Don stuffed the rest of his pastry into his mouth, jammed his coffee into the cup holder between them and pulled out of the parking lot. His heavy-footed, nervous use of the brake pedal was par for the course, but today it was as if his foot had gone completely to sleep. He stomped down hard at a stoplight, causing the seatbelt to cinch tight across Blake’s chest and sending the open sack of donuts flying into his lap. A fine dusting of powdered sugar whooshed from the bag, covering his jeans.
“What the heck’s the matter with you!” he said, grabbing the sack and tossing it into the backseat with the rest of Don’s garbage. Candy wrappers, fast-food bags, and pizza boxes littered the seat and floor like a college freshman’s dorm room.
It was a rhetorical question and Don just took another long pull on his coffee lid while they waited for the light to turn green.
A few minutes later, Blake pointed. “Take a left at the light. Maybe we can come around the backside of the motel,” he said, keeping his eyes peeled for trouble. The perp was a known gang member, and his crew would back him up with a hail of lead if they thought they could take out two cops without getting caught.
When the building came into sight, Don slowed. He pulled behind a white service van parked along the street and cut the engine. They both scanned the area before unbuckling and stepping out of the car. Two rusty dumpsters took up one side of a small parking area behind the motel. Four cars were parked on the other side, designated for Employees Only. The rear door of the motel banged open and a man backed slowly out, pulling something heavy. He wasn’t a big guy, but he looked strong, muscles bulging under a long-sleeved t-shirt.
Blake slid Don a look that said, here’s our chance, and they both made a beeline for the open door. The guy stopped to catch his breath and get a better grip on his load, and Blake grabbed the metal door before it could slam shut.
“Just about got yourself locked out,” he said, pushing a piece of wood under the door to keep it open.
The guy stared, suspicion evident in the stiff set of his shoulders when he straightened and dropped the rolled up carpet he’d been dragging.
“Need some help with that?” Don asked, bending over to lift the other end. With his gut hanging over his belt, he didn’t look physically in shape enough to be lifting anything heavier than a double cheeseburger, but Blake knew from experience his partner was a lot stronger than he looked.
The offer of help seemed to confuse the younger guy. He automatically bent down to pick up his end. “Thanks, dude,” he said, and started moving toward the dumpster again. “We had a broken pipe yesterday. All the carpet on the ground floor was waterlogged. The owner decided now would be a good time to upgrade.”
Too late, Don realized water was soaking into his shoulder and trickling down his side. He glared at Blake as though he’d forced him to pick it up. “Good decision. It smells like cat pee,” he said, wrinkling his nose.
The guy laughed. “Among other things. It’s like forty years old.” He maneuvered his end toward the open dumpster and they shoved it in. The carpet stuck out the top about six feet but wasn’t going anywhere.
Blake decided to trust the kid. He flipped out his badge. “Maybe you can help us now,” he said.
He shrugged. “Whatssup?”
Don adjusted his wet jacket, nose wrinkled in disgust. “We’re looking for someone. He was seen checking in here a couple hours ago. Hispanic, short, a goatee and slicked back hair. You see him?”
“I’m just maintenance,” the guy said, edging toward the door.
Blake stepped between him and his escape route. “But did you see him?”
“Maybe.” He glanced around, obviously afraid to be seen talking to cops. “I saw a guy who might fit that description on the second floor. He poked his head out the door when I was putting a new lock on the room down from his.”
“Is he alone?” Don asked.
He shrugged again. “I don’t know. He gave me the finger, not an invite to his party.”
“Party?”
“Just a figure of speech. He was mad ’cause I was using the drill. Said I woke him up.”
“Room number?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Is there another way out of there besides this back exit and the front door?” Blake asked, unsnapping his holster and removing his Walther. He slid the safety off and held it at his side.
The guy’s eyes widened, and he backed away toward the employee parking area. “Not unless he jumps from the balcony.” He pointed toward the west side of the building. “Around there.”
“Hey, where ya going?” Don called as the kid turned and sprinted to an old Pontiac.
“We don’t need him,” Blake said. “I’ll head up the stairs. You cover the balcony. I have a feeling that’ll be his exit plan. The front door is too vulnerable.”
“Gotcha,” Don moved around the corner of the building.
Blake hurried down the hallway. He passed a Coke machine and ice making machine, a small coin laundry and a manager’s office. He turned a corner and spotted stairs going up to the second floor as well as an elevator with an Out of Order sign taped to the closed doors. There was no sign of a clerk at the front desk, but a television blared from the back room and he assumed they were taking a break.
He moved stealthily up the stairs, the barrel of his gun up. A door banged somewhere down the hall and he waited, listening. Footsteps retreated toward the far end of the hallway, and then he heard the clunk of a soda can falling from a vending machine. A soda machine on each floor. Pretty fancy for a dump.
He waited until he heard the footsteps return and the thunk of the door closing again before turning up the hallway. Like most cheap motels, it was poorly lit and smelled like a combination of dirty diapers, sweat, and cigarette smoke. He glanced at the room numbers he passed. 21, 23… 25. He sucked in a deep breath and slowly released it.
Standing to the right of the door, he held his gun ready and banged with his left hand. “Police! Open up!”
He took a step back in the nick of time. Two shots rang out and splintered the cheap wood of the door. He heard glass shatter, aimed his gun, and kicked the door in. The wood splintered some more, and the door banged against the wall, giving him a view of a rumpled bed where a young woman wearing nothing but a thick covering of eye shadow, screamed bloody murder. He shifted his gaze across the room. Their guy was still yanking his jeans up while trying to climb out the broken window of a sliding door. Obviously, the ancient slider hadn’t been used for quite some time and refused to open the normal way. Blake ran across the room, grabbed the perp by his shoulder and yanked him hard.
A shot rang out. He thought Don must have fired from below. He flipped the perp onto his back and started to cuff him, but pain shot through his leg like a jolt of electricity and he collapsed on top of the guy. The woman continued to scream, interspersing her non-verbal wails with Spanish swear words. She sounded more hysterical with each passing second. He couldn’t get up. It felt like his leg was on fire. But he managed to keep his gun in hand and held it close to the perp’s ear so he wouldn’t try anything.
Pounding footsteps up the stairs and down the hall heralded his partner’s arrival. Don burst through the door like a samurai in full war mode. He swung his gun back and forth, taking in the entire room, before focusing on the woman and yelling, “Drop your weapon! Now!”
Blake snapped the second cuff on his perp’s wrist and rolled off. The room was beginning to spin, and he felt like he was going to black out. He watched Don shove the woman to the floor and handcuff her beside him. He grinned weakly up at his partner. “Why’d you shoot me, Don?”
“I didn’t shoot you. This stupid woman did,” he said, sliding out his cell phone and dialing 911. He crouched beside him, real concern showing in his beefy face. “Don’t die on me, Gun. Your wife will never forgive me.”
Chapter Two
“If the touch of my hand offends you, this holy shrine, then my punishment is this: I am
willing to make it up with a kiss.”
“Do not say such bad things of yourself! Saints have hands that commoners’ hands touch too, and hand to hand is a holy kiss.”
“Saints have lips and hands too, you say?”
Sid interrupted the teenage couple on stage, a glower on his face. “Jake! Give the words more seduction. You sound like you’re reading the back of a cereal box this evening. And you, Ashley…” he threw up his arms in exasperation. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you texting? You’re supposed to be enchanted by this stranger. Aroused and curious. You could at least act interested in the conversation at hand. After all, Romeo and Juliet can’t die unless they first fall in love!”
Shelby hid a smile and put a calming hand on the arm of her friend and director. “Maybe we should call it a night, Sid. Everyone seems a bit distracted. I’m sure it’s merely pre-opening jitters.”
Sid, a wiry black man with an afro bigger than the 1970s, shook his head. “They are not going to be ready. Ever! I feel despair clinging to my short hairs. Why can’t these kids take anything seriously? We should have used you and Casey for the leads. You know the lines as well as anyone and you’re certainly better at playing Juliet than this child,” he muttered under his breath.
She laughed. “But Sid, Juliet is supposed to be a child. I much better fit the part of Juliet’s nurse. Besides, if there is no big fiasco at practice, then it is fated to land on opening night,” she reminded him of his fast and sure superstition. “And we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”
He rubbed a hand over his eyes and released a heavy sigh. Visibly relaxing, he smiled. “You’re right. Of course.
Jake was muttering his next lines half under his breath but the words reached the front row where Shelby and Sid stood. “Let our lips do what hands do then.”
“Gross!” the fair Juliet stated, crossing her arms and slouching on one hip. “I’m not practicing that again. It’s bad enough during the actual performance, but I’m going to gag if he sticks his tongue in my mouth one more time.”
Jake turned bright red under the stage lights. “It’s not like I enjoy your garlic toast breath!” he said, and put his hand up to shield his eyes as he looked off stage. “Can we go now? I have plans tonight.”
“Oh yeah? Well, I have plans too, and they don’t include spending another minute with you!” Ashley spun around and made her exit as though they were at the end of scene one.
Sid rolled his eyes and climbed up on stage. “What light through yonder window breaks?” he said, looking toward the exit in the back of the theatre. “Can it be? Sublimely so, the end of practice, so off you go!”
Jake shook his head and trudged off stage, turning from confident young swordsman and romantic lead, to insecure, naïve, sixteen-year-old in a matter of twelve steps. His shoulders drooped, and he walked like his baggy pants were dragging him down.
“Goodnight, Jake!” Shelby called.
“’night,” he mumbled and kept walking.
Sid put an arm around Shelby’s shoulders. “Thanks for your input tonight, Shel. You are the only one I can trust to always be prepared for anything. You know your lines and practically everyone else’s.”
“I should. This is the third time I’ve been involved in a production of Romeo and Juliet.” She picked up her purse and coat from the seat behind her. “If there weren’t so many versions of the lines, I could do a one woman show. But sometimes I get confused and start quoting pure Shakespeare and this generation doesn’t get pure Shakespeare, do they?”
“They don’t even get the current English language,” he grouched. “Abbreviated text messages is their form of communication and a thousand years from now will be comparable to hieroglyphics. Archeologists will have a baffling time trying to decipher that mess.”
“Look who’s talking,” she teased. Sid hated to talk on the phone and always used text messaging to communicate with his cast, often times abbreviated to the point of single letters or numbers.
He grinned, teeth gleaming white against dark skin. “Make sure you thank Gun for allowing me to spend another pleasant evening with his wife while he runs around catching bad guys.”
“I will,” she promised. Her cell phone rang, and she reached in the little side pocket of her purse. “That’s probably him now. Wondering If I’m coming home soon. He said he was going to stop and pick up Chinese on his way home.”
“Have a good night, Shel. Eat an eggroll for me.” Sid kissed her cheek and hurried backstage to give the rest of the cast his parting words of encouragement. Hopefully it wouldn’t turn into parting words of criticism. Teenagers didn’t do well with constructive criticism these days. They all wanted worshipful praise and a blue ribbon for participating.
She glanced at the number before answering. Why would Donny be calling? Did Blake turn his cell phone off again? She’d teasingly informed him after their first anniversary that she might be his willing lover, but she wasn’t his personal answering machine. He’d just laughed.
“Shelby…” Don said, his voice hesitant and huskier than usual.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her heart instantly in her throat. She started running toward the exit, a death grip on the phone in her hand.
“Gun’s in the hospital. He’s been shot. He lost a lot of blood, but he’s tough, ya know?” He cleared his throat.
“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked, throwing the theatre door wide and jogging to her car. She dug the key fob out, unlocked her Passat, climbed in and turned on the engine before he came up with a response.
“You’ll have to talk to the doctors, Shelby. They rushed him into surgery. Said I wasn’t family, so they couldn’t divulge anything else. Can you believe that? I’ve been his partner for six years!”
She turned the car out of the parking lot. “Course you’re family, Donny. What hospital?” she asked at the first light.
He told her, and she moved over into the left lane. “Where was he shot?”
“We were at this crappy motel down in…”
“Not what part of town, you idiot! What part of his body?”
“Oh.” He didn’t seem fazed by her less than stellar emotional outburst. “His leg. He was bleeding like a stuck pig when I got there.”
“What? Where were you? I thought you were his backup, Donny? What happened to taking a bullet for your partner?” She wiped tears away with the pads of her fingers. Anger at Donny kept her from falling completely apart.
“I would’ve, you know that. But Gun sent me around back of the building to watch the balcony in case the perp made a run for it. And he was trying, too. Only Gun grabbed him and yanked his butt back inside. Problem is, the creep’s girlfriend shot Gun while he was trying to cuff the little twerp.”
“A girl shot him?” She sniffed and found her lips curving up despite her worry. “That should make him angry enough to get better quick. He wouldn’t want people to know he was taken down by a girl.”
“A screaming, meemy girl. Man, that chick had some lungs on her. That and…”
“Never mind, Donny. I don’t need to know her measurements, just that you booked her for attempted murder of a police officer.”
“You got that right! They’ll both be going down for a long time.”
<<>>
Nearly an hour later, stiff and anxious from maneuvering through rush hour traffic, Shelby finally pulled into the underground garage and parked. She found the hospital emergency waiting area flooded with people. An apartment complex had caught fire, and ambulances were bringing in dozens of patients with smoke inhalation. Families roamed about from desk to waiting area; clingy, crying toddlers and somber faced adults waiting for word on those in ER.
She hurried to the help desk. “My husband was brought in a while ago with a gunshot wound. He’s a police officer. Blake Gunner.”
“One moment please, Mrs. Gunner. I believe he’s still in surgery. Let me call and find out what’s going on. In the meantime,” she said
, and slid a clipboard across the desk to Shelby with patient insurance and information forms waiting to be filled out. The woman picked up the phone and tipped her head toward the overflowing waiting area. “Have a seat, if you can find one. I’ll call you as soon as I speak with a doctor.”
Shelby shook her head. “I’ll wait right here, if you don’t mind.” She picked up a pen and started filling out forms.
“Shel!” Don’s booming voice drew her attention and everyone else’s across the waiting room. Her husband’s partner stood up from a chair and lumbered toward her. A toddler nearly got stepped on but his mother whisked him out of the way in time. Don didn’t seem to notice. He threw his arms around her and hugged her tight. “I’m sorry, Shel. I never would’ve let Gun go in alone if I’d known he’d…” He coughed to cover his emotion and pulled back, as sad-eyed as a hound dog.
“It’s not your fault, Donny. I know that.” She reached out and tugged him out of the way when a young couple tried to move up to the desk. “Blake’s told me more than once that you’re the best partner he’s ever had… other than me of course.”
“He did?” His normal cocky expression lit up his eyes, and he puffed out his chest. “Well, I am…”
She put up a hand. “Don’t even start. He also said you’re the most annoying partner he’s ever had. The biggest jerk. And the biggest slob.”
“Other than you, right?”
Before she could smack him upside the head, the nurse called her name. She hurried back to the desk, Donny tagging along behind.
“Your husband’s surgery is well underway. It could take a while, so you’ll want to find a seat and try to relax. I’ll call you when I hear anything new.” She indicated the cell phone number Shelby had written down on the forms.
The next two hours ticked by with relentless precision, while Shelby yearned for a speedier outcome. But no amount of tapping her foot, pacing, or wandering the halls with her hulking shadow in tow would make the hands of the clock move any quicker. Donny’s continual chatter drove her crazy, and she was so desperate to have a moment’s peace that she made multiple runs to the women’s restroom in order to be alone. Finally, the nurse rang her cell and she hurried back to the desk.
Roadkill (Double Barrel Mysteries Book 1) Page 2