Wear Your Home Like a Scar, page 25
Keeping low, Zielinski quickly moved to the trunk of Garrett’s patrol car. He peeked around the driver’s side, his dread heightening. An officer down was every cop’s worst nightmare. The driver’s seat and the nearby ground was empty, except for shattered safety glass scattered on the pavement.
He moved up to the driver’s door, his eyes still scanning. Then he saw the still form crumpled on the ground by the suspect vehicle. Motionless. Even at this distance, Zielinski could see the bright red smear of blood against the pale white skin.
He reached for his portable radio and brought it to his lips. “Charlie-three-twel—” he began, but the screech of feedback from being too close to Garrett’s patrol car radio interrupted and overwhelmed him.
“Charlie-three-twelve, say again.”
Zielinski flicked off his portable and picked up Garrett’s patrol car mic from its hook. “Three-twelve,” he said. “Suspect down. Start medics.”
“Copy. And Charlie-three-sixteen?”
“No sign of him yet.”
“Copy.”
Zielinski heard the uptick in tension in the dispatcher’s voice. He tuned her out as she began sending additional units. It was unnecessary. Any police officer within driving distance would be coming now, lights and siren. One of their own was in danger.
“Ty!” Zielinski called out again. He listened, but the only sounds he heard were the whirring and clacking of the patrol car’s rotator lights, a dog barking half a block away, and sirens in the distance.
He took a deep breath and let it out. Then he raised his pistol toward the suspect vehicle and advanced. The smart thing to do was to keep the car covered while he waited for back up. With a couple more officers, they could safely clear the vehicle. However, he couldn’t wait. He had to find Garrett.
The man lay face down near the rear tire on the driver’s side of the car, a bloody red hole in his upper back. Keeping his gun trained on the car, Zielinski knelt and touched his throat to check for a pulse. His own heart was pounding so hard, it took him a moment to discern that the man was dead. Protocol said to cuff him anyway, but Zielinski rejected the idea. Instead, he stood and swept his aim throughout the car, looking for any other suspects.
Empty.
He decided that Garrett must be in foot pursuit with a second suspect, somewhere in the vicinity. He reached for his portable radio to direct units into a perimeter position, but his hand froze.
Officer Ty Garrett walked out of a house directly across the street and headed toward him. He appeared uninjured, his gait confident.
“Ty!” Zielinski shouted.
Garrett raised his hand in reply.
“Are you okay?”
Garrett flashed four fingers at him.
Zielinski felt a temporary wave of relief. He reached again for his radio, turning it back on before saying, “Three-twelve, have units slow their response. Sixteen is with me, and he’s fine.”
The dispatcher copied. A second later, a couple of the distant sirens suddenly muted, while others remained.
As Garrett approached, Zielinski could see light reflecting off the sheen of sweat that coated Garrett’s dark skin.
“Are you okay?” he asked again.
Garrett nodded as he tugged down on his ballistic vest. “Yeah. I’m good.”
“Any suspects outstanding?”
Garrett shook his head, then stopped and shrugged. “A car, but it’s long gone.”
Zielinski raised his radio, preparing to broadcast. “You got a description?”
“Red tail lights,” Garrett said, his tone dejected.
Zielinski lowered the radio. “What happened?”
Garrett took a deep breath and let it out in a long exhale. He pointed at the car. “This guy jumped out in front of me over on Thor, driving like an idiot. I initiated a stop on him, but he kept rolling until he got here. Then he jumps out, starts yelling at me. He reaches for a gun and starts shooting.” Garrett pointed at the house. “So did someone from in there, all at the same time.”
“An ambush?”
Garrett shrugged. “It felt like one.” He spat on the pavement. “Jesus, I’m thirsty.”
“I’ve got some water in my trunk.”
Garrett patted Zielinski’s shoulder and then looked at the driver’s body. “He’s dead, yeah?”
Zielinski nodded. He didn’t mention that the wound was in the back. That was a problem for another day. In the distance, the sirens became more insistent as they got closer.
“I shot him,” Garrett said. “After he fired on me. Then I went to clear the house.”
Zielinski shook his head slowly in amazement.
“What?” Garrett asked.
“Only you SWAT guys think attack in this situation,” Zielinski said. He felt a curious mix of admiration and disapproval at the same time. “You guys are a different breed.”
“It wasn’t like that. The shots stopped. They ran out the back.”
“Still.”
Zielinski turned back to the sprawled, still form on the ground. He swept the ground with his flashlight. Something was wrong, and a minute later, he realized what it was.
“Where’s the gun?” he asked.
Garrett raised his eyebrows, then pointed to the holstered Glock on his hip. “Right here.”
“No,” Zielinski said. “Not yours. The driver’s gun. Where is it?”
Garrett’s eyes narrowed, and he quickly scanned the area.
“I don’t see any shell casings, either.”
“That’s not right.” Garrett sounded strange.
Zielinski looked him in the eye, trying to gauge what he saw there. Garrett’s expression was a jumbled mixture of confusion, anger, maybe even a hint of panic. “Take it easy,” Zielinski said, gently. “Grab your flashlight and help me look.”
Garrett nodded and hustled back to his patrol car. Zielinski watched him go. A feeling of dread crept into his gut.
Garrett reached into the patrol car and came out with his heavy-duty flashlight. He started to return, then ducked back into the car. Zielinski saw the tiny, unmistakable red light on the dash wink on, indicating the camera there had just been activated.
He hadn’t turned on the dash cam when he initiated the stop.
The dread in his stomach grew.
Garrett trotted back toward him. Wordlessly, they both swept the ground near the car with their flashlights, searching for either a gun or shell casings. They found nothing.
Zielinski gave Garrett a hard look as the yelp and wail of the approaching sirens threatened to drown out their speech.
“Tell me this was a good shoot,” he said.
Officer Ty Garrett looked straight at him. “It was a good shoot.”
Zielinski didn’t reply. There was nothing more to say.
Click here to learn more about Charlie-316 by Colin Conway and Frank Zafiro.
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Nik Korpon, Wear Your Home Like a Scar
