Denouement (23 page)

Ray tried firing the motor, but the car did nothing. He looked over his shoulder. A tree was embedded into the rear of the car. Branches filled everything up to his seat back.

Ray opened the driver’s door. He reached over and yanked the bag of weapons onto the driver’s seat as he stepped out. He took an AK-47 from within the bag, brought the rifle up against his shoulder and took a shooting position over the Porsche’s roof.

Kane was moving inside the Cadillac.

“Your time is up, asshole!” Ray shouted.

Ray took aim at Kane’s passenger window opening and squeezed the trigger, firing repeatedly. Kane disappeared from view. Ray saw the driver’s door open. He lowered his line of fire and began putting rounds into the passenger door. Then Kane’s hand came over the hood with a pistol and returned fire. Bullets splintered branches in the tree line next to Ray. The three shots Kane fired didn’t come remotely close. Ray put the remaining bullets in the magazine through the front hood area. He saw no signs of Kane.

Ray pulled the trigger again with a click. He dropped the rifle to the ground then ducked, reached back into the duffel bag, and pulled a pistol from within. He tucked it into his back waistline and removed another. His eyes came back up.

“Shit!”

Ray fumbled to get the pistol up and fire on an advancing Kane. He wasn’t fast enough.

Ray heard the first shot and felt the impact of the round. Stumbling back from the car, he swiped his hand across where the bullet had gone through his shirt. Ray looked up and saw the lieutenant still advancing and firing. Ray felt three more shots hit him in the chest. He dropped to one knee. Trying to get a breath, he coughed, expelling blood. Ray balanced himself with the pistol in his right hand and looked up at Kane. Kane squeezed the trigger again, and the lieutenant’s gun clicked.

I took my gun in my hand and stayed as low as I could. I pulled in a deep breath and swiped my hand across my lower back. No wound and no blood—the vest had caught the bullet that came through the car at me. The gunfire continued, punching through the passenger side of the car and coming through the driver’s side a foot over my head. I needed better cover. I crawled toward the front of the car, buried in the trees. The space behind the car’s motor, wheels, and suspension was my best chance for cover. I knelt behind the driver’s-side front wheel, reached up and fired three shots over the hood in Ray’s direction, hoping he would unload his rifle into the area where I was protected. As soon as he had to reload, I could get a shot. I stayed crouched behind the front wheel as Ray continued to fire. Bullets ricocheted off the hood and entered the trees. Branches, twigs, and leaves fell. I could feel the bullets that entered the other side of the car making impact.

The gunfire stopped.

I stayed low and quickly went to the rear of the car. I glanced around the rear bumper. Ray was back in the car getting something—another magazine for his gun was my best guess. I stepped from the back of the car, brought my service weapon up, and took dead aim on Ray. His eyes were down. I advanced, applying pressure to the trigger. The moment he looked up, I fired. The bullet entered high on his chest. He took a few steps backward, giving me a better target. He wiped at where the bullet hit him and looked at his hand. His eyes came back on me. I squeezed the trigger three more times in succession, putting three more bullets in him, center mass. I kept advancing. Ray dropped to a knee, and his body swayed. He had blood coming from his mouth. Ray reached out with the pistol in his hand and buried the barrel in the ground to steady himself. At ten feet away, I pulled the trigger again. The gun clicked, empty.

I was within striking distance, so I pulled my right foot up and delivered a front kick to his chest. He fell back, the gun flying a few feet from his hand. He coughed, and blood sprayed into the air.

I took two steps back and dropped the magazine from my gun. I slipped it into my pocket and reached into my sports coat, my eyes never coming off Ray. He was flat on his back, looking up at the sky. I could see where I’d shot him under the chin, months past.

He began to laugh.

“Is something funny?” I asked.

“You can’t kill me, pig.” Ray turned onto his side. He spat a mouthful of blood across the grass.

I pulled back the Velcro cover over the pocket on my shoulder holster that held my extra gun magazines.

Ray’s right arm went to his back. It took a fraction of a second for the fact to register that he was going for another gun.

I knew I wouldn’t get my magazine out and into my weapon before he could draw, so I immediately turned and tried to get back to the cover of my car. I juked left and took two lunging steps while yanking the gun magazine from its pocket. I heard two shots, both hitting me square in the back. I tried getting the magazine into the gun. I heard another shot and dropped. The gun and magazine flew from my hand and landed a few feet from the back of my car. I reached for my right leg. I’d taken a bullet just above the knee.

I pulled myself across the grass toward my weapon.

I heard two more shots, but neither hit me. I looked back at Ray. He was pulling himself to his feet.

I planted my left foot in the grass and launched myself forward. I hit the ground with a thud, my gun and the magazine just inside my reach. I jammed the magazine in, pulled the slide, and flipped over. I brought the gun up.

I heard four shots before I could fire. I felt pain in my chest from the impact and something else. Something was wrong. A sharp, searing pain came from under my neck. I looked down—I saw blood.

I looked back up and tried to bring my gun up to fire, but Ray was flying through the air at me. He’d launched himself at me in a diving tackle. His shoulder met my chest, and my gun flew from my hand. His arms wrapped around me, and he lifted me and slammed me back down. My head cracked off the ground, and I saw bright colors in my eyelids.

I opened my eyes to see one of Ray’s giant fists coming toward my face. I tried to move my head to the side and limit the blow. His fist glanced off of my right ear. His left hand covered my face and my vision. I felt his hand tense up. He squeezed, lifted my head, and slammed it into the ground. He let go as he crouched over me. Ray sent a short jab into my left eye and sprawled down on top of me. He took a top mount position, and his weight made it almost impossible to breathe. I tried to get free, to fight, to just shift his weight so I could get a breath. Ray jammed his fist into my sternum and pressed down. He dug his fingers into my collarbone and pulled. I screamed and looked down at his hand. I saw blood everywhere, too much blood.

Ray took his hand, covered in my blood, and wiped it across his face. “Looks like your little vest didn’t catch that one, did it?” he asked.

I tried to use every bit of strength I had to buck him off of me. As soon as I started to move, Ray dug his fingers in and pulled on my collarbone again.

I screamed in pain and fought to get him off of me, swinging wildly with my fists and connecting with seven or eight punches into Ray’s sides and chest.

He laughed at my attempts.

I was starting to feel weak from the blood loss. I tried clawing my fingertips down his chest to catch the bullet wounds from where I’d shot him, but Ray swiped my hands away. He dropped one elbow down into the side of my face, then another. The back of my head sank into the ground from the impact of his strikes. My vision went black with each blow, but I could hear him laughing.

Ray stopped. I opened my eyes and stared at the sky. I couldn’t focus. I looked at a blurred Ray. I saw him swing his arm as I closed my eyes. My head turned to the right and then the left.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Pig! Wake up. I want you to see this.” He slapped the side of my face again.

I managed to crack open my left eye for barely a second. I saw the barrel of a gun inches from my face. I closed my eyes. My thoughts went to Callie and the baby as I faded out.

I heard sirens. I opened my eyes and saw a pair of people wearing light blue. I heard a constant thumping sound. I felt wind.

A sterile smell filled my nose. I cracked my right eye open and then the left. My eyes felt crossed as I stared up at a blurry ceiling. The room was dim. A constant beeping filled my ears, and beyond the beeping, I heard a voice—it sounded like Hank. I could feel a pillow against the back of my head. Something was attached to my right hand. The room went black.

My eyes snapped open. The ceiling I was staring at was lit. I brought my line of sight down to a large window with a set of closed blinds. In the top-right corner of the room was a television mounted high on the wall. The constant beeping sound still remained. I looked left and realized I was in a hospital room. I rolled my head a bit to the right and saw the legs of someone seated in a chair. The legs looked familiar and female. I moved my head more and saw a pair of hands holding a book. I saw the engagement ring I’d purchased.

“Hey, Cal,” I said. My voice was low and hoarse.

The book left her lap and hit the floor as she pushed herself from the chair. Callie rushed to my side. She took my head in her arms and pressed her forehead to mine. She said nothing. A moment later, she began to cry.

“What happened?” I asked.

She didn’t respond, but I felt her tears drip onto the side of my face. I tried to lift my left arm to put around her, but I couldn’t as it was strapped to my midsection. I reached my right hand up and held her arm.

Callie brought her mouth near my ear. “I love you,” she said. “I love you so much, Carl.” She kissed the side of my face.

“What happened?” I asked again.

“Just don’t talk,” she said.

I obeyed.

She remained in the same position, holding my head, rubbing the side of my face, and crying for at least another fifteen minutes.

Callie sniffed, pulled her head back and stared at me. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

I’d never before seen that look on her face. Her eyes were red from crying, but something else was in them. I couldn’t tell if it was worry or anger. Her bottom lip trembled.

I could only think of one response. “I won’t,” I said.

She sniffed again and wiped her eyes. She held her thumb and index finger a quarter inch apart. “This close to you not being here for our child.”

I was silent looking for the right words to ease her pain—I came up empty. I rubbed the side of her face and thumbed away a tear from her eye. “I’m sorry. How bad of shape am I in?”

She shook her head. “Let me go get Doctor Alstot. I saw him in the hall a few minutes ago. He wanted to know the moment you woke up.”

“Am I going to be okay?” I asked.

Callie kissed me. “You’ll be fine in a few months. And as soon as you are, I’m kicking your ass for scaring me half to death. Let me get the doctor.” Callie walked for the door.

“Hey,” I said.

She stopped with her hand on the door’s handle and looked back.

“Come back,” I said.

Callie walked back to me. She kissed my forehead, which I couldn’t feel. I reached my hand up and felt that gauze was wrapping my head.

“Did I get shot in the head?” I asked.

Callie let out a long breath. “No. You didn’t get shot in the head, thank God. You just have a lot of stitches up there.”

“Sit. Right here,” I said.

She took a seat on the edge of the bed. I wrapped my right arm around her stomach.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I damn well was trying to catch him, but I wasn’t trying to do it alone or be reckless. I know I have to be here for you two. However it went down, wasn’t supposed to be that way.”

“That’s just it, Carl. You can’t predict how things are going to go. If it wasn’t for Hank, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Hank?”

“He was there. You don’t remember?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“I’ll let him tell you,” Callie said. “I don’t want to think about it.”

She looked down at me. The look in her eyes remained.

“I’ll quit this second if you want me to,” I said.

Callie shook her head. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“I’m serious.” I rubbed her face. “I never want to see this pain in your eyes again. I’ll never do anything again to jeopardize our family.”

Callie let out another long breath, nodded, and showed a hint of a smile. “Speaking of family, yours is here, and I should probably tell them you’re awake,” she said.

“My family is here?” I asked.

“Carl, everyone is here. Your Dad, Sandy, your sister, Jeff, Tommy, Hank, your captain, half the Tampa police force.” She leaned down and kissed the side of my face. “Let me get the doctor. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” I said.

Callie rose from the edge of the bed and walked from the room.

I tried to look myself over to survey the damage. I looked down. My left arm was strapped across my chest. I wiggled my fingers—all worked. I flexed my bicep, but the moment I did, a sharp pain shot through my collarbone area.

“Probably why that’s wrapped up,” I said.

I looked further down. My right leg was bandaged but still there. I didn’t see anything else. I reached up for my face and ran my hand across it. I felt a line of stitches under my left eye, maybe ten total. I didn’t know how bad the damage to my forehead was. My nose felt stuffed. I touched it, and the pain made my eyes water.

The room door opened. A middle-aged man wearing a lab coat and carrying a clipboard walked in. He closed the door at his back.

“Lieutenant Carl Kane. Welcome back to the world. How are we feeling?”

“Probably about how you would guess,” I said.

“Did you want the long, drawn-out technical details or the quick version?”

“Quick,” I said.

“Okay. Quick it is. Two gunshot wounds. One above your collarbone area and one above the knee. It appears by your bruising that you were wearing a vest that stopped quite a few others.”

“Yeah, I had on a vest.”

“Without a doubt, it saved your life. You’re going to be sore for a while from the bruising, though. The wound up here”—he tapped his collarbone—“broke your clavicle and exited through your trapezius. An inch one way or the other, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. Your arm being restricted is to limit the movement to the area. The wound above your knee was a pretty standard through and through.”