That Day

Pistol Opera

Disclaimer: Still don't own the characters. I'll get over it.

A/N: Wow! Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! I couldn't believe that you all like this fic so much. It's really hard to write in first person, especially Bosco, and I was hesitant to post this, thinking that perhaps I had written him wrong. I'm glad you think I did a decant job! Here's the latest addition, enjoy!

**********

I was right. I'm gonna get a lecture.

Faith just finished booking the wife-beating-spit-spewing jag-off, and I am so ready to get back out on the streets. I don't really like being at the station - too confining. I watch half-interestedly as Swersky and Christopher talk with some detectives; whatever it is they are talking about looks pretty serious.

Swersky is cool - he's a great boss, but Christopher, now he's just a big ass. He loves to get under my skin. He knows all the right buttons to push, and boy, does he push them. Plus, he's my superior so I can't say too much back to him. I have to get really creative sometimes, and fortunately, he's about as smart as a monkey, so sometimes I can insult him and he doesn't get it for a while.

Faith is pulling at my arm, "Com'on." She doesn't look too mad, good. Maybe she'll let this one go...yeah, I'd like to think that. I never get away with anything.

We get back into our RMP and only drive about half-a-block away before she starts. Here we go...

"Bosco, you can't do that stuff anymore. You're liable to get us sued, and I can't afford that. Just stick to your job. You don't have to go off your rocker every time someone gets in your face." Her tone is brisk - she's mad. I've seen worse, though.

"He kicked me and spit in my face! What did you want me to do, Faith? Let him get away with it? I don't think so. Besides, he beat that woman. You beat a woman and you get an ass-kickin', plain and simple," I answer shortly because she's starting to piss me off.

I want to tell her what really was happening, but I'm still freaked out myself and I don't even want to think about it. The fact that I can't and won't tell her what happened is pissing me off. I'm just pissed off right now. I hope she doesn't keep pushing or I might say something I'll regret.

"Bosco, I know he beat her up, but you need to let it go. He'll get it in jail days. Don't risk my ass just because you wanna prove a point, or be all masculine or somthin'. It's not worth it to me." She rolls her eyes again and stares out the window.

I just shake my head; she'll probably never understand me and my ways. Hell, I barely understand myself half the time. Damn, I'm screwed up.

Dispatch radios in again, "All available units of the 55, we have reports of a bank robbery in progress, 2470 Montgomery."

Huh, finally some action. We haven't had any good calls in a week. Not that I like bank robberies or anything, it's just that that kind of stuff is way more interesting then the normal, everyday Domestics and ticket writing. You know, the kind of stuff I signed up for in the first place. Faith doesn't like all of the action so much, but I guess that has something to do with her being a girl, or maybe it's because she has a family to worry about.

I'm all alone, so I don't really care. Bring it on.

I grab my shoulder radio and confirm, "Central, 55-David, 2470 Montgomery."

**********

We pull up to the bank less then three minutes later but we aren't the first on the scene. 55-Charlie is there already, its lights flashing red and blue against the gray sky. Sullivan and Davis are already out of their squad and kneeling behind it. They're pointing their guns at the bank's glass windows.

I quickly hop out of our RMP and, half-crouching and bent over in sort of a duck walk, I make my way over to Davis. I'm sure I must look ridiculous right now, but I'd rather look like a mutant duck-man than get my head blown clear off my shoulders.

"Hey, what's goin' on?" I ask Davis quietly as I pull my 9 from my gun belt. I unlock the safety and rub the right side of the barrel with my thumb for good luck, a superstitious habit.

"Two guys in there and they're armed and holding hostages," Davis rattles off. He keeps his gun trained on the building and I follow his sights though the plate-glass windows.

Yep, I can see them. Two black-masked morons armed with guns big enough to be Uzis. They look upset and are swinging those guns around. Probably mad that we showed up so quickly. I smirk at the thought.

Sully is yelling through his bullhorn for them to surrender, but they pretty much refuse to acknowledge us and our weak attempt to negotiate. I would too - Sully is really bad at negotiating. The whole "You're surrounded. Put your hands on your head and come out slowly" bit just doesn't cut the cake anymore. We should shoot the lowlives. Bullets speak louder than words.

Okay, yeah, they don't buy it. They just keep on yelling and swinging those Uzi-guns around.

Well, actually, now that I look harder I can see that their "Uzi-guns" are only sawed-off shotguns. Cheap, sawed-off shotguns. No wonder they were robbing the bank - I would too if I was only sporting ten cents worth of scrap-metal. I shake my head and frown.

So, we crouch there for about fifteen more seconds before one of those cheap morons starts firing. At what, I have no idea, but I can hear people screaming inside. We all drop to the ground instinctively and I can feel the cold ice burn my ungloved hands like pins and needles. For a fleeting second I wonder where I left my gloves. Oh, that's right, I took them off when I drove in. I never wear gloves when I have to use my gun, because the extra cloth covering my fingers makes squeezing the trigger hard to manage.

"He shot a hostage!" Sully yells from behind his squad, startling me. He is screaming into his mike for backup, wherever the hell they are. Faith also is radioing in, he head tilted towards her shoulder CB. "Central, shots fired at this location. Where the hell is ESU?"

I pick myself up and peer over the squad, looking intently into the bank. Shit... They shot some lady in the chest; her bloodied body is strewn across the floor in a haphazard position. I gulp back the nervous lump forming in my throat.

I try and think, try and formulate a plan. I'm pretty sure they won't do anything else as equally stupid. I mean, come on... shooting a hostage right in front of four cops? If they try anything else, they're dumber than I thought.

Well, I guess shooting one hostage isn't enough gore for those two blood-mongers, because now I can see Cheap-shot Moron Number One holding his gun to some young guy's head.

Oh, great...

He fires, point-blank range. Reflex makes my eyes squeeze shut at the blast, but I force them open again. My stomach turns as I watch the poor guy's brains get blown all over the place. The windows of the bank are now covered in blood and brain matter and it's harder to see inside. I squint and try to ignore the wet, dripping mess. Shit... that's just wrong

The terrified people held inside are screaming so loud it's starting to hurt my ears. The robber-guy starts waving around his gun again and levels it on a little old lady. She's trembling and clutching her little purse in her hands, whispering something to the guy - pleading it looks like. God, I can't watch this...

My sinking feelings of despair quickly turn to anger. I clench my teeth so hard that my jaw hurts and cock my gun. My eyes narrow as they glare at the antagonists inside.

Son-of-a-bitch... Okay, that's enough - you've gone way too far, jag-off! You don't shoot old ladies.

Unfortunately, my angry reaction is faster then my ability to conjure up a plan. I think frantically. What do I do? What the hell do I do? I know we usually are supposed to wait on ESU, but they will probably take another five minutes that we don't have. God, they are so slow sometimes.

The guy inside cocks the shotgun at poor Granny, who is now crying hysterically. I can't stand here anymore doing nothing.

As usual, I don't take a whole lot of time to think about what I'm going to do - I just react. Now, I know that sounds really stupid, but it works in this job. See, if you think about everything and all the consequences, you'll most likely spend the whole time crouched behind your RMP doing nothing. So, I usually just go, and it's worked for me so far.

I run out from behind the cruiser and up to the corner of the bank where I know they can't hit me. The perps fire at me as I run, but I'm really fast and they're really bad shots - well, long-range at least. None of their bullets even came close to hitting me. The glass from the smashed and splintered windows sprays all around my feet and nearly reaches the squads as it scatters.

I can hear Faith's high-pitched screams for me to get back, but I ignore her and take a deep breath - time for part two of my hastily concocted plan.

Here we go...one...two...three!

I turn and shove my boot through the glass door so it shatters, then duck back around the corner again. More shots, but they are still aimed me and not at the hostages, so that's good. A bullet whizzes right by my left ear and the corner of the building chips away with it. Concrete powder sprays all over me and my ear buzzes and rings from the noisy blast. Instinctively, I cover my ear with my hand and wince at the sharp pain.

Finally, the morons stop firing and I think I hear the clicking of an empty gun - I can hardly tell over all of the damn ringing in my head. Maybe I got lucky and they ran out of ammo.

No such luck. I can hear them snapping new clips in. Shit.

Snap decision: I can go now, while they have their guns down... Okay, sounds good. I whirl around the corner again and fire high, over the hostages that are pressed to the floor. My gun goes off twice as I make one of those crazy dives for the ground, you know, the kind you see in movies where the guy shoots as he takes a flying leap.

I can't see anything clearly as I fly though the air, but as I fall I can clearly hear Faith screaming my name over and over. I don't pay much heed; my mind is focused exclusively on one thing...

Did I hit them?

I strike the ground with a hard thud and disregard the throbbing pain in my side as I roll over behind 55-Charlie. Sully is back there and staring at me like I'm crazy, his mouth hanging open in shock. After a moment, his gaping mouth finally decides to work, "What the hell was that, Bosco? You trying to get yourself killed?" he yells as he grabs my arm and yanks me farther behind the car.

Yeah, Sully, I'm trying to kill myself - but I wanted to go out in a blaze of glory instead of popping pills or eating a bullet. Whatever.

I just ignore him as I scramble to get up and peer over the hood. Holy shit! I hit the guy!

Moron Number One is lying on the floor, twisted up in pain. Moron Number Two looks really freaked out and fires twice in Faith's direction. I see Davis out of the corner of my eye; he pops his head up from behind my cruiser and fires back. I guess he must have moved for a better line of fire, because he has a much clearer shot from over there.

Bang! His gun goes off and the second guy hits the ground. Nice shot.

Davis looks a little shocked for a second, like he can't believe he actually hit the guy, before he regains his composure and runs in the bank after Sully, who took off as soon as he saw the guy hit the ground.

I catch my breath for a moment and re-cock my gun. My ear is still ringing and my hands are shaking from the stimulation. I can literally feel my blood rushing through me as I try not to think about what the hell I actually just did.

I hear loud yelling and the crunching sound of shoes running on broken glass as five or six frightened people come running out of the bank with their hands held over their heads protectively.

I run up and grab the little old granny lady by her arm and hurry her back behind the RMP. She's trembling and crying and her hand is bleeding from a glass cut, but she otherwise looks unharmed. "Are you okay?" I ask her, she just sobs and nods her head. I help her to sit against the cruiser and motion for her to not to move, "Stay right here, okay?"

Faith pulls a middle-aged couple back and tells them to stay put. I run into the building with my heart pulsing with the intensity of the moment.

Glass grits under my boots as I walk in to the damaged bank and take a long look.

Sully and Davis are quick; they have the two guys cuffed, but from the looks of things they didn't really have to do that. They aren't going anywhere any time soon. The guy I downed is bleeding profusely from a shot to the stomach and the other guy has a nice clean shot to his upper leg. The blood on the floor is making an ugly, red puddle around them.

I glare at the now de-masked skels for a moment before I recognize the guy I shot and his partner. Their mug shots have been pasted up on the station's New York's Most Wanted board for months. I feel my heart rate quicken as I realize that I've just taken out a wanted felon... Damn, what a rush!

"You got them?" I ask Davis, wiping the pleased grin off on my face and switching back to business-mode.

"Yeah." He glances over to his right and I turn to see what he looking at.

Oh. The poor guy that got his brains blown out. I swallow the sudden bitter taste in my mouth and glare at the two groaning men at my feet. Disgusting waste of oxygen, if you ask me. Those two deserve to die.

I nudge "my" guy harshly with my foot and glower at him when he whines in pain, "Oh, shut up, you filthy animal!" I bark at him. I sound really pissed, and I am, but I'm still really satisfied with myself for that beautiful shot. All of those hours I've spent practicing at the shooting range have really paid off.

Sirens grow loud in the background, a high-pitched wail. ESU, finally. Their lights are flashing brightly as they pull up. A whole team of black-armor clad no-shows jumps out the back of the big trucks and moves in fast. Uh, guys, you're a little late...

"Gee, so nice of you fellas to show up," I remark smartly to one of the lower-ranked peons as he runs in with his gun up and swinging around the room. He ignores me and shouts to the other guys to "secure" the area. I resist the urge to tell them that we have already done that.

"You might want to take a good look at these characters - recognize their ugly mugs?" I suggest to their Sergeant as I point to the squirming pigs we shot, hoping they will realize what we've accomplished without their expertise. "Davis and I took 'um out after they started shootin' up the place."

The Serge nods at me stoically. I guess that means "Good job"? Gee, thanks... I'm not looking for a pat on the back or anything, but hey, give me my props at least.

I move out of the way to the wall and stand there fiddling with my gun. Its silver barrel is still hot from firing. I replace it into its holster after I relock the safety.

I look around for Faith, wondering where she is. Ten or twelve of the ESU guys are milling around in the bank now; their huge, macho-sized guns raised in offensive position. A number of them loudly shout out, "Clear!"

Okay, guys, duh... I shake my head and smirk at them. They can act so superior sometimes, completely disregarding what us "lowly beat-cops" do. Whatever, I'll let them do their job. I'm riding high and won't let their grandstanding bother me today.

An ambulance rolls up and Doc Parker and Carlos Nieto run up with their hands full of their medical bags. "What we have here?" Doc asks loudly to no one in particular and kneels down next to the whimpering robber-boys.

"These two are the shooters, make sure you keep them locked up," Davis tells the paramedics as he points to their cuffs. "We bagged ourselves some "criminals at large", you could say." From the slight change in the tone of his voice, I can tell Ty's as pleased as I am. He should be, he got in a great shot.

Carlos is checking on the young guy that ate the bullet. "Ugh," he mutters when he sees the mess that used to be his head. "Uh, this one's DOA," he tells Doc, and then moves over to the guy Davis shot.

At this point, there are way too many people in the small bank so I make my way back outside. They don't need me in there anymore.

Outside, Faith is comforting the little old granny lady and pressing gauze on her bleeding hand. She glares at me and starts yelling, "Bosco, what the hell did you think you were doing?"

Geez, am I the only one that gets yelled at around here?

"They were shooting hostages!" I spit back at her, annoyed.

"So you just run out in front of them? Are you crazy?" she rants.

"Yeah, Faith, I'm crazy." I reply as sarcastically as I can manage. "They were gonna kill them all! What did you want me to do? Sit there and watch? You're the one that's crazy."

I guess now is not the time to brag about bagging the "Most Wanted poster-boys". Later.

I lean up against our cruiser with my arms crossed angrily across my chest and watch the swarming bank. Doc and Carlos are on their way out with the two guys laid out on backboards. ESU is helping carry them out and Sully and Davis are holding their IV bags up for them. I don't move to help. Hey, Sully and Davis can help all they want but there ain't no way I'm going to pitch in to save those two scumbags. I shot at them for a reason.

Another bus pulls up. Kim Zambrano and Alex Taylor get out and start working on the hostages. They tend to Granny first - I guess she was hurt the worst of all the hostages, well, if you don't count the young guy and the women that got killed. I'm just glad that there aren't any more casualties.

Faith, realizing that she isn't needed anymore, stands up and joins me by our RMP. I am still angry with her, so I ignore her and continue to watch the medics work, as if they are interesting - which they aren't.

"Bos," she points at my crossed arms, "You're bleedin'."

I look down, and sure enough, there's blood coming out from under my sleeve. I pull at my cuff and look for the cut or whatever is bleeding. I can't see where it's coming from, must be farther up my arm.

"Here, lemme see." Faith unbuttons my cuff and rolls the sleeve up a few inches. Ah, there it is. The bit of glass must have pushed through my sleeve when I made that awesome dive. It's still lodged in there and it's starting to smart. Ouch.

"Aww, its just a scratch," I brush it off.

This kind of stuff happens all the time; it's part of the job. It's certainly not the first time I've gotten hurt. I've had so much stuff happen to me on the job that the nurses at the hospital joke about setting up a ward just for me. It probably wouldn't be such a bad idea.

"You should have Kim look at that," Faith comments wryly.

I open my mouth to argue, but realize that I don't want to pull the glass out myself - been there, done that, not a pretty picture. So I begrudgingly agree, "Fine, whatever."

Kim had the piece out in a minute and made what looks like a big Band-Aid out of a square of gauze and some medical tape. The cut isn't too deep, so I don't need stitches or anything. I'm glad, because if I get too badly hurt Christopher or Swersky will put me on desk duty. I hate desk duty.

Lieutenant Swersky shows up a few minutes later and starts asking questions. A lot of questions. First, to Sully and Davis; then to Faith and I.

I guess he isn't too happy about how the whole thing went down. We should have waited for ESU, he tells us, but I can tell he isn't really upset about it. He has to say that stuff, has to keep us following the rules, protocol. But he's a cop too and he knows that sometimes you can't follow procedure. Today is one of those times. Plus, the little extra fact that we nailed two of the city's most notorious felons must have helped.

"Boscorelli," he says, without a reprimand for our actions, "I'll need you to take your gun in to ballistics."

"Yeah, sure, Boss," I answer.

This is routine. If you fire your gun you got to report in and show your gun to the ballistic specialists. They can tell who shot who and stuff, so they know just what happened. Usually takes about an hour, so Faith and I fill out paperwork in the spare time.

Yippee for me, I hate paperwork.

**********

TBC... more action and angst to come, hit me with a review!