“Do you want a sleeping bag and a jacket?” She could tell he was high on something, speed probably, or crystal meth, but her firm gaze telegraphed to him that she wasn't afraid and meant him no harm.
“No, baby, I don't. What else you got? You got anything I want?” The man had huge wild eyes that darted around him.
“Food, medicine, warm coats, some rain ponchos, sleeping bags, scarves, hats, socks, duffel bags, tarps, whatever you want.”
“You selling this shit?” he asked angrily, just as Bob reached them, and took in the scene.
“No, we're giving it to you,” she said calmly.
“Why?” He was hostile and speedy, and looked nervous. Bob stood very still. He could sense trouble, and didn't want to upset the delicate balance between them.
“I figured you might need it.”
“Who's the dude?” He still had Ophélie by the arm and his grip had tightened. “Is he a cop?”
“No, he isn't. We're from the Wexler Center. What can I give you?”
“A blow job, you bitch. I don't need any shit from you.”
“That's enough.” Bob stepped in quietly, as Jeff and Millie approached slowly from the other end of the alley. They knew something was happening, but they couldn't see what yet, but they could hear him. “Let her go, man,” Bob said quietly but firmly.
“What are you? Her pimp?”
“You don't need trouble, and neither do we. Give it up, man. Let her go,” he said clearly, and was sorry he no longer carried a gun. Seeing it drawn would have backed the guy off. By then, Jeff and Millie walked up, and the man holding Ophélie in his grip looked angry and yanked her suddenly toward him.
“What is this? Undercover? You guys look like cops to me.”
“We're not cops,” Jeff shouted clearly. “I used to be a Navy SEAL, and I'm gonna kick your ass if you don't knock it off and give her up.” He had pulled Ophélie halfway across the alley toward a doorway where Bob could see there were two more guys waiting for him impatiently. It was the situation they hated most, they had walked into a drug deal in progress. “We don't give a shit what you're doing. We've got medicine and food and clothes for people here. You don't want them, fine, but we got work to do. Go on about your business. It's no skin off my ass.” All they could do was talk tough when things got tough, they had nothing to back it up. And the drug dealer who was hanging on to Ophélie looked like he didn't believe them.
“What's she? She looks like a cop too.” He pointed at Millie, and Ophélie kept silent. Millie always looked like a policewoman to her too.
“Used to be. She got kicked off the force for prostitution,” Jeff said valiantly, but the guy didn't buy it.
“You're bullshitting. She stinks of cop to me, and so does this one,” and with that he let go of Ophélie's arm, and shoved her backward toward them, and sent her reeling. She nearly fell, and hadn't expected it, and as she caught her balance and stood up, they all heard gunshots. They had never even seen him pull the gun. And within a split second, he seemed to do a twirl and a jump in space, leaped like a ballet dancer, and started to run.
Jeff started to run after him, and Bob shouted after him as the two men in the doorway vanished into thin air. They disappeared and a door closed. Everything happened so fast, and the whole focus was on Jeff and the man he was chasing, as Millie ran faster and shouted at Jeff too. They weren't armed, there was no point chasing him down. If they got him, there was nothing they could do except risk being shot while they wrestled him to the ground. They weren't cops, and what Bob wanted to do was get the hell out. He turned to tell Ophélie to run to the van, and as he did, he saw she had dropped where she stood, and there was blood everywhere. The man with the gun had shot her.
“Fuck, Opie… what did you do?” he said, as he got down on his knees and tried to pick her up. He wanted to get her out of there, hoping it was a surface wound, but he saw instantly that she was too badly injured to move, and they were sitting ducks with her lying where they were. There were drug deals going down. The alley had been a bad move.
Bob shouted as loud as he could, and Millie heard him first. He signaled to her, and she called out to Jeff. They had seen Ophélie on the ground in Bob's arms by then, and came back at a dead run. Jeff had his cell phone in his hand, and was already calling 911. They were back with Bob and Ophélie within seconds. Bob looked like he was in shock, and she was unconscious, but he had found a pulse, and she was still breathing, but barely.
“Shit,” Jeff said, as he got on his knees next to her and Millie ran to the mouth of the alley to wave the paramedics in when they got there. “Is she gonna make it?”
“Doesn't look good,” Bob said through clenched teeth. He was pissed at Jeff. The alley had been a bad decision. It was the first dumb one they'd made in a long time. And he was even more pissed at himself for letting her do it, and not following her more closely. But without guns, there was almost nothing they could do to protect each other in situations like this. They had talked about bulletproof vests at one point, but decided they didn't need them. And until then they hadn't. “She's a widow with a kid,” Bob said to Jeff as they watched her.
“I know, man…I know… where the fuck are they?”
“Coming, I hear them,” Bob said, watching her, and keeping his fingers on the pulse in her neck. It was getting weaker, and it had only been minutes, but it felt like lifetimes. But they could hear the sirens coming, and a second later, Jeff saw Millie waving, as the paramedics came running.
They loaded her onto the gurney quickly, as one of them ran a line into her arm while they were still moving. “How many shots were there?” one of them asked Jeff as he ran beside them. Bob ran to get into his van, so he could follow the ambulance to General. They had the best trauma unit in town. And he could hear himself praying as he started the van and turned it around.
“Three shots,” Jeff told them, as they put the gurney in the ambulance as fast as possible, and both paramedics jumped in. They took off as one of them closed the door. And Jeff ran back to his van. Millie was already behind the wheel. Both vans followed the ambulance at full speed. It was the first incident like it that had happened to them, but it was no consolation now.
“Think she'll make it?” Millie asked, weaving in and out of traffic, her eyes on the road, and her foot lead on the gas.
Jeff took a breath and shook his head. He hated to say it but he didn't, and neither did she. “No, I don't,” he said honestly. “She took three bullets at close range. Unless the guy was firing a peashooter, she's dead. No one can survive that. Not a woman at least.”
“I did,” she said grimly. It had blown her off the force and put her on disability, and it took a hell of a long time, but she'd lived. Her male partner who was shot at the same time, hadn't. Sometimes it was just the luck of the draw in situations like this.
They were at the hospital in seven minutes, and all three of them got out of the two vans, and followed the gurney inside. They had cut off her clothes by then, and she was lying half naked, exposed, and with so much blood on her you couldn't see what was happening. And within seconds, she disappeared into the trauma unit, unconscious, with an oxygen mask on her face. Her three co-workers sat silently, not knowing who to call, or if they should. It seemed sinful to call a kid, and they figured there was a baby-sitter. At least someone had to know.