The elevator door opened and four detectives stepped out into the silent garage, heading for the row of unmarked sedans. Healey and Devitt reached into their jacket pockets for keys. As they rounded a pillar, they all started slightly; Captain Cassidy was leaning against the fender of the moss green LTD.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Olsen asked and he and Devitt split and circled their car.
Cassidy pushed himself up with a wistful smile then moved past Olsen to the passenger side back door. "Mike was working for me, remember? I have as much at stake in this as you do."
Olsen stared at him silently for a long beat then nodded, opening the door and getting in.
# # # # #
The sun was well up but the streets still eerily quiet as the two unmarked sedans slid to the curb down the street from the four-storey walk-up. The doors opened and five detectives emerged, walking silently up the street. They paused briefly on the sidewalk, Olsen making eye contact with each one of them, and each one of them nodding back.
With a tight, mirthless smile, Olsen led the way into the building and up the stairs, all of them moving as silently as they could on the linoleum covered steps. The filthy carpeting in the hallway muffled their footsteps as they approached the door of 4B. Olsen looked at Healey, who took a key out of his pocket and slid it silently into the knob.
He glanced back at the others; they all had their service revolvers in their hands. Taking a deep breath, Healey turned the key and they heard the tumblers click over. He opened the door slowly, half expecting it to be stopped by the chain, but it opened easily, although with a heart-stopping creak.
They stepped noiselessly into the large, cluttered living room. There was an open entranceway to the kitchen on their right and three closed doors, one on the left, the other two straight ahead.
Oliver Webster was lying on the couch, sound asleep and snoring. He was on his side, facing away, a blanket hanging half on the floor. His gun in front of him, Healey approached the couch, stopping with the barrel of his .38 about a foot away from the young man's head. He glanced over his shoulder; Haseejian sidled up beside him.
Devitt and Cassidy were moving quietly towards the door on the left, assuming it was a bedroom. Slowly and silently, Devitt reached out and turned the knob then pushed the door open, hoping it wouldn't creak; it didn't. He stared into the darkened room then glanced over his shoulder at Olsen, standing in the centre of the room, and nodded.
The captain nodded back. Their first objective had been to take Carole and Oliver Webster by surprise, restrain them, and then look for Mike. No matter what, everyone's safety was their first priority.
Devitt and Cassidy moved softy into the room, Devitt going to the far side of the bed, their guns trained on the sleeping figure. Olsen moved so he could be seen by Devitt and Healey, both detectives staring at him, waiting for the signal; it was imperative that this was done simultaneously. Satisfied that everyone was ready, he nodded.
Haseejian reached out and grabbed Oliver's arm, pulling him abruptly backwards and off the couch. The young man's eyes snapped open and he gasped, his eyes widening even more as, flailing wildly, he fell heavily to the floor.
"Police, Mrs. Webster! Wake up!" Devitt yelled loudly and the figure on the bed jerked, scrambling to sit up, the suddenly terrified blue eyes snapping from one gun to the other as she grabbed the blanket and pulled it up, skittering back closer to the headboard and pulling her legs up to her chest.
"What's going on?!" she demanded. Her head was snapping back and forth between the two men on either side of the bed. "Who are you?! Why are you doing this to us?!"
Satisfied the Websters were under control, Olsen, his gun still in his hand, stepped to one of the other closed doors and opened it. It was a bathroom. He moved swiftly to the last door and opened it. The room, obviously another bedroom, was dark but he could see a figure in the bed. He snapped on the overhead light then crossed quickly to the head of the bed.
Healey and Haseejian were grappling with Oliver, who wasn't resisting but wasn't complying either, and they were having trouble getting cuffs on him. Cassidy had reached for Carole Webster and managed to turn her so he could pin her arms behind her back; Devitt had his cuffs ready.
The sound of Olsen's yell, filled with more emotion that they thought possible to put into just two words, made all their hearts stop. "He's here!"
Cassidy glanced at Devitt and nodded. The grey-haired captain spun and bolted from the room.
Healey, still struggling with the uncooperative Oliver, looked up at Haseejian, "Go," he ordered breathlessly. Haseejian followed Devitt into the bedroom. Olsen was standing at the head of the bed, a worried but relieved look on his tired face.
Mike, barely conscious, his eyes a slit in his drawn, pain-filled, beard-stubbled face, was staring up in disbelief. "Rudy…?" he breathed. They could barely hear him.
Olsen tried to smile, leaning over the bed and awkwardly patting the top of the injured man's head. "Yeah… yeah, it's me, Mike. We found you…" His eyes traveled over what he could see of his friend, the bloody shirt, the thick bandage over the left shoulder, the arm in the sling. Swallowing heavily, he glanced to his left and met Haseejian's eyes.
Knowing what the look meant, the sergeant nodded and almost ran from the room, not even glancing at Healey as he disappeared out the front door. Cassidy came through the bedroom door, propelling Carole in front of him, her hands cuffed behind her back. He pushed her down on the couch as Healey pulled Oliver up as best he could and gestured for him to sit on the sofa beside his mother. Thankfully, the imposing young man meekly complied.
Knowing the Homicide sergeant had a closer relationship with Mike Stone than he did, Cassidy nodded at Healey then cocked his head towards the bedroom. With a tight, grateful smile, Healey holstered his gun as he almost jogged into the room, brushing past Devitt, who was exiting. Their eyes met briefly; Devitt looked worried.
Healey pulled up beside Olsen, quickly taking in the sight of his wounded boss; Mike looked awful and he felt his heart constrict. He watched in amazement as the bloodshot blue eyes slid in his direction and a slight smile curled the lieutenant's lips. "Dan…" he acknowledged weakly and Healey tried to grin, hoping it made it to his eyes.
"Mike…" He reached out impart a comforting touch but stopped himself, not wanting to aggravate the discomfort that Mike was so obviously in.
Devitt reappeared with a wet facecloth and handed it to Olsen. With surprising gentleness, Olsen leaned over the bed and began to pat the beads of sweat from Mike's face.
Healey's gaze wandered to the head of the bed, knitting in a quick frown when he noticed the thin nylon rope tied around the post of the headboard. His eyes snapped to the footboard and the two ropes tied there as well. "Dear god," he muttered furiously under his breath as he circled the bed, gently lifting the blanket off Mike's right arm, briefly freezing in shock when the handcuff was exposed.
He glanced up at Devitt and Olsen, who had been watching him, and they shared an angry look. Swallowing heavily, Healey reached into his pants pocket, pulling out small silver key. He sat on the edge of bed and gently picked up Mike's right wrist, careful of the IV needle. "Here," he said with a forced lightness, glancing at the lieutenant, who had closed his eyes again, "let's get rid of this…" He unsnapped the cuff and carefully slipped it off, then lowered the hand back to the bed.
Leaving the cuffs on the rope, he dropped them quietly to the floor then moved to the foot of the bed where Devitt had already lifted the blanket off Mike's feet and ankles. They shared a rage-filled look. Healey exhaled heavily through his nose and briefly closed his eyes, feeling a brief but compassionate pat on the back from his equally furious colleague.
They studied the ropes tied to the footboard, and the ends around the lieutenant's bare ankles. Fortunately the ropes weren't tied very tight but the knots were incredibly taut and impossible to undo with just their fingers. Knowing the ropes would need to be cut off later, they untied the nylon cords from the footboard then pulled the blanket back down.
Healey stepped away from the bed and ran his hands over his face. Devitt wandered towards Olsen and smiled down their wounded colleague, trying to control his building rage.
"The ambulance and a couple of patrol cars are on their way," Haseejian announced breathlessly as he suddenly reappeared in the room. He positioned himself between Olsen and Devitt, his eyes riveted on the bed. After a couple of seconds of stunned silence, he grinned. "How ya doin', boss?" he asked with an incongruous chortle and the others froze.
Mike, who had closed his eyes, opened them slowly and looked in the Armenian sergeant's direction. After a couple of long seconds, he smiled as best he could. "I'm doin' great, Norm," he answered weakly but trying to chuckle. "How are you?"
Haseejian laughed. The others relaxed.
Mike's eyes slid to Olsen again, who was still wiping his face with the wet cloth. "Where's Steve…?"
Olsen's hand froze almost imperceptibly and he quickly cleared his throat. He could feel Devitt's eyes on him. "Well, ah, we had more than one place to raid this morning… trying to find you. He's, ah, he's leading the other team." For some unknown reason, he glanced at Haseejian for support.
After an awkward, confused beat, the sergeant blurted out, "Ah, yeah, he's across town… with Bill and Lee… But he knows. He's gonna meet us at the hospital."
With a weak but satisfied smile, Mike closed his eyes again. As the sound of the approaching siren reached their ears, the detectives exchanged relieved glances.
The siren fell silent and about a minute later they could hear the sound of heavy footsteps mounting the stairs. Two paramedics, gear in hand, hustled into the bedroom, taking in the four detectives standing around the bed before dropping their equipment. The cops backed away as one of the EMT's circled the bed to the far side and, glancing at the IV apparatus with a curious frown, climbed carefully onto the bed to get better access. They already knew who their patient was and that he had been shot around 36 hours before, and went to work immediately.
The EMT on the bed smiled encouragingly as he pulled the blanket away and dropped it on the floor. "How are you doing, Lieutenant?"
Mike had opened his eyes. "Can I… get something… for the pain?" he gasped, biting his bottom lip.
The paramedic frowned then nodded. "Yeah… yeah, of course." He looked up at his partner, and they both looked at the IV line in the back of their patient's right hand. Their frowns deepened.
The detectives watched silently as, with impressive speed and efficiently, Mike was given a shot into the vein on the inside on his right elbow. Everyone watched as the tight, pain-filled lines on their wounded colleague's face began to ease and a soft sigh escape his lips as he closed his eyes and let the welcome numbness wash over him.
As the EMT kneeling on the floor unpacked one of their cases, he looked up and caught Haseejian's attention. "We're not gonna be able to get him down those steps with a gurney or even a stretcher," he said quickly. "You need to get the rescue squad here, with a litter."
Nodding, with another glance back at the bed, the sergeant left the room again, past Cassidy who was standing guard over the subdued and silent Websters.
"Lieutenant?" the EMT on the bed said, leaning over his patient. Mike opened his eyes a slit. "We need to have a look at your shoulder before we get you out of here." He held up the large pair of Lister scissors his partner had handed him. "I'm gonna have to cut the bandages off. Are you okay with that?"
Closing his eyes again, Mike nodded.
Very gently, the paramedic slipped Mike's left arm out of the sling and lowered it to the bed, then he slid the flat bottom of the scissors under the tensor bandage around Mike's chest and cut it open. He moved the scissors to the bandage over the shoulder and within seconds, he was carefully lifting the blood-soaked gauze pad off the wound. The three detectives, watching at a distance with held breaths, squirmed uneasily when the unusually large, ragged hole in Mike's shoulder was revealed.
"Has, ah, has the bullet been removed?" the EMT asked, trying to keep the worry from his voice.
Keeping his eyes closed, Mike snorted dryly and shook his head slightly. "She said she tried but it was too deep…" he explained softly.
Healey dropped his head and exhaled loudly. Olsen took a step back, shaking his head and staring at the floor. Devitt clenched his jaw, looking angrily over his shoulder towards the living room.
"Don't worry, Lieutenant," the paramedic said encouragingly. "You're surrounded by friends now. We're all gonna look after you… everything's gonna be okay…" He looked up at the cops and smiled.
And somehow they knew he was right.