Officer Down 09

More Action

It seemed like light years since Jim Dunbar raced through the streets, sirens screaming, to a crime scene. First response wasn't part of his job description anymore. Still, once Karen put the flashing light on the dash and flipped on the siren he was back in the zone. The car seemed to home in on the Red Hook address quickly. The combined scent of the docks, diesel and dirt told Jim he was home.

"What street are we on?" Jim asked as he tried to picture where he was.

"We're on Dwight, heading to Beard. Eames and Goren were outside Lillie's Café about to take a coffee break after interviewing Martin Babcock, forensic accountant." Karen rattled off facts because she needed to steady herself. Karen had come to respect… even like Alex Eames and Olivia Benson.

"I know that place, I used to bus tables there… but it wasn't called Lillie's then."

"Yeah, this was home, sweet home for you, wasn't it?" Karen cast her eyes quickly to her partner. The hard line of Jim mouth spoke louder than words, "Or maybe it wasn't?"

"It wasn't," was all he said?

Karen had a hard time finding parking near Lillie's, the narrow street were lined with prowl cars and roped off by yellow crime scene tape. Jim slid out of the car and reached to the back door to get Hank safe beside him. The neighbourhood here used to rough; hell, the whole of Red Hook used to be rough, but gentrification was finally starting here. Lillie's Café was a bit of both.

"Over here," Goren's voice called Karen and Jim. He and Alex were leaning against their car, talking to the newly arrived Mack Taylor and the CSI crew.

"Our sniper is not a very good shot," Alex said as she touched Jim's elbow to stop him.

"Either our man is getting antsy," Taylor said, "or we are dealing with more than one shooter."

"I'm hoping we got one guilt ridden psycho rather than two," Eames smirked, "I'm getting tired of seeing friends at St. Clair's."

The detectives went to work; interviewed witnesses and canvassed the neighbourhood while CSI scoured the scene. So far Jim hadn't met anyone from his childhood, but he hadn't lived here since high school. It was after five in the afternoon when the preliminaries were finished. The longshoremen started clogging the street and filling the bars in the nightly ritual called heading home.

"Let's head outta here," Jim suggested, "time to go home to the wife."

"I got an idea," Karen said, "how about you and Christie come to my place? I got a care package from my Mom and I'll never be able to eat all the food she sent over."

"I'll call, Christie likes you and I'm always up for free food" Jim laughed, "but I have to head home to feed Hank."

-Thunk- -Thunk- -Thunk-

Jim threw himself to the sidewalk, pulled Hank's harness down and slamming face first into the broken sidewalk.

"What the hell, was that a silencer," Jim shouted to Karen.

"Bettancourt," Jim heard Goren whisper.

"Karen? Karen!" Dunbar called and crawled across the sidewalk to find his partner.

"Jim," the word was a hoarse whisper, but it was all he needed to find Karen.

"I'm here." He scrambled on his hands and knees toward the voice and found her.

"My neck."

Jim's hands found Karen and traveled up her arm to her shoulders, they already felt wet and sticky. Blood.

"Hurts…."

"Hold on," Jim realized the wound was pulsing out blood. "I'm right here." Gently but firmly he pressed his hand on the wound.

"Dunbar, its Taylor, keep your hand right there." Taylor knelt beside Jim and put his hand on top of Dunbar's. "EMT's will be here soon, until then we'll keep the pressure up."

"Karen, talk to me," Jim whispered.

"What… do you want… me to say?"

"Tell me when you hear the sirens."

"I hear them now…hey… huh… you look like hell, Jimmy."

"I get that way when my friends get shot. Hey, you called me Jimmy."

"Hurts so bad," she sobbed.

"Sir," Jim jumped as a hand came down on his shoulder, "we need you to step back now."

"Come on, Jim," Alex Eames was behind him now, "Bobby and I will get you to the hospital."


"Here," Bobby Goren thrust something into Jim's hands. "Scrubs, your suit ruined."

"Thanks," Jim whispered, but didn't move. He'd cleaned the blood off his hands and face, but felt it stiff in his hair and down his neck.

"Come on, Jim, you'll scare people the way you look." Goren waited, but Jim didn't move. "Your wife's going to get your message and be here any minute. Do you want her to see you like that?"

"I don't know where to change… could you find … Damn." He threw down the scrubs. "This is so fucking humiliating."

"Jim, slow down," Alex was now beside him, "if I had my hands inside Bobby's neck I'd be spaced out too."

"Dunbar!" Marty's voice cut through the room like an ax. "I told you that you'd get Karen hurt."

Goren stepped between Russo and Dunbar; "Jim was the first one at Karen's side. He slowed the bleeding and he kept her as calm as possible until the paramedics took over. If he hadn't been there so quickly Karen would have lost a hell of a lot more blood."

Marty looked at Jim. He saw the bloody clothes, the stiff gory hair and the look of utter defeat on Dunbar's face. "I'm sorry, Jim. I was just…"

"It's okay, Marty, I just need to change my clothes." Jim stood up, "where do I do that."

"This way, Jim," Marty went to Jim's left side and tapped the back of his hand. Jim took Marty's arm and together they headed went looking for a place for him to clean up. Marty found an employee locker room where Jim could get showered and change.

"You look like a doctor in that outfit," Marty said as Jim toweled his hair dry. "Just don't go to court to try to be a brain surgeon."

"Trust me, Marty, sometimes I don't think I can do this job, let alone brain surgery."

"Don't you dare." Marty sat down beside Jim; "don't you even think you can't do this job. I know I busted your balls at first, but you can do the job. Now, let's get outta here and find out how Karen's doing?"

They headed back to the waiting room, but were stopped by a smiling E. R. doctor. "Detective Dunbar, your partner wants to talk to you."

Marty and Jim rushed to the trauma bay and Karen.

"Hey, do you need reinforcements to see me," she smiled when she saw the guys.

"I was just in the neighbourhood," Marty started.

"Shut up, Russo," Jim elbowed Marty away and to reach Karen. Gently he took her hand and traced up her arm until he found the bandages at her shoulder.

"It's only a flesh wound. Unfortunately there were arteries and veins underneath the flesh."

"So, what did the doctors say," Jim hand slipped back to hers.

"Another transfusion and an over night stay and tomorrow the doctor decide if I can go home." Karen swung her eyes to Marty. "You tell everybody at the Eighth I'm alright."

"No problem, you just get better" Russo smiled at her.

"I'm tired, I'll see you tomorrow, okay."


Jim and Hank got back home after ten that night. Christie wasn't there and Jim just didn't have the energy to find out where she was. The bedroom was just too damn far away so he collapsed on the couch. What the hell was going on? These were not professional hit; each one seemed more amateurish than the last. There was no connecting thread other than female officers in male/female teams. The how and why these women were chosen completely eluded him. Why the women, why not the men?

The home phone rang.

"Hello,"

"Jimmy, where have you been? I've been trying get hold of you for hours." Christie sounded pissed.

"Sorry, I lost my cell phone."

"I'm at Mom's, Dad's in the hospital, he was in a car accident." She was so stressed Christie didn't hear the complete and utter desolation in Jim's voice.

"He's at Columbia Presbyterian and…"

"Christie, come home."

"Jimmy, didn't you hear me. Daddy was t-boned by a gypsy cab and has a broken…"

"Karen was shot."

"Oh God… I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thank you, I love you so damn much." He hung up the phone and thanked god that he could rely on his wife and she could finally rely on him.

He picked up the receiver again and dialed.

"Bobby, Jim Dunbar here…. Thanks, yeah I'm glad you and Alex were there… yeah… yeah…Bob, I be going out tomorrow, so get Deakins to send someone over to pick me up. Yeah… we've got to do a 180 in our thinking. Concentrate on the male officers. I think the shooter is taking away the most important person in their professional lives. Face it, most of the male officers are either never married or divorced. I wonder if the shooter is seeing the female partner as more than a partner…"

The door to the apartment opened and Christie rushed to Jim.

"I gotta go. See you tomorrow." Jim closed the phone and turned to his wife."

Neither spoke as the simply held each other.