My stories are for my own pleasure; SOSF is the sole property of Quinn Martin Productions and I use the characters for purely personal entertainment purposes. Thanks!
The black-and-white flew down the street, the blare of the siren bouncing off the walls of the wooden flophouses, the spinning red lights adding an eerie splash of colour to the overcast waning light. The patrol car squealed to a sliding stop beside the tan LTD, the passenger side door opening while the vehicle was still in motion.
Patrolman Andy Madsen, his service revolver already in his hand, glanced into the unmarked car, then made his way cautiously to the front door of the dilapidated two-storey structure whose battered front door stood open. As his partner, Patrolman Tom McKinley, closed in behind him, Madsen whispered over his shoulder with a nod towards the LTD, "That's 81."
McKinley nodded, and the pair cautiously stepped through the doorway, unsettled by the ominous silence. There was a short corridor straight ahead of them, dark and foreboding; the ceiling light was off. McKinley saw the switch and flicked it on but nothing happened. They could make out piles of garbage on the floor and the place reeked of spoiled food, excrement and the distinct smell of unwashed human beings. It was all they could do not to gag.
Madsen took another step forward then froze, cocking his head instinctively. Was that a moan? Cautiously and quietly, he moved further down the corridor and into a small alcove that led to a flight of stairs. Someone was on the floor at the foot of the stairs, moaning, trying to get to their feet by hanging onto the banister post.
Rapidly sizing up the situation and realizing this person was in no condition to be a threat at the moment, the two patrolmen sprang forward. The injured man had pulled himself up and was trying to take a step towards them, and they managed to catch him before he fell face first onto the floor. "Easy, easy," McKinley said quietly, lowering the injured and bloodied man down.
"Steve?" Madsen asked quickly, softly, his voice laced with disbelief, and McKinley glanced quickly at his partner before refocusing on the man in his arms.
A blood-covered, horribly swollen face wobbled, trying to look up. A pain-filled moan escaped the bloody split lips as he tried to focus through eyes quickly disappearing from the rapid swelling. Madsen snapped over his shoulder. "Call for back-up and a couple of buses." McKinley was up and on his way to the door before Madsen had time to turn his attention back to the almost unrecognizable detective.
Steve was trying to talk. "Mmm….mmmm…" he groaned, and his slit eyes closed briefly. They opened again as he tried to pull away from Madsen's grip, turning back towards the stairs.
"Steve, what happened?"
"Mmm…Mike…Mike…" came the pain-filled gasp.
Madsen glanced up the stairs. "Mike's up there?"
Steve nodded, wincing and tried once more to move towards the stairs. Madsen held tight. "You're not going anywhere. Wait till Tom gets back and I'll go up there. We have back-up and ambulances coming."
Madsen heard McKinley running back down the corridor and slide to a stop beside him. "They're on their way," he said breathlessly.
Madsen lifted Steve slightly and pushed him towards his partner. "Mike's up there," he explained quickly, nodding up the staircase. "You wait here, I'm going up."
With a quick nod and holding Steve gently, McKinley nodded. "Be careful."
Madsen started quietly and quickly up the steps; Steve tried to pull away from McKinley to follow. "No, no, no, Steve, you've got to stay here. Andy'll find Mike."
# # # # #
Madsen stepped off the top step and onto the landing. There were two doors, one closed, one open. Surmising that the open door was the one he wanted, he moved silently across the floor and entered the apartment.
Immediately he could tell that the layout would be much the same as in any number of flophouses in the city. A long central corridor lead to a 'living room' open area at the back, and doors on either side off the corridor would open to the galley kitchen, nearest the door, and one, possibly two small bedrooms and a tiny bathroom.
The apartment smelled of garbage, faeces, blood and gunpowder. He thought he could see a body at the end of the corridor.
With pounding heart, Madsen moved cautiously down the corridor to the door on his left. He stepped across the threshold and dropped into a shooting stance, then raised the gun when he realized the kitchen was empty. The room was dirty and cluttered, the cupboard door under the sink open. There was a small pool of blood on the floor in front of the refrigerator and smear of blood down the fridge door.
Moving quietly past the open cupboard door and stepping over the pool of blood, Madsen exited the second kitchen door back out into the corridor. Gun up, he moved towards the next doorway, swung into the room, which was mercifully empty of everything including furniture, then back into the corridor once more.
He glanced quickly once again at the body on the floor, now convinced it was the lieutenant; but he also knew he had to make sure the other rooms were empty and secure before he could proceed further. Peripherally he became aware of approaching sirens.
The silence becoming frightening oppressive, he swung quickly once more into the next open door, but the filthy bathtub and moldy sink told him instantly this room was also empty. There was only the room at the end of the hall remaining, and as he approached it in a crouch, getting closer to the man on the floor, he took his left hand off the gun and reached down to lay his fingers against the unconscious lieutenant's neck, feeling for a pulse.
Relaxing slightly when he felt one, he glanced down at his fallen colleague. Mike was on his back, the right side of his torso and his right arm soaked in fresh blood. His .38 service revolver was in his left hand.
Madsen straightened up and stepped further into the room. There was a large mattress and box spring in the centre of the room, the filthy rumpled sheets soaked with blood. Against the far wall was a large splatter of blood, which disappeared in a downward streak. Making his way cautiously around the bed, gun ready, Madsen spotted a dirty, blood-covered foot.
Stepping further forward, ready for any sign of movement, Madsen cleared the bed. A young afro-haired black man lay on his back, arms and legs outspread, eyes wide open, a bullet hole over his heart.
Madsen took a step backward, slowly lowering his gun. He could hear loud footsteps back down the corridor, and someone yelled, "Police!" He turned his head, calling over his shoulder. "We're clear! We need medics in here fast! We have a man down!" He was relieved to hear footsteps pounding down the corridor.
# # # # #
They had managed to get Steve Keller onto a gurney but not into the ambulance. He had grabbed onto McKinley's arm. "Please," he moaned between swollen lips, "…Mike…I have to see…if he's okay…"
McKinley looked to the ambulance attendants. "Hang on, fellas, please." He smiled back at Steve as best he could, trying to keep the worry out of his expression. "Just a couple of minutes, okay? If they're not out soon, I'll go in and find out how he is."
The area was now buzzing with back-up officers and, a minute before, the second ambulance had pulled up and the attendants had off-loaded the gurney and disappeared into the apartment.
Steve closed his eyes, and McKinley knew he was fighting to stay conscious – that the obvious beating he had taken was exacting its toll. It was only a matter of time till he wouldn't be able to stay awake any longer. McKinley shuddered. In his albeit brief career as a San Francisco Police Officer, he had never seen anyone as badly beaten up as Steve seemed to be, and it frightened him. What the hell had happened up there?
Suddenly there were shouts from inside the apartment and the second gurney shot out of the front door. The attendants were at either end, moving as fast as they could. Mike lay unmoving on the gurney, but even at a distance, McKinley could see the blood soaked jacket. Madsen was jogging alongside the gurney, holding a pressure bandage against the lieutenant's right shoulder. He glanced up at McKinley as they crossed the short distance to the ambulance.
Putting a comforting hand on his arm, McKinley glanced down at Steve, who was half-sitting up, swollen eyes riveted on his partner. As they watched, Mike's left arm slipped off the gurney and dangled limply. McKinley felt Steve stiffen under his touch.
The second gurney was slid into the other ambulance and Madsen slammed the doors as one attendant stepped up into the back and other ran around to the driver's seat. Madsen pounded twice on the back door as the ambulance screamed away from the scene, siren wailing.
As McKinley started to turn to the two attendants with him, he felt Steve go limp under his touch. One of the attendants, who had been watching, caught the injured man before his head hit the gurney, lowered him gently, then with practiced precision, the gurney was slid into the ambulance and the doors shut.
With a worried sigh, McKinley watched it drive off, it's own siren mixing with that of the first. He became aware of Madsen walking up behind him and a reassuring hand grip his shoulder. After several seconds, they turned and walked back into the apartment.