Ebb Tide Ch. 02

On this trip, I had decent cover fire. I was in the driver's seat in a flash. The other policeman's shoulder and head were still exposed so I pulled him to me as gently as I dared. It was hopeless. He'd taken bullets to his temple, bridge of his nose (deforming it) and the fatal wound -- a bullet had caught him under the right underarm and traversed his body. He had a bright, shiny wedding ring. I doubted it was even 2 years old. Officer A. (Ang) Ling was leaving a widow behind.

The brain is surprising resilient. He might have recovered from the head shot with some of his faculties intact. The nose required reconstructive surgery to correct. The third wound had perforated both lungs and his heart. The hydrostatic shock would have immediately rendered him unconscious and he'd bled out in seconds. I slipped out of the seat, looked back to the senior officer. I signaled I was about to make my exit.

'Him' being dead didn't mean I'd leave him there. I put a vest over his head and chest to disguise his face and the scope of his injuries. Cradling him in my arms, I waited until the senior officer gave me a nod then ran back to the relative safely of the 'V'. It was a common courtesy to let the man's fellow officers make the notification to Officer Ling's widow and to not let her find out about it over the 'Breaking News'.

"Officer Ling didn't make it," I softly informed the senior officer, L. Kelly. The man was close to tears. I didn't like cops. I understood inter-service solidarity though. I motioned the waiting ambulance team. I gave them the bad news then 'suggested' they play along with him still being alive. It took them a few seconds to understand my intent. They complied.

Officer Kelly went to an alternate frequency to let his Lt. in on the bad news.

"The lieutenant has ordered you to stop this," he looked at me. He was relaying an order that neither he, nor his superior, expected me to obey. I didn't care.

"Tell him I overpowered you," I gave my own sad smile. A little empathy could go a long way.

"Be careful," he said. Two more police ballistic vests appeared by my side.

"Lorenzo, do you think you can get to the Cadillac safely?" I caught his gaze.

"Safely? No. I'll try anyway," he gulped.

"Let me go first. I'm running for the cruiser. I'll get my stuff then make for the pregnant woman. When I do that, make for the Hispanics," I directed him.

Lorenzo was freaking scared, but he'd do his best. That was the most I could ask for. The senior officer gave me a curt nod. Off I went. The people in the house were more alert this time. I felt a 7.62 mm zip passed my ear before I made it back to the abandoned police car. A few deep breaths later, kneeling by the tail end of the vehicle, I gave a hand signal that I was ready.

I gave the house a little something extra to think about: three .45 caliber reasons to keep their heads down, before I made my next mad dash. The gentle slope of the ground was the only shelter that pregnant woman had. Three more inches and the people in the house would have a clear shot at her. I was a much bigger target. I'd worry about that later.

As I dove beside her, the girl's eyes flew open. She'd been faking unconsciousness, hoping the guys in the house would leave her alone.

"Hi, I'm Vance," I smiled. "They can't hit us here. We are in a depression that shelters us." She didn't get it. I repeated my words in Spanish. Then she started babbling and crying.

[Spanish] "Calm down," I cooed. "I'm going to put a vest above you as a shield, just in case. Now, can you tell me where it hurts?"

[Spanish] "My back and thigh," she grunted. She was wearing faded jeans and a yellow, floral print maternity shirt. The left thigh wound was a crease. Enough blood to look scary, but already clotting.

[Spanish] "Care to enlighten me why we are all here today?" I mused. I rolled her slightly toward me so I could get a look at her back without getting my head blown off.

[Spanish] "I don't know," she whispered. An obvious lie.

[Spanish] "Me neither," I joked. "I was looking for 'Circus Circus', but all these street signs are in American, so I ended up here instead."

[Spanish] "Oh," she said after a second. She relaxed minutely. "You are joking. You are an American."

[Spanish] "Don't tell my girlfriend's mother that. She thinks I'm from Argentina. She doesn't want her daughter marrying a gringo," I finished my cursory exam.

[Spanish] "Ah...really?"

[Spanish] "Ha," I snorted. "Nope; no girlfriend. I'm single, though I met a girl a few days ago who might want the distinction." She took a calming breathe. "Your back wound isn't going to be fatal, or even crippling. I know it hurts."

[Spanish] "You are a doctor?" she asked.

[Spanish] "I'm a paramedic -- I treat people before they see the doctor. Trust me, I've done things like this before. I was in the military doing this exact same job." That helped even more. "You have a broken Scapula -- that's the bone plate behind and below your shoulder.

[Spanish] "That bone did its job. It deflected the bullet so it didn't go inside. Give it two months and you should be fine. You'll need to get used to doing things with your left hand for a while. Do you understand?" I laid out her medical situation. She nodded. She didn't understand most of what I'd said. Dying was her major concern.

[Spanish] "I'm going to apply some anesthetic and bandages," I moved right along. "Do you want to call anyone to let them know you are okay?"

[Spanish] "I don't have a phone," she groaned. I gave her mine.

[Spanish] "You are not with the police?" she worried. That wasn't good.

[Spanish] "No, I am not. Do you understand that the police can lie to you about that? They only have to reveal their identity when they are interrogating, or arresting you," I explained.

[Spanish] "Can I call my boyfriend?" she requested.

[Spanish] "Go right ahead." I went to work. First I cleaned her thigh wound before applying a pressure bandage.

She gasped then ground her teeth. She stopped that when the man, Ramone Garza, answered her call. Rapid-fire Spanish went back and forth. She was terrified. She wasn't sure who kidnapped her, or where she was. She didn't know me and 'Raul' had been killed when she was grabbed. Her physical distress as I worked on her back drew her phone-companion's attention.

[Spanish] "There is a man working on my back....okay." She tried to hand me the phone. My hands were busy, so I leaned into the phone.

"Do you speak English?"

"Yes. If anything..." he threatened.

"Shut up!" I snapped. "You aren't important right now. Your girlfriend and unborn child are. Get over yourself. I'll talk to you when I'm done." I got back to my business. The girl looked fearful and shocked by my attitude. More rapid fire Spanish followed. She couldn't see my name tag because of my body armor so she settled for describing me.

A Playboy Blood decided that killing me and the girl became a priority. He slipped out a side window the police couldn't cover well and tried to creep up on us.

[Spanish] "Cover your ears," I hissed. It took her a second to comply which was a standard civilian reaction.

The moment she did, my .45 came out and I put two slugs into his heart. I was not from the 'shoot to wound' school. Before his body had finished flipping onto his back, I'd holstered my piece and gotten back to work. The frantic Spanish picked up again. Corazon, the girl, told Ramone, her bf, that I'd shot at something, but she couldn't see what it was because there was this thick black thing she was using as a shield.

[Spanish] "Ballistic vest," I informed her. She relayed that. The boyfriend decided to calm his lady down while I finished up. I rolled over and motioned for the phone.

"Here is her status," I told Ramone.

"If..."

"Don't be stupid. I have other people to tend to. Your lady is fine. Two non fatal wounds. I've dressed them. I can't get her to the ambulance right now because there are some other assholes trying to shoot her ... us. She'll be fine as long as she stays still. Quickly tell her good-bye. I need my phone back," I finished up. Ramone did as directed. I had my phone back and I was crawling over to the closest assailant.

As I suspected when I first saw him, he was dead. I closes his eyes. I had to take my case over to the third person. More crawling. He'd been shot once; one shot, between the third and fourth rib -- right of the spine. He was in a bad way. It was a through and through, necessitating me plugging both holes and giving him a bag of plasma with a dose of adrenaline to keep him going.

My problem was how to move him. While I was dealing with Corazon, a police negotiator had attempted a dialogue. Twice they had shot at him and twice they had made unreasonable demands -- namely an armored car to get them out of this standoff and no police pursuit. They threatened to kill the hostages. That implied the homeowner(s) were still alive.

"In the house," I shouted. "Your guy here is still alive. If he doesn't get to an emergency room in the next fifteen minutes, he's going to die."

"Stop his bleeding, Man!" someone inside shouted back. I loved amateur healers...

"A round ~ I think it was a .40 S&W ~ passed through his chest cavity. I've put in an IV of plasma, but that's not going to be enough to deal with his internal bleeding," I responded.

"Fix him!"

"You want me to cut your guy open in the dirt, with all these flies around? I might as well overdose him with morphine and get this over with," I mocked him.

"You shot my boy," the voice snarled.

"He was trying to kill me so I shot him first."

"He was a Playboy!"

"Are you under some misconception that I give a damn," I called out, "because I don't? I don't care if he was a freaking Brownie, or with AARP. He threatened my life so he inherited two bullet holes."

"You are dead, Cop!" another knucklehead screamed. "I'm going to blow your fucking head off." That was negative thinking. My pistol came out, I rose up just enough for a quick, two handed shot and put a bullet between the second fucker's eyes. I was down before his friends could retaliate.

"I'm not a cop. I don't even like cops. I'm a paramedic. That's EMT for you uneducated morons -- Emergency Medical Technician," I educated them.

"Mutha-Fu..." another jack-ass screamed. A single shot silenced him. Finally, SWAT had gotten off their asses and become involved. I'd counted three shooters up front initially.

There was no time like the present to resolve this so that my current patient lived. I didn't run for the door; I dove through the window formally occupied by the second Playboy I'd killed. I rolled twice before blowing the last gunman's knee off. He fell backwards, I went to a kneeling position and put two more in his prone form.

"K-K!" I heard someone shouting from the next room. I put my pistol away and swept up one of the AK-104's lying around. They had a small gym bag with spare mags. Switching the used one for a fresh 30-round magazine took three seconds.

"KK?" the voice called out once more.

I didn't know the building layout, but this front room had two exits besides the front door. One way led to the voice while the other led to the room with the window that other gang-banger had crawled out -- the first Playboy I'd killed. There was no noise that way, so that was the way I went. I padded rapidly yet quietly. I heard the 'caller' walking on the broken glass.

He was moving out of the left (to me) side room to the front one. The room I was in had a small dining table. The door to my left was open -- a bathroom. The opening in front of me revealed a kitchen and two more Playboys keeping a nervous watch out the back for the police.

"Shit!" the first voice called out. "They killed..."

The two Playboys were fatally distracted. I put three-round bursts into each murdering fuckers' chests as they turned around. Shooting them in the back would be suspicious. The only room missing was the bedroom. Two doors -- the door in front of me -- leading out the back -- and the one to the left...I ran back from whence I came. If the guy in the bedroom (the only type of room I hadn't come across yet) had half a brain, he was now focused on the kitchen door where I'd just put down his pals.

I was careful of where I stepped, keeping my progress silent. The guy calling for KK had a whole millisecond to be surprised before he died. I quick-stepped it back around the other way. A frail, thin elderly black woman, was lying dead on the floor. Her dead eyes were open. Her gnomish black husband had male pattern baldness with curly white hair around the sides.

He was sitting on the floor, holding her head in his lap while he stared off into space. I pushed him to the floor. No time for sympathy at the moment. The (second) door into the bedroom opened outward. I twisted the doorknob, swung the door open while I plastered myself against the wall.

Sure enough, the guy was panicking. A hail of bullets came my way. I let him shoot his heart out. When the AK-104 expended its last round, I stepped around the corner and put three in his chest. Problem solved. I put the AK down, then picked up the closest landline phone. I was sure the police were listening in.

"There are seven opponents down. One hostage -- DOA. One hostage alive and in shock," I informed them.

"Who is this?"

"Vance Vardanyan; paramedic with MedicWest. I'll be coming out the front door with the hostage." Whatever they said was lost as I dropped the phone.

I cradled the old man into a standing position. We made our way slowly to the door. The moment the front door opened, the police came swarming in. The old guy was swept away as was I -- in a different direction. The press wanted to talk with me. The police lieutenant had priority.

"Did you get that hostage killed?" was his first accusation.

"No. Close contact burn suggests she was shot at close range -- less than a foot -- single shot to the chest. She was dead before she hit the ground," I informed him.

"What possessed you to shoot all those people? The police could have handled it," he seethed.

"I'm sure Sgt. Dunston, that idiot over there," I motioned to the Playboy that I hadn't shot, "and the pregnant lady might disagree."

"You shot nine men," he declared as it what I'd done was wrong. "We already know one is dead."

"It was eight, they had guns, they were engaged in criminal activity, they were an immediate threat to me and others, plus they were stopping me from engaging in my life-saving duties," I countered. "Do you really want to arrest me for this?"

"You jumped into the building and shot up the..."

"Shot five. Your sniper put a bullet in one and I shot two earlier," I filled him in. "I admit I put two bullets into the exposed body parts that guy in the back seat of the car presented. Now, if you don't mind, I have a job to do."

"Where do you think you are going?" he muttered.

"Unless you restrain me, I have a woman to take to the hospital," I drew forth my holster with the gun still in it.

"You will need this for your ballistics tests. The AK-104 I used is resting against the wall in the study, next to the dead woman's body." Off I went. Several reporters tried unsuccessfully to trap me. Lorenzo and I switched up in the ambulance. He had retrieved Corazon, placed her on our gurney then put her in the back of the vehicle.

My partner was better at driving this beast and someone needed to stay with the girl. She looked relieved to see me.

[Spanish] "I am glad you are alive," she gave me a fatigued grin. "Can I have your phone again?"

I handed it over. Lorenzo was headed for the hospital when she began talking to Ramone. I took the reprieve to switch out the battery on my camera and upload everything in memory. This model could go for 12 hours, but I erred on the side of caution and I didn't know when I'd be able to make the upload, or battery exchange later.

More rapid-fire Spanish between the two love-birds then Corazon handed me the phone.

"Did you just kill all those guys?" he was more polite this time. The wonders of live TV.

"How many guys do you think I shot?" It was impolite to refer to the people I'd shot as dead though I was pretty sure they all were. "I don't like taking credit for someone else's work."

"You killed that Playboy who was about to shoot my baby's mamma," he said.

"Letting him shoot us would have invalidated all the work I'd done on Corazon," I told him. "I hate having to do a job twice almost as much as I hate doing it on myself."

"You are one crazy Bad-ass," he commented. That wasn't flattery. That man was familiar with killing people.

"My most recent psychological exam disagrees," I joked. "Are we going somewhere with this, or can I get back to doing a check-up on your baby. You lady has gone through a great deal of trauma. Anything in the last month could bring about premature labor. Babies born early face a whole host of developmental problems that I'd like your girlfriend and newborn to avoid. Here is Corazon," I signed off.

She spent the rest of the time talking to him until we arrived at Summerlin's ER. The place was a madhouse. The route of the police pursuit and the two gangs duking it out had left three dozen casualties in its wake. Two cops were dead and four wounded. Both Sgt. Dunston and the first officer brought in (brought in by another ambulance) were in critical condition.

I had barely managed to hand her off to the ER staff and give Corazon's hand a good-bye squeeze when Lorenzo pulled me aside.

"Dude...uh...they've suspended you," he whispered.

"By that you mean MedicWest has suspended me?" I sighed. I checked my phone.

Oh yes, MedicWest had been burning up my answering service while Corazon was on the phone with the only other person that mattered to her.

"Well, shit happens," I shrugged.

"It is only a suspension..." Lorenzo trailed off. "I mean..."

"Lorenzo, this is my trial period. I'm pretty sure they are going to let me go over this," I patted him on the shoulder. "Frankly, I don't care. I did what I did and I'll live with that." A LVMPD officer located me. I was supposed to stick around. He hovered close by to make sure I did. MedicWest sent a technician over to catalog my gear, so I could sign out one last time.

My new ex-partner looked freaked out about the whole ordeal. Lorenzo had to get back to the dispatch center. His ass was on the line too. Not only had he not reined me in, he'd done a little risk-taking as well. Two of the four Hispanic gang members had survived. The driver and the guy I shot were heading to the morgue. There had been a fourth guy in the car, I hadn't seen him. Me and my cop-shadow migrated to the visitor's lounge.

There, for the viewing pleasure of the whole God-damn world, were the highlights of the firefight. Most notable was the footage of me taking care of Corazon, stopping long enough to send a Playboy into the next life and then going back to Corazon as if nothing had happened. The kicker for me was that some clever sound guy had picked up on the MedicWest frequency.

Since I was wired in for sight and sound, my conversation with Corazon was added for the viewing public's pleasure. They'd actually ponied up their pennies for Spanish to English subtitles.

Officer Steve Markowitz, my minder, did a few double-takes.

"Is that you?" he inquired.

"Yes."

"Did you really save that officer's life?"

"Yes."

"Did you kill that man in the car?" He meant the Hispanic corpse.

"Shot him -- yes."

"How did you make that snap shot?" he asked. I sighed, shook my head and looked at him with amusement.

"Markowitz, he was five yards away, presenting an upper torso, head and neck profile. How could I miss?" I stated.