Her lips moved, and I shook my head.
“He’s right here.” She raised her voice and repeated the comment as she fought the zipper on the front of my coat with a sense of urgency. “The paramedics are already with him. Are you having trouble hearing?”
“Yeah. Explosion. Ringing.” I sputtered once again as my breathing started to come under control for the first time in what seemed like forever. “He okay?”
“He’ll be fine, sir,” she told me.
“Ben?”
She pointed above and to my left, so I twisted my head to have a look. My friend was remaining staunchly by Deckert’s side as the paramedics were loading him onto a backboard.
Ben pulled a clear, plastic oxygen mask away from his face and sputtered, “I’m here, white man.”
I made out what he was saying more from reading his lips than actually hearing him.
“Can you walk, sir?” The firefighter was talking to me again.
I turned my face back to her and managed a weak grin. “I was before you tackled me.”
She smiled back. “You didn’t give me much choice. We were coming around the back to vent the structure, and the first thing we saw was the three of you running like maniacs. We couldn’t seem to get your attention though.”
“Well, there was this fire you see…” I let my voice trail off.
“Yeah, that’s what I hear,” she answered with a grin. “So, we need to get this coat off of you.”
I swallowed hard and looked back at her as if she had lost her mind. “You did notice that it’s snowing out here, didn’t you?”
My wry comment was peppered with small fits of coughing.
“Yes,” she nodded as she spoke. “But apparently you DIDN’T notice that you were on fire.”
The abrupt tackle suddenly made all kinds of sense. The light must have snapped on behind my eyes because she just looked back at me and grinned.
“I thought someone was attacking me,” I offered.
She nodded. “I pretty much got that from the roundhouse. Can you sit up?”
I pushed myself up and felt half the joints in my body pop and creak as I did so. I winced and continued until I was fully upright. The firefighter gingerly extracted my arms from the heavy winter coat, and without hesitation, the cold air wrapped itself around my sweaty body, bringing an instant chill. The snow beneath me was already melting from my body heat and soaking into my pants, leeching the warmth from me. Sitting there, I started to realize just how miserable I felt.
The firefighter worked her fingers through the elastic strap on another oxygen mask and pulled it over the back of my head then adjusted the business end over my nose and mouth.
“Just breath normally,” she instructed.
I nodded as I sucked in the fresh oxygen then spit out a quick cough.
“I know it’s hard, but don’t gulp it,” she told me again. “Just breath normally.”
I stared across the yard at the back of the house and saw that with the exception of the smoke billowing from the basement door, the outer structure seemed relatively intact. Of course, I had no idea what the damage was like from the front. In any case, the blurry scene before me sat farther in the distance than I had expected. Apparently, we had been covering ground at a pretty good clip when we escaped.
“You’re lucky,” my rescuer told me as she shuffled around and draped a blanket across my shoulders. “It looks like your coat took it all, except maybe…”
“Except maybe…” I started to ask then pulled the mask out from my face for a moment. “Except maybe what?”
“Did you happen to have a ponytail?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Well… Not so much anymore.”
*****
The front of the house was a somewhat different story as compared to the back. Although it could have looked far worse, it was obvious upon first glance that the structure had been involved in a fire. A portion of the roof had been burned through, and all of the windows were broken. Smoke still streamed out of any open orifice, mixing itself with the falling snow to form an eerie curtain of haze.
Firefighters were still entering and exiting the home, attacking what remained of the blaze with hoses that trailed in through the front door as well as around to the back side. Still, from outward appearances, it didn’t look anywhere near as bad as it had been on the inside.
Being mid-afternoon on a weekday, there was a noticeable absence of onlookers; something I’m sure made life easier on the professionals trying to do their jobs. One of the firefighters had told us, however, that a news crew was on the scene.
Ben and I were presently parked in the back of an ambulance, watching the goings-on through the open back door. Carl Deckert had already been rushed from the scene in a different life support vehicle, siren blaring and emergency lights strobing. The last thing we had been told was that he had gone into a full-blown cardiac arrest but that the paramedics had been able to defibrillate his heart. He certainly wasn’t out of danger, but he had a strong, regular pulse and was stable for the time being.
My cheek was throbbing where an EMT had extracted a piece of shiny, brass-colored metal about the size of the nail on my pinky finger. From the look of it and the circumstances of it embedding itself there, we decided that it was probably a piece of the collar surrounding the deadbolt.
Ben was seated across from me in the back of the ambulance. He had been far from immune to the flying shrapnel himself. He was presently slouched forward with his elbows on his knees, quietly staring out the opening in the back of the vehicle. His hands were wrapped in loose windings of gauze that were stained bright red in the spots where blood had soaked through, and he allowed them to hang limp.
I hugged the blanket tighter about myself and reached around to carefully feel the back of my neck. There was some minor soreness but nothing worse than one would get with a mild sunburn. However, just as the firefighter had told me earlier, where there had once been eight inches of hair gathered into a ponytail, my hand felt a singed stump of bristles.
“You needed a haircut anyway, white man,” my friend said with little emotion as he glanced in my direction.
Neither of us seemed to be able to muster much feeling other than exhaustion. My hearing had begun to return although my ears still felt stuffy, and there was a faint ring in the background. Ben complained of the same, but at least we were able to carry on a conversation without shouting at one another.
The ambient noise of thrumming diesel engines on the emergency vehicles drifted in low, and we could hear radios and various voices of the firefighters on the scene.
“Maybe so,” I returned. “But I can think of an easier way to have gone about it. How are your hands?”
“Fuckin’ killin’ me,” he answered in a flat tone. “How ‘bout your face?”
“About the same.”
One corner of his mouth turned up in a weak attempt at a grin. “Yeah, it ain’t doin’ me any good either.”
I shook my head. “You must be feeling okay. You’ve still got your sense of humor.”
“I’m alive,” he agreed. “So are you. So’s Deck… For now… That’s somethin’.”
“He’ll make it.”
“Yeah.”
My shoulder was throbbing, and I reached my right hand up to massage it. The over-the-counter painkiller Felicity had dosed me with earlier had long since dissipated from my system, and I was starting to wish for something a bit stronger. I had all but forgotten about my ethereal migraine when the situation in this plane of existence had demanded my full attention; however, now that I was beginning to relax, it was starting to rap on the back of my skull, insisting that it be permitted entry.
“Really, Ben. He’ll make it. It’s not his time.”
“You got some hocus-pocus goin’ on there?” He raised an eyebrow.
Under different circumstances, he would have looked pathetic. He still had soot streaking his face although one cheek had been cleane
d where he had an abrasion. His lower lip was swollen, and his reddish skin peeked out around his mouth where the dirt had also been wiped away. There were rings around his eyes. The whole picture came together with fuzzy edges due to my missing spectacles, and when he arched his eyebrow, I had the overwhelming need to chuckle.
“What’re you laughin’ at?” he asked.
“You should see yourself,” I offered.
“Yo, Kemosabe, you got an Al Jolson thing goin’ on yourself.”
“Yeah, so I guess we’re both a sight.”
“Prob’ly. So, you never answered me. The thing with Deck. You got some inside info from the great beyond?”
“Just a feeling.” I shrugged.
“I hope you’re right.”
“We just have to believe that I am,” I offered.
He fell quiet for a long measure and stared at the floor of the ambulance. When he finally spoke again, his voice was heavy-weighted with a level of seriousness that made me listen intently.
“Ya’know, cops get that too.”
“What’s that?”
“Feelings. Kinda like intuition or somethin’.”
“Everyone does to some extent,” I replied.
“Yeah, I guess.” He nodded then looked up at me. “I ever tell you about Chris?”
“Wasn’t he your partner when you first got out of the academy?” I asked. “The one that…”
He finished the sentence for me. “…Got killed, yeah, that’s him.”
“You’ve never really talked about it to me, no.”
“He was a good guy. Big S.O.B. Biggern’ me. Good copper. You knew you could count on ‘im to have your back. I learned a lot from ‘im.”
I just nodded acknowledgement and let him talk.
“Anyway, the night he was killed we were workin’ third. He was actin’ pretty nervous, real squirrely like. We stopped to grab some coffee, and he finally opens up and tells me that he’s got a weird feelin’ like it’s his night or somethin’. Like he’s wearin’ a target. He said he’d had it all day and that when he left his house, he turned around and went back in twice to call in sick, but didn’t do it ‘cause he felt guilty.
“I didn’t think much of it at the time, but he’d told me before that you develop a kinda sense about stuff. Told me not to ignore my gut, ‘cause it was one thing a copper had that could save his ass. Anyway, half an hour later we responded on a liquor store holdup. He was hit the minute we got outta the car. He was wearin’ a vest, but it didn’t matter ‘cause he got hit in the neck. Last thing he said to me was ‘I shoulda stayed home today.’”
I watched him as he fell silent, and then I finally asked, “Have you talked to someone about this?”
“Hell yeah,” he returned, slightly more life in his voice than there had been during the morose reminiscence. “Helen got me through it a long time ago. I’m just sayin’ that coppers get those feelings too.”
There was still a strange undertone in his voice. Something told me that there was more to this story than just an idle observation. It took a moment to dawn on me, but when it did, it struck me like a hard slap.
“Did Carl say something to you?” I asked.
“When we got here,” he finally said with a nod. “Told me he had a weird feelin’ like maybe he shoulda stayed home today.”
CHAPTER 18:
“And how are you gentlemen doing?” The paramedic asked almost cheerfully as he climbed into the back of the ambulance with us and levered the door shut.
“Horrible,” Ben answered.
I felt like adding “and terrible” as my answer to the question, but I really had no complaints that he could help me with, so I elected to keep my mouth shut. My migraine had returned full force, and it seemed to have inextricably attached itself to the pain in my shoulder. The alliance that was formed was executing a battle plan that included a full-scale invasion of every nerve ending between the two points. While something in the way of a nice analgesic sounded like a good idea, considering the source of the ache, I wasn’t sure that it would do any good.
“What seems to be the problem?” he asked my friend, taking on a concerned tone.
“Ignore him,” I offered, wincing as I turned my head. “He’s always like this. Have you heard anything about Detective Deckert’s condition?”
“Not yet, but we can check on him,” he told me.
“We’d appreciate it.”
“So how long are we gonna sit here?” Ben interjected.
“We’re getting ready to transport you both to the hospital in just a few minutes,” he told us.
“Guess I’d better call Felicity,” I said aloud.
“Sucks to be you,” Ben told me.
“Thanks,” I gave him a sarcastic retort as I sent my right hand toward my coat pocket only to realize that I no longer had one. “Dammit! My cell phone was in my coat. Do you still have yours?”
“Yeah,” he said as he nodded at me. “I think so. Lemme see…”
He began to gingerly slip his gauze-wrapped hand into his own coat pocket while looking over at the paramedic who was making some notes on a clipboard. “So what’s the holdup?”
“The police are doing a little crowd control right now,” he answered without looking up.
“Crowd?” I asked.
“Well, not really a crowd,” he explained. “But we got a few onlookers, and one of them has a vehicle blocking the street.”
“Roads gettin' that bad?” Ben asked.
“Yes and no,” he answered, holding his hand out and giving a little side to side wiggle. “This guy’s got a big van, and he’s having a little trouble turning it around.”
“How hard can that be?” Ben spat. “What’s he like a moron or something?”
“Ben!” I admonished.
“He seemed like a nice enough guy,” the paramedic shrugged. “A little weird, but hey, live and let live.”
“Weird how?” Ben asked.
“You know,” he returned. “One of those religious types. When I walked by, he was saying something about the Lord and consuming a fire or something like that.”
The combination of words caused a twinge in my brain, so I mentally sifted through the various Bible verses I’d committed to memory over the years.
“Was it something like, ‘For the Lord thy God is a consuming fire, even a jealous God,’” I said aloud. My words were slow and even. A slight note of fear rode in the crest of my voice as I finished.
“Yeah, that was it,” the paramedic confirmed.
I looked across the aisle at Ben. “Deuteronomy four, twenty-four.”
My friend was already rising as he spoke, “Tell me this asshole isn’t tall with white hair.”
“Yeah.” He was nodding vigorously. “Did you see him out there or something?”
“You stay here, Rowan,” Ben ordered as he started to push past the paramedic.
“Detective Storm, I think you should…” he began to object.
“Save it,” Ben shot back.
I spoke up. “Ben, you’re in no shape to do this.”
He had already eased the ambulance door open and was peering out the narrow gap.
“Goddammit,” he muttered. “I can’t see ‘im. You got a radio?”
“No, sorry,” the paramedic answered.
“Shit!” Ben spat again and then turned to him. “Okay. Get out there and tell the first coppers you see to stop that van. Tell ‘em it’s on my authority and that there might be an armed suspect in the vehicle. Got me?”
“Yeah, but what’s going on?”
“I ain’t got time to explain it,” my friend returned with an impatient bite in his voice. “Now get out there and do what I told you to do.”
The paramedic didn’t argue, and Ben pressed himself back against the built-in cabinets of equipment and supplies to make room for him to exit. Ben caught the door with his hand and continued to hold it slightly open so he could watch what was happening.
“Do you
really think that it’s Porter?” I asked.
I had already stood up and moved over next to him, but I couldn’t get any kind of a vantage point where I could see anything more than a small sliver of the street and the house next door to the one from which we’d escaped.
“Somebody torched that house while we were in it, Row,” he offered. “The door at the top of the stairs was blocked by somethin’, I’m sure of it. And besides, the friggin’ place went up too quick. Way too quick. My money would be on Porter.”
“But if it IS him then that would mean he had to have followed us here from Randy and Nancy’s place.” I tossed out the observation.
“Yeah, prob’ly,” he agreed.
My voice began to ramp up in pitch, audibly noting my panic. “But that would mean he knows where Felicity is…”
“Calm down!” Ben shot back, stopping me before I could implode. “Mandalay is with Felicity. She’s safe. Besides, if the fucker followed us here then he’s obviously leavin’ her alone and comin’ after you.”
His logic headed off my sudden run toward hysteria and brought me back down to a controlled level of fear. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. You’re right.”
“There they go,” he muttered as he pushed the door open a few more inches and cocked his head to the side.
I winced as a sharp pain burrowed into my shoulder and culminated in a grating ache throughout the joint. It felt something akin to a knife blade-or perhaps an ice pick-being thrust directly into the bone.
“It’s him,” I said aloud.
Ben glanced back at me, “ Twilight Zone?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Twilight Zone. It’s him.”
His lips formed a grim frown; he nodded at me and then looked back out the gap in the door. “Jeezus H. Christ!” he exclaimed almost immediately, slamming the door completely open and leaping out the back of the vehicle. “Stay here!”
I could hear the roar of an engine being gunned as I followed Ben out the opening, completely ignoring his command. My brain was beginning to adjust to my uncorrected vision, and while detail was still muddy, I could easily make out the white panel van as it backed toward us with a quick lurch. The rear corner of the vehicle slammed hard into the police cruiser that was sitting diagonally in the center of the street no more than forty feet away from us. The high-pitched tone of metal deeply creasing blended with the hard sound of the crash and the hailstorm rattle of broken glass as it spilled onto the street from the car’s headlight.
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