Wallet - Chapter Four - Appointment with Death
Thank you for reviewing. It's what keeps me focused. You guys wanted Jane-pain, well, here's a big bowl of it. More in the next chapter, I'm not yet done torturing the poor man. I hope this doesn't disappoint anyone. Please let me know your thoughts.
Warning: Lots of blood but no sex. If you're queasy, don't read. If you're hot and bothered, don't read. There's nothing here to help you.
Disclaimer: Don't own any of these characters. I'm just borrowing. I'll give them back. Promise.
The apartments were built in a squat, stucco, line parallelling the sidewalk with only a pathetic strip of dying grass between the weathered doors and the concrete sidewalk.
There was no cover. The only place to hide was either behind the building or concealed behind cars parked on the street in front of it. After warning Jane to stay well out of the way, they'd crouched behind the line of assorted vehicles parked at the curb. Local PD, acting as back-up, was behind the building and also further down the block in a large utility van with the power company logo on its side.
Right on schedule, carrying a small nylon gym bag, he came down the walkway and lightly bounded up the one step to the small landing in front of his door. He took a large key ring out of his pocket and sorted quickly through the many keys and finding the correct one, fit it into the lock and turned it.
Ideally, they'd have braced him before he actually went into the apartment, but there was no way for them to get to him from concealment before he entered and quickly shut the door behind him. They heard the dead-bolt click into place as they silently gathered in front of the door with the dangling brass number.
Cho, for all his stoicism, was a superstitious man. Upside down seven, not a good sign,he said to himself as he waited behind Rigsby with his gun drawn.
"C.B.I., open up!" Announced Rigsby loudly as he pounded on the peeling door.
Suddenly, it splintered in a flurry of bullets and everyone flattened themselves on the ground before scrambling for cover behind the cars parked on the street.
"Son of a bitch!" said Lisbon loudly; her heart pounding in her ears as she crouched with her back against the wheel-well of a battered Buick. They shouldn't have been so sure of themselves. It was a mistake to think that a man who'd already committed murder wouldn't be a threat simply because of his appearance.
"You people are going to have to kill me!" came a hoarse shout from the apartment, smoke still curling through the holes in the splintered door.
"We're not going to kill anyone!" shouted Lisbon "Give yourself up Keplovich before anyone gets hurt!"
"No! What am I supposed to do now? That bitch said she cared for me! I gave her gifts and she threw them away! How could she say she cared for me when she threw away things I gave her!"
"Keplovich, calm down. Let's talk about this. No one wants you to get hurt. I'm sure that we can work this out. Just listen to me, it'll be OK!"
"I told her I loved her and she told me she didn't feel the same way! How could she do that?" his voice broke "I loved her! She thought I was just a loser who worked in a bagel shop! That's what pretty girls do! They lie to you and then leave you! I couldn't let her live! She'd just hurt someone else like she hurt me!"
"Just throw your gun out, Andrew! We'll go somewhere where we can talk about it. We can help you out of this. You had your reasons, I'm sure they'll see that!"
There was no reply. She hoped he was thinking it over.
Suddenly, the little man burst from the door, a gun in each hand like the tourist version of the Old West, firing wildly in their general direction. Many guns simultaneously returned fire and the heartbroken and, heretofore, meek little man went down and lay still.
There'd been so much noise and then abrupt, profound, silence as the smoke from the expended ammunition rose into the cool air and was swirled away in the breeze. She walked toward the body and kicked away the handguns; making them spin across the concrete walk.
Reholstering her gun, she bent to feel for a pulse. It was just a formality. She knew he had to be dead . . . and he was . . . as a doornail.
She couldn't explain it but, when you touched the skin of someone who'd ceased to be; there was no exchange of electrical impulse between your own fingertips and the skin of the deceased. She'd experienced it too many times before and, this guy, most certainly, had become a part of the 'great oneness'. She holstered her gun and looked down at the sad, little man on the bloody concrete.
"Everyone OK?" yelled Lisbon to the people behind her.
"OK here boss" said Cho as he stepped beside her to look down at the body.
Amid several other responses, she heard VanPelt's, "Good here" and Rigsby say, "Umm, yeah" his face flushed and looking slightly breathless as he waited for his heartbeat to slow.
Then, chilliningly, she heard, "No" in a shaky voice behind her "Not OK"
The four agents spun as one toward the feeble voice and saw Jane on the asphalt between two bullet-riddled cars. He was on his knees and his eyes were blinking in stunned surprise at the dark stain spreading on the front of his grey vest. Both hands were pressed to his chest and blood seeped between his fingers and down the back of his hands in bright curling rivulets.
"Jane!" gasped Lisbon as the four agents rushed toward him with she and Cho reaching him first and quickly kneeling beside him.
He looked at them questioningly for a brief moment, then his eyes rolled back and he pitched sideways. His fall was broken by the quick reflexes of the Asian agent who lowered him carefully to the tarry ground.
"Oh, God!" breathed Lisbon as she tore open Jane's vest and the blue shirt beneath it. The wound wasn't very big but it was bleeding fiercely.
She could hear VanPelt in the background calling for EMT's, manic urgency in her voice. She'd yelled "Officer down!" to the 911 operator on the other end of the call, gave the address and waited for the operator to confirm it before snapping her phone shut and coming forward to stand over the three on the ground.
He face tense with worry, she said "Ambulance on the way, Boss."
Jane moaned softly and opened eyes that darted around in panic until he found Lisbon's face above him, her dark hair hanging like a curtain on either side.
"I did as you told me, Lisbon, I stayed back. I'm sorry." His voice was soft and almost inaudible but he looked up at her calmly as though he was lying on his couch in the bullpen.
"I know, it's OK. You did good. It's not your fault." said Lisbon soothingly, her stomach in a knot as she pressed her own hands over the steadily bleeding wound. It always amazed her that small wounds could produce such a startling amount of blood. Rigsby handed her a large wad of gauze he'd apparently gotten from the first aid kit they kept in the SUV. The gauze turned quickly from white to red as it soaked through.
One of the neighbors, a round, olive skinned woman, brave or foolish enough to venture out, came timidly forward with a small stack of clean towels. She handed them wordlessly to VanPelt.
"Gracias" said the tall redhead as she nodded in thanks; taking them from the Good Samaratan. She pushed a towel into Lisbon's hands who added it to the sodden layer and pressed down. It seemed to startle him and he hissed at the pain; his face shining with sweat despite the cool temperature. His skin looked nearly translucent.
"You know . . . " he began softly before gasping to gather more oxygen to get the words out " You know . . . "
"What Jane?" said Lisbon as she used another of the towels to wipe away the blood that dribbled from the corner of his mouth.
"My dad . . . he always said I'd die in a gutter somewhere." he tried to laugh but it only came out in a wet wheeze.
"Jane, you're not going to die!" Lisbon said fiercely as if her voice alone could will strength into his body.
"I'm sorry Teresa."
"Shh, you don't have anything to be sorry for, Jane. Just be still the EMT's are on their way. We'll get you to the hospital and it will be better . . . you'll feel better. Just hang on for a while longer, OK?"
"'Kay" he said, his grey-green eyes still locked on her face.
He doesn't look afraid, she thought as she switched out another towel and held it tightly to his chest.
His chest heaving for air, he began to cough wetly; eyes widening in panic as bright, frothy, blood filled his mouth and dripped down the side of his face
"Help me sit him up!" said Lisbon, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice.
The two men grasped him under the arms and lifted him onto the scraggly, yellowing grass of the parkway. Lisbon motioned for them to place him against her as she braced her back against one of the half-dead trees. She could feel his heart beating wildly through the back of his shirt as she reached her arms around his body to brace him upright.
Lisbon knew the rapid beating could be from pain or fear but it was probably his heart trying to compensate for the blood loss.
"VanPelt, get me an ETA on that ambulance!" she barked
Cho squatted in front of them holding the bloody towels against the wound. Rigsby was next to him patting Jane's shoulder with the tenderness of someone stroking a kitten. "Just hang in there, man."
Trying not to choke on his own blood, he managed to cough out "Do my best."
Then, as she could feel him start to relax against her, she thought she heard him mumble another soft "I'm sorry" before his body went completely slack.
She put her shaking fingers against his neck. His pulse was still there but she could feel it skip and then slow, then speed up again.
"Where's the ambulance?" she said looking at Cho's stoic face; her desperation making her own face flushed and taut. She held him tightly as his life slipped away into the cool wind that whirled around them.