by Frank Zafiro
“I do,” Battaglia said, “though right now you’re acting more like you were the maid of honor.”
Sully fell silent. He knew Batts loved his wife, but he sometimes thought his partner took her for granted. He hadn’t figured out yet if that was because Battaglia actually did take her for granted or if he himself put Rebecca on too much of a pedestal. He figured it might be some of both. In any event, Battaglia and his wife seemed oblivious to his feelings and he intended to keep them that way.
“Check this out,” Battaglia said in a slightly lower voice.
He pointed, and Sully followed his gesture. A pair of men in dark clothing had appeared out of an alley and walked quickly to the edge of the park. After looking left and right, they turned and strode purposefully in MacLeod’s direction.
“Did Tower say anything about this guy having a partner?” he asked Battaglia.
Battaglia shook his head. “Nope. But what would that asshole know?”
Sully didn’t answer. The pair was less than two blocks away from MacLeod’s location. With both sets of people walking toward each other, the distance closed rapidly.
Battaglia lifted the portable radio to his lips.
2206 hours
“Adam-122 to Ida-409, you seeing this?”
Tower pressed the mike. “Affirmative.”
“You want us to move on them?”
He clicked the mike again. “Negative. Let’s see if they make a move.”
There was a pause, then an abrupt click in response. That was Battaglia’s way of telling him that he and O’Sullivan didn’t agree with his decision. Tower didn’t care. Instead, he focused on Katie’s exercise-walk gait as she rounded the corner of the park and turned to face the oncoming duo.
He wondered briefly if it were somehow possible that there were two rapists. He’d read cases in which rapists had partners, but they were rare. Especially when you factored in that it was a serial situation. Most partner jobs were spontaneous and had a definite alpha male forcing the issue.
Still, the purposeful stride of the two men in dark clothing concerned him. Were they planning to rob her? Or had he and Renee made a colossal error in analyzing the evidence?
He pressed the transmit button on his radio. “-409 to Adam-122.”
“Twenty-two,” came the clipped reply.
“See how close you can get,” he instructed, “but stay darked out.”
2207 hours
“Copy,” Battaglia said, then tossed the radio over to Sully. He put the car in gear and gave the accelerator a light nudge, sending the Gray Ghost rolling forward.
“Flip a U-ie,” Sully told him. “Come in from behind them. Otherwise, they’ll spot us and know something’s up.”
Battaglia waited until they reached the intersection where Howard Street ran into the park. Avoiding the brake pedal, he swung the car in as tight a circle as he could, turning around and facing the other direction. Without hesitating, he accelerated to the far end of the park. He made the turn northbound without braking and without chirping the tires.
“They’re about thirty yards apart,” Sully estimated. He lifted his small binoculars to his face and peered through them. The motion of the car made him jiggle too much to get a clear picture through the glasses.
“You think they’re going to rob her?” Battaglia asked him.
“I don’t know.”
Battaglia grunted in response. He turned west and pointed the Ghost directly at the pair of walking men. He accelerated as gently as possible, easing the car up to speed.
“Get right up on them before they have a chance to attack her,” Sully ordered.
“Tower said to wait—”
“I don’t care,” Sully said. “I’m not waiting until they club her over the head or something.”
Battaglia shook his head. “She sees them. She’ll be fine. Let’s wait until they make a move.”
Sully took a deep breath and let it out. He knew Battaglia was right, but it rankled him to put MacLeod in that kind of danger. Then again, she was a cop. She had to see them approaching, as they were within twenty yards now. Besides that, she had a gun in her fanny pack.
“Okay,” Sully agreed. “But get close.”
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“Imitating Driving Miss Daisy.”
Battaglia didn’t bother to reply. He let off the gas and put the car in neutral, allowing it to roll forward at fifteen miles an hour. “It’s like a Stealth Chevrolet,” he whispered to Sully.
Sully smiled absently. “It’d be nice if it came equipped with missiles, because these two are going to bolt as soon as they spot us.”
“One for each of us.”
“And MacLeod gets dealer’s choice on who she wants to chase.”
“Where the hell is Tower?” Battaglia groused. “Is he some kind of chicken or something?”
Sully didn’t answer. He watched as the two men closed the gap between them and MacLeod.
Ten yards.
Now five.
Three.
2208 hours
When the first man reached for her fanny pack, Katie twisted forcefully away. She turned her left side toward him and pulled her Glock.
“Police!” she shouted, pointing the muzzle into the face of the more aggressive of the two. “Don’t move!”
The man’s eyebrows shot up. Surprise flashed across his rugged features.
“Chto?” he asked in a guttural tone.
“Don’t you move!” Katie repeated. “Show me your hands!”
The man’s surprise melted into a cold smile. “Okay, yeah,” he said, raising his hands slowly.
A blur of movement came from his right. Katie jerked her pistol in that direction, but a crushing pain exploded at her elbow. Her gun flew through the air and fell clattering onto the pavement beside her. She cried out and staggered back a step. Before she could recover, the man who’d struck her glided forward, his eyes intense. His leg flashed out, catching her in the upper thigh. A shockwave of pain blasted down to her toes and upward into her chest. Her air left her. She sank to her opposite knee, struggling to keep her hands up.
Without hesitating, both men bounded away.
* * *
“Jesus! I told you!” Sully yelled. “Go, go, GO!”
Battaglia gunned the engine and fired up the headlights at the same time. The two shadowy figures scampered off to the north. As soon as they hit the north curb, they split up and ran in opposite directions.
“I got this one!” Battaglia shouted, pointing at the one running west. He slammed on the brakes, jammed the car into park and leapt from the driver’s seat in foot pursuit.
Sully scrambled out of the passenger seat and sprinted toward where MacLeod knelt, holding her leg.
“Are you okay?” he leaned down and asked her.
“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. She reached for her gun, picking it up off the asphalt. “Go.”
Another set of headlights flashed on, bathing her in a yellowish glare. Sully glanced up at the lights, then straightened and raced eastbound after the second suspect.
* * *
Tower watched the attack on Katie in horror. For a moment, he froze in place. Then a pair of headlights flooded the scene in front of him and spurred him into action. He started the Toyota’s engine and hit his own headlights.
O’Sullivan was leaning over a kneeling MacLeod. He glanced up in Tower’s direction, then dashed away toward the northeast.
Tower cursed at his own hesitation. He dropped the small truck into gear and tore up to MacLeod’s location. As he arrived, the young officer stood up, clearly favoring one leg.
“Are you hurt?” Tower asked, slamming the truck door and walking toward her.
Katie laughed ruefully. “I think my pride just took a serious beating.”
“How’s your leg?”
Katie tested it gingerly, limping for several steps. She grimaced each time she put weight on her left leg.
/> “It’ll be fine,” she told him through a pained expression.
Tower brought his portable radio to his mouth. “Ida-409 to Adam-122. Update.”
There was no response.
“Adam-122, an update!” Tower barked into the radio.
Katie reached out and grabbed his wrist. He met her eyes and she shook her head. “Can’t you hear it?”
Tower’s eyes narrowed. “Hear what?”
2209 hours
“Police!” Battaglia yelled with each exhale. “Stop!”
The man in front of him didn’t slow or pause. With each stride, he seemed to pull farther away.
Battaglia renewed his effort, forcing his legs to pump harder and faster.
The suspect seemed to sense his advance and answered with a burst of his own.
You son of a bitch.
“You better quit running!” Battaglia yelled. “If I have to catch you, I’m going to kick your ass!”
Instead of slowing down, the suspect seemed to find an extra gear. He sprinted forward along the sidewalk, slowly widening the gap between them.
Battaglia pushed on, his breathing labored, his lungs burning.
* * *
Sully stretched out his stride, trying to eat up as much ground as possible with each step. The suspect in front of him was shifty, cutting through two yards and over one fence already. He ran in a zig-zag fashion, almost as if he expected Sully to start firing rounds after him.
“Police!” Sully yelled for the third time. “Stop!”
The suspect’s only reaction was to hop over a four-foot chain-link fence and sprint for the alley.
Feeling much lighter in civilian clothes than his usual uniform, which came complete with duty belt and bulletproof vest, Sully vaulted over the fence easily, barely needing to use his hands on the top edge.
The suspect turned back westward once he reached the alley. Sully momentarily lost sight of him behind a garage. Without pause, he sprinted after the dark figure.
* * *
“Hear what?” Tower asked her again.
“You’ve lost your patrol ears,” Katie told him. She limped over to the Gray Ghost and leaned inside the passenger seat, fishing for something. When she removed her hand, Tower immediately recognized what she held.
The portable radio.
Tower frowned. “You mean...”
Katie nodded. “Yeah. They’re out there chasing bad guys in the dark without backup and without a radio.”
2210 hours
“Goddamnit!” Battaglia yelled. “Where the hell did he go?”
He slowed to a walk, trying to listen for sounds of movement in the alley. The only noise that filled his ears was his own deep, ragged breaths.
The suspect had managed to get almost a block between the two of them before cutting into the alley. Battaglia walked down the dirt alley, looking left and right for hiding places, just in case the suspect had gone to ground.
But he knew that isn’t what happened.
Nope, the guy didn’t stop and hide. He just outran your fat, Italian ass.
Battaglia sighed. He wasn’t fat. And the son of a bitch was fast. Carl Lewis fast. Hell, he was The Flash fast.
The residential alley was quiet except for the sounds of his own breathing and the thud of his boots on the hard packed dirt and gravel. He thought about stopping and calling for a K-9 to track the suspect, but he knew it was useless. He didn’t have a radio to call for patrol units to set up a perimeter. Without a hard perimeter to contain the suspect, the K-9 track was useless. Even if the dog caught the scent, the suspect’s head start would never be overcome. He could keep running for an hour and they’d never catch up. And as fast as this guy motored, five minutes was all he needed to be halfway to China.
Battaglia continued his lonely walk down the dark alley.
* * *
The suspect reached the end of the alley and turned south. As he cut to his left, he slipped on a patch of wet grass and tumbled forward onto the sidewalk. Sully heard him grunt in pain. Before the man could scramble to his feet, Sully was on top of him.
“Down on your stomach!” He ordered as he grabbed the suspect’s arm at the wrist.
“Yob tvaya mat!”
Sully didn’t know what that meant, but from the tone he figured it wasn’t compliance. The thin man slipped and turned underneath him, trying to escape.
“Police! You’re under arrest!” Sully barked at him, refusing to release his grip on the man’s wrist.
The suspect answered by rolling onto his back and throwing a punch at Sully’s head.
* * *
“Take the car,” Tower instructed Katie, “and go after Battaglia. I’ll try to find O’Sullivan.”
Katie nodded. She slammed shut the passenger door of the Ghost and limped hurriedly around to the driver’s side.
Tower returned to his truck, reversed the engine and headed off toward the northeast.
Katie’s leg throbbed as she adjusted the seat to reach the pedals. She was grateful that the Ghost was an automatic. Operating a clutch right now was probably not an option.
She put the car into gear and flipped around to go after Battaglia.
* * *
The punch whizzed by Sully’s face, grazing his cheek and temple.
A shot of anger exploded in his chest. First this guy attacks Katie, then he runs from them and now he was going to punch him?
“Enough of this shit,” he growled at the suspect.
He slipped to the side, drew back his knee and drove it into the man’s buttocks. The man grunted in surprised pain, but managed to throw out another punch toward Sully. This second punch was a wild one and came nowhere near hitting him.
“Stop fighting!” Sully shouted. He slid to his left and fired his opposite knee. This one thudded into the soft tissue below the rib cage.
The suspect howled in pain. He curled his body into a fetal position.
Sully transitioned quickly into an arm bar, controlling the man’s elbow as well as his wrist. Using his leverage, he forced the suspect onto his stomach. Once he had that accomplished, he shuffled forward and lowered his left knee across the back of the man’s neck. Now he controlled three points – the head, the elbow and the wrist.
He’d won.
Propping the elbow against his right knee, Sully fished in his belt-line for the handcuffs hanging half-in and half-out of his jeans. He was grateful to find they hadn’t fallen out in the chase or during the brief struggle.
Like every other time he’d won a foot pursuit or a fight, the clicking sound the cuffs made when he ratcheted them onto the suspect’s wrist was like a symphony to his ears. As the second cuff clicked into place, a pair of headlights turned the corner and illuminated the two of them.
2212 hours
Katie found Battaglia trudging up the middle of Howard Street, three blocks from the park. If the lack of a prisoner didn’t tell the story of what happened, the sour expression on his face would have.
She slowed the Ghost, pulling up next to him. Without a word, Battaglia opened the door and dropped into the passenger seat in a huff. He slammed the door and stared straight ahead.
Katie didn’t say a word. She drove to the next block, turned and headed back toward the park.
“Goddamnit,” Battaglia muttered, staring out the window in sullen anger.
“Don’t feel bad,” Katie said, her leg still throbbing with each heartbeat. “At least you didn’t get your ass kicked like me.”
Battaglia sighed. “I guess this is the loser car, then, huh, MacLeod? All passengers must have gotten their ass kicked or been outran by a suspect?”
“I guess so.” She was quiet a moment, then said, “I hope Sully and Tower have better luck catching their guy.”
“Sully is the reincarnation of Bruce Jenner,” Battaglia said. “He’ll catch his guy. Besides, he went after the slow one.”
The pair rode in silence for a block. Then Katie said, “Bruce Jenner isn’t
dead.”
“Huh?”
“Bruce Jenner is still alive.”
“So?”
“So you can’t have a reincarnation of someone who is still alive. That’s not how it works.”
“Whatever,” Battaglia said, shrugging away her comment. After a second, he shook his head to himself. “That son of a bitch was fast.”
“Kicks like a mule, too,” Katie added. She reached down and massaged her bunching quadriceps.
“You all right?”
“Hurts like hell,” she said. “But what’s worse, these guys weren’t even who we were after. They’re not rapists. Probably just a couple of crooks who saw an opportunity to rob someone.”
“Assholes,” muttered Battaglia.
2249 hours
Tower stood in the small observation room next to Katie. Both stared through the one-way glass at the slender man seated in the interview room. Under the light, his features were clearly Slavic.
“He looks Russian,” Katie guessed.
“Safe bet,” Tower said. “There’s been thousands of them pouring in to River City since the fall of the Soviet Union.”
“We’ve noticed it on patrol,” Katie told him. “All across the boards, too – witnesses, victims and suspects. A noticeable increase in contacts with Russians.”
“Well, this one is definitely in the ‘suspect’ category. The question is, of what?”
Katie shook her head. “He’s not a rapist. They went for my fanny pack. It was a straight up robbery.”
“Which one went for the bag?”
Katie pointed at the man in the interview room. “He did. The one that got away is the one who kicked me.”
“Did he say anything that made you think he might be after more than money?”
“He didn’t say anything at all,” she answered. “He just reached for my fanny pack. It was a robbery, not a rape. Besides, you never said anything about The Rainy Day Rapist being a team.”