by Jay Nadal
He took in the scene, measuring lines of sight from the store out into the lot and the street beyond. Best to assume anyone inside had full visibility out to the street. It was safer that way.
“Rivera, get those people back across the street and out of direct line with those windows,” he ordered.
A Hispanic couple were hurrying toward him from where they had been standing around the corner of the store. The woman, short and rotund, clutched a shawl around her, despite the heat. In the other hand, she clutched a rosary under her chin.
An elderly man had his arm about her shoulders. He was balding, but had thick, dark eyebrows and a moustache that covered his mouth. He was hunched slightly, as though his height was too much to be held fully upright. Concern etched his face.
“Sir, can you tell me what’s going on here?” Cade asked.
“I am Juan Miguel Cortina. That is my store,” the man began. His Mexican accent was thick. “I don’t know what happened. We live just down the street, and we had a call from Constanza. She said someone in the store had a gun and then…nothing…”
“You have to help my poor niece. She is like my daughter. You understand?” The woman sobbed. “Something happened to her. Please, you go in and bring her out.”
“Constanza is your niece. She works at your store?” Cade asked.
The woman nodded. “Yes. She manages the store for us.”
“But you don’t know what happened to her, why she hung up?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Did you hear any shots over the line?” Cade asked.
“No, nothing. The line just went dead.” The man was pitching his voice low, as though afraid to say the word dead in front of his wife.
“She said he had a gun. Isn’t that enough?” Mrs. Cortina wailed. “Why are you just standing there? You are a policeman. You go and get my niece.”
“I saw it. I saw it!”
A man was being escorted across the street by Rivera. She took care to take him around the outside of the lot, out of direct line of sight of the store. He was yelling at Cade. He had red hair jutting from beneath a NASCAR cap. He wore jeans and a T-shirt with a faded logo.
“It’s terrorists. Goddamned terrorists,” the man continued.
“He was about to go into the store, Cade. You should hear what he has to say,” Rivera said.
The man nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I saw them. They ain’t white folk. It’s a terror attack, I’m tellin’ ya.”
“Okay, okay. Slow down. Tell me exactly what you saw,” Cade interjected.
He was getting whiffs from the man of something pungent. He may have been drinking or smoking something already today and was headed to the liquor store to top up his inebriation.
“I saw…I saw. A car just came outta nowhere, almost hit me. That’s how they do it now. They use cars. I’ve seen it on the news.”
“Which car?” Cade asked.
“Um, that white one. I think.”
Cade huffed. “You think? Did you see it or not?”
“I saw it. I saw it.”
With an exasperated sigh, Cade asked, “How many men got out?”
“Three. At least three. They ain’t white folk.”
“So you keep telling me. How do you know?” Rivera asked.
“I know a fucking terrorist when I see one. Once they got in there, they were just shouting that crazy stuff they say. Like in a different language or something. Like Arabic or something.”
Cade could feel his patience beginning to slip. “You saw three men go in there?”
The man nodded again. “I think so. Two.”
Cade’s blue eyes could have bored through steel. “Well, which is it?” he said in an iron tone.
“He’s drunk. He got thrown out of Danny’s for pissing on the pool table,” said a woman with blonde hair and heavy makeup.
“Shut your fucking mouth, Darlene!” the man snarled.
“There were two of them, Officer,” Darlene told him, giving the man a cold stare. “I wait tables at Danny’s, and I came out after this lowlife. I was planning to kick his ass when I saw the car. There were two of them.”
“And do you think they were Middle Eastern?” Cade asked.
Her brows furrowed. “Hell no. They were black.”
“Blacks can be Muslims, Darlene. You’re thick as pig shit,” the man spat.
“Rivera, get rid of this guy,” Cade said, dismissing the drunk. The man staggered back as Rivera took his arm by the elbow. He continued spitting venom at Darlene as the rookie ushered him away to a safe distance.
Darlene watched for a moment before turning back to Cade. “I’m sorry about him, Officer.”
“Don’t be. Just tell me what you saw.” Cade talked across her. Inside, a clock was ticking. Someone had called nine-one-one because a gunman had taken a hostage. But now he was wondering if that person might have been just as confused as the redhead.
“A white sedan pulls up. Almost hits Charlie. Two guys go into the liquor store. Then there’s a shot, and the window blows out,” she said.
“Two men got out of the car?”
“Yeah. I saw them go into the store. I can describe them.”
“You saw both get out of the car?” He kept the statement simple, letting the woman be sure of her facts.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“You saw both go into the store?”
Hesitation. “Yeah.”
“Together?” he pushed.
“Well…yeah.”
“They got out of the car and walked together into the store?”
“Officer, they went in together. One after the other,” she added defiantly.
“They didn’t get out of the same car.”
“But they sure went in together. They knew each other, so they must have been in the car together,” she muttered, as if convincing herself.
“Uh-huh,” Cade said in as neutral a tone as he could muster. He wanted to shake the woman, somehow dislodge the truth of what she had seen from her subconscious mind and rip it out of her head.
“Wait. Did they both get out of the car?” she questioned, as if doubting her own words. Her face creased in thought, running the risk of cracking the layers of makeup she wore. An incoherent yelling could now be heard coming from the liquor store.
“I got some statements, Cade. A guy walked into the store and started shooting up the place. That was from someone who was in the store at the time. She heard a shot and ran, didn’t look back.”
“She didn’t see him, then?” Cade asked.
“Nope,” Rivera stated flatly.
“Yeah, an overcoat. I remember that. And he was black,” Darlene said.
“Thank you, Darlene. That’s a great help. If you could move back across the street.” Cade gently moved Darlene in the direction Rivera had sent Charlie.
Another woman was hurrying over. She carried a Walmart shopping bag and wore a tracksuit and sneakers.
“Hey, Mr. Po-lice. I saw him. I saw Clinton Reeves. That’s the guy you’re lookin’ for.”
At that moment, the remaining glass in the store’s window exploded outward, accompanied by the crash of a shotgun blast. The shot cracked into the air as loud as thunder but without the raw power of a storm. A voice came from inside.
“Any of you motherfuckers come anywhere near me, I’m going to blow their motherfuckin’ heads off and throw ’em out to you. You hear me, Five-O? Don’t you come near. I’m going to kill ’em all. Mothefuckin’ po-lice. Fuckin’ dead.”
Cade reacted to the shot before the glass had hit the sidewalk. Senses sharpened with the flood of adrenaline, Cade held his breath, straining to hear with every ounce of his concentration.
He propelled himself toward the middle-aged woman approaching them, catching her by the shoulder and bearing her to the ground, shielding her with his own body. Rivera hit the deck where she stood, hands braced against the ground, eyes wide.
He could feel the sweat drench his sk
in, the throbbing of his eyes, the screams vibrating in his ears, and the thumping of his heart against his chest. Cade’s fingers curled into a fist, his nails digging into his palm.
“You good, Rivera?” Cade called out.
She didn’t reply. He glanced over his shoulder and saw her staring at the black hole of the store window. Her mouth was open, sucking in air. She was breathing hard, system flooded with adrenaline. Her eyes were big and round. He could see the whites all the way around.
“Hey, Alexa,” he called. Those wide-open eyes swiveled to meet his steady blue ones. “Keep your eyes on me. You hurt?”
She shook her head. She was visibly trying to hold it together. Academy discipline was like a battlefield plan. It lasted until the first shots were fired.
“No. I’m okay. I’m fine.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself.
“Ma’am, are you hurt?” he asked of the woman he had taken to the ground. She was on her back, staring at the sky, sweat painting her face.
She nodded wildly. “Yeah. Yeah. I’ll survive. It’s Clinton Reeves. He’s bad. He’s real bad.”
“Rivera. Can you cover me?” Cade asked.
Rivera nodded, drawing her weapon and chambering a round.
“Ma’am. I’m going to count to three. And on three, we’re going to make a run for the corner. Right over there.”
He pointed to the corner of the building where the Cortinas were sheltering themselves once again. She nodded, swallowing. Cade counted, then sprang to his feet. He hauled the woman up beside him and set her running with a push to her back. Behind him, Rivera came up to one knee, weapon aimed at the storefront.
As he ran along the cracked sidewalk, he felt a desperate itch in his chest. It was as though he was anticipating the shot that would erupt there without warning. At any second, it would spin him around and drop him in his tracks.
Fifteen feet away. There would be no warning. The round would take him before the sound reached his ears. Shock would wrap him up before he was aware of anything other than his body no longer responding to his commands.
Ten feet. He pumped through the paralyzing fear, forcing arms and legs to move. But he couldn’t overtake the civilian. Keeping his pace down to hers was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. Five feet. There.
He instantly flattened his back against the wall, drawing his gun in a smooth motion. Then he crouched and peered around the corner. Rivera was running toward him. From this angle, he couldn’t see the window, but he could put shots into the wall just inside. The best he could do was scare Reeves, if that was who this was. A shot chewed pavement behind Rivera as she ran, but it was wide of her. The shooter was obviously no marksman, then.
Rivera reached the cover of the building. Her face was a rictus of fear, all control lost. To her credit, she clutched her gun without shaking. He clapped her shoulder as he turned to the woman who seemed to know what was happening here.
“Ma’am. You know who’s in there shooting?”
“Yes. I saw him go in. His name is Clinton Reeves. He’s my neighbor’s son. He’s no good. Definitely a bad egg.”
“Was he alone?” Cade asked.
“Hell yeah, he was alone. No gang will touch Clinton. He’s a junkie. Smokes that stuff they is all sellin’ everywhere. It stinks to high heaven, lord.”
“Where were you when he went inside?” he asked.
“I was about ten yards behind him, walking up the sidewalk there to catch ma bus. Over there.” She pointed to a bus shelter a hundred yards farther up Scott Street. “I walked right past that store and peered in through the window. I knew he didn’t have no money ’cause his momma doesn’t have none. And there ain’t no one else willing to give him a dime. So, I wanted to see what he was doing. I couldn’t see him, and I didn’t wanna be seen looking in some liquor store window like a drunk.”
“Did you see anyone else inside?”
She nodded. “I saw the clerk behind the counter. A girl, I think. And there was a man. Oh, I don’t know, but about a second after I walked past, there was a gunshot and the window just blew out. I had my face about an inch from it just a second before. Just a second before.”
“When he went in, did he seem to be carrying anything?”
“No. But he was wearing an overcoat. But he’s a junkie, and they is always feeling the cold and shivering. Then a car comes out of nowhere and almost mounts the curb, and I ran. I just ran.”
Cade nodded grimly and reached for his shoulder radio.
5
“Dispatch, this is unit two-zero-one. We have a ten-thirty-two confirmed at Wheeler’s Discount Liquor, 9566 Scott Street. One man armed. At least one civilian still inside, and shots fired at officers. Request immediate backup, ambulance, and negotiator. Over.”
“Ten-four, unit two-zero-one. Be advised all units are attending the incident on South Loop Freeway, police and medical. Units will be dispatched to your location as soon as possible.”
Cade wanted to reach through the radio and throttle the dispassionate dispatcher. His hands wanted to clench into uselessness. His entire body wanted to curl up here where it was safe. The effort to overcome the urge to hide was almost overwhelming. He showed none of it.
Overriding the adrenaline-inducing need to run was a cold, dispassionate part of him that was calculating how long it would be before another shot was fired, how likely that a civilian driving past on Scott Street would take a stray bullet. Action was needed now, even if it was just to get the perp talking and not shooting.
He looked back at Rivera, who crouched beside him. She glanced back at him, waiting. His eyes skimmed over the woman who seemed to know the gunman, and the two frightened Mexicans who owned the place. Their eyes searched him for answers and action.
They didn’t see a man on the edge of adrenaline-fueled panic. They saw the badge on his shoulder and the dark blue uniform. Even Rivera. The rookie hadn’t been a cop long enough for it to become her. For the badge to take a place behind her eyes.
Right now, as she fought for control over her own nervous reaction, she was a civilian. She needed to be reminded that she was a cop.
“Just us, Rivera,” Cade told her. “We’re going to need to find out exactly what the situation in there is. How many hostages he has? And we’re going to start him talking.”
She nodded. “Right, right. Stop him taking any more potshots at civilians.”
“I’ll lead. You cover me. Get a hold of dispatch and tell them what’s happening. Then keep the radio open.”
“All right, all right.” She reached for her radio and made a clipped report into it.
Cade looked back around the corner. Rivera was getting herself under some kind of control. He ran through the likely chain of events from what he had been told.
Reeves walks in, just another customer. Probably at least one customer goes in just ahead or just behind. Drunken Charlie sees at least two people go in, and then all hell breaks loose. Probably been seeing news reports in the bar where he was drinking.
Terror attacks where? France? England? Always seems to be something these days, over there. A driver pulls into the lot when the shot is fired, slams on the brakes, and runs for their life.
Darlene sees what Charlie sees, but she sees the car, too. She puts the two together. Car pulls up before the shot is fired.
Cade eased himself around the corner, keeping himself flat to the wall. He edged along.
The sun was burning off his sweat. It hit the blacktop of the parking lot and rebounded with the strength of a furnace. He forced his breathing to slow. He could feel his heart ramming against his chest.
Focus on the details. Feel of the gun, round chamber, safety off. Muzzle held low, two-handed grip.
The brick against his back was almost painful, even through the shirt and Kevlar he wore beneath. The material caught as he slid. His eyes never left the opening.
Peripherally, he was aware of Rivera coming after him. She was close enough that
he could smell her antiperspirant. He reached the door, which was all glass in a metal frame. Someone had switched the sign that hung in the middle of the door from Open to Closed.
Cade suppressed the urge to laugh hysterically. He held up a hand to halt Rivera. Then he drew out his nightstick and reached out to tap it against the glass of the door.
“Clinton? You in there?” he asked.
He was first met with silence; then there was a whimper. Breaking glass crunched inside before he heard a muffled scream.
“Who’s that?” came a belligerent voice.
Cade swallowed. “My name is Tommy. I’m a police officer.”
“Get the fuck away from here, po-lice. I don’t want no po-lice around here. Get the fuck away, or I’m going to blow this bitch’s brains out.”
It was a rant, delivered all in one breath. He was slurring his words but still managed to rattle them out like a machine gun. Cade would need to see him to assess if he was high, low, or just drunk. It mattered. If it was booze or weed, his reactions would be dulled. If it was meth or PCP, he could have a hair trigger.
“What do you want, Clinton?” He kept his voice level. “Whatever you want, I’ll get. Just tell me what you want. Hear me, Clinton?”
Silence. “I ain’t got no money. I just wanted me a drink. That’s all. That ain’t a crime. I just wanted a drink.” He sounded on the verge of tears. He was unstable. Aggressive one moment, maudlin the next. A hair away from a murder–suicide.
“Well, you’re sure in the right place for that. Just take a drink. Help yourself. I just spoke to the owners, and they say you can have all the booze you want.”
“Shut up, pig. You wanna kill me. I know. I know you do. Fuck you. You ain’t going to kill me. Not me.”
Cade drew a slow, steady, deep breath that was hidden well enough that no one would have noticed but him. “I’m not going to hurt you, Clinton. I just wanna know who’s in there with you.”
“Shut the fuck up, motherfucker,” came the hostile reply.