“You mean here full time? Around the clock? That could be days.”
“What can I tell you. Want me to tell her you’re all full up?”
“No. He’s cop family, too. Tell him to come over. Wait, how many kids?”
“You know them Mexicans.”
“How many?”
“Three more.”
“Jesus. Same thing; tell them to bring sleeping bags. Some of them are going to have to sleep on the floor. What’s his name?”
“Louis.”
“Well, you tell Louis not to get here before,” Max looked at his watch, “one-thirty.”
“Got it. So, have you and this Myra chick, you know …”
Max hung up.
“What was all that about?” Myra asked.
“Ah, more people are coming. Cop families. I gotta go and pick one of them up.”
“Hey, you weren’t kidding about things getting worse. …Sooo does this mean we’re bunking together?”
Max smiled. “I guess so. That’s definitely the upside.”
“You want some company when you pick ‘em up?”
“Would love it. Could actually use your help.”
“We better let Beth know,” Myra said, standing.
Max slipped on his shoes and grabbed his Glock 26 off the end table next to the fold-out.
CHAPTER SIX
Max, driving his pickup, made the turn onto Raha Ahmadi’s street and slowed looking for the numbers. His eyes, though, immediately caught sight of some movement near the end of the block on the right side. When he looked again, he couldn’t see anything. As he drove on, by the way the addresses were sequencing, it became obvious that the motion he detected was close to Raha’s house, so he picked up enough speed to make it appear as if he was just passing by.
“Hey, I think you passed it,” Myra said.
“Yeah, I know, but I saw something I want to check out.”
“Saw what?”
“I saw some movement near the house. It’s probably nothing, but I just want to be sure.” He turned right at the corner, slowed, cut his lights, switched off the engine, muscled the steering wheel to the curb half a block down, and used his parking brake to stop so the brake lights wouldn’t flare. “I’ll be right back.”
“You sure you should be doing this, Max? You just got out of the hospital.”
“Nobody else here to do it. Like I said, though, it’s probably nothing. I’ll leave the keys.”
With that, Max opened his door, stepped out, pressed it closed, and walked back to the corner. He stood in one of the deeper shadows staring toward Raha’s house.
There, there it was again. Somebody was standing between the fence next to the driveway and a parked car. As Max watched, the silhouette went toward the house and disappeared from sight.
Max reached for his phone with the intention of calling it in, but two things stopped him. First, the backlit screen might give away his position and let the prowler, if it was a prowler, know he was being watched. The other thing that prevented him from calling was that whatever was going on there, innocent or wrong, would happen before a beat officer could even be dispatched. Nope, I gotta take care of this myself, he thought.
He plotted his path to the house, using bushes, trees, cars, and the darkest shadows to conceal his approach. Just as he stepped off, the figure returned to the location between the car and fence and squatted down out of sight.
It was the perfect time for Max to make his move. After taking his first few steps he saw a flickering light reflecting off the side of the car. This confused him for about one second before he understood what he was witnessing …fire. He started running at that point and was immediately rewarded with severe pain in his injured leg. He pushed on through it and as he did, he pulled his Glock from the waistband of his shorts.
Within just a second or two, the figure stood full up, holding what couldn’t be anything else but a lit Molotov cocktail and moved around the back of the car toward the front of the house. Whoever it was, was so focused on his task he had no idea that Max was coming up fast. That is until a horn sounded about half a block away on the opposite side of the street.
The one with the firebomb stopped mid-stride, looked first toward his partner, then started looking around, finally seeing Max who was still one and a half houses away.
Most people would have probably just dropped the thing at that point and run, but whether it was because Max was limping badly and the crook didn’t see him as much of a threat, or because he was just mean-ass stupid, he didn’t run. Instead, he cocked his arm back in preparation for throwing it at Raha’s front window.
From less than one house away, Max stopped, planted, shouted, “Police!” and fired two rounds at the assailant.
The bomber staggered just a half-step to his right, dropped the bottle, which didn’t break, but did spill its content, that did catch on fire, and took off running away from Max, bent slightly on the side, with one of his shoes in flames. Max sighted on the fleeing figure’s back, putting the white dot right where his spine would be, but decided not to shoot. The threat was over, and Max believed he’d hit him anyway, which would mean they’d eventually identify him when he showed up for treatment with a gunshot wound. He continued to watch as a car, blacked-out, pulled from the curb, and the runner jumped in still burning. Two seconds later, the bomber and his lookout were gone.
At the same time the suspect vehicle turned the corner and raced away, Myra, driving Max’s pickup, came up behind him, slamming on the brakes.
“What happened? I heard shots,” she said as she got out of the truck.
Max pointed to the puddle of gasoline burning on the sidewalk and the glass bottle next to it. “I guess it was something after all. I think I hit him.”
“You shot him? I don’t believe this. Why would somebody do that? …Hey, are you okay?”
“My leg hurts a little. Other than that, I’m good.”
Myra reached in the truck and grabbed her bag.
The front door of the house across the street opened and a man in his sixties stepped out, keeping a hand behind his back. Max immediately figured the man was holding a pistol.
Max pulled his badge off his belt, held it high, and shouted, “Police officer! Everything’s okay, sir! There was an intruder, but he’s gone now!”
The man waved his free hand and backed up into the house, closing the door.
Good man, Max thought. Protecting his family.
Max pulled out his phone, skipped 911, instead calling the on-duty Communications supervisor, Heidi. He explained what happened, asked for an officer to come by for the report, and suggested the hospitals should be notified to look for a gunshot patient who possibly also suffered a burn to one foot and leg. He then told them to call Raha and tell her he was outside and things were safe …for now.
As they waited for both the officer to arrive and Raha to come to the door, Myra said, “What is it with you; two shootings in what, a week or so now? Maybe I should reconsider my options.”
Options?
Smiling, she directed him to the headlights of the truck, where she took a quick look at his leg and informed him that it appeared as if one of his stitches had torn out, but the others would still do the job until a doctor could look at him.
The porch light went on at Raha’s place, and the curtain in the window next to the door moved, so both Max and Myra walked toward the house.
Raha Ahmadi was a short, rail-thin woman, with dark, almond-shaped eyes, still wet from crying, and boot-black hair that touched her shoulders.
“What happened?” she asked. “What were those sounds?”
“There was someone in your yard, but he’s gone now. You’re safe,” Max replied.
“In my yard? What was he doing in my yard?”
“He tried to set a fire. Are the kids ready? We’ll go to my place. Nobody will bother you there.”
In a soft voice she said, “Yes, I think so.”
Th
e question momentarily got her mind off what just happened, so Max kept it up. “Do you have everything you need for tonight and tomorrow morning; any special food for the kids, clothes, how about some sleeping bags? You’ll have a bedroom to yourself, but the bed may not be large enough for all four of you.”
Raya looked a little overwhelmed by it all so Myra put her arm around her shoulders and said, “Here, let me help you. We’ll put everything in your car. Max will drive, and I’ll follow in his truck. You’re completely safe now. Two other families will be staying with us for the same reason.”
Us? She said us, Max thought. I guess that means Myra will be hanging out for a while. Crazy. We just met. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.
A blue and white pulled up out front and Max went to meet the officer.
Her name was Maureen Cooney, a female cop with hair the color of a Mailbu sunset, and a personality with no reverse gear to it. Max once watched her deck a tatted-up gangster with a right hook to the temple because he didn’t want to be handcuffed …she had her pepper spray canister balled-up in her fist. Before she joined the P.D., she competed in the summer Olympics as a sprinter and long jumper and still ran in the Police and Fire Games.
Max explained what happened, showed her the Molotov cocktail that had by then burned out, pointed out the ejected casings from his pistol on the ground near the location he fired his shots, showed her where the getaway car had been parked, and the route of escape of the assailant. As they walked the path, they couldn’t see any blood, but that wouldn’t be unusual if the bullet hit him in the upper body, as Max suspected. If there was bleeding on the outside, most of it would have been absorbed by clothing.
While they talked, Max also asked her what else was going on in the city.
“Things are stupid crazy right now,” she said. “We’re going call to call, everyone’s seeing shadows. The mayor and half the council are asking for a cop to be assigned to their house for protection, which is funny since they cut our pay and benefits so much that we’re something like three hundred bodies short. Assholes.”
“So what’s the Chief doing about it?”
“Ah, I think he’s assigning someone to the mayor’s house at night and parking a marked car, without an officer, in front of the others. Should have told them to pound salt, if you ask me.”
Max’s cellphone rang. It was Farid, Raha’s husband.
“I heard. She okay?” Farid asked.
“Yeah, she’s fine. She and Myra are getting her things into the car now.”
“Myra? Who’s Myra?”
“Oh, ah, it’s too long of a story, but she’s with me.”
“I thought you were flying solo?”
“Well, you know. Hey, the main thing is your wife’s fine and so are the kids. When do you get off? You can stay if you want. It’ll be crowded, though.”
“I won’t be able to get away until late this morning.” He lowered his voice and cupped the mouthpiece on his phone with a hand. “Keep this to yourself, the FBI has an address on the west side for those guys from the mall. They’re going to hit it about 6 AM. I gotta be there in case they need an interpreter.”
“Our guys involved?” Max asked.
“Just me. This is strictly an FBI – Homeland Security show. I think they want to show off all their toys and make it look like they know what they’re doing.”
“Know how they got the address?”
“Naw, you know how the feds are, they don’t say anything to the locals.”
“Well, maybe this will put an end to it …in our area anyway. That would be a good thing.”
“Yeah, maybe. Do me a favor. Ask my wife to call me when she gets settled at your place. Yeah, and thanks, man. I really appreciate it. She’s scared to death, and it sounds like for good reason, too.”
“Not a problem. You’d do the same thing for me.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Max opened his eyes and there she was, staring at him, not six inches away.
Four and a half hours earlier they’d arrived home, got everyone settled, and then, in an almost awkward silence, walked up the stairs and into the bedroom, each knowing what the other expected to happen next.
Max had been to many a crime scene where he’d seen paramedics cut the clothes off badly injured patients, right from the get go, and figured that’s what she’d done to him, so guessed he had nothing to be shy about. As a result, he just dropped his shorts and underwear, pulled off his tee-shirt and climbed into bed. She, on the other hand, turned away from him as she undressed and adroitly backed into bed and under the blankets before rolling over to face him.
She reached out and rubbed his arm, smiled and said, “Hi.”
He said, “Hi” back in the sexiest voice he could muster. He scooted closer and kissed her on the lips, trailing one hand up her side to her breast, his thumb rubbing across the top of her nipple.
But she broke the kiss off and gently guided him onto his back, putting her head onto his chest.
He raised his nearside arm and slid it under her and around her shoulders.
In less than two minutes, they were both asleep.
Now, it was different. Now she moved her hand down between his legs and took hold of him. He rolled his eyes, smiled, and gently bucked his hips as his own hand traced her side, down to her hips, and onto her butt. This time she was the one who scooted closer, so close that her breasts touched his chest, released her hold on him, grabbed the back of his head, and crushed his lips to hers. They were off at that point, snorting and touching and teasing and exploring. There was no stopping them …until they heard a knock on the door.
At first they weren’t sure. But it came again, followed by, “Max? Steve needs to talk with you. He’s on the phone.” It was Beth.
Max groaned, they both laughed, reluctantly moved away from one another and onto their backs, rearranging the blankets to hide the obvious.
Max said, “Yeah, come on in,” flubbed it, so repeated it, this time in a clearer voice.
The door opened and Beth came in as if the whole world was on her shoulders. When she reached Max's side of the bed she shoved the phone at him and dropped onto the edge of the mattress near the foot, staring at him.
“What?” Myra asked. “What’s happened?”
“What’s up,” Max said into the phone.
Beth didn’t answer Myra’s question. She just shook her head.
“Hey Max, got more bad news buddy. The feds got a lead on the place where those two assholes we shot it out with at the mall had been staying. I guess they watched it all night, didn’t see any movement or evidence of anyone being home, so hit it around 6 AM. One of their SWAT teams made the approach, but as soon as they got close, the whole place blew. Killed them all, took out the houses on either side, damaged the three across the street, and the three behind.”
“Jesus.” Max didn’t reveal he knew about the raid because he agreed to keep it a secret.
“It gets worse. They don’t have the how figured out yet, or if they do they haven’t told me, but the perimeter guys, mostly Homeland Security goofs, rushed in to help and another bomb, planted in a car parked on the street, detonated and killed most of them, too. Us, the Sheriff, and the CHP are trying to get things squared away as we speak. They’ve only been on scene maybe forty-five minutes now. I guess they’re sending more feds, too.”
Just as Steve said that, Myra’s phone rang.
Max wondered about Farid, Raha’s husband. He said he’d be there with the FBI to help interpret. “Any of our people hurt?” Max asked.
“I don’t know. Yeah, maybe. That’s kinda why I called. The Chief assigned Farid to help them out. They can’t find him. He was with that group on the perimeter that went to help. I don’t know man, it doesn’t look good.”
Myra, speaking into her phone, said, “I’ll be on my way in a few.”
“Okay. Let me know if Farid turns up, will you?” Max said. “I guess I gotta tell Raha. Have to thin
k about how I’m going to do that, though. The kids. Hope he’s okay and just got lost in the confusion.” Not likely.
As he said the last, he was aware of Myra getting out of bed, picking up her clothes, and walking to the bathroom. Beth started to leave, but Max waved her to stay.
He hung up with Steve, handed the phone back to Beth and said, “I’m going to need your help. We’re going to have to tell Raha her husband is unaccounted for in the explosion, and we have to do it out of the presence of the kids. If Louis isn’t up, wake him, and the three of us will meet in the kitchen. I’ll probably want you to corral the kids in your room, …no, no, we’ll have Louis keep them there. Raha might prefer another woman to be with her instead of two men. Okay, yeah, that’s what we’ll do. So let’s meet in the kitchen in about five minutes or so, okay?”
Beth nodded her head and started downstairs to find Louis.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JUNE 16TH
THE INTERNATIONAL HIGH TECH
TRADE SHOW AND CONFERENCE
Max sat at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee and reading the morning paper, his bad leg propped up on the chair next to him. He set the paper aside, thinking about the articles he’d just read. The first summarized the presidential orders issued in just the last few days.
Under his authority to control commerce during a national emergency, the President had suspended the sale and transportation of small arms and small arms ammunition to all but law enforcement authorities and the military. He had also signed an order requiring anyone owning a rifle with a detachable magazine or any weapon capable of firing more than five rounds without reloading, to register that weapon with the federal government by filling out and filing a form that could be obtained at any post office. Anyone caught in possession of an unregistered weapon after July 31st would face one year in prison, and a ten thousand dollar fine for each offense.
A second order he signed authorized the federal police from the Department of Homeland Security and the FBI to, upon probable cause, detain for up to six months, without judicial review, anyone suspected of aiding, supporting, or participating in terrorist activity.
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