Chapter 22 #4
The gun dropped loose, and he was grappling with Roy, the two of them rolling across tile.
Paul shoved Roy back and flipped over, trying to scramble for the dropped gun.
Roy landed on him, jamming targeted punches into his sides and kidneys.
Paul became a wild-eyed demon, raging, shouting.
He bucked and loosened Roy’s grip, throwing himself forward, pushing himself onto his hands and knees to grab at the gun.
Which was no longer there.
DJ fired, the bullet punching into Paul’s head. He wanted to keep firing, but the bullet got the job done too damn fast. Paul fell backward, staring at him as he dropped. He kept staring at DJ as life left his eyes.
If his subconscious wanted to bring him nightmares about it, DJ would have a ready response. “Stare all you want. You’re still dead, motherfucker.”
DJ swayed. He really wasn’t in any shape to be firing a gun, so he put it gingerly on the ground, then stumbled toward the person he most wanted to touch. Needed to touch.
Roy had managed to get to one knee, his head down.
DJ crawled over and surrounded him as best he could, arms around his shoulders and body, holding him close.
He forgot about his hand and cursed when he tried to clutch Roy with it, but the other hand worked fine.
It allowed him to feel the bulletproof vest Roy had on beneath his coat and shirt. Thank God. Thank you, thank you.
Roy’s hand came up, gripped DJ’s biceps. He spoke on the radio, his voice strained.
“G…Warren. Need your help down here. Equipment hall F, 1st lower level. Bring EMTs. And the local cops.”
He tipped up DJ’s chin. “Your pupils are big as the moon. And you’re talking funny.”
“Para…lytic. So couldn’t yell for…help. Don’t know…what he used, but feel like I’ve been on a carousel too long. Sick and dizzy. You okay…bullets all hit vest.”
“I think so. Hurts like a son of a bitch, though. Not passing out took some effort, but I’ve had Warren shoot me a few times to practice that.”
“Bullshit.”
At DJ’s dubious look, Roy admitted the truth. “It happened to me in the military, once or twice. Knowing you’ll likely end up dead if you pass out is a good incentive to keep you conscious.” His gaze slid toward Paul. DJ didn’t follow his look. He never wanted to see Paul again.
“Hell of a shot for a drugged out rockstar.”
“I was…five feet…away.”
“Still glad I wasn’t behind him.” Roy put his head next to DJ’s, the two of them holding onto one another. “You know I’m going to kick your ass for about ten things you did that you weren’t supposed to do. It’ll wait. Your hand… Ah, Jesus, Dory.”
“It’s all right.” Roy cradling it still hurt, but that was okay. DJ coughed. If he worked at it, and stayed at a sore-throat whisper, he could form complete sentences. “How about I kick your ass first, for stepping into view.”
“All part of my plan.”
“If he didn’t shoot you in the head like I just did him.”
“It was a calculated risk.” Roy adjusted DJ so his back was against the wall. He pressed DJ’s abdomen and a cry of pain escaped DJ’s lips, along with some wheezing. “G…Warren, step it the fuck up.”
“We’re almost there, boss.”
“I’m all right.” DJ eyed Roy. “Good thing I didn’t die. Think of what it would do to your reputation.”
“Beat to hell and still being a wiseass.” Roy touched DJ’s face, and DJ realized tears were on his cheeks. “We’re okay, kid. It’s all right.”
The squeaky sound of a bunch of shoes moving swiftly in their direction told them the EMTs had arrived, along with Warren, G and the cops. The EMTs turned the corner with a gurney carrying a black bag of supplies. Roy pointed to the gun, drawing police attention to it so it could be secured.
“Check him first,” DJ told the EMTs. “He was shot.”
“I was wearing a vest,” Roy told them curtly. “He was doped with something, and he has broken fingers and a possible abdominal injury.”
“If I had a better bodyguard, I wouldn’t be in this kind of shape,” DJ noted.
Despite the startled looks from the EMTs, Roy laughed. A tense-faced G and relieved-looking Warren gave him a hand up to clear the area around DJ for the EMTs.
Too much was starting to crowd in on DJ. The edges of his vision were getting fuzzy. When G looked toward him, his weak gesture brought her closer. “Take care of him,” he whispered.
“I will, DJ.” She gripped his shoulder. Then she and Warren helped Roy move down the hall. DJ saw another EMT closing in on Roy to get the vest off and make sure there was no other damage, so that was good.
Roy’s attention stayed on DJ the same way, following everything the EMTs were doing. They verified he didn’t need a C-collar and could be moved. He was put on the gurney, and his hand was stabilized with tape and a brace.
Moss had arrived. His wide eyes landed on Paul’s body before they snapped to DJ. DJ gave him a weak thumbs up with his good hand.
But when they rolled the gurney past everyone, suddenly DJ couldn’t see Roy.
He knew he needed to go to the hospital, but irrational panic grabbed his throbbing gut, making things all kind of intolerable.
As he twisted on the gurney, ignoring the EMTs admonitions, he caught a glimpse of Roy, and Roy saw his face.
His bodyguard got up, pushing his own protesting first responder aside. They’d gotten the vest off and opened his shirt. DJ saw the bruising from the bullets, but they hadn’t penetrated his beautiful chest.
G was telling the EMT something to calm him down, to give Roy a minute with DJ. Roy came to him and clasped DJ’s hand.
“Moss is going to go with you to the hospital.” He nodded to the manager, standing behind the EMT on the other side of the gurney. “I have to handle things here, DJ. Then I’ll come.”
“Promise…” DJ struggled to hold onto consciousness. “Don’t disappear because the job is done.”
“I promise. If you behave, I’ll bring you a stuffed toy and coloring book from the hospital gift shop.”
“Don’t forget…crayons.”
“I’m bringing the book. Buy your own fucking crayons.”
DJ managed a half smile, and then they rolled him away.
There was so much pain in the kid’s face, so many other things happening, that Roy’s heart, already hammering against his chest too hard, twisted like it had been stabbed. DJ’s hand slipped away, and the gurney rolled around the corner. Just in time, because Roy’s knees buckled.
“Boss.” Warren grabbed him, helped him drop to one knee. Two EMTs started to pounce on him again and Roy recoiled, groping for his gun. Fortunately, G stepped between them.
“He’s fine,” she said. “Back off and give him room.”
When G spoke like that, few men disobeyed her. She squatted next to Roy, not touching him. Warren had also let him go. They knew when not to make him feel hemmed in.
He closed his eyes, riding it, because that was the only way past it.
It had been so damn close to the worst-case scenario.
He had raced through the lower levels, searching the maze of hallways.
He’d sent his team members on other tracks, trying to cover every possibility, knowing if they’d missed him, DJ was already gone, beyond his reach.
After that, the chances of finding him before he was harmed or killed would plummet.
He'd found out from a cop that a maintenance man had gone by with a cart of equipment. Then, another dozen hallways, and he’d heard the choking sound of someone vomiting.
Roy had extended his flexible scope around the corner to get more data, and Paul had seen the movement. He had the vision of a hunting cat.
Not anymore. But despite the victory, Roy knew it had been as much luck as skill that had helped him to locate DJ. Plus a huge helping of divine providence. Like running into the cop and asking the right question at the right moment.
“He’s okay,” Warren said. “You earned your Wheaties, boss.”
“He broke his fingers. His guitar hand.”
G placed a light hand on his bent knee as his breathing evened out. “They’ll heal. His singing and songwriting are his major talents. His music, maybe not so much, but that’s me.”
Roy’s laugh revealed how bruised his ribs were. “Fuck.”
G looked at Warren. “We need a less stressful job.”
“We’d die of boredom.”
“You’re old enough to go ahead and die anyway,” she said crisply. “You just hang around to annoy me.”
“She still has the hots for me. It pisses her off,” Warren informed Roy.
The banter helped. It kept the roaring at bay. He knew how to manage post-trauma effects, but this time, it was going to be rougher, the true downside of getting involved with one’s client. But Roy wouldn’t change it. Even if it was over.
The job was done.