Apparently, Manny and Quentin didn’t get along all that well, and it showed.
Beep.
“Ahh, hold on, Lou. Manny’s calling me,” I said.
“Just call me back,” he said before hanging up.
I rolled my eyes and switched the line over.
“Hello?” I answered.
“He has a woman…or had a woman,” he said. “I remembered her last night. He used to talk about visiting her all the time before he got hurt and stuck in evidence. Her name’s like Cherry…or Mary or something.”
I winced. “Do you know where she lives?”
“From what I can remember it was off Fifth Street. I’m driving that way now.”
“Good,” I said. “I’ll meet you at the Exxon at the corner.”
“Got it. See you in twenty.”
Swinging my cruiser around, I headed to the Exxon that was less than five minutes from my location.
Manny showed in the twenty he’d said he would, pulling up to my car opposite of me so we could talk through the window.
“I’ll point it out to you if I can,” he said.
I nodded, and followed him.
It didn’t take long for him to find it.
In fact, it was the fourth house we passed.
He stopped, pulling over, and got out.
I did the same, meeting him in the middle of the sidewalk, both of us looking up at the simple yellow house.
It was nothing special, really.
Just a plain one story house in the historical district of Kilgore.
Expensive to rent and more expensive to own.
“This it?” I asked.
He nodded. “This is it.”
Nodding, I picked up my phone and placed a call.
“I need you to run a check on something for me,” I said to Gabe.
“Shoot,” he said, fingers clicking on a computer.
“Address is 623 Fifth Street. Can you tell me who used to live there? Probably moved in the last year, because the neighbors think the woman left around that time,” I explained.
The keyboard continued to click as I waited impatiently for the results.
Then I was stunned.
“Berri Aleo was the most recent tenant.”
Mother. Fucker.
***
Shank
“You’re telling me that that weasel dick of an ex of hers did this?” I asked carefully for clarification.
My hand clenched as Foster began to explain.
“The house where Manny used to be seen was last rented by Berri Aleo. David’s new fiancé. The same one he cheated on Blake with,” Foster clarified.
I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, sickened beyond belief that someone that’d promised to love and protect my child, my little girl, had so little regard for her that he could do something like this.
It may have been only by association, but it was still because of him that it’d happened at all.
“What else has your man found?” I asked, standing up to gather my things that I would need.
“Newest address listed as living with a one David Dewitt. Also has a rental apartment on South Tenth Street,” he answered. “I’m on the way there now.”
“No, you are not. You don’t need to have anything to do with this. Back off.” I ordered.
“You can’t order me to do anything,” Foster argued.
I laughed.
Watch me.
Hanging up, the next call was made to my brother.
“Hello?” Darren answered on the fourth ring.
“I need you to call in the SWAT team. Now.”
Chapter 22
My heart bleeds as I think about losing the man that I compared all my potential husband’s to.
-Blake
Foster
I was livid.
Shank had had me pulled into a fucking meeting, and there was not a damn thing I could do about it. Not if I wanted to keep my job.
Chief Rhodes had been careful to let me know that before hanging up, having called me personally.
I stomped into the Chief’s office, livid that I was here when I should be somewhere else.
“What’s going on?” I asked darkly.
The Chief looked up, and sat back in his computer chair.
“What’d you do to piss him off?”
I shook my head. “Not a damn fucking thing. I found a lead on Quentin Ortiz. He told me to stay away. And made sure I did.”
“He what?” He asked, jackknifing up from his chair and standing up.
I nodded. “Yeah, I found him. Or might have. He’s staying at an apartment owned by the stupid cunt David Dewitt’s marrying.”
The chief growled in frustration.
“Get the team and go. Now,” the Chief ordered.
I followed his directions, going to the war room, finding all of the men suited up and ready to go.
“What the fuck is going on?” Luke asked in frustration. “John says there’s been no call.”
Then the dispatcher’s voice, the one who worked with Blake, came over our radios. “Code 11. I repeat Code 11. 5211 South Tenth Street. Neighbors report shots fired and a police officer on scene being dragged through the front door.”
We moved as one.
I grabbed my clothes on the way out, changing in the back of Rita before we arrived on scene.
While I was doing so, I gave them a rundown of what I’d found so far.
“So, you have no idea what we’re going into, do you?” Bennett asked.
I shook my head. “No. Not a single idea.”
“John,” Luke said into his radio. “Tell me what you got.”
John was our computer man.
He could accomplish damn near anything with a computer, as long as it was under the letter of the law. Which was why I’d not brought him in on what I was having Gabe do for me.
He could’ve just as easily found the information out as well, but I didn’t want to bring anybody into it and have it turn sour. Something I expected would be the outcome of this day if we weren’t’ careful.
***
Shank
“You’re going to die,” I smiled.
I knew I was about to die myself, but it made me feel better to know he’d be going down with me.
Karma’s a bitch, motherfucker.
But I couldn’t get over the fact that I’d done something so monumentally stupid.
In my head I was the badass that everyone thought I was, but in reality I was a pissed off man trying to protect his daughter. A man that knew better than to enter a volatile situation without any foreword planning.
I’d fucked up.
And now my daughter would forever think this was her fault.
Which was why I did the next stupid thing I did.
I called 911 on my cell phone. Doing exactly what the little pecker head wanted me to do.
I wanted to make sure the bastard paid. He needed to go down, and I’d make sure he did if it was the last thing I did.
***
Foster
“911 call came in a minute ago just like you said it would,” John confirmed. “Managed to get Pauline to take the call. Blake knows it’s her dad, though. He says he was taken hostage, and the man is making him place the call.”
I swallowed the bile that formed in my throat as I thought of her having to listen to her father calling in.
Goddammit, I was so stupid. Never in a million years would I have thought Lou would go off halfcocked as he’d done, otherwise I would’ve never told him.
Never.
And I just got my future wife’s father killed, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
“Have you pulled the blue prints of the apartment, yet?” Luke asked John.
“They’re on their way to your computer right now. The bottom half of the building is under construction. So you won’t have to worry about the elevator. Only one set of stairs, and two apartments on the second level. He’s the first
door. Second door is occupied, but the tenant isn’t there. The police have him behind the police line,” John explained.
“10-4,” Luke confirmed. “Going black now.”
We all took the stairs, two at a time, eyes trained in front and behind us.
Luke and I were at the top, Miller and Michael behind us, then Bennett and Nico
“James,” Luke said once we reached the top. “You got any eyes?”
“Negative,” James answered immediately. “Blinds are pulled. Not to mention the glass is covered in what looks like fake snow. I’ve got nothing.”
“Fuck,” Luke sighed. “Alright boys. Let’s move.”
Luke signaled with his hands, and I dropped my shotgun over my shoulder, the strap catching the gun just about my mid back.
Then I took what was deemed the ‘door knocker’ and rammed it into the entryway.
It opened like a twig snapping off of a branch.
I dropped down low to allow my fellow officers to cover me, and that’s when the shooting started.
My world exploded, and the last thing I saw before the ‘red haze’ set in was Lou’s blood spraying all over the white wall.
Except when the dust settled, and the gun that was peppering the wall above my head with bullets finally hit its end, I realized that there was wasn’t anyone ‘human’ shooting at us. Whomever had been here had escaped. The only thing left was an AK-47 rigged to fire once the tension on the door was relieved.
Something I’d done myself when I’d knocked the door through with the door knocker.
All of it had been for nothing.
I ran inside, shotgun up to my cheek and pointed at the gaping hole in the floor. Most likely where Quentin Ortiz had disappeared.
Dropping down to my knees beside Lou, I dropped down until my ear was next to his mouth.
I didn’t need to see his wounds to know it was serious.
It was beyond serious.
The AK-47 had nearly torn Lou in half since he’d been placed in front of the gun.
He’d fallen to the side at the last second, but it hadn’t helped. Not enough, at least.
He still had at least eight rounds lodged in his belly.
“The new wife,” Lou croaked. “That’s where he’s going to go. The new wife.”
I dropped my forehead down to Lou’s. “You’re going to be okay.”
He laughed, but started coughing before he even had the air out completely. “Don’t lie. Just take care of her. Promise.”
I was pushed to the side by the medics, unaware of when they’d arrived, but happy that the scene had been cleared and they had done it so fast.
“I will, Lou. I will. Now let them take care of you,” I said, getting to my feet.
He looked at me. Straight through me, actually.
“I’ll make it until I can say goodbye to her. Won’t go until then,” he croaked.
As they took him out of the room, I made a promise.
Nobody would ever know that Lou “The Shank” Rhodes wasn’t actually on shift that day. All they’d know was that he’d died a hero, and I’d make damn sure of it.
***
Blake
I dropped to my knees, the strength quickly draining from my upper legs as the past twenty minutes just played on repeat over and over again in my head. Had I done all that I could? What should I do now? Did my mom know? Would she even care?
I’d just had to listen as my daddy, the man I’d looked up to for my entire life, called in his own 911 call.
I, luckily, hadn’t been the one to catch the call.
It’d been Pauline.
But I’d heard the call go through, nonetheless.
It’d also been an officer distress call; which meant that while Pauline took the caller, I called in the backup and gave them real time information.
The door to dispatch was flung open, and my uncle, looking disheveled, threw himself through the open door.
He saw me there, on my knees, and immediately dropped to the floor beside me, gathering me into his arms.
“It’s going to be okay, honey,” he whispered. “Let’s go. We can make it to the hospital in ten minutes.”
“But Pauline will be by herself,” I cried.
He shook his head, hauling me to my feet as he stood. “Don’t worry about her. She’s got the hatch tightened down. She can handle it for ten minutes until the backup arrives.”
I nodded, not knowing what else to say.
Pauline looked at me as I passed, still on the line with whomever she’d been talking to for the last ten minutes.
I didn’t know, and I didn’t really care.
My dad was shot, and was on the way to the hospital.
I knew, though.
I knew down deep that he wasn’t going to make it.
It would be a small miracle if we arrived and he was alive.
But I guess miracles did happen, because by the time I ran in the hospital doors behind Uncle Darren, and straight back to Trauma room one, he was alive.
But he didn’t look good.
At all.
“Daddy,” I breathed, looking at him.
The room surrounding him was a mess.
Nurses were slipping on my father’s blood that was pouring out of his chest at an alarming rate; the doctors were trying to staunch the flow with little success.
My daddy was looking right at me.
His hand, covered in old and new blood, extended out to me.
One lone finger crooked, and a sob caught in my throat.
I went to him.
I didn’t have a choice.
I’d never, ever not given him what he wanted.
“Hey,” a dark, pissed off voice said. “Get her out of here.”
I ignored the command, sidestepping another nurse, who slid and then fell on her ass in the blood at her feet.
I didn’t let my dad’s eyes go, though.
“Baby girl,” he rasped.
Blood ran from his mouth, and he coughed.
My eyes started to leak, and the tears I’d been holding back by sheer force of will finally spilled over.
“Daddy,” I pleaded, capturing his head with my face. “Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me.”
I wasn’t twenty four years old anymore. I was my daddy’s baby girl. His only girl. The same little girl that used to crawl into bed with him and snuggle into his side.
The same little girl that used to go shooting with him on the weekends for some father daughter time.
The girl who asked her father to prom because her boyfriend, at the time, had come down with a stomach virus.
The girl that was supposed to have her fairytale wedding…with her father walking her down the aisle.
The breath in my lungs hitched as I heard him gasp, then the life I saw there started to dwindle.
“Give me one more hug, baby girl. I love…” Then he was gone.
“No,” I cried. “Please. Fix him!”
It came out shrill, and devastated.
Everything that I was feeling in that moment was pushed into my words, and I knew I wasn’t being rational. No one could survive what he had gone through.
“Time of death 0202,” a saddened male voice said above me.
“Daddy,” I whispered. “God. Please don’t leave. Please.”
My voice was hoarse by the time I felt hands curl around my upper arms.
Then I turned to see Foster, dressed out fully in his SWAT uniform, even the hood still partially covering his beautiful face, standing behind me.
His eyes, though. Those were haunted. Devastated. Gutted.
“Foster,” I cried softly. “He’s gone.”
“I know, baby girl. I know,” he said.
“Do you want to donate his organs?” A brave female voice asked from in front of me.
I looked up into the eyes of a small woman with dark black hair the color of ash.
I nodded, knowing that was exactly what he’d wanted. “Yes.”<
br />
Then they took him away, and I lost it.
I’d never hear him call me baby girl ever again either.
Never again.
Never.
Ever.
Chapter 23
They say time heals all wounds…well those fuckers can suck it. Time doesn’t heal nothing. Only Jack Daniels does.
-Note to self
The funeral of Officer Louis ‘Shank’ Rhodes
Three days later
Blake
I had a rose in my hand, and I plucked the petals, one by one, as I listened to my Uncle Darren give a speech about what a difference my father made in his life.
It was a good one.
A really good one.
But I knew if I listened, if I actually became invested in the speech like others around me were doing, that I’d crumble.
I’d fall to my knees and start wailing like a child.
I knew I couldn’t do that.
Not in front of this many people.
Oh, they’d understand, but I’d never forgive myself.
I just had to be strong. Just had to get through the next three hours, and then I could go home. I could curl into Foster’s arms, and cry myself to sleep like I’d done the last two nights in a row.
The stupid knot, the one that’d been there for days, started to widen as my uncle walked down the stairs and moved straight to my father’s coffin.
The coffin itself was beautiful. But you couldn’t see much of it due to the American Flag that draped the coffin.
A large picture of my father in the last photo he’d ever taken. It was standing behind the coffin with a huge sash of the metals my father had collected over his career hung off the frame’s corner.
I gasped.
I’d been trying so hard to keep the cry in that I’d inadvertently attracted more attention to myself.
“Baby,” Foster said, pulling me into his side.
Then my tears burst free, and I cried in front of a couple thousand people.
Broke down was too small of a word.
More like broke period.
But then the funniest thing happened.
Instead of Tears in Heaven coming on, like I’d chosen, I shot the Sherriff blasted through the speakers instead.
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