Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
“Your partner is a wise, wise woman,” Sam said as they got out of the car to meet the two Patrol officers.
“So she likes to tell me. Frequently.”
Anthony Jenkins lived on the third floor, and as they trudged up the stairs, Sam strapped on her bulletproof vest while Freddie did the same.
Behind them, the Patrolmen would provide additional cover.
When everyone was in position outside the door to 3D with weapons drawn, Sam used a closed fist to pound on the door. “Metro PD. Open up.”
They heard scurrying sounds from inside the apartment.
Sam nodded to one of the Patrolmen, who took off down the stairs, in case their guy got a big idea about heading out the window. She pounded again. “Police. Open up.”
More scurrying, which only served to aggravate her.
“We’re going to take down this door if you don’t open up.”
Through the cheap thin door, she heard the distinctive sound of a gun engaging and acted before she thought, shoving Freddie out of the way as the door exploded in a blast of splinters.
Her ears rang, and her left shoulder burned, but she reacted quickly to return fire, aiming low so as to incapacitate rather than kill.
“Lieutenant!” the Patrol officer behind her cried. “You’re hit.”
Inside the apartment, the shooter howled with pain and outrage. Through the shattered door, Sam could see him holding his bloody knee as he screamed.
“What the hell, Sam?” Freddie asked as he helped her up. “Why’d you do that?”
“Because you’re getting married in three days, and you’re not getting shot. Not this week.”
“I hate to be the one to tell you, but it looks like you did.”
She glanced down at the hot spot radiating from her shoulder, her vision swimming at the sight of the large patch of red that greeted her. “Crap. That’s gonna show in the pictures.”
Freddie shook his head, grabbed the radio attached to her hip and called for a bus.
“I don’t need a goddamned bus.”
“Yes, you do, and so does he.” Nodding toward the apartment where the Patrolman had cuffed the suspect, Freddie placed a hand over her wound and applied pressure that made her scream.
“What the fuck? Knock it off!”
“Shut up, Sam. And if you feel like you’re going to faint, lean into me.”
“I don’t have time for this shit today.”
“Then you shouldn’t have pushed me out of the way.”
“Don’t have time for you to get shot either. Got to keep you pretty for the wedding.” She wrestled free of his tight hold. “Wanna talk to this guy while I can.”
“Sam.”
She ignored him and marched into the apartment where a man with dark hair and tan skin lay on his side on the floor, hands cuffed behind him, writhing in pain.
At one point, he might’ve been handsome, but now there was a hard, bitter edge to him.
“Quit your whining,” Sam said. “If you hadn’t shot at us, none of this would’ve happened. ”
“You shattered my knee, you fucking twat!”
“Awww, sticks and stones will break your bones, and apparently bullets will, too. Who knew? Oh wait, everyone knows that.” Was it hot in there? It seemed hot, and the ground was kind of shimmery. Sam shook off the weird feeling. “Where’s Victor Klein, Anthony?”
“I don’t know nobody named Victor.”
Sam glanced at the Patrolman, nodded to the bloody knee, and he pretended he was going to touch it.
Anthony let out a shriek. “Stop!”
Sam squatted so she’d be closer to him—and to the floor if she fell over. “Where is he?” She reached out her hand in a menacing claw aimed for his bloody knee.
“Don’t fucking touch it!”
“Then tell me where he is and don’t say you don’t know him. We know you do. If you hold out on us, we’ll add interfering with a murder investigation to the charges you’re already facing.”
Paramedics appeared in the doorway, but Sam held them back with a raised hand.
Seething with outrage, which was funny under the circumstances, Anthony said, “I don’t know where he is, and I don’t know nothing about no murder. He said he had to get outta here for a while, but he’d be back.”
“Who would know where he is?”
“How am I supposed to know?”
“I bet you’d like to have some pain meds right about now, wouldn’t you?
” Sam asked as her shoulder began to ache like a bitch.
“I can stay here all day while you bleed out on the floor.” She eased out of the crouch into a seated position and rested her injured left arm on her leg, which brought relief. “I got nothing better to do.”
Freddie glared at her from the doorway.
She began to whistle a catchy tune to entertain herself and hopefully aggravate Jenkins. To the paramedic standing in the doorway, Sam said, “How long does it take to bleed out from a leg injury?”
“If the bullet nicked the femoral,” one of them said, “not long at all. Minutes.”
“Talk to Danny Baker,” Anthony said through gritted teeth. “He’s Victor’s best friend.”
“See how easy that was?” When the paramedics would’ve advanced into the apartment, Sam held them off. “Where will we find Baker?”
“He works at a pizza place called Rolling in Dough in Southeast. I don’t know where he lives.”
She waved in the paramedics. “I can’t thank you enough for your help and cooperation.” To the Patrol officer, she said, “Stay with him and get him processed as soon as he’s medically able.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
One of the paramedics homed in on her. “You’re bleeding profusely, Lieutenant.” Before she could tell him to leave her alone, he pressed on the wound and she passed out.