett observed.

  “I don’t get it. Why would the Russian mob be trying to take me out?” Silver asked, and then her face changed. “Oh my God. Andy. My old partner in Organized Crime was shot to death…”

  “It was all over the news,” Brett said, “but there’s no way of knowing for sure whether these cases are connected, although I’ll admit the timing is awfully coincidental.”

  “What about the shooter’s cell phone? Anything?”

  Seth shook his head. “It was a burner cell, so not
hing there. But he wasn’t planning on dying today – he had his wallet with him, all his ID and credit cards, and six hundred dollars cash.” He paused for a moment. “We’re already putting out feelers in the underworld. Don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  “I’m just going through the cases I worked,” Silver said. “There were three involving the Russian mob, but one never went anywhere, and in the other two I wasn’t a major player. Just part of the team. So no reason to single me out.”

  “We’ll know more over the next few days,” Brett said, “but I’ve asked for NYPD help. I want stepped-up security, including the garage. We had the bomb squad go over your car, by the way, and it wasn’t touched. Still, I’m going to assign a different vehicle until we have more information. And I’ve requested some uniforms at your building for a few days when you’re coming and going, just to be safe.”

  “Great. On top of everything else, now the mob is gunning for me?”

  Nobody had much to say to that.

  “Well, I’ll let you get on with it,” Brett said. “I just wanted to see how you were and let you know that we’re a hundred percent behind you, Silver.” He moved to the door. “Don’t push yourself. That’s an order. Oh, and we have your service piece. Need to process it. Again, procedure. You have another weapon?”

  “Yup. Another Glock.”

  Richard eyed her.

  “What? They’re like dogs. Keep each other company.”

  Brett almost smiled. “All right. I’ll see you at the office tomorrow for the evaluation. I’ve got to issue a statement to the media today, but I’m going to be deliberately vague. Just that there was a shooting, with one casualty. No names, no details. I think we can get away with that for a while.”

  Brett left, and Seth and Richard fidgeted.

  “Pull up chairs. I want to know everything about the latest victim.”