Avenged

by Janice Cantore

  In the staccato stream of radio traffic that followed, Carly heard paramedics requested and numerous units announcing they were en route to assist Nick and Mickey.

  She forgot the sandwich, running to get her shoes and car keys. A fear like she had never known coiled inside.

  Where was Nick when the shots were fired?

  And who was shot? Was it Mickey?

  Was it Nick?

  Odds were it was Mickey, and she hated that the thought gave her some relief. Mickey had a pregnant wife at home.

  She was in her car moments later, speeding for the scene with the volume on her handheld radio turned all the way up. Her mind raced as she listened for information. And her pulse pounded with worry for Nick. He’d said Seventh and Las Playas Street—that was on the other side of the commuter rail line in Ninjas territory. It was also the area where he’d said they’d be hanging out, but that was hours ago.

  Knuckles white on the steering wheel, she listened as the eerie emergency beep continued. It wouldn’t stop until Nick or another officer at the scene was able to say that the scene was code 4, in control.

  She had nearly reached Las Playas Street, where she would turn north toward Seventh, when she heard Nick’s voice. Tense but controlled, he announced code 4, with the shooting suspect still outstanding, then asked for confirmation that paramedics were en route.

  Dispatch answered that medics were on the way. Carly slowed when she heard Nick ask for homicide and a shooting team. Her grip on the wheel relaxed, and she jerked the car to a stop.

  Hands shaking, Carly leaned forward to let her forehead rest on the steering wheel. Her thoughts cleared slowly, and she realized she’d only be in the way at the crime scene. Not yet 10 p.m, afternoon patrol would be working the call and the shooting. It wasn’t Carly’s place to be there—especially since she wasn’t in uniform.

  “Oh, God.” She breathed out a prayer. “I was so afraid for Nick, I didn’t stop to think. Thank you that he’s okay. And please look after whoever went down.”

  Carly inhaled deep and exhaled regular as her heart rate calmed; then she sat back in the driver’s seat. She could continue toward work and suit up early, probably get some dull job to do at the crime scene. Or she could turn around and be at the hospital in a couple minutes. I can be of use there, she thought, even if it’s only to update communications on the officer’s condition until my shift starts.

  Carly needed to be involved. Whoever had gone down was a brother officer and one of her husband’s team. She turned the car around and minutes later parked near the emergency room. As she got out and headed for the entrance, she called communications and told them where she was and asked who was hurt.

  “I’ll tell the watch commander,” Charlie, the comm center supervisor, said. “It’s Mickey T. Nick is okay. Medics have been on scene a couple of minutes, and from the sound of things, they want to get Mickey to the ER quickly.” His voice vibrated with adrenaline and stress.

  But the only words Carly heard over and over were that Nick was okay.

  17

  MICKEY DIDN’T LOOK GOOD. A few minutes after she talked to Charlie, serious-faced medics rushed the injured officer to a waiting trauma team. The watch commander had called Carly’s BlackBerry to thank her for quick thinking and showing up at the hospital. Her presence allowed all the other officers already on scene, including Nick, to stay at the location and help in the search for the shooters. The commander had logged Carly into service as Adam 7 and asked her to update him on Mickey’s condition and to collect any evidence the medical team might come across. To that end, Carly followed Mickey into the ER and waited outside the trauma room, watching and listening but not close enough to be an intrusion.

  About five minutes later, her BlackBerry went off. Dispatch told her Jacobs was sending someone to Mickey’s house to pick up his wife. Was there any more Carly could tell them about his condition?

  Sighing, she said no. They let her know that Captain Jacobs was on his way.

  Sliding her BlackBerry back onto her belt, she folded her arms, leaned against the doorframe, and watched as bloody clothes were cut off her fellow officer and her husband’s partner.

  While she waited for Captain Jacobs, Carly listened to the radio as Nick calmly directed officers to where he wanted them. He was certainly shaken and angered by what had happened, but the emotions would never intrude on his work. It was his job to find the shooter and keep everyone safe.

  From what he’d said over the air, which at best was shorthand, Carly extrapolated that he and Mickey had been out walking through a neighborhood. They’d stopped to speak to a group of people when a drive-by shooting went down. Mickey had probably been trying to get the innocent people out of the line of fire when he was hit.

  Suddenly more emergency traffic blared from her radio. A unit had spotted a vehicle fitting the description of the shooter’s car. The officer recited a license plate, and his voice went up an octave when he said the car split.

  The radio was then a clash of people trying to talk at the same time. Carly tensed. Finally the dispatcher got through with the news that the car was stolen.

  The first unit came back on the air, sirens wailing in the background, asking for another code red.

  Carly turned up her radio. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until the ER doctor stepped out to tell her that Mickey was losing a lot of blood and they needed to get him to surgery.

  She nodded and said she’d stay in the waiting area.

  The steady emergency beep putting her on edge all over again, Carly walked out of the ER. As the double doors closed behind her, she nodded to the security officer who monitored them. He needed to push the lock release to allow admittance to the ER. Memorial Hospital had doubled its security measures after Joe’s son, A.J., had been kidnapped right out of the nursery about a year ago.

  “Something happening?” the security officer asked. Carly remembered they were called facilitators, not officers or guards.

  “They think they got the shooter.”

  The facilitator held a thumb up.

  “We have the vehicle stopped, Magnolia and Sixth.” An excited voice interrupted the code red.

  The beep continued. Carly pictured the stop in her mind. Units fanned out behind the stolen vehicle, emergency lights flashing, cops behind open doors, weapons drawn, focused on the vehicle and occupants in front of them.

  “Driver and passenger have exited.”

  They’d be pronged out between the black-and-whites and the stolen car, the driver first, then the passenger.

  Beep . . . beep . . . beep . . .

  “Occupants in custody.”

  They’d be handcuffed and moved out of the way so an officer could make certain no one was still in the vehicle.

  And a minute later: “Code 4. Vehicle occupants and weapon in custody.”

  “Yes!” Carly said with a fist pump.

  “Great,” the facilitator said. “How’s your officer in there?”

  “He needs surgery.”

  “He’ll get the best here.”

  Carly knew he was right. The doctors here were the best. But that knowledge didn’t stop her from praying while she paced and waited for the captain.

  •••

  Mickey was in surgery by the time Jacobs arrived. Sergeant Barrett and a press officer were with him.

  “Update?”

  Carly shrugged. “He was losing a lot of blood. They said they had to operate to stop the bleeding. We can go back and check with nursing staff for any news.”

  She wanted to ask about Nick. She wanted to see Nick and to hold him close for a long time.

  Jacobs pulled out his BlackBerry to read a text. He then turned to the press officer. “Reporters are on their way. We need a quick snippet to give them.”

  As if on cue, Carly heard a voice that made her skin crawl.

  “Captain Jacobs! Captain Jacobs!”

  When she turned, Carly saw that the high-pi
tched, nasal tone belonged to Ginny Masters.

  Jacobs turned as the slim, curvy, bleached-blonde reporter approached them, her stiletto heels snapping crisply on the hospital floor. The heels were attached to calf-length black boots that gave way to skintight black pants. A snug red blouse and a large black purse slung over one shoulder completed the outfit. A tall, skinny man with his hair in a ponytail followed her. He had a camera around his neck and one in his hand.

  Carly struggled to keep her expression neutral. The photos on the blog were not a fluke. Duncan Potter had teamed up with Ginny Masters.

  She worked to ignore Potter and concentrated on where she felt the real threat was—Ginny Masters. A jolt of anger shot through her, and Carly knew she needed to forget the nasty blogs and not let the woman or Potter get under her skin.

  “I heard an officer has been killed by a gang member,” Masters said. “Can you tell me the details?”

  Carly almost lost all her reserve right then, and her mouth dropped at the callousness of the question and the excited gleam in the woman’s eyes. She was spared from having to respond as Jacobs nodded to the PIO. He then put a hand on Carly’s shoulder and turned to the security facilitator, who hit the door buzzer. Barrett, Jacobs, and Carly went through the door while the PIO intercepted Masters and Potter.

  “I never would have made it as a PIO,” the captain told her in a quiet voice.

  Carly felt tension melt away, glad Jake was in charge. The doors closed behind them, and Carly’s anger at Masters dissipated. It was a great relief that they could leave her out in the waiting area. The sound of Masters arguing for information reached her ears, and she could only shake her head.

  “I have a right to the most current information. You can’t suppress the news.”

  The threesome continued to the nursing station. A nurse there said she’d try to get an update for them.

  While they waited, Jacobs turned toward Carly. “What’s the matter, Trouble?”

  Trouble was his nickname for her. Jake, as he was often called, was an old friend, only recently promoted to captain.

  “I know you have to give her something,” Carly said, “but that woman is obnoxious.”

  “All members of the press are obnoxious. You’re just used to Trejo.”

  “I guess. Suspect in custody?”

  Jake smiled. “Looks that way. Nick will be down here to brief me as soon as everything out there is squared away.” As if sensing her unasked question, Jacobs put a hand on her shoulder. “He’s okay. From what I heard, Mickey pushed Nick and some bystanders out of the line of fire.”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  When his phone buzzed again, he pulled it off his belt to read the text. “The sergeant I sent to pick up Mickey’s wife, Ann, should be here shortly.”

  The ER nurse came back with an encouraging report about Mickey. She suggested they wait upstairs outside recovery, where he’d be taken after surgery, so the three of them walked to the elevators. While they walked, Jake texted the new location so Ann would be brought to the correct place.

  On the recovery floor, the group moved toward the waiting area to the right of the elevator. Jake was again busy with his BlackBerry.

  “Edwards,” Barrett said, “why don’t you go change? We’ll need someone posted here indefinitely. Might as well be you tonight.”

  Carly agreed with Barrett. If she had a partner, she’d want to be out searching. But a solo officer would just be a scribe or something. At least at the hospital she’d be close to the most current information. “I can be back within a half hour.”

  “I’ll give you forty-five minutes if you bring back some coffee.”

  18

  CARLY RETURNED in forty minutes with coffee. While initially she hoped to see Nick at the station, radio traffic told her he’d gone to the hospital to check on his partner. She warily hurried through the lobby, not wanting to run into Ginny Masters. Thankfully Carly didn’t see any sign of her. She did see Duncan Potter snapping photos of all the officers in the lobby. A lot of officers, both on duty and off, were here asking if they could help in any way. In these kinds of situations, the hospital often requested blood donations. Carly figured Memorial would set something up, but it would probably take time. She avoided Potter and got on the elevator.

  While at the station she’d heard about the arrest of the shooter. Only fourteen years old, he was a cousin of the Garnets, the leaders of the Playboyz. The driver of the stolen car was an eighteen-year-old Playboy with an extensive record.

  She’d also learned that Londy Akins had been with the group of people Nick and Mickey were talking to when the shots rang out. That didn’t surprise her because she knew Londy considered the gang neighborhoods his mission field. He was always out there trying to talk kids out of gangs and into church. What did surprise her was the buzz around the station that Londy’s group was the target of the shots and that Mickey had saved Londy’s life and been hit in the process. She couldn’t wait until she had a chance to talk to Nick and find out exactly what happened.

  When she arrived at the second floor, the group in the recovery waiting area had grown. She stopped short.

  There was Nick, deep in conversation with Jacobs. She saw dark stains on his jeans and knew it was blood. He caught her eye, paused, and said, “I’m all right.”

  She managed a smile. As she looked around, she recognized Ann, Mickey’s wife, and steadied herself to hand Barrett his coffee.

  “Mickey still in surgery?”

  Barrett sipped and nodded. “But the doc was out a few minutes ago. They were able to stop the bleeding. The bullet hit him in the gut just below the vest—” he pointed to the space there—“and did some damage, but they think they can fix it.” His face crinkled with disgust. “Cops’ luck. Half an inch higher and he’d be fine, just bruised.”

  Carly shook her head. It always seemed as though a bad guy could get shot five times, all in nonvital areas, and be fine, while an officer would get hit once and it would be fatal. She sipped her coffee, feeling steadier now that Nick was in front of her, and moved to where she could hear what Nick and Jacobs were talking about.

  Nick was updating him on the shooting and the search. “It was another odd deal that looks gang-like on the surface,” he said. “The shooter says he was given the gun and told to shoot up Ninjas. He was promised fifty bucks if he hit anyone and a hundred bucks if he hit Londy.”

  Carly perked up when she heard this and almost blurted out “Who?” to be certain she’d heard correctly.

  But Nick was still talking. “Captain, I was there. With the exception of this stupid cousin, most of the knuckleheads on both the Ninjas and the Playboyz seem to sense someone is stirring this pot. As unlikely as it sounds, they realize this fight is being orchestrated.”

  “By who?” Jacobs asked.

  Nick held up his hands and Carly saw the frustration in his tired face. “No one can say. I’m afraid only that kid upstairs knows, and he might not ever be able to tell us.”

  Carly’s thoughts also turned to Crusher. Nick was right; Hector Macias could answer a lot of questions for Nick and everybody else, if he were able.

  Carly heard the squawk of the security facilitator’s radio. She couldn’t make out the message, but immediately the facilitator was animated.

  With a shrug, Jacobs looked at Barrett. “How is that kid doing? Do you have an officer on his room?”

  Barrett shook his head. “Last report we got, he was in a drug-induced coma. We didn’t think he needed a guard since he’s in intensive care and not talking.”

  Jacobs blew out a breath. “I want someone on him 24-7 from now on.” He pointed to Carly. “Why don’t you start us off? Better to be safe than sorry. I agree with Nick; that kid has the answers we need. He may or may not be able to tell us, but either way, we need to keep him safe.”

  Carly didn’t want to babysit Crusher, especially since there was so much security at Memorial as it was. She wa
nted to be near Nick. But hospital security wasn’t armed, and she did agree that their only witness needed to be protected.

  She nodded, glanced at Nick, then turned for the elevator.

  “I’ll come up there as soon as I can and sit with you for a bit,” Nick said.

  Intensive care was up one floor. Carly thought about Londy and Mary Ellen’s confidence that Crusher would wake up soon. If he did, would he be able to give them the answers they needed?

  She remembered what Nick had said about Crusher’s mother. Carly knew from her own contact with Lupe Macias, when she drove Victor home, that the woman had her hands full with her other children and two jobs. She was relieved to let Londy and the police look after her oldest. The only people barred were his fellow gangsters and the press. Thinking of the press reminded Carly of Ginny Masters, which made her cringe. She said a quick prayer that Trejo would be able to return to his job soon.

  Carly stepped off the elevator and stopped, back straightening, her hand reflexively going to her gun. There stood Dean Barton and Ginny Masters. They’d been leaning over the security station, talking to the facilitator. Off to one side was Duncan Potter. When Carly entered the lobby, everyone turned her way.

  “What are you doing here?” Carly ignored Masters and glared at Barton. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Potter begin to snap photos. She thought about the bomb at Half Baked but hadn’t heard what else was going on or how that investigation had progressed.

  Barton smirked, pointed at Carly’s gun hand, and said to Masters, “See that? She’s ready to shoot me. What did I tell you about police brutality?”

  Forcing herself to relax and ignore the photographer, Carly dropped her hand. “Answer my question.”

  “He’s not doing anything wrong. You have no right to question him.” Masters folded her arms and stepped between Barton and Carly. “What are you doing here?”