“Hey! Assholes!” I heard somebody shout from above us. A volley of gunshots followed. Flashes of blinding light in the darkness.
Then Ned grunted and went down hard on the stairway.
I couldn’t tell where he was hit at first; then I saw a wound near his collarbone. I didn’t know if he’d been shot or struck with flying debris. There was a lot of blood spilling from the wound though.
I stayed right there with him, called for help on the radio. I heard more blasts, shouts, male and female screams coming from above us. Chaos.
Ned’s hands were shaking, and I hadn’t seen him show fear of anything before. The firefight raging in the building only added to the terror and confusion. Ned’s face had lost its color; he didn’t look good.
“They’re coming for you,” I told him. “Stay with me, Ned. You hear me?”
“Stupid,” he finally said, groaning. “Walked right into it.”
“You feeling it yet?”
“Could be worse. Could be better too. By the way,” he said, “you’re hit too.”
Chapter 29
“I’LL LIVE,” I told Ned as I huddled over him on the stairwell.
“Yeah, me too. Probably, anyway.”
A couple of minutes later, the paramedics were with us in the cramped space. By the time they got Ned out of there, the gunfight seemed to be over. Just like he always said—five minutes of panic and thrills.
Reports sta
rted to come in. Captain Tim Moran gave the latest to me himself. The assault on the heroin factory seemed to have had mixed results. Most of us felt we shouldn’t have gone in so soon—but it wasn’t our decision. Two metro officers and two from HRT were wounded on our side. Ned was headed into surgery.
There were six casualties among those inside the building, including two men from SWAT. A seventeen-year-old mother of two was one of the dead. For some reason she’d stayed inside when the lab workers came out. The girl’s husband had died too. He was sixteen.
I finally got home at a little past six in the morning. I was dragging, wasted, bone tired, and something about coming in so late, or early, seemed surreal.
It only got worse. Nana was up waiting in the kitchen.
Chapter 30
SHE WAS SITTING OVER toast and a cup of tea, looking infirm, but I knew better.
The hot beverage was steaming, and so was she. She hadn’t gotten the kids up yet. Her small TV was tuned to the local news reports on last night’s police action at Kentucky and Fifteenth. It felt unreal to see the footage right here in our kitchen.
Nana’s eyes fixed on the scrape on the side of my forehead—the bandage there.
“It’s a scratch,” I said. “Not a big deal. It’s all good. I’m fine.”
“Don’t give me that ridiculous nonsense answer, Alex. Don’t you dare condescend to me like I’m somebody’s fool. I’m looking at the line of trajectory taken by a bullet that came an inch from splattering your brains and leaving your three poor children orphans. No mother, no father. Am I wrong about that? No, of course not!
“I am so sick of this though, Alex. I have been living with this sort of terrible dread every single day for over ten years. This time I’ve had it. Up to here. I’ve truly had enough. I’m done with it. I’m through! I quit! Yes, you heard me correctly. I quit you and the children! I quit!”
I put up both my hands in defense. “Nana, I was out with the kids when I got an emergency call. I had no idea the call was coming. How could I? There was nothing I could do to stop what happened.”
“You accepted the call, Alex. Then you accepted the assignment. You always do. You call it dedication, duty. I call it total insanity, madness.”
“I. Didn’t. Have. An. Option.”
“You do have an option, Alex. That’s my whole point. You could have said no, that you were out with your kids. What do you think they would do, Alex—fire you for having a life? For being a father? And if by some accident of good fortune they did fire you, then so be it.”
“I don’t know what they could do, Nana. Eventually I suppose they would fire me.”