Fishy Riot, page 24
Mendel picked up the rifle and looked down the scope, checked the opposite building, but saw nothing.
“Hale?”
“I see you. I have a visual. You’ve got multiple gunmen on the second floor. They’ve corralled everyone in the main office. I see at least eight guards, all armed. There’s another group by the rear and five men on the ground floor near the dumbwaiter.”
“If it looks like they’re going to take the drugs, shoot.”
“Acknowledged.”
They moved on, stopping in a classroom to replace the cartridges in their Tasers from a stockpile used to train new recruits. Mendel shoved a few extra cartridges in his breast pocket, just in case.
Mendel led them to the side wall not visible from Hale’s vantage point or the loading bay, and they silently set up rappelling equipment.
“Taylor, you’re going down. Clay and I will take one of the end stairwells each. Wait for my signal, and we’ll move in from four sides.”
Taylor reached out to haul Clay in and bumped their helmets together but didn’t bother saying anything, just let him go and watched as he slipped back out into the hallway and disappeared in the dark. Mendel left through the other door, and Taylor hurriedly checked his gear before opening the window and climbing out.
The sun had finished setting and the breeze was cooler, but Taylor barely felt it through his fire-resistant overalls, the balaclava on his face, and the gloves on his hands. He walked cautiously down the side of the building to the floor below, not hearing much coming from the offices where they had corralled everyone. It was a good sign; it meant everyone was playing along, no one was trying to be a hero, following procedure so no one on the outside had to worry about getting anyone inside killed when they did come in.
Taylor settled by a window and pulled out a small mirror, using it to get a look at what was going on. They had the blinds pulled down, but there was enough of a sliver to see in. There weren’t many hostages, only ten to Taylor’s count. Most must have been called out. No doubt somewhere far out and obscure in the suburbs that didn’t actually have a problem.
There were nine gunmen, one of them in the hallway. The ninth man would be invisible to Hale.
“Nine,” Taylor spoke softly into his radio. No one replied.
He had one of those moments, and this time he was grateful for it. The pause, as if the world had frozen for a moment, and all he had to do was hang there and breathe, checking his weapon and getting into a position where he could break the window easily with his boot and shoot immediately.
“Three, two, one, breach.”
Taylor slammed his foot into the glass, keeping his other foot stable against the brick and shoving his gun into the raining glass, firing two shots at the shooter not visible to Hale, aware of Clay crashing through a door to his left and another window shattering opposite as Hale picked off two men before anyone knew what had happened. Officers rolled under desks and started opening drawers, each arming themselves in quick efficiency with whatever was available.
It was textbook. Ten seconds and the room was in their control. Taylor sat against the sill and wondered why anyone bothered anymore. There was no way to succeed in taking hostages. You were definitely going to get caught, and more than likely you were going to die. It made no sense. But then, he wasn’t a criminal, so maybe he just didn’t understand. Everyone was unique, and different, and entitled to their own opinion, and all that new-age jazz. He only had to be there when that opinion differed a great deal from the opinion of the law, which thankfully usually matched his own opinion nicely.
Mendel strode in and issued orders while Taylor waited patiently at the window, checking below to make sure no one had heard the breaking glass and come to check, but they were distracted by the broken windows at the front and luckily no one came looking.
“Jameson, rappel to the next level, be prepared to provide backup if required.”
Taylor did one quick visual check of Clay before stepping farther down the wall.
The building was eerily quiet, considering what was going on inside. Taylor scanned the streets around them and spotted several police cars with no headlights on sneaking through nearby streets, creeping up on them, making a barricade. No one was leaving tonight, and Taylor relaxed. Frey was screwed; he just didn’t know it yet.
Taylor reached the window on the first level and then wondered what the hell he was doing there. He could literally drop a metre to the ground, but he hadn’t been ordered to do so. It would depend on what needed doing, how necessary his position was. At the moment it wasn’t.
“Harris?” Taylor switched his radio to the digital channel for the van, curious how he was doing around the corner.
“I’m good. Your sister’s here taking care of me.”
“You poor bastard,” he chuckled.
“Nah, it’s good… your sister is hot! How did I not know this?”
“Married! My sister is married!”
“Divorce statistics are huge these days,” Harris contemplated.
“Murder’s on the rise,” Taylor heard Hayley grumble, and he left them to it, falling back into silence and switching back to the closed communication channel for raids.
He contemplated the ground, but he was in a better position to break the window and get in fast from the rope, so he waited, using his mirror to check inside.
The room was empty, everyone no doubt gathered by the loading dock. “The wall’s clear, I’m dropping from the wall and moving around the back to approach.”
“Affirmative,” Mendel agreed, and Taylor dropped out of his harness, taking a steadying breath and heading around the back. There was a lone gunman, and Taylor got him from behind and gassed him into unconsciousness before he could shout and alert anyone to Taylor’s presence.
“One subdued.” Someone would be sent in to collect.
“Acknowledged.” The voice was new, from whoever was in charge of the vehicles forming the barricade. Taylor spotted dark shadows closing in on the building, and smirked. The cavalry had arrived.
He reached the corner of the building and used his mirror to check what was happening on the other side of the wall. They were moving fast, aware they were in trouble, ducking and weaving behind trucks and doors to hide from Hale, making it clear they were aware of the sniper.
Hopefully Hale was also aware and watching his back. It was likely they would send someone up to try to deal with him. It was equally likely Hale was already in communication with their backup, who would send a second sniper to help if Hale thought it necessary.
“Three, two, one, breach.” Mendel’s voice came cold over the comms.
Taylor wasn’t even sure where everyone else was, but he watched a man go down with one of Hale’s bullets and didn’t hesitate further, firing two shots into a gunman’s chest, watching him fall into another who became an easy shot for Hale as they stumbled into the open. Taylor moved in, trusting Hale to cover him as much as possible, deliberately aiming for those in hiding, trying to at least shift them into the open for Hale.
More shadows emerged around him, and the cavalry took over, so Taylor left them to it, heading into the loading bay and clearing the area, meeting Mendel at the door. He knew it was Mendel because he was massive, in head-to-toe black, and even Taylor felt a little intimidated.
“Frey’s not here. He must be in the basement,” Mendel explained. “Jamesons, on the dumbwaiter.”
That was new. Taylor didn’t hesitate, hurrying to the chute doors for the dumbwaiter and stepping up beside Clay as Mendel drove the handle hard, bringing it back up. They had their guns drawn, aiming as the doors opened, but there was just a pallet of ice on it. They pulled it out, putting it in front of Mendel as a shield if it was needed, and stepped on.
“Think Mendel can hold us both?” Clay asked.
“Please. It’s like taking my daughters to school.”
“You have kids?” Taylor was stunned. He couldn’t imagine anyone putting up with Mendel long enough to have kids with the man. Or surviving the sex.
“Do you seriously pay attention to nothing?” Clay hissed. “Mendel’s got three girls. The oldest goes to Jay’s school!”
“Why would I know that?”
“Because you’re supposed to give a shit about the people you work with!” Clay seemed disturbed but not surprised.
“Why?”
“Just because, you socially inept dweeb!”
Taylor wanted to reply, but Mendel started lowering them into the basement and they fell immediately silent. The doors opened, and Frey was standing there, gun in hand. Well, gun was an understatement.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Clay dove out and rolled, and Taylor did the same as Frey tossed a grenade into the dumbwaiter, showering them in debris, fiery heat washing over them and up the funnel of the waiter to the upper floor. Flames rippled across the walls and the ceiling rained dust and mortar, smoke quickly filling the room.
Taylor rushed forward on hands and knees and ducked behind one of the burning pallets of drugs, hitting his shoe to try to put out the flames melting the soft rubber sole. Thankfully, their overalls were fire retardant and the material smouldered.
There wasn’t enough cover. The basement was a long corridor with cages on either side for storing paraphernalia they accumulated on raids. Drugs, guns, illegal goods, cigarettes, anything they needed to keep somewhere until the government told them what to do with it. But the cages were locked, save for the door cut off halfway down where the ice had been stored before they had dragged it into the corridor.
There was nowhere for Clay to run, and Taylor watched, horrified as Frey drew a handgun from his belt and fired at Clay. Realising he had nowhere to hide, Clay had rushed forward, hoping to reach Frey before he reached his weapon, but he was too slow.
The bullet slammed into his vest, throwing him back hard into the cages. It wouldn’t kill him, but it likely broke a few ribs and would hurt like hell. Frey charged forward and, to Taylor’s horror, kept firing.
“Clay!” He forced himself to react, grabbing his gun from where he’d dropped it when he rolled.
Taylor steadied his hand and fired once. He didn’t need a second chance; it was a clean shot. But he couldn’t think about it. Turning instead, he hurried down the corridor, checking for anyone else. He found a second man in the open cage, and he Tasered him rather deliberately in the nuts before cuffing him to the cage and leaving him sobbing for someone else to deal with.
“I’m okay,” Clay shouted, but he didn’t sound okay. Taylor rushed back down the corridor to his side and knelt down, hauled him into a sitting position, and checked him over. Clay clutched his leg and blood pooled over his fingers, soaking his clothes and splashing the floor.
“You got shot!” Taylor bellowed.
“Obviously!”
“Shot is not okay! Fuck!” Taylor pushed his balaclava up over his goggles so he could see what he was doing, and pulled Clay’s up to get a good look at his face. He was pale and in a lot of pain.
“You said you were fine when you got shot.” Clay covered the wound while Taylor fished out first aid supplies from his vest. They started bandaging, shoving padding on the wound before tying it up tight to try to stop the bleeding.
“Mine was a scratch.”
“No, yours was in your fucking shoulder! Mine is in my damn leg! Same-same!”
“No, not same-same! Yours is bleeding all over the fucking place. Look, you’re sitting in a pool of blood! It looks like you got your damned period!”
“Excuse me?” Hayley shoved him out of the way. “That is disgusting!” She was accompanied by a team of dark-clad officers being lowered through the gaping hole where the dumbwaiter had been to secure the scene. Her partner pronounced Frey dead and came to help with Clay, leaving the body for the next ambulance to arrive at the scene.
“You try and explain to him that he’s been shot, then!” Taylor snapped, furious mostly at himself for not having stopped Frey before he could get to Clay.
“Clay,” Hayley advised while they hurriedly set up a stretcher. “You’ve been shot.”
“No shit! You know there’s like three more bullets in my vest, right? I’m very much aware that I’ve been shot! Now can you get me the fuck to the hospital?”
“Shhh.” Taylor reached out to pet his cheek since he couldn’t pat his head with the helmet on. “I’ll call Mum and tell her what happened.”
“Fuck!” Clay screamed in frustration, letting Hayley and her partner get him strapped to the stretcher. Her partner’s name tag put him as Ford, not her usual partner whose name Taylor was pretty sure was Greg.
“Pretty sure you’re all high,” Ford chortled, waving a hand at the smouldering drug pallets. “Can we please get him lifted out of here?” He called up to Mendel who tossed some more ropes down to attach to Clay’s stretcher.
Taylor wanted to go with him, but he’d just shot a man in the head. He would be required to do a lot of statements and reports, and he would need to help clean up. The boss was going to be pissed. Joel might actually kill him, which would be easier than having to face Brayden. Worse, it would be on the news, and his mother would find out he’d killed a man. She was going to lecture him to death about the sanctity of life while, in the same breath, berate him for not killing Frey sooner before his brother got shot. He was never going to hear the end of it. Emma was going to cry.
He went with Hayley as far as the loading bay, standing with Mendel as the ambulance drove off. At least Clay would have Harris to keep him company.
“Motherfucker,” Mendel swore, and Taylor turned to look up at him as he took his helmet off. “Parata’s never letting me run an op again.”
“Wasn’t your fault,” Taylor attempted to soothe.
“There’s a hole in the basement, Jameson,” Mendel growled and they both stared down into it.
Taylor put a hand on the man’s massive shoulder and squeezed. Mendel was right, he was going to be punished. He’d be sent to train new recruits, guaranteed. “Have fun teaching at Goulburn.”
“Oh, screw you.”
15: Yup, Broken
THE HOSPITAL stank. Not bad or anything, Taylor just didn’t like the smell of sickness and antiseptic. He stood there in his black overalls, open at the collar to reveal what had been a white T-shirt but was now covered in dirt, explosives, and blood, and stared at his own sleeping face.
Clay had bruising over most of his body, peeking out from under all the bandages and the hideous hospital gown he was in. He had nine fractured ribs and a bullet hole in his thigh. It had taken an hour in surgery to dig the bullet out and get him stitched up. By the time he was settled in a room, Taylor had been released from the endless tirade of retelling the events that had taken place and was allowed to go home. Taylor had rung Hayley and come straight to the hospital.
Mum had beaten him there, sitting by Clay’s bed, clutching his hand. She looked like she had been crying. It took her a while to realise he was there, and when she looked up at him, she burst into tears again. The guilt was incredible, but Taylor shoved it aside and folded over her, wrapping her up in arms that didn’t feel strong enough but would have to do. She never seemed so small to him as whenever they were really hurt.
“What, it wasn’t enough that you got shot? He had to get shot too? You do know you can do things separately, right?” She was struggling to make light of the situation, her pain laced with anger and frustration at her inability to do anything.
“He’s fine, Mum.” Weirdly, he believed it.
“I’m fine.” Clay sounded groggy.
“What, you couldn’t stay under another hour?” He reached out and brushed Clay’s hair back, trailed his fingers down his neck to his shoulder, and squeezed. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Well, now you know how it feels,” Clay mumbled. “But I’m fine. Really, Mum. Just bruises.”
“And a bullet hole!” Chloe scolded him.
“And a bullet hole,” they agreed, well aware there would be lectures and reminders to not get shot again for the foreseeable future.
“Clay?” Joel ran into the room and barely pulled himself up before slamming into the side of the bed, then leaned over and planted a frenzied kiss on Clay’s lips that had Chloe laughing through her tears and Taylor skipping out of the way before he got run over. Micah hovered in the doorway, and Taylor ushered him in, bemused when the kid ran to his side and wrapped his arms around his waist.
“Hey, he’s fine. Just some bruises. Everyone’s fine, I promise. Sietta’s on his way.”
“And a bullet hole!” Chloe snapped at him, and he could tell she was working up to yelling at him for letting Clay get shot. He wasn’t sure how that worked. When he got shot, it was his fault. When Clay got shot, it was still Taylor’s fault. There was something seriously askew in that logic, but it was Chloe, so he wasn’t game to argue.
“And a bullet hole,” he agreed quietly instead.
“Notice how she doesn’t screech about the broken bones?” Hayley pointed out as she came in, making the room feel a little crowded in a good way. She also had a point.
“Oh please, if I harped about broken bones, I’d never have had time to write while you were growing up. Besides, a little pain teaches you a lesson, and broken bones heal.”
And that was more like it. She sniffed and the tears dried up, and Taylor silently high fived Hayley behind Chloe’s back. No one bothered to point out that if it didn’t kill you, a bullet hole also healed.
A soft knock came at the door, and Daniel appeared, Brayden and Sietta behind him. The hospital room was now feeling miniscule, but they shifted to let Daniel in to sit with Chloe at Clay’s side, pushing Taylor to the back of the room with Micah, where they pulled Sietta into a tight hug, Taylor kissing the top of his head.
“He’s okay?” Sietta toyed with the ends of his hair, idly rubbing it on his chin.
“Are you okay?” Micah looked up at him, staring at the now very dark bruise on the left side of Sietta’s face that ran down his neck and across his collarbone. Sietta blinked before he realised what Micah was staring at, and then he waved it off.
