The dispatcher was very calm and collected, but then my next statement had her practically screeching to another in the room with her the moment the words left my lips.
“My boyfriend is a cop for KPD.”
Yes, that word, cop, got one hell of a response.
What started out as urgent turned to frantic as the dispatcher called in backup.
Cops didn’t like it when one of their own was being hurt, and neither did dispatchers.
“We have units only minutes away. Can you tell me what’s going on?” The dispatcher asked worriedly.
Just about the time she finished her sentence, I heard a vicious growl from my side and turned in time to see a dog launch itself at my face.
When the dog was just millimeters from tearing my face to shreds, Mocha slammed into the dog like a battering ram, bringing the dog down in a tumble of limbs and snarls.
The fight was over quickly for the other dog’s part, though. Mocha’s superior size and experience in bringing down lethal suspects only strengthened her ability to take the much smaller dog down.
Plus, she had the dog in a vulnerable position, enabling her to get the smaller dog by the throat, where she promptly clamped down and refused to let go.
The dog’s struggles slowed, and finally stopped all together, becoming nothing more than a twitch. Then nothing, after that as the dog’s life drained away.
When a shout of surprise sounded from my opposite side, I turned in time to see Downy throat punch the knife-man. The knife man went down hard, clutching his throat, as his oxygen, too, was depleted.
Like owner like dog…
“Holy shit,” I croaked. “That was insane.”
Downy snarled out a laugh and got down on his knees where he promptly checked for a pulse.
He shook his head and stood. “His windpipe is crushed. If the ambulance doesn’t get here quickly, he’s a dead man.”
His eyes lighted on the dead dog.
Mocha still had her jaw clamped down on the dead dog, but I couldn’t really muster up the desire to care.
When she started eating the other dog, then I’d care…but until then, fuck that dog. I liked my face right where it was, thank you very much.
“He had his dog attack us…you…me…” I couldn’t figure out how to make my brain work.
He nodded and went back to the man that was not a pretty color of blue, who was looking around frantically at him.
“Sorry, buddy. I don’t have anything to help you. Police and fire are already on their way. Hopefully you live long enough for them to make it,” Downy said callously.
I just shook my head. “Jesus.”
Then the sirens started to pour into the parking lot.
Soon the entire back half of the lot was filled to the brim with people, and the lucky guy that he was, the medics swooped in just as he took his last breath.
“Crushed windpipe!” Downy yelled.
The man that looked to be the lead paramedic waved his hand in acknowledgement, then proceeded to throw what looked to be iodine on the man’s throat, then cut into his neck with a scalpel.
“Holy shit!” I exclaimed.
Downy’s chest filled my vision, and I looked up into his wary eyes. “Yes?”
He looked at a spot on my face, then lifted his hand to lightly prod it with his huge, blunt fingertips.
I winced and shrank back slightly. “Ouch.”
He grimaced. “You’re going to have one hell of a shiner. And I’m fairly sure you have gravel embedded in your hands.”
I winced and held up my hands, palm up, for him to see.
“Yep,” I agreed instantly. “I sure do!”
He snorted at my nonchalant act and took me by the wrist, called Mocha with a word that sounded suspiciously like gibberish, and started to walk to an alternate ambulance that’d just arrived on scene.
A tall man with pitch-black hair and what looked to be Native American features, smiled at Downy. “Hey man. You look like shit.”
I catalogued Downy’s injuries now that I’d been made aware of them.
Bleeding something under his gray, skintight shirt. Slash mark on one arm. Then on the other hand was what looked like a stab wound.
“You’ve been stabbed!” I screeched.
He gave me a look that clearly said, ‘you’re getting taken care of first,’ then shoved me, albeit lightly, towards the man.
“Tai, please take a look at her hands while I check Mocha out for injuries and talk to the officer in charge,” Downy requested.
Tai, the cute Native American, nodded and led me to the open doors at the back of the truck.
Tai was dressed in the department issued blue tactical pants with the bright white strip that reflected light down the side of the pants, and a t-shirt that denoted him as a ‘Kilgore Firefighter.’
“Fatbaby, my man, we have a beautiful woman to work over!” Tai yelled as he helped me up into the back of the ambulance.
I snorted in amusement at not just the man’s name, Fatbaby, but at the innuendo Tai had used.
Fatbaby was dressed in much the same as Tai, except he had on a jacket with sunglasses perched on top of his head. He had sandy brown hair, and the cutest smile I’d ever seen.
“Fatbaby?” I managed to ask as I took a seat on the bench next to him.
He grimaced. “Nickname that I’ll never live down. Ever.”
He reached forward and grabbed my hands, taking a closer look at them.
Although it was nice to have two very attractive men looking at me, my heart was still outside of the ambulance.
“Was that stab wound bad?” I asked Tai worriedly.
He looked up from his perch on the stretcher in front of me, giving me his deep green eyes and said, “He would’ve told us if it was bad.”
I nodded, trusting his expert opinion. Although that didn’t mean I wasn’t worried. I sure as hell was. The man I was in love with had just gotten stabbed, and my face had nearly been eaten. Again!
An hour later, I finally went to Downy’s truck and laid down.
My hands were on fire, and Downy was still talking to the chief, as well as a few other cops that I’d seen a time or two, but couldn’t quite place.