Bleeding Out

by Baxter Clare

  Mag and Frank had been lucky enough to work the same shift that day. They’d gotten off late, as usual, but Mag had been done earlier than Frank. On the drive home she’d asked Frank to run into the liquor store for a pint of half-and-half for Angie.

  Angie was Mag’s best friend from high school. A pilot with American Airlines, sometimes Angie stayed with them for a night or two on a layover. She and Mag would be up till the early morning, laughing and catching up on news from home while Frank fumed in bed. Despite the fact that Mag clearly adored Frank, and that Angie was happily married with two kids, Frank always felt second best when the two friends were together.

  Angie was so much like Mag—outgoing, vibrant, adventuresome —all the things Frank wasn’t, and she had convinced herself that sooner or later Mag and Angie would end up together. Frank would sulk jealously throughout Angie’s visits. If Mag couldn’t tease Frank out of her sullenness, she’d just ignore her. She’d explained often enough that Angie was like caviar and champagne, but Frank was pot roast and mashed potatoes. Her friend was extravagant and funny; Frank was daily life with all its stable, reliable comforts and pleasures.

  Smacking Frank’s thigh, Mag had double-parked in front of the liquor store. Trying to humor Frank out of her funk, she’d teased, “Come on, old pot roast.”

  But Frank had whined, “Why can’t she just use milk in her coffee?” and slouched further in her seat.

  “Because she likes half-and-half. And I had it on the list yesterday, so don’t give me any crap.”

  Frank had retorted, “She’s not even here yet and you’re already fawning all over her.”

  Sighing patiently, Maggie pointed out, “One, I’m not fawning. Two, if you could read a simple grocery list, this wouldn’t be a problem. Come on, honey, I’m double-parked here.”

  “She’s your friend,” Frank muttered sullenly. “You go get it.”

  Seeing Frank was serious, Maggie had grabbed her purse, swearing, “Goddammit, Frank! When are you going to grow up?”

  She’d slammed out of the car leaving Frank churlish but unrepentant. She was still hunkered in her seat, building an even bigger case against Angie, when she’d heard a boom and saw a kid running out of the liquor store. He’d run right by the car, toting a sawed-off. Frank had bolted after him and caught him almost immediately. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen. He was terrified. As she’d cuffed him to a stop sign he’d stammered, “I didn’t mean it.”

  She’d glanced behind her, expecting Mag to be running up, but there was only a crowd growing at the liquor store and a man shouting. Frank had raced back, feeling like her feet were glued to the sidewalk. Shoving people out of the store’s entrance, she’d seen Maggie on the floor, surrounded by bright, colorful candy bars. A hole foamed pink air just above her left breast. A man had scurried around her, ranting in a language she didn’t recognize. He’d tried to blot Maggie’s blood with paper towels. Frank had stepped toward her, wanting to touch her and afraid to, sure if she just let this play out she’d wake up to find it was only another nightmare.

  She’d heard someone yell, “Call 911!” and realized she’d said it. She’d tried staunching the wound as she knelt next to Maggie, but it was too big and the blood flowed freely around her fingers. Frank gently and uselessly wiped the froth off Maggie’s lips. Her lover’s face blurred and shimmied as Frank viciously cuffed tears from her eyes. She’d whispered, “Hold on, baby. Stay with me, stay with me.”

  Mag had stared at Frank without responding. Air had breezed through the hole in her chest. Frank had seen holes like that in other people. Most of them had died. Mag was unconscious when the paramedics rushed in. Frank had prayed in the ambulance for the first time in decades.

  At the hospital, she’d paced and paced. When the doctor came toward her she’d read his face and felt herself go into free fall. His voice had been dim and far away, saying Mag had never regained consciousness, the damage was far too massive. She’d literally drowned in her own blood. All over a pint of half-and-half.

  Shock, coupled with the deep fatigue of an adrenaline crash, was threatening to settle over Frank. She needed coffee and numbly followed the signs to the cafeteria. Standing in line, she was oblivious to the dried blood on her hands and clothes, or the stares around her. The cashier gingerly handed Frank her change, suggesting there was a bathroom just down the hall where she might want to wash up. Frank’s only response was a weary blink. The woman lowered her eyes back to the register.

  Frank dragged herself back to the waiting area, where Foubarelle, Luchowski, Noah, and Chief Nelson were waiting for her. The head nurse volunteered her office, and the five of them squeezed inside. Frank reflexively gauged their moods: Foubarelle was livid, Luchowski looked sour, and Noah was still amped. Only the chief seemed calm.

  “What happened in there?” he asked as soon as he shut the door. He indicated a chair, and even though she’d have loved to sink down into it, Frank stood. She started from the beginning, with the abandonment of the stakeout. At the part where the bust slipped sideways she paused to let Noah explain. He spoke animatedly with big gestures. Frank envied his energy, but knew it was just adrenaline he was running on.

  “It was a clean shoot,” she concluded.

  “How can you say that?” Luchowski exploded. “You might have killed one of my men!”

  Without bothering to correct pronouns, Frank said with barely controlled restraint, “No, Timothy Johnston was killing your man.”

  “Lieutenant Franco, of course we weren’t there, but this looks like a gross overreaction. Was it necessary to mortally wound the suspect?”

  Frank couldn’t believe these dumb fucks. Kennedy’s life was on the line and they were asking if it was necessary?

  “With Detective Kennedy bleeding the way she was I didn’t feel that exposing her to further risk of injury was prudent. Johnston had clearly demonstrated his intent to harm her, and in my mind he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill either one of us if he had another chance.”

  “With a pocketknife?” Luchowski sneered in disbelief.

  “Yeah, the pocketknife that put a fucking hole in her throat!” Frank exploded.

  “Calm down, Lieutenant,” the chief soothed. “What we mean is that with a firearm you obviously had the advantage over a small knife. What we—”

  “Yeah, I had the advantage and I used it. Timothy Johnston wasn’t a boyscout playing with a Swiss Army knife. This fucker was a convicted felon with a rap sheet longer than my arm and a lot of time in stir. You weren’t there, but I can guarantee you he wasn’t going back in. And he wasn’t going out alone. He’d already cut Kennedy and he was going for her again. I stopped him.”

  “All we’re trying to ascertain is whether this was an overreaction or an absolutely necessary measure. It’s possible that in a moment of extremely high stress you overreacted and simply—”

  The sound of Frank gritting her teeth was clear to everyone in the room. She spoke each word slowly and with tremendous effort.

  “With all due respect, sir, if I had fired out of sheer impulse, I can guarantee you Mr. Johnston would have had more than one bullet hole in him.”

  She’d seen enough shootings to know that when someone fired in terror, or fury, their victims were usually riddled with bullets. They want the fucker to go down and stay down. But Foubarelle was shaking his head at the floor, and Luchowski was glaring. Noah wouldn’t look her in the eye and Nelson wouldn’t stop looking at her.

  “Did you consider your backboard, Lieutenant?”

  Frank patiently explained how she had weighed all the consequences of a bad shot, and how Johnston’s head seemed the most reasonable target area, the way he was positioned with Kennedy.

  Finally Nelson wagged his head sadly, warning, “You know OIS is going to have to look into this.”

  “Of course.”

  “And that you’ll be relieved of duty while—”

  “Sir, my squad and I are in the middle of a very se
nsitive investigation and I can’t—”

  Now Nelson interrupted. “Oh, yes. That Agoura/Peterson case?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s going to be handled by RHD now. It should’ve been given to them a while ago,” he said, with a scowl at Foubarelle.

  Frank bowed her head to conceal her disappointment but then quickly raised it, determined to hold on to her case.

  “Sir, I respect your judgment on this matter but I’ve put a lot of time into this case. I think it would be a mistake to let RHD—”

  “Lieutenant, you are ROD and the case is downtown. There is nothing else to discuss.”

  “But Chief, RHD doesn’t know the—”

  “There is nothing further to discuss, Lieu-te-nant. Or would you rather go back to de-tec-tive?”

  Frank clamped down on her back teeth. “No, sir.”

  “And, of course, you need to hand over your badge and weapon.”

  He held Frank’s gaze for a moment as she slowly unholstered the 9mm. Satisfied that he’d restored order, Nelson nodded to Foubarelle and left the room. Luchowski followed him, throwing Frank an evil look, and Foubarelle stepped up to Frank with his palm up. Gently she placed her weapon in his hand, then the badge. It felt like giving up a major organ.

  “I want this written up by the time I leave my office tomorrow,” he warned.

  She nodded almost imperceptibly. It was Standard Operating Procedure to get RODed after an Officer Involved Shooting. A statement and a written report immediately after a shooting was SOP also. Frank had been in an OIS before, but she’d never killed anyone. She knew she’d have to talk to Clay or another LAPD shrink before she’d be cleared for work, if and when OIS signed off on her.

  Foubarelle left with a parting glare, and Frank crossed her arms. She asked Noah, “You want a shot, too?”

  “Nope.” He paced the tiny room in two steps, his big hands jammed tight into his pockets.

  There was silence except for Noah’s agitated pacing. Finally he stopped and stared at the floor.

  “You know, I should have said something this morning. I mean, it just didn’t feel good to me, her going in there. She should have been back at HQ, I mean, it wasn’t her bust, or her squad. Hell, even her division. I don’t know. It just seemed wrong. But I let you talk me out of it. I gave in. I deferred to you.”

  Noah said the word like an insult, then he looked squarely at his boss, his friend. “Tell me you didn’t have your own reasons for dragging her in there, Frank.”

  Like a mantra, Frank reiterated her reasoning. “Reston’s a bad area. They hate us there. I wanted as much force behind us as I could get. I—”

  “That’s a load of shit, Frank, and you know it. We had plenty of back-up without her.”

  “I’ve got that kid sitting out there as psycho-bait,” Frank continued wearily. “I didn’t think it was too much to see her in action.”

  Noah spluttered, “Well, you saw her, didn’t you?”

  Frank reached around to the back of her neck. Thinking the best defense was a good offense, she tried turning the tables.

  “I don’t get why you’re so defensive about her. You got a hard-on for her or something?”

  Noah almost choked. “Me? Hey, you’re the one who’s been riding her since day-one. You’re on her like stink on shit, man, and you’re wondering if I’ve got a hard-on. Jesus, Frank, take a look in the fucking mirror!”

  On top of all she’d been carrying for the last couple of hours, that was the straw that finally broke her. Adrenaline spurted into her bloodstream again, and Frank literally saw red. Her hands closed into bloodless fists. In a tight, barely audible voice, she warned Noah that he’d definitely crossed a line.

  “Oh, did I? Well maybe it’s about time, Frank! Take a fucking look around!”

  It was already cramped in the tiny office, but Noah stepped even closer to Frank, mad-dogging her from only inches away. She was solid, livid fury, but he didn’t back down.

  “Just explain it to me, Frank. For Christ’s sake, what the fuck is going on with you?”

  Frank knew she could take him. A left uppercut, a right to his gut, and he’d fall like a rock. She held her stance for a long, taut moment. While she deliberated, some of her anger drained off. It felt curiously like standing in the surf as the breakers pulled away. Frank closed her eyes and bowed her head. She sagged against the edge of the desk, knocking over a pencil cup. Noah took up the space she’d left, insisting, “Talk to me, Frank.”

  Resisting Noah was taking more strength than Frank had. She asked resignedly, “What do you want to know?”

  “Why do you hate her so much? What did she ever do to you?”

  Frank dropped her face into her hands. From behind them she said, “I don’t hate her.”

  “Well, you sure as shit don’t like her. And I know you, Frank. She pushed some button in you that I’ve hardly ever seen go off. You were dead set against her the minute you laid eyes on her. Why?”

  Frank worked her fingers against her skin for a long time. Finally she straightened up and combed her hands back through her hair, locking them behind her neck. She looked everywhere, except at Noah.

  She wondered how Kennedy was doing, wondered if a doctor was trying to find her. Then she realized the nurse would know where she was. There was nothing to do but wait. And answer Noah. All the fight was out of him now; he looked as tired as Frank felt. She fished around the room again, hoping for something, anything, to distract her. Finding nothing, she settled for the imaginary ring on her finger. It was hard enough admitting to herself how Kennedy made her feel. She didn’t know if she could actually say it out loud.

  “Look, No. Let’s just drop this, okay? I made a mistake. You were right, I was wrong. I should have listened to you. I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

  “Frank, don’t placate me. I’m asking as your friend. And I’m asking as a cop. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but whatever it is it might have gotten Kennedy killed today.”

  Noah’s jabs were right on target, each one a TKO. It was Mag all over again. Frank’s fault. If only she’d gotten the half-and-half on the list, if only she’d gone into the liquor store like Mag had asked. If only she’d left Kennedy behind like Noah asked her to.

  Frank shut her eyes, running her hand against the tightness in her neck. Walking around the desk she slumped into a chair, wondering how things had gotten so out of hand. Noah was still staring.

  “Alright. That first day? I don’t know. She just pissed me off. Right off the bat. She was so…young. So arrogant. She didn’t have a nerve in her body. She just threw me off, for some reason. And there you were, acting like she was the greatest thing since Mickey-D’s.”

  “You were jealous?” Noah asked incredulously. He dragged the only other chair in the room around the desk and hunkered across from Frank, their knees almost touching. Frank shut her eyes, wishing she could just succumb to the exhaustion pulling at her.

  “I wouldn’t say jealous…resentful’s better. She was so fucking cocky, No, so sure of herself.”

  Frank paused. “I used to feel like that, seems like light-years ago.”

  “With Maggie?” Noah asked. Frank shut her eyes against the taboo name.

  “Yeah,” she finally whispered, and when she didn’t continue, Noah coaxed, “Tell me more.”

  Frank flapped a hand in a futile gesture. “I don’t know. Maybe it pissed me off that Kennedy reminded me of all that. Everything I used to have, used to be. Maybe it pissed me off that she still had it and I didn’t, almost like she was mocking me. She made me feel stuff I didn’t want to feel. She pissed me off. You know, part of me was hoping she’d lose it today. Piss in her pants or something. Anything to wipe that damn cocky smile off her face. I wanted to see her squirm for a change. And know that I was watching her.”

  Distractedly, Frank rubbed at a doodle on the blotter. This time she continued without prompting.

  “I’ve got things pretty much se
wed up, No. The past is gone, it’s over. It’s all behind me, and I just keep moving on. I don’t want to look back. I don’t want to remember anything. I just keep looking forward. But I had no contingency plan for Kennedy. She got right in front of me, right in my face. It was like I couldn’t go around her, couldn’t move ahead. And I sure as shit didn’t want to go backward. She’s hauled me out in places I didn’t want to be at.”

  “Yeah,” Noah agreed softly. “Maybe when she stopped you, she touched you, and maybe that’s a good thing. You’re human, Frank, not Robo-cop.”

  “Don’t want to be human, No. Been there, done that.”

  They were silent for a moment as Frank’s finger meandered over the desktop. The gentle motion was hypnotic in the quiet room.

  Noah said almost dreamily, “Kennedy said something the other day…she made a crack about you, I forget what, but I busted up. I mean she was dead-on and I thought, man, she reminds me of Maggie, how she used to bust your chops all the time.”

  Frank stared oddly at her old partner.

  “You ever thought about that? Kinda like a tomboyish Maggie? They both got that same look, you know? Just kinda happy and…glad to be alive.”

  For the second time that day Frank couldn’t look at Noah. She nodded weakly at the floor. He pressed, “Maybe that’s where she stalled you out.”

  Frank sat up, and with obvious effort reassembled her impregnable mask. “Look,” she sighed. “I owed you Kennedy, but not…”

  Noah let it go, placing a hand easily on Frank’s knee. “You know, that could’ve been any one of us in there.”

  “But it wasn’t.”

  “Would you feel better if it had been me? Or Jill?”

  Frank didn’t answer. Instead she asked why he’d been so insistent she leave Kennedy out of the bust.

  Noah flapped his big hands in his lap. “I don’t know. It just felt wrong. What was I gonna say? ‘Gee, Frank, I’m like having a psychic flash or something.’”

  “Could have.”

  “Would it have changed your mind?”

  Frank thought about it, and Mag’s last words zig-zagged in her head: Goddammit, Frank! When are you going to grow up?