Ebb Tide Ch. 02

I was on Ustinov before he could shed Mahaulu. I collapsed his trachea at the larynx. In my experience, human beings struggling to breathe aren't much into fighting back. Two down. Waiting for Mahaulu to catch up and do the appropriate stupid thing was a bit tedious. He had to eek out a tiny gasp of air, process his two destroyed coconspirators then decide to go for his pistol.

I didn't take his gun. No, I seized his gun hand and brought it up until the muzzle of his 9mm was pressing against his pharynx. My trigger finger was pressing down on his.

"By all means," I let my amusement reach my eyes, "pull the trigger."

"Do it and you are dead," he gurgled. He could barely breathe, much less talk.

"In case you missed it, you just told me you are going to frame me so I'd end up doing a 40 year stretch with the Nevada Department of Corrections. Besides, I'm wearing gloves and it is your fingerprint on the pistol and the trigger," I chuckled. The door burst open right into Sgt. Brokaw's body. Officer Markowitz had to shoulder it a second time to get in.

"Quick Steve!" I shouted. "Mahaulu went nuts. He's trying to kill himself." Mahaulu looked hate and fear at me. If he twisted his head, or pushed me back, the Assistant Sheriff risked blowing his head off. Steve hesitated. "Help! I can't hold him back much longer." By this time, my shouting was drawing a crowd.

When Steve rushed to help me pull Mahaulu's arm away from his throat, several other officers rushed into the room. When cops get shot and/or killed in the line of duty, cops flock to the hospital in a show of support. There were plenty of them around now.

"It's not me, you idiot," Mahaulu hoarsely shouted. "It's him. He tried to kill me."

"No, it's him. Check the Hospital security footage," I shouted over the din. "Check the damn cameras."

The third officer in the room made order out of the chaos. One of the police officer I'd seen applauding me minutes earlier and a female officer I hadn't seen pulled me back. I was non-resistant and they gave me the courtesy of not abusing me.

Mahaulu was merely restrained until a Sergeant took his 9mm pistol away from him. Then came the threats and accusations. Mahaulu wanted me cuffed and arrested for Assault & Battery and Attempted Murder. He also tried to dictate someone oversee the hospital video retrieval and that the officers immediately searched for and remove my spy-cams.

I obligingly uploaded yet another update as I showed the officers my get up. I pointed out that since they weren't weapons, removing them without probable cause was an offense.

"I'll deal with that," a familiar female voice announced. It was TC and her buddy Sgt. R. Kerr.

"Sgt. Kerr, take Mr. Vardanyan's cameras and any recording device into evidence. I can't, because we had dinner last night," TC ordered.

By being upfront with our relationship, she was killing accusations of inappropriate behavior in their cradle. Kerr got to work and I verbally walked her through the process of removing them without tearing out the wires. I also informed her I had a knife attached to my left leg. She took that as well.

When the Assistant Sheriff realized that he couldn't control this situation in the lounge, he stormed out -- without his sidearm. TC was hot on heels. Later, rumor would reach me that those two had a heated discussion about how he was not 'her' boss and if he set foot near any evidence in this case, she'd arrest him. She was the right bitch for the job. That didn't improve my overall opinion of cops despite TC risking her career.

I was taken to meet a few LVMPD big wigs who wanted to thank me for both Dunston and Ling. In the atrium, absent the press and full of heavy hitters, the Internal Affairs guy dropped his bomb.

"Is it true you hate cops?"

"Hate? Yes, I hate you and your ilk. I despise you too," I corrected him.

"What?" the Under-Sheriff huffed.

"I just finished an altercation with Assistant Sheriff Mahaulu and two of your homicide detectives. Ever since I helped out Georgianna Norquist aka the former Mrs. Pharris, I've had cops dogging my every step. Do any of you care to explain that to me?" I taunted them.

"Is IAB investigating this?" the Under-Sheriff asked the IAB fuck.

"Yes sir. A case-file was opened yesterday," he glared at me.

"Let's not forget Officer Shell planting evidence in my car and then arresting me for it. IAB has the video evidence of this. If it gets misplaced, I'll send you one of my copies," I glared right back.

"If you hate us, why did you risk your life to save Officers (Sgt.) Dunston and Ling?" Another asked. From his markings, he was the Captain of the two men in question.

"I am a professional, I don't play favorites and, unlike you bastards, I neither abuse my authority, nor lord my power of life & death over others," I informed them.

"Don't sweat the PR shit," I continued. "You clean up your mess behind the scenes and I'll keep my comments to a minimum. Make sure I get my .45 back ASAP and I'll fade into the background. I also need to find another job as this line of work hasn't panned out."

"Mr. Vardanyan, I don't understand why you don't like us, but I'm thankful you were there today. Today you were a hero and I'm sure that three people are alive because of your actions," the Under-Sheriff stated. I believed he felt that way.

"Mr. Vardanyan, you don't have a criminal record, you have an exemplary military record ... I don't get it?" the Captain said.

"This one time," I sighed. "I don't hate law enforcement because you have guns, or enforce the laws of the land. I hate you because you believe you have the right to interfere with my life. I can take care of myself and your insistence that you can fuck with me when it pleases you is an annoyance I could do without."

"Mr. Vardanyan, you are a US citizen and a resident of the State of Nevada and the municipality of Las Vegas," the Captain declared. "Are you one of those 'sovereign citizen' types, or an Oath Keeper?"

"Nope. I don't enlist in any organization I don't trust," I reiterated, "which I attribute to my willingness to blindly follow orders, keep to the spirit of my oaths no matter what the cost, and to fearlessly protect my comrades in the few groups I have joined."

"See, I'm not an anarchist, libertarian, or eco-terrorist. I believe in Free Market economics. I volunteered for every position I ever held in the US Navy and don't regret a moment I spent in service. I love the USA, am fond of the state of Nevada, am comfortable in Clark County and I'm partial to my hometown, Las Vegas. I like knowing the people in my chain of command and those are the people I obey. I don't know you cops and I resent you giving me commands."

"In my opinion, you haven't earned the right to dictate how I live my life. I never encourage other people to support my views unless they have personally suffered from police abuse of power. I'm not going to start brutalizing the police, but don't expect me to like the fact that you live and breathe either. Is that clear enough for you?" I finished. They didn't know what to make of that.

"Your...umm...service record is a bit spotty," the PR cop spoke up.

"That tells me you don't have the proper clearance with the DoD. I took an oath which includes my superior officers telling me not to talk about things they ordered me not to talk about," I reminded them. "Since it is going to come up, I've never been diagnosed with PTSD."

"Mr. Vardanyan, are you going to be a threat to this city?" the Under-Sheriff studied me.

"Qualify what you consider to be a threat to Las Vegas?"

"Are you going to run around shooting people?" he responded.

"Are you going to keep letting rich and powerful people use your department for their own personal agendas, violating any laws they find inconvenient?" I answered.

"That is not what is happening here, Mr. Vardanyan," he stiffened.

"Then no, I'm not a threat to this city," I grinned. If he wanted to play that game, so be it.

"Do you have something against Mr. Pharris?" the IAB head inquired.

"Which one?" I doubted they meant Ford, his son.

"Mr. Lloyd Pharris," he clarified.

"I worked for him part-time for nearly two years long, long ago. I know him to be the scum of the earth, a vindictive sadist and megalomaniac. Do I have a secret room devoted to his destruction? No. I hadn't thought about him until I met Ms. Norquist a few days ago," I said.

"Now, answer something for me, you jack-asses," I gave a feral twist of the lips. "Before Sunday, had I done anything of criminal note? Since Ms. Norquist moved into my house, I've witnessed Patrol Officers Ilger and Hernandez put me on the ground without explanation then watched them site Ms. Norquist for littering within 30 minutes of evicting her from her duplex."

"That night, I had two detectives sneaking around my front- and backyards, drunk as skunks, making noise and dropping their badges on my property," I lied. I'd beaten them into unconsciousness. "A few minutes ago the same two detectives attacked me in the hospital's Visitors' Lounge at Mahaulu's request. While defending myself, I beat them into the ground."

"The afternoon after the first two incidents, Officers Rothschild and Shell came knocking. They invited me to a meeting with Assistant Sheriff Mahaulu -- no reason given. Then they pulled me over after I dropped Ms. Norquist at her place of employment -- the Stratosphere. Again they came at me with the unwarranted invite..."

"How do you know it was unwarranted?" IAB interrupted.

"A warranted invitation would have been accompanied by an explanation which those two officers failed to provide. That counts as unwarranted in my book, you moron," I countered.

They bristled at my disrespect. I didn't care. They all knew that Lloyd was doing wrong shit and they didn't want to face facts.

"Why do you feel the need to insult us?" the Under-Sheriff demanded.

"Incompetence, corruption and 'people thinking the rules don't apply to them' irritates me, Under-Sheriff, and it shouldn't be coddled, tolerated, or ignored," I replied.

"In the past 48 hours, I've reported harassment by numerous officers, complete with audio-video evidence. When I was picked up yesterday afternoon by two of the officers I'd launched complaints against, one of them planted drugs in my car and referenced they already knew IAB was investigating them. I have evidence of that too."

"The only IAB officer who showed a damn bit of interest in going after these bad cops was taken off the case and replaced by two other dunces, Detectives Rick Elkin and Kanani Kaimana, bent on undermining my credibility. Then you have the gall to get pissy about me denigrating you (the Under-Sheriff), your department in general and your fuck-nut of an IAB chief here. You are either unscrupulous, dishonorable, debased, or ineffectual. Which is it?"

"I think we are done here," the Under-Sheriff announced. "You've done an excellent job of stomping all over whatever goodwill you generated earlier today."

"I didn't save their lives in order to influence your opinion of me. Sgt. Dunston means nothing to me. That you think so little of the life of a member of your gang tells volumes about you," I pointed out.

"I said we are done," the Under-Sheriff snapped.

"Fine." I was dismissed, so I made my way back to the lounge. There was still a criminal investigation to perform and I'd been a witness and participant. Officer Steve joined up with me and by the frightened look in his eyes, he'd heard most of my exchange with his commanders.

"Steve, I have lived a hard, cruel existence that has brought me to this point in my life," I offered. "I don't expect much from humanity and I don't want them expecting much from me."

"We are the law," Steve said.

"And? If I'm not breaking the law, I don't want to see you people," I reposed.

"What if you are the victim of a crime?" he tried again.

"I'll deal with it myself," I told him.

"That's vigilantism," he pointed out.

"Yes it is. Steve, if I punch a man in the face, he can call the cops on me, or he can take a swing at me. I don't care. If a man punches me, I'm sending him to the hospital -- punishment delivered without you and your court system fucking things up."

"What if they are mentally handicapped? Crazy?"

"I have training and experience with mental issues, Steve. It is part of my first-responder repertoire of skills," I informed him. "Good question though."

"I thought you hated cops?" It dawned on Steve that I was being civil to him.

"Nothing's changed Steve," I sighed. "As a human being, you seem to be a pretty decent sort. As a cop...if I found a cop dying of thirst in the desert, I'd help them because they are human beings. I didn't help Dunston because he had on a uniform. I went to him because he was the closest wounded person to me at that moment." We entered the lounge.

People had returned. In one seat near the window sat a devastated Ms. Ha Grenier, her face streaked with tears. There was a Hispanic female plain clothes officer looking at me intently. There was also a skinny young black man and three Hispanic males looking my way as well. The black man was closest.

"Hi," he extended his hand. I shook it. "I'm Martin Dunston...thank you for saving my Father."

"Is he out of surgery yet?" I inquired. Martin smiled weakly.

"No. They had to go in and fix some of the damage to his hip socket, but they told me and my Mom that he's out of the woods. He's going to make it." I nodded. He hugged me and started crying.

I separated my hand as quickly as politely possible.

"Can I see your phone?" I asked him. He nodded. I took it and put in some numbers and places for him.

"These are some good places for rehabilitation services and supplies," I explained.

"Stay after your Dad. Make sure he keeps busy and gets his full mobility back. He'll need the help, trust me," I added. Empowering Martin in this time of crisis would help him and his mother cope. People hated feeling helpless. Making plans for their future would remind them they had their husband/father in their future.

"Thanks man," he whispered then left. Next came the Hispanic guys. Steve and the plain clothes cop tensed up.

"Do you know who I am?" he gave me a stone-cold killer's stare.

"By the sound of your voice, you must be Ramone Garza."

"You killed one of my 'brothers'," he simmered.

"Had the guy in the front seat been responsive, I'd have shot him too," I reminded him. "I didn't know who he was with when I rearranged his cranium...and I still don't care. Are we going to have problems?"

"You like killing people?" his attitude relaxed.

"Five minutes of phone sex doesn't make us bosom buddies, Ramone," I replied in all seriousness. "My Mother and Father don't know my motivations and employment history; I feel some level of trust and responsibility to them."

Ramone began laughing his ass off.

"Phone Sex," he chuckled. "Look at the cojones on this one," he looked at his two comrades. "I'll clear up this matter with my people. You may have killed one of ours, but he was nuts anyway and you smoked a bunch of Playboys to balance accounts."

"How is Corazon doing?"

"She'd good. Doctors want to do that female doc stuff. She can go home with me in a few hours," he let me know. "You saved her life." We did the hand-grasp -- man-hug thing.

"If someone points a gun my way, I don't inquire about their motivations. You're welcome," I added. Ramone looked over his shoulder at the plain-clothes.

"Five-O wants to talk with you," he smirked. The three of them bumped fists with me before making their exit. I wasn't the bump-fist kind of guy; still humoring a gang leader seemed prudent.

"I am Detective Sgt. Soledad Moreno, Mr. Vardanyan. May I call you Vance?" she offered me my hand. I didn't want to smile at strangers, much less touch them. Sigh.

"Sure thing. Can I call you Soledad?"

"Okay." That instantly told me she'd done her homework and I was betting she'd talked with TC. Clever cops were a mixed blessing. Now to see if she was too clever.

"Why don't we start with why you have an EMT vest, a FN45 Tactical, and a blade on the job?"

And so it began. She had me go step by step through the late morning events, including my frame of mind and my awareness of what other people were doing.

"You've done this a great deal," she smiled at me. "I can tell. You were a special mission's operator." Statement of fact.

"SEALs." Being a SEAL was FOIA (Freedom Of Information Act) accessible. Precisely what we did was not.

"I interviewed some people like you a few years back when my National Guard unit served in Iraq -- incredible eye for detail and very detached regarding the wrong they were doing," she zinged me.

I stared at her.

"Most people, when told they did wrong protest -- either justifications, or denials."

"I imagine you've got your money's worth from your criminal psychology courses. You've given me nothing to comment on," I related.

"So you feel fine about jumping through a window and killing five men?" she pointed out.

"I don't expect you to understand what motivated me to shoot seven gang members to save the life of the one they wouldn't let me save. You think it is wrong ... and I don't care," I mused.

"Eight."

"Seven. The first Playboy I shot wasn't stopping me from saving the guy on the steps. He was trying to kill me and Corazon," I clarified. She shook her head. "Same goes for the Florencia 13 gang member with the Mac. He wouldn't let me get Sgt. Dunston to safety, so I shot him."

"You didn't attempt to negotiate," she pointed out.

"Not my job. I went to save the two policemen. He was interfering with that."

"That was callously abrupt."

"So?" I shrugged. "When you become a trauma specialist, you can revisit my decision-making process -- my patient, how much time he had left and the odds of me making it back to the police cordon before that man started putting bullets in me and the Sgt."

"Conceded," she allowed, then she was back to trying to mess up my story and motivations during the incident.

"Corazon? You know Miss Diaz by her first name?"

"I wouldn't have even asked her first name, except creating a positive dialogue between the responder and patient is considered beneficial," I regurgitated my training. "Dunston had a name tag so I called him Dunston. Are you going to accuse me of having an inappropriate relationship with Corazon and/or Dunston's wife?"

"Okay ... I can accept that you have the human compassion of a stump," she bit her lower lip.

A rebuttal was neither in the offing, nor expected.

"V!"

"Vance!"

G and Dabney rushed over to me. I turned as I stood to receive their charge. Whump! Whump!

G settled for hugging me. Dabney wanted more, so a few rapid kisses turned into one long French kiss that left her moaning.

"God, we were so worried about you," G exclaimed. "We saw you on the news. Are you okay?"

"You scared the crap out of me," Dabney protested. "You could have been killed rescuing that cop...or all that other stuff you did. Don't scare me like that ever again," she finished with a 'poor, pitiful me' pout. She knew her 'sexy'.

"It's okay. I lost my job anyway," I shrugged. "I'll find another, less stressful one later. Oh, and we've been invited to a party this weekend."

"I take back the 'human compassion of a stump' statement," my interrogator remarked.

"Soledad, this is Dabney Curtiss and Georgianna Norquist, my roommates," I introduced the three. "Ladies, this is Sgt. Soledad Moreno of the LVMPD Homicide unit."

"Nice to meet you," the cop said to them while tossing me a 'what's going on here?' look.

"Are we done?" I asked her.