“Easy,” I repeated. “Take a breath. I called you.”
“Put that gun down! Police! Do it now!” His voice was still as high-pitched as a fucking Bee Gee.
This was going nowhere. “Listen, son. I can’t take my gun off this guy. He’s the sus-“
“Don’t move!”
“Okay,” I said. “Listen, just cover me until your backup gets here, okay?”
“Put that gun down right now!”
“I can’t.”
“Do it! Police! Do it now!”
“Just cover me until you have back up.”
He finally heard me. I saw his wheels turning inside his eyes while he processed what I said.
“Just cover me until your back up gets here.” I tried to keep my voice calm. “Then I will put my gun down and move off this guy and — “
A new voice cut in. “This is not a debate. Put that fucking gun down or I will shoot you dead.”
I turned slowly to the opposite door. Another face I didn’t know. But this had resolve and a calm voice.
“I’m a police officer,” I told him.
“Says you. Now put that gun down slowly or you are dead.”
I put the gun down and slid it out of reach.
“Now get the fuck up off of him. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
I rose slowly, my hands at shoulder height.
“Vickers, keep the one on the ground covered,” he told the rookie.
Vickers nodded, nervous and excited.
We stood there for another thirty seconds, the four of us. Well, except for Rueben. He lay still, not even coughing.
Another officer arrived. Another face I didn’t know. Great. A fucking hat trick. I followed their directions and was quickly cuffed and removed from the dining area, out the door and toward the patrol car. The cool metal bit into my wrists. The cop must’ve had the air conditioner in his car cranked up.
This was too surreal. I almost said something about how tight the cuffs were, but stopped. I remembered all the suspects who bitched to me about that through the years and all the witty responses I shot back at them.
They’re not built for comfort.
Could I get you some coffee, too?
I left the fur-lined ones next to your girlfriend’s bed.
Fuck it. It wasn’t going to make a difference, anyway.
“I’m a police officer,” I told the second cop again.
“You said that.” He removed my fanny pack and started searching my waistband.
“Sergeant O’Sullivan. Badge number 105.”
“Uh-huh. Bend over at the waist.”
I bent over and he bent with me, checking my socks.
We stood back up. “I’m in Special Police Problems.”
“Well,” he said, popping the car door open, “I’d say we have a bit of a special problem here, huh?”
I quit talking. Fucking smart-ass.
“Watch your head as you get in.”
I slid into the back seat, behind the shield. The plastic that coated the seat was cold on my bare legs. I felt the tiny needles in my hands as they started to fall asleep. I stared at the dried blood and spit on the back of the shield that separated the prisoner area in the back seat and the passenger compartment. This was unbelievable.
The longest minutes of my life had been spent at Anthony’s grave-side, listening to the police chaplain mutter meaningless platitudes that were of little or no comfort to Rebecca or the kids. But after that, the ninety seconds I spent sitting in the back of that police car with cold metal biting into my wrists and my hands going numb finishes a strong second.
Pete Schmidt’s face appeared at the window. Pete was a good guy and I’d known him for years. The shocked look on his face mirrored my own emotions.
Pete opened the front door and hit the door release for the back seat.
“Jesus, Connor! What the fuck?”
I slid my feet out and Pete helped me out of the back seat.
“Hey, Pete.” I said.
Another shocked look. “Hey, Pete? What the fuck is that? What is going on?”
“You remember about three years ago when-ah, fuck it. It doesn’t matter.” I tipped my head toward the restaurant. “Motherfucker in there tried to shoot me. I took him down and held onto him. The fucking cavalry shows up and it’s all rookies, so I get slammed into these cuffs and tossed into the car.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No, I’m not. They wouldn’t listen to a word I said.”
Pete winced a little. “New guys, you know?”
I nodded. “I figured.”
I noticed Sergeant Rick Hunter near the doors to the restaurant. He was talking with the first two rookies. They were motioning in my direction and Hunter’s angry glances followed their gestures.
“Must be that they didn’t know you. Being over in SPP.”
“No shit, Pete.”
“Still, they shoulda maybe listened to you a little more…”
Hunter started walking this direction.
“Fuck,” I said involuntarily.
Pete’s head swiveled around, following my gaze.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
Hunter was a prick. He had one setting on his dial and it read “pissed.” One critical son of a bitch. I don’t know of anyone in this world who’s ever been right except for him.
“Turn around, I’ll get these cuffs off of you,” Pete told me.
I turned and tilted my handcuffed wrists to him.
“Leave those goddamn cuffs on!” Hunter boomed from fifteen yards away.
Pete froze for a second.
“What?” I couldn’t believe my ears.
“Sarge — “ Pete began.
“You heard me, Schmidt. Don’t touch those fucking cuffs.”
I lowered wrists and turned to face Hunter. This was unbelievable.
Hunter’s eyes bore into me as he closed distance. He didn’t stop until his nose was about to butt into mine. I could smell the coffee on his breath and see the white phlegm in the corners of his mouth. I noticed a small patch of stubble just below his nostril that he missed shaving.
“What is your problem, O’Sullivan?” He barked at me.
I looked back into his hard eyes. “You have got to be kidding me.”
He shook his head. “Uh-uh. I want to know where the fuck you get off.”
“Sarge — ” Pete started again.
“Shut the fuck up, Schmidt.” Hunter continued to stare at me. He was waiting for me to answer. It was going to be a long wait.
We stood there, locked in a battle of wills, in some sort of Mexican standoff, which I guess was pretty fucking appropriate for the situation. I watched Hunter’s nostrils flare as he did his best to intimidate me and I waited for him to get tired of not bitching at someone.
True to form, he couldn’t stand not hearing himself for longer than a minute. “Why didn’t you do what the officer on scene told you to do, O’Sullivan?”
“Because I had a suspect in custody that needed to be covered.”
“To my officer, you were the fucking suspect.”
“Maybe your officer should listen to the fucking dispatcher.”
Hunter cocked his head and the corners of his mouth turned up in a small, sarcastic smile. “What, you had a radio to go with your gun and handcuffs? You know what the dispatcher said?”
“I know what I told — “
“Do you know what the dispatcher said?” He repeated, raising his voice as he spoke.
I didn’t answer.
Hunter nodded his head. “I didn’t think so.” His gaze never left my face. “What my officer was told was that there was a suspect with a gun and shots had been fired. That was it. Then he shows up and you have a gun and you fucking argue with him. Now, I want to know — where do you get off?”
“Right about here,” I told him and turned my back on him.
There was a moment of stunned silence, then I felt a hard grip on my shoulders. Hunter spun me around to face him. “Don’t turn your back on me!”
“Then take these handcuffs off of me and calm the fuck down,” I told him. I struggled to keep my voice low. “Besides, I had the situation under control and your rookies were coming in too hot.”