by DJ Steele
It looked like the only way to pass through here to the next street over was to jump fences and hope like hell there weren’t any dogs in the backyards. He was sure it wouldn’t be a choice unless it was the only choice.
Convinced nobody was hiding in the alley, he tried to size up the situation. Maybe the uniform had already cleared this alley, left the lane and was now checking the intersecting street.
Something felt wrong.
But there was nothing here.
He decided to head back to his car and continue his search out to the street.
After he holstered his Glock, he quickly turned and stumbled into a large object. He fell hard against a plastic trash can that toppled over causing the attached lid to flip open. A dog started barking and a backdoor light flickered on. A woman yelled, "Shut up Reggie. Be quiet." The dog continued to bark.
He stood and started to get the hell out of there when he saw what looked like a person that had unfolded out of the trash can. He angled his Maglite over the body that was half in and half out of the can. He squatted and quickly pressed his fingers to the uniform’s neck.
The young police officer was dead.
Easing from Kathryn Lane onto the sidewalk, she felt a jolt of adrenaline that broke her whole body out in a sweat.
Down the street standing on the sidewalk near the corner was the man in the fedora.
And he had Laquita.
The man had his hand on Laquita's arm keeping her close to him as they walked down the street. Laquita looked back where Julia was standing. The man twisted in her direction.
"Run Julia," yelled Laquita.
She did. But not in the direction Laquita meant. Her legs took off before her brain caught up. Instead of taking cover, she was running down the sidewalk toward Laquita and her captor. In the open. She pulled up short from a streetlight, not wanting to be a more visible target. The man put Laquita in a choke hold. His other hand held a semi-automatic muzzle jammed against her temple.
She studied the man’s features, unsure if he was the man she saw at the motel. She imagined the worst. If he kidnapped Laquita, Julia might never see her again. If she took a shot at the man, it’d have to be to the head. She didn’t like her options.
The closer she got, the easier it would be for him to shoot her. Focus. What she needed was to buy some time. She could accurately hit a target, but this one had a human shield in front of it. Mark Miller, the guy who taught her how to shoot targets from every angle, even moving targets had never trained her on what to do in a hostage situation.
What Mark did teach her was never focus on the target’s weapon. Only on the target.
She aimed her pistol at the man’s head, sucked in several breaths and edged cautiously forward.
The cool breeze evaporated the beads of sweat on her forehead. She tightened her grip on the pistol keeping it aimed straight ahead.
"Close enough, Julia. Stop right there or I’ll pull the trigger," he ordered. His voice chillier than the night air.
She stopped.
"The police will be here soon," she warned.
He let out a deep grunt. "Put the gun down. You don’t want to be responsible for your friend being killed."
"What do you want?"
"I want you. And I want all the photos you took. It’s just that simple."
"I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re mistaken."
"I don’t have time for games. The old man told me everything. Not easily, but he finally talked."
"You can have them, but first let Laquita go."
"I give the orders, not you," barked the killer.
"I’m sure we can agree you want what I have, but I want Laquita freed first."
"My bargaining chip is better than yours. Mine has a heartbeat. At least for now."
Julia surprised the killer by taking a step forward.
He shoved the muzzle harder against Laquita’s head. Her friend yelped. She stopped, keeping her weapon aimed at the man’s head.
"You already got that nice ‘ol man killed. How much blood do you want on your hands? Drop your weapon. The deal is you for your friend and, of course, the photos."
Another step forward.
"Julia don’t do it," Laquita said with a panicky edge in her tone. "‘Em photos is all that’s keepin’ us alive."
She could now see his burning eyes. The scar above his brow. The only facial feature she recognized was the man’s full lips and slightly flared nostrils. He was right that he had the stronger bargaining chip, but if he killed Laquita, he was a dead man.
Even though the police weren’t far away, she couldn’t gamble on them arriving in time. This was bad at every level. If she got closer, her shot would be more accurate. This guy wasn’t going to let Laquita walk away.
"I’ll do what you want." She took another step. "You can have the photos, take me hostage, but first…"
"Another fucking step and she’s dead."
Even after his warning, she knew what to do.
As if Laquita had read her mind, she yelled, "Julia. Don’t shoot."
He tightened his grip around Laquita’s throat causing her to gasp for air.
"Shut up," he ordered Laquita. "Or I’ll pull the trigger and blow your brains out."
Laquita’s hands futilely tugged on the arm wrapped around her neck. She gagged, desperately trying to breathe. Her eyes bulged wide.
The man was powerful and angry. He's choking her. She felt panic.
"Stop," she pleaded. "She can't breathe."
He kept his arm tight around Laquita's neck. Laquita gasping.
"You're gonna kill her," Julia yelled.
The corner of his mouth pulled up in mock amusement.
The bastard is enjoying this.
Slowly he lightened his grip around Laquita’s neck. She began coughing and gasping for air.
"You’re smarter than I thought. But not smart enough. You made a bad decision."
He began to drag Laquita backwards toward a car parked by the curb. That’s when she caught sight of movement out of the corner of her eye. Somebody was across the street. The shadow figure was using the parked cars for cover. She held her eyes on the man dragging Laquita.
She steadied her aim. Waiting for an opportunity.
Suddenly a sound sent Julia's heartbeat into a roaring frenzy.
Chapter Forty-Nine
The skinny uniformed officer’s neck had been snapped. His lifeless eyes open. His attacker was strong. Shockley knew it took violent force to kill a person this way.
The body dumped in the trash receptacle was still warm. The killer wasn’t far from here. Shockley wanted to call it in, but the officer’s radio was missing, so the killer now had ears. He wasn’t about to alert him.
He drew his Glock and headed toward the passageway. In his other hand he thumbed Hauser’s number on his cell.
After several rings the call went to voice mail. Shit. He must have it on silent.
Shockley left a brief message, filling Hauser in. A uniform DRT, officer’s radio missing, maintain radio silence, he was in pursuit and gave his approximate location. Hopefully Hauser would discover the message and ride in with backup. But right now, he couldn’t wait for the cavalry. Every second counted.
He was on his own.
He raced back to his car, jumped in and started the engine. The perp could still be in the passageway or on the street or worse, at Julia’s house. A lot of ground to cover. He drove as slow as his adrenaline rush would allow, rubber necking back and forth as he continued down the alley.
Shockley slowed before he got to where the alley intersected the street and clicked on his low-beam lights.
What he saw when he eased out of the alley caused fear to surge through him. "Things just got a lot more complicated," Shockley said aloud. There was nothing more difficult than a hostage situation.
Except when there was a hostage situation with a citizen in the line of fire of the suspect.
It ha
d to be Julia Bagal he saw standing under the streetlight in a firing stance. Her weapon aimed at the man holding a gun muzzle against a Black woman’s head.
There’d be no negotiation for the release of the hostage.
The suspect was approximately fifty yards down the street. The man was wearing a fedora. He was tall and bulky. Strong guy. A good thing the street was quiet at this hour of the evening.
His choices were limited.
Think.
Without slowing, he drove straight ahead, crossing the street and into the lane across the street. It didn’t really matter if the perp noticed him. He had no choice. Hopefully, the perp was focused on Julia’s weapon pointing at him and didn’t pay much attention to his car.
Once he had his car out of sight, he killed the engine and jumped out. He lowered his Glock and peered around the corner of the building facing the street.
He had no backup, nobody watching his six. At this moment he could rely only on himself. He stayed low, kept his eyes alert and sprinted toward the parked car nearest him. Crouching on the sidewalk across the street from Julia and the target, he moved stealthily, using parked cars as cover.
He needed to position himself for the kill shot. A head shot, risky unless at close range. Normally he’d aim for the target’s largest body mass, the torso, but the hostage was in front of him and a round to the target’s back could exit and strike the hostage.
He wanted this guy alive, but tonight it wasn’t going to happen. He was trained to only use lethal force when there was imminent threat of harm to himself or others. All boxes had been checked on that requirement. This suspect was armed and dangerous.
He was counting on the target being unaware of his presence. He needed a clean line of sight to deliver the kill shot to the target’s head. In a gunfight his accuracy could be the difference between life or death for him, the hostage and Julia. He blew out a puff of air.
In several long quick strides, he closed enough distance to give him the advantage shot he needed.
The suspect was walking backwards dragging his hostage with him toward a car. The Black woman looked like Laquita which meant that was Julia. He had no way of knowing if Julia knew how to use the weapon she was holding, but from the way she held the pistol his bet was this wasn’t the first time she had used a weapon.
He had to act fast. He repositioned himself beside a Honda Accord and squatted down.
Quickly he made sure there was a round in the chamber.
Check.
He rose and used the hood of the car to steady his hands.
Across the street, the target’s head was moving into his line of sight.
Then a familiar sound instantly distracted him.
Julia heard the noise before she saw the short heavy man standing on his porch holding what appeared to be a shotgun. He racked a shell into the chamber.
"Drop your weapon," the heavy-set man hollered at the man dragging Laquita. "I’ve called the cops. They’re on their way."
The killer’s attention turned toward the man on the porch.
A voice from across the street yelled, "Police, drop your weapon."
It happened fast. The killer’s hand moved. She saw the muzzle flash as he fired a round at the man on his porch. The man grunted, pitched forward, then collapsed on the porch. A woman from inside rushed out screaming. The killer swung his weapon in the direction of the cop, firing in rapid succession while he continued to drag Laquita toward the car. Laquita stumbled. The killer grabbed her hair and pulled her up, shouting at her to get in the car.
Julia tightened her grip on the pistol, aimed and squeezed off two rounds at the killer’s exposed chest.
Laquita screamed.
The killer’s arm swung back in her direction. He fired several rounds at her.
One missed.
Another grazed her leg.
Julia discharged more rounds and immediately dove to the ground and stretched out flat.
She saw muzzle flashes from the direction where the cop yelled, but she couldn’t see him.
A man yelled, "Get down, get down."
Her only protection was her backpack which was on the ground by her head.
She heard more shots.
The killer slid down to the sidewalk with his back against the parallel parked car. He pulled Laquita down beside him. His arm holding Laquita dropped. Now the cop across the street wouldn't be able to see the killer or provide her cover fire.
Julia was a smaller target flattened out in the grass next to the sidewalk. But still a target with no protection.
Her eyes scanned nearby for anything that would provide cover. A tree. She gauged the distance. Her options. Stay down or make a run for it.
The killer raised his arm, pointed his weapon in her direction.
She rolled to her right. A spray of bullets hit close but missed.
She made her decision.
Get up and run. She sprang to her feet and took off running like her life depended on it.
It did.
If the killer was a good shot, she’d never make it to the tree.
Chapter Fifty
There was an old saying in law enforcement—better to be judged by twelve than carried by six.
He knew the sound a pump-action shotgun made when a round was racked. What the hell was the man on the porch thinking? The heavy-set man just announced to the suspect his location standing in full view under a porch light.
The millisecond distraction was enough for Shockley to lose his angle for the kill shot. In a millisecond, the suspect moved, his arm swung toward the man on the porch. The hostage was now blocking his clear line of sight.
Shockley did what he didn’t want to do. He alerted the suspect to his position on the other side of the street. Shockley wanted the shooter to twist toward him and away from the man on the porch.
"Police. Drop your weapon," he hollered.
The perp fired, dropping the man on the porch. His hand swung and he fired two more rounds in Shockley's direction. One shattered the car’s passenger window he was behind sending shards of glass flying. He ducked just as the next blast blew past his right ear. With a surge of battle-fueled adrenaline, Shockley sucked in a deep breath. In a crouch he peeked around the front of the car. Shockley gripped hard, aimed and fired two rounds at the target, praying like hell he wouldn’t hit the hostage. One round aimed at the head missed and the second he was sure hit since the target disappeared behind a parked vehicle pulling the hostage down with him.
In his peripheral Shockley saw people by their windows and a few out on their porches with cellphones taking pictures. He yelled, "Get down. Get down."
He saw Julia lying flat in the grass by the sidewalk, her backpack by her head. The target was no longer in sight. A loud pop. The gunman was still active. Julia was exposed. He knew if she stayed in the open or made a run for it, her odds were slim.
Julia went for it.
He jumped upward and bolted toward the car the shooter was hiding behind.
A bullet had pierced her left arm. Laquita winched in pain as she wrapped her fingers around her bleeding arm.
The killer had pulled Laquita down with him against the side of a car when he got hit in the chest. She was sure the cop across the street was the one who hit him. It sure wasn’t Julia.
Sitting on the sidewalk with his back against the car, the killer released his hold on her. He was using one hand to apply pressure to the gunshot wound in his chest. Blood seeped through his coat and flowed across his hand. He told her if she moved an inch, he’d shoot her in the face.
She was scared and unsure what to do. It wasn’t like she’d never heard gunfire. The neighborhood she grew up in had gang activity. She heard gunfire most nights. This was different. She'd never been in the line of fire.
Sitting beside the man shooting at Julia, Laquita felt helpless. Blood oozing from her arm had soaked the sleeve of her pink sweatshirt. It was warm and sticky. Staring at the blood unearthed a me
mory from long ago.
"I'm sorry Lance," Laquita cried.
Big G tried to keep her and her brothers safe. But her brother, Lance, got mixed up with some bad dudes. Laquita wanted Lance to take her to the market one afternoon so she could buy candy. She begged Big G to let them go. Big G finally relented. On the way home, a police car pulled up to the curb. Two cops, one white and one black got out. Lance took off running. They yelled for him to stop, pulled out their guns and fired. By the time Laquita got to him he was dead, and she had a scar on her forehead as a reminder. A bullet had ricochet off the sidewalk and grazed her.
Laquita wanted to do what she did when she was small. Close her eyes and pretend she was someplace else. Yet, she kept them wide open and silently prayed Julia would stay down. The killer next to her was getting weak, his aim not as good. Julia would stand a better chance to stay down, not run like her brother that day. A shaky breath escaped her lips.
Laquita had never been next to a man this violent. A man more violent than her own daddy. This killer's face was scary. He had a scar above his right eyebrow. Maybe he grew up in a bad neighborhood like she did. That’s what made him like he was, a killer. Or maybe he was just born that way.
Laquita turned and a flash of fear flew across her face. Julia was getting up to run. She swung her attention toward the killer. He was taking aim at Julia.
It was her fault Lance got killed. She couldn’t let this happen again.
She tightened her fist, cocked her arm and rammed her elbow into the killer’s wound. He yelled—a mixture of pain and anger then dropped his hand holding his weapon. He swung his attention to Laquita. The killer raised his arm and pointed the gun.