by Steven Henry
Twenty cops, or one K-9.
“Rolf!” Erin said. The Shepherd was watching her intently, waiting for orders. She pointed to the Suburban's door handle. “Such!”
Rolf went up on his hind paws and sniffed the handle with deep, snuffling breaths. Then he dropped back to the pavement, put his nose to the ground, and was off toward the steel jungle of cargo crates.
Vic followed about ten yards behind and a little to one side, keeping his M4 at his shoulder. They crossed the remainder of the parking lot and started in among the piled containers.
It was a tactical nightmare. Visibility was twenty yards or less in any direction. An enemy could be in front, to either side, or even above. She tried to look everywhere at once, telling herself not to give in to paranoia.
Kira was right. They should've waited for backup. They needed more officers on site. Even two or three more pairs of eyes would make things a lot safer. She pulled on Rolf's leash. “Hier!” she ordered. It was time to call him back before someone got hurt.
Rolf stopped, but he was quivering with excitement. He barked twice, sharply.
“We're close,” Erin said to Vic. “I think maybe—”
Metal crashed just around the corner. A cargo container's door had been flung open, rebounding off the one next to it. She reflexively craned her neck to look.
“Get back!” Vic snapped. At the same moment there was a sound like a strip of cloth being torn. A line of jagged holes marched diagonally up the container wall where she'd been about to put her head.
Submachine-gun, Erin thought distractedly. She backed away from the corner, Glock leveled. Rolf came with her, obeying her last instruction.
“Kira! Call in a 10-13!” Vic shouted. “Erin, watch that corner!” Then he pointed to himself and gestured around the far end of the container.
She nodded her understanding. He was outflanking the bad guy. She turned her attention back to the corner in time to see more bullet holes punch through the steel.
The shooter wasn't trying to hit her. Erin remembered that Rüdel was former military. He was using infantry tactics, laying down suppressing fire. She was no soldier, but she knew what that meant. Rüdel was trying to pin them in place while he moved. The only question was whether he was trying to attack or retreat.
Vic paused an instant, then went around the opposite corner and out of Erin's line of sight. “Drop it!” he shouted. Less than a second later, she heard three flat, hard cracks from a rifle. A man cried out.
“Rolf! Fass!” Erin called, slipping the K-9 loose from his leash. He leaped forward. Erin followed him.
A guy lay on the pavement, clutching his thigh. An MP5K submachine-gun had fallen next to him, surrounded by spent brass. Vic stood at the other end of the passage between two containers, sighting down the barrel of his rifle. Even as Erin took in the scene, Rolf launched himself at the downed man and latched onto his right arm, exactly the way he'd been trained. The unlucky perp suddenly discovered that a bullet in the leg was nothing compared to almost a hundred pounds of German Shepherd coming at him teeth-first. He started screaming.
Vic raised the muzzle of his gun to take her and Rolf out of his field of fire. “Clear,” he said. “Is that him?”
Erin kicked the gun away from the wounded man and stood over him, covering with her pistol. She saw a square-jawed face with a couple days' rough stubble on the chin. The guy was big, muscular, blond. She'd never seen his face before.
“No,” she said to Vic.
“Ah, shit,” he said. He began to turn away.
Two pistol shots echoed through the dockyard. Vic staggered back against a container wall, only the sheet of steel keeping him on his feet. He brought up his M4 and fired, almost in reflex, at something Erin couldn't see.
“Vic!” she screamed. Ignoring the wounded perp at her feet, she ran toward her fellow detective.
Two more shots sounded. She didn't see where one of them went, but the other left a hole in the metal less than an inch from Vic's ear. He cursed, braced himself against the side of the cargo crate, and fired again.
Erin did something she'd seen in plenty of action movies, but had never thought she'd do for real. She went into a forward roll, staying low to keep out of Vic's line of fire, and came up on one knee, pistol held in both hands, aiming down the barrel. She saw a short space of open ground and a concrete walkway beside the pier. On the concrete, right at the water's edge, stood Hans Rüdel. The range was about fifteen yards. The German had a gun in one hand. The other was pressed to his side. There was blood on his fingers.
She started to yell at him to drop the gun, but at that moment he and Vic both fired. Vic's bullet hit Rüdel in the upper part of his chest, just below the shoulder. The impact spun him around. Rüdel stumbled backward and fell, almost in slow motion, off the dock and into the East River.
Vic tried to hold himself upright, but one of his feet slipped. He started going down. Erin, turning, saw him and managed to get an arm around him. She'd forgotten how heavy he was. She slowed his fall, but he dragged her down with him. They ended up sitting next to each other on the ground.
Erin snatched out her phone to call Dispatch. “O'Reilly, shield four-nine-four-oh,” she gasped out. “I have a 10-13. Officer down!”
“Stop it, Erin,” Vic muttered. “Quit being so goddamn dramatic. I'm fine.”
“O'Reilly,” Dispatch said. “Officers are already inbound.”
“There's no officer down,” Vic protested. “I'm good.”
“You've been shot, dumbass!” Erin snapped.
“Vest stopped the round,” he said. “Just got my breath knocked out. Gimme a minute.”
She could hear sirens. That was probably the backup Kira had called in. She checked Vic for blood and didn't find any. He did have two slugs embedded in his vest, center mass. Tight grouping, two inches apart, just below the heart. Rüdel was one hell of a shot.
“Lucky bastard,” she said, trying to cover up the rush of relief. “He could've been aiming for the head.”
“See? Told you, I'm fine.”
“Keep still,” she said. “You might have a couple cracked ribs.”
“Whatever you say, Mom,” he said and smiled. It was strange. She hadn't seen Vic look that happy in weeks.
After that, once the Patrol units arrived, it was all cleanup.
Later, after Rüdel's wounded henchman was hauled off to the hospital under police guard, after the detectives' statements, after ten carloads of Patrol officers and a van of CSU techs swarmed all over the docks, looking for Rüdel's body, Erin found Kira sitting on the edge of the pier. The other woman's legs were dangling over the water. Her hands were clasped between her knees and she was staring at her own fingers.
Erin took a seat beside her. “You okay?”
“I don't know,” Kira said.
They were quiet for a few moments.
“Vic's fine,” Erin said at last. “He's hardly hurt.”
“That's good.”
“And he tagged Rüdel,” Erin went on.
Kira nodded. “Not that it matters,” she said.
“What the hell are you talking about? Of course it matters! It's why we were there!”
“To kill another mope?”
“What? No!”
“But that's what happened.”
“That was Rüdel's choice,” Erin said. “He could've given up. They shoot at us, we have to shoot back.”
“This isn't why I became a cop,” Kira said.
“Kira, nobody puts on their shield in the morning hoping they get to shoot somebody,” Erin said. “But it's always a risk. Rüdel was a nasty piece of work. He and his goons killed four people that we know about. They nearly got me twice, plus Vic, not even counting Carlyle and those other folks at the Corner.”
“That's what I mean,” Kira said. She looked up. Her eyes were haunted. “I'm scared, Erin. All the time. I should've gone in with you and Vic, but I just couldn't.”
“Someone ne
eded to cover the exit,” Erin said.
“I don't think I'm cut out for this,” Kira said. “Look at Vic. He's been through the same shit we have, worse even, but he keeps kicking down doors because he wants to. I guess I'm just a desk jockey when the chips are down. Even on the task force, I wasn't making arrests. Shit, Erin, this isn't me!”
“Look, Kira,” Erin said. “Most officers don't ever fire their guns in the line. We've been in how many shootouts this summer? This is crazy. Things have to calm down soon.”
“What if they don't?” There were tears in Kira's eyes. “What am I gonna do? What are you gonna do? You have to be able to count on me. What if I can't be there for you? Maybe I should put in for a transfer.”
“We couldn't have cracked this without you,” Erin said. She put a hand on Kira's shoulder. “We need you here. Don't do anything sudden. Take a couple days, let this settle. Okay?”
“If you say so,” Kira said. “I don't know how you do it.”
“Neither do I,” Erin admitted. “I just see what needs doing, and I do it.”
“You have to turn in your loaner gun?”
“No,” Erin said. “I never fired a shot. Bad angles, bad timing.”
“Think they'll find Rüdel's body soon?”
“They're bringing in divers,” Erin said. “The water's pretty murky, but bodies usually float. I expect he'll wash up in a day or two, if they don't find him sooner.”
“You don't think...” Kira began.
“That he made it?” Erin thought about it. “Not likely. Vic hit him at least twice with rifle rounds, close range. He'd have had a hell of a time swimming away.”
“Yeah,” Kira said. “You're right. I'm worrying too much. I'm a bundle of goddamn nerves. Think the medics would give me a trank shot if I asked?”
“You looking to get busted by the narc squad?”
“Guess not.” Kira stood up. “I'd better get back to the precinct. This dockyard is run by the O'Malleys, but I don't know who specifically. Maybe I can figure out who Rüdel's employer was. Then you and Vic can go arrest somebody else, or maybe shoot him.”
“Ha ha,” Erin said. “Vic's not shooting anybody right now. He's going on administrative leave. Again. I expect the Lieutenant will send me home, too. Think you can handle Webb on your own for a day or so?”
“I got a choice?” Kira made a face. “Hey, thanks, Erin. And I'm sorry.”
“Save it,” Erin said. Then, to her surprise, Kira stepped in close and gave her a quick, tight hug. Before she could say anything else, the other woman turned and hurried away.
“There goes my ride,” Vic said, watching Kira's Taurus roll out.
“No problem,” Erin said. “I'll give you a lift. I won't even make you ride in the dog compartment.”
“Whatever. We done here?”
Erin caught Webb's eye. “Hey, Lieutenant! What else can we do?”
“Nothing right now,” Webb said. He'd been talking to the detective in charge of the Crime Scene Unit. The CSU guys were unpacking floodlights. The sun was going down, and they were getting ready for the long haul. “Go on home, get some sleep. We'll need you back in the office in the morning to go over your statements again.”
“The hell for?” Vic said. “We're not gonna change a word. What happened, happened.”
“How many men have the two of you shot over the past two months?” Webb retorted. “You had to stop and count, right? That's a bad sign. We're going to play this one clean and careful. No screwups. The press will be all over it anyway.”
“I hate reporters,” Vic muttered.
Webb approached and laid a hand on Vic's upper arm. “Neshenko, you did a hell of a job here. This shooting was clean as they come.”
“It was Kira and Erin figured it out,” Vic said.
“And you put the bastard down,” Erin said. “It was a team effort.”
“Right,” Webb said. “And that's how it'll look in my report. But for now, get away from this crime scene. You see the news vans parked down the street? Drive right past them, don't say a damn word. I'll talk to the Captain and he'll talk to the press. You've done plenty for one day.”
“Day's not over yet,” Vic said. But he went with Erin and Rolf.
Chapter 18
“So, where do you live, anyway?” Erin asked as they started rolling. “I hope you're not expecting a lift to Newark or something.”
“Lower East Side, same as you,” Vic said. “Shitty little apartment, costs more than a McMansion's mortgage anywhere else.”
“How's your chest?”
He snorted. “Medic says I might've cracked a rib. If I didn't, I don't need to do anything. If I did, I can't do anything. So it doesn't matter.”
“Of course it matters, Vic. You got shot. Twice.”
“I've been shot before.”
“If someone chopped off your leg, and then a couple years later they came back and cut off the other, would you say, 'It's no big deal, I've lost a leg before?'”
He snorted again. “I've heard prosthetics are getting better.”
“So, once you get home, what are you planning on doing?” she asked.
“I figured I'd turn on the TV and watch reruns of '24' while drinking straight from the bottle.”
“What's in the bottle?”
“Vodka.”
“You sure that's a good idea?” Erin tried to keep the concern out of her voice, but a little of it slipped out.
“I just killed a guy. What the hell am I gonna drink, goddamn Coca-Cola?”
“No, but straight vodka? Vic, I've gotta teach you to appreciate good Scotch.”
“Hey, you're Irish, I'm Russian. We have to keep in touch with the mother country.”
“Right,” Erin said. She was watching the road, but her thoughts were all on her partner. Vic had come alive for the gunfight, but now he was in worse shape than before. She wasn't a psych guy, but he had something dark in his mind. She didn't have the first idea how to help him. But then, she wasn't exactly the most stable, well-adjusted officer in the NYPD herself. So she let the silence carry them as far as the Brooklyn Bridge.
“I could use a drink,” she heard herself say as they started across the river. “You want to go grab one?”
“Where? I don't want to hit a goddamn cop bar right now,” Vic said. “It's gonna be all over the force by now, happy assholes slapping me on the back for what a good job I did, wanting to buy me drinks.”
“A drink you don't have to pay for is the best kind,” Erin said, thinking of Carlyle and the Corner.
“Yeah,” Vic said. “Except whenever some jerk buys you one, you just know he's looking for a way to fuck you.”
Erin couldn't help laughing. “You mean that literally?”
“Whatever way you want it,” he said. “Everyone in this city, Erin. Christ, everyone on Earth, they're all out to screw you over.”
“That's not true.”
“Oh yeah? Look what happened with the last girl I thought was into me.”
So that was it. Vic's previous girlfriend had been manipulated into setting him up to be killed. She hadn't had much of a choice, but Vic had taken it about as badly as most guys would.
“Vic, we deal with bad guys all the time,” she said. “It screws up our worldview. There's plenty of good people out there. We just don't come in contact with them so much.”
“Yeah? Name one,” Vic said.
“Shelley,” Erin said without thinking.
“Who's Shelley?”
“My sister-in-law, Michelle. Married to my brother the doctor. Stay-at-home mom, two kids. The sweetest, friendliest person in the world. Believes the best of everybody.”
“What's she think of the Job?”
“You think I want her anywhere near the Job?” Erin retorted. “People like her are why we put on the shield. So they don't have to see all the heinous shit we put up with.”
“All I've got is a kid brother,” Vic said. “Total screwup. He's in LA, far as I
know. Keeps getting taken in for little shit, drug stuff mostly.”
“Having a cop for a big brother didn't straighten him out?”
“Probably made it worse.” Vic stared out the windshield at the Manhattan skyline. This lights had come on in the dusk, skyscrapers glowing in the gathering night. “You know, I did three years with ESU before transferring to Major Crimes. Never shot anybody while I was there.”
“That's not surprising,” Erin said. “Most officers don't.”
“You tagged that guy outside the art museum during that art heist, back when you were still doing Patrol.”
“I only winged him. He lived.”
“Now, in Major Crimes, this shit happens all the time,” Vic said. “Wild goddamn West.”
“If you'd known it'd be like this coming in, what would you have done?”
“Same thing. I just would've liked to know what to expect.”
“So, about that drink...” Erin said.
“If you want to try vodka, good Russian imported stuff, you could come by I guess.”
“Sounds good,” Erin said. “I'll just drop Rolf off at my place.”
He hesitated. “Going back to my place, I don't mean...”
She blinked. “Of course not.” She never thought of Vic as anything but a partner and a friend.
“Okay then.” He clearly wasn't comfortable with that line of conversation. Erin wasn't either, so she was glad to let it drop.
She parked in the police space near her apartment, knowing she wasn't going to be there long. “You can wait here, or you can come up. It'll just be a minute.”
“I'll come up,” he said. “Better make sure no psycho junkies are waiting to mug you.”
“To mug the armed NYPD detective and her K-9?” Erin asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Hey, you never know.”
The apartment building was still and quiet. Erin, Rolf, and Vic walked up to the third floor, shoes clicking on the steps. When they came in sight of Erin’s door, they paused. A gift bag stood in front of it. It was dark red with red tissue paper sticking out the top.