"This city isn't what it used to be. The people have grown a fear to expect to walk down the driveway to fetch the mail and get jumped by some thug. I couldn't tell you where it all went wrong. A child goes missing from the schoolyard; A woman sells her body on Main Street to pay rent; A man gets gunned down in the drive thru of a goddamn Taco Bell because he took too long to order. This town, kid… This town isn't what it used to be-"
"What will it take to get you to shut the hell up for two seconds?" Officer Graves asked, growing slightly annoyed by his partner's ramblings. They were three hours into a ten hour overnight shift and most coffee shops had shut down for the evening. John Cena, Graves' partner, had spent the last half hour monologuing a fake crime show. A lack of caffeine had made Graves short with people, and since he wasn't allowed to smoke on the job he wasn't going to put up with anyone's unnecessary bullshit tonight.
"Hey, relax, man. We got a long night ahead of us. The least I could do is provide some comic relief." Cena said.
Graves rolled his eyes as he helplessly sipped at the last few drops his cup of coffee had to offer. "Fuck." He thought once the last possible ounce of strong black joe finally reached his lips. Frustratingly, he slammed the empty cup back into its cupholder.
"Hey, man, if ya really need some more coffee, we can stop at McDonald's and I can buy a few of those McCafe things." Cena offered.
Graves shook his head. "No, that's fine, John. Besides, I'll need at least fifteen to get through the night," He quickly turned his head and threw Cena a smirk. "No offense, man, but I don't think you can afford that much coffee."
"We get paid the same. Ain't they ninety-nine cents a piece?" Cena asked.
"A large is a dollar forty-nine. Times fifteen, that's twenty-two thirty five. Then you have to take tax into consideration." Graves replied.
"You don't think I have twenty-five bucks to spare for coffee?" Cena shook his head. "The hell do you think I spend all my money on?"
"Muscle milk and Slim Jims?" Graves laughed when Cena removed a Slim Jim from the backpack he kept by his feet.
"Slim Jims and vaseline." Cena laughed himself when Graves shot him a dirty look.
"Hey, that's my sister you're talking about, jackass." Graves' sister, Nicole, married Cena three years after the two joined the police academy. Saying Cena and Graves were the complete opposite of each other would be an understatement. But Nicole adored Cena, and Graves always wanted what was best for his sister. Graves chuckled. "I still don't get what she sees in you, man."
"Why do you say that?" Cena asked.
"You monologue your patrol route," Graves shook his head but smiled while Cena chuckled again. "That's weird, John."
"It's a slow night: No one's speeding. The radio has been pretty quiet except when Naomi wants us to pick her up some tacos. It's been a thousand years since we've left the academy, ya know? When will something interesting happen?" Cena complained.
"We've been out of the academy for three months, John," Graves sunk lower in his seat; He tried not to let his fingers tighten around the steering wheel, but his caffeine withdrawal was starting to get to his head. He even thought about risking a smoke break, but he knew people checked the body cams the force was required to wear, and he was not about to lose his job over some childish addiction.
Cena noticed his brother-in-law's agitated state. "Look, man, pull over and have a smoke. I won't tell anyone."
Graves tapped the center of his chest with his index finger. "Body cams, John. I'm not about to be the first guy in history to be fired from the police force for smoking."
"They don't check 'em unless you get into some shit. Just don't pull anyone over for the rest of the night and you won't have to worry."
Graves pulled onto a side road. "We gotta get gas anyway. I'll just get a cheap cup of coffee and a couple Red Bulls or something." He pulled the cruiser into a free stall. "You can pump. You want anything?"
"See if they got any peanuts," Cena requested, sliding out of the car.
Graves entered the twenty four hour gas station. He acknowledged the cashier with a head nod. It was getting late in the night, which Graves took note of by the lack of people in the store. Two others not counting the cashier, from what he saw. He took a glance outside: Cena was pumping fuel into their cruiser, but seemed to be narrating to himself again. Graves chuckled. "Cena definitely is a strange guy." He mused to himself. "Sale on dark brew, huh?" Graves read aloud the fluorescent sign with a smile. "Don't mind if I do." Graves selfishly helped himself to three cups of coffee. "This will eventually be the death of me." Graves thought with a smirk.
The bell above the door dinged. Graves didn't think anything of it, until he heard the unmistakable sound of a handgun being cocked.
"Let's go, everything in the register!" Came a loud, and rather angry, sounding voice from around the corner.
Graves quickly set his coffee down and drew his weapon. As cautiously as he could, Graves rounded the corner and aimed his weapon at the man standing by the counter. "Drop your weapon!" He shouted.
The man's hands immediately shot up. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," He repeatedly muttered under his breath. "Just take it easy, man." He called over his shoulder.
"Drop your weapon! I will not tell you again!" Graves ordered.
The man complied; He slowly set the gun on the floor and kicked it away.
"On the ground." Graves instructed. He quickly approached the man when he knelt. "Did you not see the patrol car outside, smart guy?" Graves cuffed the man, then dragged him to his feet. "I'll get you to the car, then I'll read you your rights."
"Man, you have no idea what you're doing," The man warned over his shoulder. "Del Rio sent me here for some quick cash. I don't come back, heads will roll."
"Del Rio?" Graves thought. Alberto Del Rio was the most wanted drug dealer in the county. If this guy really was one of his henchmen, then Graves may have just unlocked a major clue into finding the dealer's whereabouts. Then again, it could just be a scare tactic into getting him to release the petty criminal. "Nice try, kid," Graves said aloud. "This isn't Del Rio's turf; He wouldn't be caught dead this side of Stamford."
Cena met Graves halfway across the parking lot; Cena informed Graves he was going to secure the store before they took off for the station. Graves pulled open the rear passenger side door and shoved the would be thief into the car.
"You have the right to remain silent," Graves read off the criminal's rights, then slammed the door in his face. Just as he was wrapping up, Officer Cena reemerged from inside the gas station. "Everything clear?" Graves asked.
Cena nodded his head. "All good. Cashier's a bit shaken up, but she'll be fine. Two customers were inside during the robbery. One of them, some older woman, made me promise to give you her thanks."
Graves chuckled. "That's what happens when you need a coffee: You bust a crook before he even has time to rob the place."
Cena nodded his head and continued on like he hadn't heard what Graves had said. "The other guy, I don't think he spoke any English. He was on his cellphone, talking fast to whoever the hell he was speaking to. I tried to get him to tell me if he was ok, but he kept backing away from me whenever I got close."
"Poor guy's probably shook up," Graves figured. "Saw the gun, adrenaline starts to kick in, then his nerves catch up to him when he calms down. Happens all the time."
Both officers started back for their patrol car, but the sound of tires squealing made them halt their movements and turn back around. Then three things happened all at once: The man Cena had been talking about came running out of the store waving a gun in the air; The man Graves had arrested started screaming excitedly in Spanish; And the side door of the van slid open to spill out a few armed men.
"Gun!" Graves yelled as he retrieved his gun from its holster and fired a single shot at the man running from the store. The bullet struck the man square in the chest and knocked him off his feet.
Cena and Graves, in midst of rapid gunfire, took cover behind their patrol car. Cena drew his weapon and fired a few blind shots over the front hood. Graves snuck around the side and peaked his head from behind the trunk. Narrowly dodging a bullet as it ricocheted off the taillight, Graves took cover again.
"Graves!" Cena called. "Cover me! I'm calling this in!"
Taking risk, Graves popped out of cover and fired three shots in the van's direction. He ducked behind his cruiser again before he himself would be hit, but he did hear someone yell out in pain before being followed by a soft thud on the pavement. Graves risked himself again and attempted a peek through the windows of the patrol car. At least three of the visible five shooters were dead. As another bullet zipped by his head, Graves noticed the back windows had been shot out and the man he had arrested before had been absolutely shredded with bullets. Having no time to mourn, not that he gave a damn anyway, Graves returned to Cena's side.
"Backup's on its way," Cena informed before firing another shot over the hood of the car.
"I'm going for the shotgun," Graves told.
Cena insisted that it was a suicide run for Graves to try that, but he needed the extra support just in case there were more shooters on their way. Graves waited for a moment when the gunfire ceased long enough to give him the opportunity to open the trunk and retrieve the pump action shotgun kept locked up in case of the worst case scenario. A bullet pinged off the back door; A moment of silence followed. This was his chance. Graves unlocked the trunk, threw the hood open then blindly reached for the firearm tucked inside. Graves loaded five shells into the gun, then popped up to get a grasp of the chaotic situation. Directly in front of the patrol car, one of the shooters had managed to sneak up behind Cena. Both Graves and the shooter fired at the same time. The shooter took most of the blast to the side of his face and spun around before face planting on the blacktop.
"I'm hit!" Cena screamed.
Graves ducked another flurry of bullets. He quickly made his way to Cena while keeping himself in cover. "Where are you hit?" Graves asked.
Cena had his right arm pushed tightly against his left shoulder. "Mother fucker snuck up on us! I didn't see him in time."
Graves applied more pressure to Cena's shoulder to help stop the bleeding. "Oh, about fucking time!" The sounds of sirens could be heard fastly approaching the store. "Stay alive, John! Nikki will never let me hear the end of it if you die tonight!" Graves couldn't help but laugh when Cena gave him the finger with his injured arm.
The approaching sirens became deafening as another police car barreled into the parking lot. There was some indistinct shouting followed by a few gunshots. Graves remained behind cover with Cena, praying to a deity he didn't believe in that they would make it out of this alive. Gradually, the thunderous sounds of bullets landing all around his area ceased. Graves held his breath, fully expecting the worst to happen.
"You boys alright?" Graves recognized the sound of Officer Ziggler's voice instantly. Rounding the car Officer Dolph Ziggler and his partner, Officer Dana Brooke, quickly joined Graves near Cena.
"Jesus, took you long enough." Graves scolded, but chuckled in relief to show he was more appreciative than he let on.
Officer Brooke helped Cena to his feet, while helping him keep pressure on his shoulder wound.
"Get him to our car and wait for the ambulance there." Ziggler instructed his partner; Brooke nodded her head and slowly began leading Cena to her cruiser. "The hell happened here?" Ziggler asked Graves, taking note of the carnage around the area.
"It started with a failed armed robbery. I was getting a coffee and my friend," He turned and gestured to the mangled body in the backseat of his ruined cruiser. "Decided to try and rob the place. I arrest him. Next thing I know, we're pinned behind our car and Cena's hit."
"You think this has anything to do with Del Rio?" Ziggler asked. "His gang's been poking around here a lot lately."
Graves shrugged. "It seems possible, but I wouldn't guarantee that's what's going on. Cena said that guy," Graves nodded his head at the dead gunman by the entrance of the gas station. "Was calling someone on the phone before everything went to shit. So I assume he called it in."
Ziggler began to respond, but Graves saw a quick movement out of the corner of his eye. A single gunshot went off before Graves realised there was still one last shooter alive. Near the front of the van, the last shooter fired off a few more shots. Graves drew his handgun and fired several times in his direction. The first bullet hit the shooter directly in the left eye, killing him instantly, with the others striking various spots on his torso. Graves and Ziggler took one more quick assessment of the area to absolutely make sure it was clear.
"Officer down!" Called Officer Brooke from her patrol car.
Graves' chest immediately deflated. His vision became blurry as he sprinted in the direction of Brooke and Cena. Kneeling on the pavement, Brooke still had her hand over Cena's shoulder. Officer Cena was lying motionless on the pavement in front of her, with a fresh wound in the center of his chest. His eyes were closed. There was no doubting he was dead.
"No…" Graves croaked, tears stinging his eyes. He fell to his knees beside Brooke. Maybe this was a dream. Perhaps in the odd chance he was asleep, he would wake up in his bed right now and have a laugh with Cena over this the next morning. As the late summer breeze surrounded him, and the sound of ambulance sirens could be heard in the distance, Graves understood that he wasn't experiencing a dream.
Some three or so hours later, Graves found himself in Captain Helmsley's office. Usually after a shooting or some other violent altercation with a suspect, he would have to deal with internal affairs before going home. He did speak to them, but Helmsley wanted to talk to him before he took off.
The two sat in silence for a few moments. Graves blankly stared at his hands; They were still shaking and smelled like sulfur. The lights on the ceiling were blinding him, making Corey squint against them whenever he tried to pick his head up. And the ringing… The damned ringing in his ears wouldn't stop.
"Corey," Helmsley began as gently as he could in his otherwise loud and intimidating voice. "I can't begin to imagine what you're going through now…"
"No, you can't." Graves replied emotionlessly, taking his gaze from his hands and making eye contact with Helmsley. "My brother-in-law was shot in cold blood by a gang of dope slinging Mexicans. He died in the parking lot of a fucking Quick Stop!" Graves' voice began raising quickly, but he promptly regained his composure and lowered his tone.
Helmsley sighed. "John's wife… Nicole…"
"Don't you dare send an officer to her door to tell her her husband is dead," Graves' voice was calm but his icy stare told otherwise. "I'll tell her. I'm her brother," He swallowed hard to remove the lump in the back of his throat, but it wouldn't budge. Nikki would be absolutely devastated when she learned John's fate. Right now, she was probably sound asleep, fully expecting her husband to be there when she woke up. Graves concluded. "John was my brother. I can tell her."
Helmsley nodded his head. "Good. Again, I can't tell you how sorry I am about John's death. He was a good man. But, we need to talk business now. Those men you took down… They were all Del Rio's thugs. That last man you shot, the one in front of the van, was Alberto Del Rio himself. You and John took down the most wanted man in Fairfield County after one of his goons got busted trying to rob a gas station. You're heroes, Graves. John is a hero."
Hero. That was the last thing Graves considered himself. Would a hero beat all the bad guys and let his loved ones die? There sure as shit was never a comic book like that that Corey remembered reading. A hero sacrifices his own life for others. Cena was the hero. Graves was just lucky.
"...which is why I'm transferring you to homicide." Graves heard Helmsley say after coming back to reality.
Graves let his eyebrows raise slightly in question. "Why would you do that?"
"You put an end to a drug ring, disabled its leader, and saved the lives of so many people." Helmsley praised. "I can't put your name in the paper for your own safety, but a promotion should be enough thanks for what you did tonight."
Graves nodded his head. "Right. And all John gets is a dirt nap and a bullet to the chest." Not wanting to hear anymore, Graves stood from his seat and left the office.
Nikki Bella-Cena was awaken at three fifteen in the morning by strong, rhythmic knocking at her front door. She rolled her eyes as she threw her bathrobe over her partially exposed body. John probably got off his patrol early, had a few beers with Corey, then got so drunk he forgot how to use his keys again. Intoxicated or not, she was just happy he got home safe everyday after work. She couldn't remember how many times she begged and pleaded John to transfer to a safer city so they could finally start a family, and John wouldn't be in the constant danger he was with the scum that usually occupied the streets of Stamford. She giggled quietly to herself while sliding her hands over her midsection. Seven months, two weeks from now she and John would be parents. As she passed by the nursery, Nikki groaned in frustration when she saw John hadn't finished constructing the crib he promised to put together before he went to work tonight.
"That man," Nikki muttered with a shake of her head. Gradually, she made her way to the foyer and peaked through the curtain of the window next to the front door. "Oh," It wasn't John. It was her step-brother, Corey. "Hey, Corey," Nikki greeted her older brother with a cheery smile. She took a quick survey of her front porch. "Where's John?"
Corey opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat before he had a chance to.
"Seriously, Corey, where's John?" Nikki's smile quickly faded. If this was some kind of drunken joke, she wasn't finding it funny in the least.
Corey remained silent. In the faint light of the bulb hanging above the front door, Nikki could see tears trailing down his cheeks.
"Corey…" Nikki asked again. "Where's John?" Her brother's odd behavior was starting to worry her.
"Nikki…" Corey tried to speak but he couldn't form the words correctly. He tried to speak again, but he burst into tears the second he tried to force himself to talk.
Nikki's heart sank to her feet. "No…" She covered her mouth with both hands. Her eyes immediately watered and spilled over her cheeks. "No, please, Corey, no." Nikki stepped out onto her front porch, allowing Corey to wrap his arms around her and bring her close to his person.