Chain of Darkness
Chapter Eighteen--
***********
"So, this is all we have, huh? The extent of our investigation?" Matt's tone was slightly sarcastic as he held up the small, clear jars containing the strand of hair and flakes of skin that were found at the last crime scene.
Sam waved his hand at them, gesturing with the manila folder he was holding, "Well, they aren't the only things we have now. Dana just sent down his profile. Looks pretty interesting, want me to read it?"
Dana O'Rourke was the city's finest Criminal Profiler. Her work was excellent and always right on the mark. Hopefully her insight would provide them with some understanding of how the killer thought, perhaps even why he was doing this.
Matt nodded, "Yeah, lets hear it."
Sam opened the folder and scanned down the first page, "Says here, our guy is a planner, he spends a considerable amount of time on each case calculating, prepping, setting up, in order to outsmart the system. He has every detail planned out to insure that not one clue is left behind. She thinks this spree was set off by a previous event, jail time or perhaps collateral damage in a shootout, whatever it was it involved the police and he's seeking retribution. Down here it says: 'From my analysis of his past murders, I have concluded that this is much more then revenge for him, he wants to prove he can outsmart the police, a game to him. He's theatrical, though, he likes the game…"
Sam stopped reading for a moment and his face screwed up into a troubled frown. "A game? He thinks this is a game? That's just disturbing."
Matt felt nauseous, suddenly; his stomach turning in revulsion. This guy was so messed up, such a perverted monster. Dana was right; it was a game to him. The problem was that they were on the losing team.
"All I know is that he's giving us the run-around and I'm sick of it," he sighed.
**********
"You okay?" Faith asked her partner.
Bosco was slouched down in his seat, his head leaning against the window. He looked so worn out. She wanted to talk to him about what had happened earlier, but was afraid that he would just get upset and close her out entirely.
"Hmm? Uh, yeah." He sounded distant, like he'd sounded before, but when he turned to face her, his eyes showed a small change. The dullness of this morning had been invaded by a dark, deep passion that Faith had never seen. "Listen, Faith, I'm fine…just a little tired. I haven't slept good in like a week."
"You havin' trouble sleepin'?" Faith asked, concerned. When you work as a cop, you need all the sleep you can get. You have to be sharp. Sure, she knew that everyone at the 55 was little jumpy and restless, it was to be expected. She even had trouble falling asleep lately, her overstressed mind and body refusing to succumb to slumber for hours after she retired. But Bosco looked as if he hadn't slept at all in days.
"Yeah, I just can't sleep sometimes, I guess," he sighed and rubbed his eyes, "I don't know, when I'm awake I keep seein' stuff, you know, like shadows or whatever, and when I actually do sleep, I have nightmares. It sucks."
Faith turned to her partner, a bit surprised. He had nightmares? He was actually telling her this? What happened to the I'm-always-OK-I'm-a-macho guy he used to be? Bosco was opening up to her, finally, and she wasn't sure if she liked it so much. She liked the macho-man façade he put on; it was comfortable, normal. She was finding this change hard to deal with, she needed him to be unfazed by everything and act tough. Then her world wouldn't seem like it was spinning out of control.
She glanced over at Bosco again. He noticed her disturbed gaze and smiled slightly, the left corner of his mouth turning up.
"What? Am I freakin' you out?" he asked sarcastically, automatically switching back to the normal Bosco. A part of Faith felt relieved; she didn't know how to deal with the change in her partner.
"Humph," she snorted, covering her relief with her usual snide comeback, "You could never freak me out, I've seen or heard it all from you."
Bosco kept staring at her, studying her nervous smile. "You are freaked out!" he proclaimed, as if proud of himself. "I finally got you! After all of those times you got me with all of that 'you and Fred in bed' junk..." His face screwed up into a disgusted frown, "Ugh. Geez, it's easier than I thought."
"Yeah, well, don't make a habit of it..." Faith shook her head.
"Uh-huh, right." Bosco turned his gaze back out the window.
A few minutes of semi-awkward silence passed before he piped up again. "You hear anythin' about Davis?"
"Yeah, I called the hospital last night. He's in a coma; they have no idea when he'll wake up. They say it's still pretty serious."
"You know what I was thinkin' the other night?" Bosco turned to face her, swiveling around in his seat. "Why the hell was Davis walkin' down the street alone in the middle of the night? I know his car got stolen or whatever, but why didn't he call a cab or somthin'? I mean, if I were him, I'd think somethin' bad would happen."
"Yeah...something bad did happen." Faith mused aloud.
"God, It just scares me. He got Davis, for cryin' out loud...he got Davis..." Bosco shook his head slightly and winced at the harsh reality.
**********
Martin Nash stole a glance over at his partner for the week. Young Thompson was engrossed in the morning paper, his eyes flitting back and forth quickly as he absorbed the sports section. Thompson had already proved himself an interesting partner, a bit on the green side and very cocky. His overconfidence had already run them into trouble a few times, but he reminded Nash so much of himself that it was hard to stay angry at him for long.
Nash sighed and leaned his head against the headrest. He had been asked by Swersky to fill in on the third watch, his old shift, for a few days until they found permanent replacements for the unfortunate number of open positions.
When his unit had gotten the call for substitutes, nobody had been eager to fill in. They all were very aware of the many deaths related to the third watch and were not enthusiastic to sign up for duty. For some reason he had felt obligated to help out, perhaps because he'd worked with many of them for years and years, or because it was the right thing to do.
Horns from the busy intersection up the street blared, reaching their RMP and reminding him exactly why he'd transferred to a later shift. Rush hour. By the time he got on the streets normally, the traffic was gone and the city relatively quiet, for New York at least.
Only three more days of this...only three more days... he told himself as he watched a white sedan speed through the busy intersection. Nice, idiot. Speed by a cop. That's real smart.
Without alerting his engrossed partner, Nash flipped the sirens on and took off after the car, starling Thompson out of his paper. "What the hell?"
"Speeder. Up ahead." Nash informed him matter-of-factly.
Thompson grunted uninterestedly in reply and fastened his seatbelt as they raced through the intersection. The white sedan had slowed significantly as they caught up, the clogged street refusing to afford him a clear path. Nash pulled up behind and motioned to the driver to pull off. The driver reluctantly obliged and slowly pulled his car over into a nearby alleyway.
After parking behind the offending car, Nash stepped out and strolled towards is slowly. His hand rested habitually on his gun; ten years of being a cop in the big city had scarred him with permanent on-guard mode, no matter the situation. Always be prepared; the golden rule.
He tapped on the darkly tinted driver's side window and pulled out his ticket book. The window rolled down to reveal a very unhappy man in his late twenties. The man scowled at him, as if he should have been allowed to speed. This, after all, was his city was it not? Nash suppressed a smile at the amusing thought.
"Sir, I need to see your license and proof of registration," he chanted automatically as he scribbled the date and time on the ticket slip.
The man reached over into his glove compartment and rummage around for a moment before handing over a white card with his license.
Nash took a minute to write out his information then started back to their RMP to run a license check.
"Nash!" Thompson was sticking his head out of the window. "We just got a call in; shots fired, three blocks from here!"
"Okay, radio us in, kid," he called back and turned back to the offensive driver. "Hey, pal, it's your lucky day. Drive safely now, okay? No more speeding." The driver nodded happily as Nash tossed his papers back to him.
**********
"Central to all available units, shots fired at 15th and Hodges."
Faith felt her heart drop for a moment. Shots fired. Please don't be another cop…she pled silently.
Bosco radioed in,"55-David to Central, 15th and Hodges." He glanced over at Faith with a worried frown on his face, "You think...?" he started, unable to finish the sentence as he turned on the sirens and made a hasty U-turn.
"I don't know, Bos...I don't think so, they didn't say anything about a 10-13," she answered, trying to reassure herself as much as her partner.
**********
The cruiser's tries squealed slightly as Nash and Thompson pulled up to the intersection in question. A small group of pedestrians stood off to the side talking excitedly amongst themselves.
Nash circumspectly searched for a body or a broken window glass, but everything seemed normal. "Where?" he heard Thompson ask impatiently.
He didn't answer, but slowly exited the cruiser and glanced around again. Nothing. Everything seemed perfectly normal. For some reason he felt his heart rate jump and his adrenaline run. The eerie calm felt wrong.
He unclipped his gun holster and rested his hand once again on his trusted defense. Maybe the group of people saw something. Nash walked over, still very aware of the possibility of a gunman somewhere near. He could hear Thompson's nervous breaths as he trotted up behind him, his boots slapping against the pavement softly.
"Hey, did you call in a shooting?" he roughly asked the group of obvious tourists. If this was a prank...
A short Hispanic man dressed in an 'I Love NY' jacket responded in broken English. "Si, si, eh...how do you say? A gun...si, a gun. Boom!" He gestured with his hands, throwing them out to demonstrate the loud sound of a gunshot.
"Where?" Nash motioned to the intersection that was oblivious to any so-called gunshot. Maybe they heard a firecracker. People continued to set them off for weeks after New Years and the loud, popping reverberation could sound almost exactly like a gunshot, confusing most.
The man had no answer, just a simple shrug of his shoulders and a shake of his head. They had no idea where it came from. Great.
55-David pulled up right behind him and Boscorelli and Yokas immediately got out of their RMP. "What's goin' on Marty?" Faith asked, using his nickname. They had worked together for seven years before he'd changed shifts.
"Uh, these people say they heard a gunshot, but I don't see anything out of kilter. Maybe they heard a firecracker."
Bosco snorted loudly behind them, "God, don't you just love this city? Someone shoots off a firecracker and you get the whole police department runnin'."
Nash rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, I know. Lets just clear the intersection and get outta here."
"Fine by me. The faster I'm back in my warm cruiser, the better. It's freezin' out here." Bosco remarked and started walking up the sidewalk, checking for anything out of order.
Faith grabbed her CB, "Central, this is 55-David, false alarm at 15th and Hodges."
"10-4, 55-David, clear the intersection."
Faith nodded at Nash and his young partner and took off in the opposite direction as Bosco.
"Okay, Thompson, check out that side." Nash commanded and quickly wrote out the 'statement' given by the tourists. "You can go now," he told them, his thumb and forefinger making a circle, giving them the universal A-OK sign, "Everything's okay."
They smiled broadly and nodded, then made their way slowly down the street, headed for downtown.
"Tourists," he muttered under his breath, smirking slightly at the way they were dressed. In New York, the tourists could usually be spotted from a hundred yards away, their attire giving them away entirely, even before you noticed the way they kept staring at the looming skyscrapers.
"Okay, Nash, my side's clear. Looks like we're done here." Boscorelli called loudly as he ran up, slightly out of breath.
"Yeah, okay. I'll do the paperwork on this one."
"Good, 'cause I wouldn't know just how to write up stupid tourists hearin' a firecracker. Morons." Bosco shook his head at their blissful ignorance before changing the subject. "So, Marty, how do ya like workin' with Thompson here? Heard he's a little hard to handle."
Nash opened his mouth to answer, but a loud 'crack' interrupted him, resounding through the intersection like a lightning bolt.
The next thing he knew he was lying on the ground, his hands clutching his vest and the burning fire in his chest.
**********
Bosco didn't hear the shot until he saw Nash fall towards him, arms swinging up and grasping his chest. Wet, warm blood sprayed all over his face and in his mouth, the salty taste burning the back of his throat.
"Nash!" he heard himself scream as he dove over his friend to protect him from another bullet.
Oh, God, this isn't happening...he thought as he heard Nash start to choke. Get up, get up... he told himself, willing himself to help the struggling Nash.
Bosco pushed himself off the ground and forced himself to look. Blood. There was blood everywhere. Nash, face down on the hard pavement, was choking and gasping, his mouth open wide but unable to get air. Bosco grabbed him and rolled him over onto his back. "Nash, where you hit? Where you hit?" he yelled over the awful choking sound.
Nash couldn't answer, just kept clutching at his chest and struggling against the pain. Bosco pushed his hands out of the way and ripped his jacket open. There was so much blood. Where was it? Where was the damn bullet?
"Oh, God." He whispered, finding the bullet hole. The deadly piece of metal had somehow ripped right through his vest, entering through the back and exiting out the massive hole now in his chest. "Hold on, buddy," he told Nash, whose lips were turning an alarming shade of blue. "Just hold on."
Bosco tore off Nash's vest and lifted his undershirt. The hole was so big, too big. Little streams of crimson blood were spurting out rhythmically. It took a second for him to remember what that meant-An artery. The bullet had hit an artery. "Oh, God. Oh God, no..."
He could vaguely hear Faith and Thompson screaming into their radios as they ran up. "Central, 55-David, Shots fired! Officer down! 10-13 at 15th and Hogan, Officer down! Requesting a bus at this location!"
"Help me!" Bosco yelled at them, his hands pressing deep into Nash's wound, into his chest. Blood seeped around his fingers and ran out onto the ground. He felt his stomach turn in revulsion. Oh, God, please! His mind shrieked as he struggled against the nausea.
"Bosco!" Faith screamed, "Are you hit? Oh my God, Nash!" She knelt down beside him, her hands quickly finding Nash's thrashing arms and holding the down gently, "It's okay, Marty. We got you, it's okay. Just breathe, breathe!"
Nash continued to choke and gasp, his lungs not finding the breath they needed. His dark eyes started to roll back into his head.
"No!" Bosco yelled at him, "Stay awake, Nash! Com'on, buddy!" He could feel the thumping of Nash's heart start to slow under his hands as the steady stream of warm blood leaked through his fingers.
"Thompson!" Faith looked up as she shouted to Nash's terrified partner. He was standing to the side, just watching in horror, shaking. "Get down here, I need you to hold his arms down!"
Thompson hesitated considerably before falling to his knees beside them and pinning down his partner's flailing arms. "Oh, God...Oh, God...Oh, God..." He kept mumbling, his eyes wide with panic.
"Marty? Marty!" Faith tapped his cheek softly, but he didn't respond, his eyes rolling further back into his head and his strangled gasps becoming more and more infrequent.
"He can't breathe! Do somthin'! Start CPR!" Bosco commanded harshly, his voice breathy with alarm. He pressed harder on the wound to stop the rush of blood escaping through his hands, but the rush of warm fluid refused to slow. Bosco suppressed his own rising feelings of panic and took a deep breath. "Oh, God," he prayed silently, "don't do this! Don't do this!"
Faith tipped Marty's head back and began breathing for her friend, her mind tormenting her with the possibility of losing him. She refused to listen, instead focusing on the task at hand. Breathe, just breathe for him!
Thompson, next to her, was starting to hyperventilate, his breaths coming quick and short. He had never seen anybody shot before; he'd never seen anybody…dying. Now his partner, his friend, was lying in front of him, not breathing with blood pouring out of his chest. He couldn't handle it; he was going to be sick.
Faith noticed the rookie struggling, "Thompson, go get a rag or a towel or something! We need to put better pressure on that wound!" He hesitated again, his eyes fixed intently on his fallen partner. "NOW!" Thompson let out a frightened sob and took off running towards their cruiser
Bosco fingers felt the soft thumping of Nash's heart slow even more, "Faith! He's... his heart is stopping! God, do something!"
Faith stopped CPR for a moment and felt for a pulse. It was weak and slowing quickly. "Marty! Hang on, okay? You hear me? Help is on the way." She brushed his dark hair off his forehead, leaving an ugly, bloody streak across his face. "Just hold on..."
"Where the hell is that bus?" Bosco yelled as he lifted his head to look around. People now milled around them, their eyes wide at the show, wanting to avert but their morbid curiosity forcing them to stand and stare. "Get away, give us some room!" Bosco yelled at them.
Nash's body jerked, a last effort to regain control as his system slowly shut down. Bosco felt sick to his stomach as he moved one hand to his shoulder radio. It was soaked in blood. "We need a rush on that bus, dammit! Officer down!"
Faith breathed again and again, forcing vital air into Marty's empty lungs. "Bosco, start compressions. I lost his pulse," she directed between breaths. Nash's partner ran back up, his trembling hands clutching a T-shirt. "Thompson, take that and put pressure on the wound!"
"Oh, God..." Bosco moaned as he removed his bloodied hands from Nash's chest wound. Thompson immediately pushed the shirt against it, tears running down his young face.
"One, two, three, four, five..."Bosco counted softly as he pressed his hands forcefully against Marty's sternum.
The shrieking sirens in the distance grew closer and closer as the three officers worked feverishly on their fallen comrade. Faith, her head bent over Marty, heard the sound of the ambulance doors pop open and then slam shut with urgency.
"Hurry!" she called over her shoulder at the approaching footsteps.
"Okay guys, back off and give us some room. We got it." Faith recognized Doc's soft voice as she felt his gentle hands pull her away. Carlos pulled an oxygen mask out of a bag and placed it over Nash's mouth and nose. Doc quickly checked his vials. "No pulse, lets get him out of here now!"
Time moved too swiftly as they loaded Nash's limp body into the ambulance and sped off, leaving the three officers standing stunned around a large pool of blood.
**********
Bosco sat in the ER waiting room, for the second time that week, watching young Thompson as Faith consoled him. The poor kid was scared half to death, his cocky manner gone and replaced by trembling hands and a shaky voice. He reminded him a lot of Gusler when he'd had his first real taste of action. Scared and upset, just a kid wanting to go home and forget about what he'd seen.
The thought of Gusler made him fell sick all over again. He took a few deep breaths to rid himself of the awful, sourness churning inside. Everything inside of him screamed to be sick, to purge his body of the bad feeling, but he forced himself instead to concentrate on filling his lungs and emptying his mind of the triggering thoughts.
All too soon a doctor entered the room, his scrubs splattered with drying blood. No, Bosco thought, he's back too soon. Something's wrong...
The doctor licked his lips, starting his sentence with the two most dreaded words, "I'm sorry..."
Bosco brain barely registered the rest of his monologue. "We tried everything we could, but he had lost too much blood. His injuries were too severe. I'm sorry."
He saw Faith bite her lower lip, something she only did when she was struggling to be strong, struggling not to cry. Thompson lowered his head into his shaking hands and rocked back and forth slightly.
Bosco felt his stomach turning again as he looked down at his hands. There was still dried blood on them; his hasty washing hadn't taken care of it all. It was under his fingernails, between his fingers, a smudge left behind on his wrist. Marty's blood. Marty, whom he'd known for seven years, whom he'd worked with and joked with in the locker room. Marty was gone. Oh God, he was going to be sick...
He nearly leapt up from his chair and ran; out the door and down the hall until he was outside, the vomit burning his throat. He could hear Faith calling him, but he kept going until he reached the icy air.
He bent over a trashcan and released, retching again and again, each heave tearing into his side with agonizing vehemence. Somehow, it hurt so good.
Bosco felt a hand on his back, rubbing it gently. Faith. He could hear her crying. He couldn't stop heaving, the only thing coming up now was air but he still felt so sick...
After what seemed like an eternity, his stomach stopped convulsing. "Oh God..." he groaned, still bent over. He spit out the acidity in his mouth and stood, clutching his belly in pain.
"You okay, Bos?" Faith asked softly, her hand still rubbing his back. She had streaky tears lines down her face and her eyes were still welled up.
"Faith... His blood, so much blood... God, Faith, I couldn't stop it... I couldn't stop it..." Bosco's chest heaved as he broke down, his soft sobs catching in his throat. Faith pulled him against her and he grasped her jacket tightly as they stood there and cried together.
A long time passed before either of them moved, each comforting the other in the freezing night air.
"I gotta get out of here. I gotta get out of here now. I can't stand this place anymore." Bosco whispered finally, his throat stiff and sore.
"Okay," she nodded. "I'll drive you home."
***********
He sat in his shabby apartment, his eyes glued to the television. Yes! He'd done it again… Officer Martin Nash was dead, and he gotten away with it.
He closed his eyes and with great relish, remembered the scene from that afternoon in perfect detail.
The sixth floor empty apartment with the window open just far enough for his extremely accurate sniper rifle to push through. The ideal spot overlooking the semi-busy intersection. The icy air as it sifted in. The loud pop of the first shot, high and wide, over the heads of a group of lost tourists. The call. "Oh please hurry! I heard a gun go off!" in a mimicked woman's voice.
The police showing up less then five minutes after. He'd aimed… No wait. Another squad car. Looked like 55-David. Oh, this could be nice, he'd thought. A live audience. They'd dispersed around the intersection, no doubt clearing it so they cold go on with their miserable lives...
Then came the piece de resistance, the climax. One perfect shot to Nash's back, about chest level. And BANG! He was down with Boscorelli all over him, as if he could ward off another bullet. He'd been very tempted to fill the obnoxious Boscorelli with lead right then. But no, his valiant efforts to save his friend were much more fun to watch. The other two cops had rushed over to help but he was much better at shooting to kill then they were at life saving.
The end to a perfect day had been the sight of the over made-up newscaster with her 'breaking story'. Ahhh, utter perfection. But he'd top this day. Yes, when he got to use his knife, kill on a more personal level, he'd be even more pleased.
Boscorelli, watch your back...
**********
TBC... Hey guys sorry for the delay with this chapter, busy. I made it reaaaall long to make up for it! Make my day and write me a review!!! Thankx ;)
Chapter Eighteen--
***********
"So, this is all we have, huh? The extent of our investigation?" Matt's tone was slightly sarcastic as he held up the small, clear jars containing the strand of hair and flakes of skin that were found at the last crime scene.
Sam waved his hand at them, gesturing with the manila folder he was holding, "Well, they aren't the only things we have now. Dana just sent down his profile. Looks pretty interesting, want me to read it?"
Dana O'Rourke was the city's finest Criminal Profiler. Her work was excellent and always right on the mark. Hopefully her insight would provide them with some understanding of how the killer thought, perhaps even why he was doing this.
Matt nodded, "Yeah, lets hear it."
Sam opened the folder and scanned down the first page, "Says here, our guy is a planner, he spends a considerable amount of time on each case calculating, prepping, setting up, in order to outsmart the system. He has every detail planned out to insure that not one clue is left behind. She thinks this spree was set off by a previous event, jail time or perhaps collateral damage in a shootout, whatever it was it involved the police and he's seeking retribution. Down here it says: 'From my analysis of his past murders, I have concluded that this is much more then revenge for him, he wants to prove he can outsmart the police, a game to him. He's theatrical, though, he likes the game…"
Sam stopped reading for a moment and his face screwed up into a troubled frown. "A game? He thinks this is a game? That's just disturbing."
Matt felt nauseous, suddenly; his stomach turning in revulsion. This guy was so messed up, such a perverted monster. Dana was right; it was a game to him. The problem was that they were on the losing team.
"All I know is that he's giving us the run-around and I'm sick of it," he sighed.
**********
"You okay?" Faith asked her partner.
Bosco was slouched down in his seat, his head leaning against the window. He looked so worn out. She wanted to talk to him about what had happened earlier, but was afraid that he would just get upset and close her out entirely.
"Hmm? Uh, yeah." He sounded distant, like he'd sounded before, but when he turned to face her, his eyes showed a small change. The dullness of this morning had been invaded by a dark, deep passion that Faith had never seen. "Listen, Faith, I'm fine…just a little tired. I haven't slept good in like a week."
"You havin' trouble sleepin'?" Faith asked, concerned. When you work as a cop, you need all the sleep you can get. You have to be sharp. Sure, she knew that everyone at the 55 was little jumpy and restless, it was to be expected. She even had trouble falling asleep lately, her overstressed mind and body refusing to succumb to slumber for hours after she retired. But Bosco looked as if he hadn't slept at all in days.
"Yeah, I just can't sleep sometimes, I guess," he sighed and rubbed his eyes, "I don't know, when I'm awake I keep seein' stuff, you know, like shadows or whatever, and when I actually do sleep, I have nightmares. It sucks."
Faith turned to her partner, a bit surprised. He had nightmares? He was actually telling her this? What happened to the I'm-always-OK-I'm-a-macho guy he used to be? Bosco was opening up to her, finally, and she wasn't sure if she liked it so much. She liked the macho-man façade he put on; it was comfortable, normal. She was finding this change hard to deal with, she needed him to be unfazed by everything and act tough. Then her world wouldn't seem like it was spinning out of control.
She glanced over at Bosco again. He noticed her disturbed gaze and smiled slightly, the left corner of his mouth turning up.
"What? Am I freakin' you out?" he asked sarcastically, automatically switching back to the normal Bosco. A part of Faith felt relieved; she didn't know how to deal with the change in her partner.
"Humph," she snorted, covering her relief with her usual snide comeback, "You could never freak me out, I've seen or heard it all from you."
Bosco kept staring at her, studying her nervous smile. "You are freaked out!" he proclaimed, as if proud of himself. "I finally got you! After all of those times you got me with all of that 'you and Fred in bed' junk..." His face screwed up into a disgusted frown, "Ugh. Geez, it's easier than I thought."
"Yeah, well, don't make a habit of it..." Faith shook her head.
"Uh-huh, right." Bosco turned his gaze back out the window.
A few minutes of semi-awkward silence passed before he piped up again. "You hear anythin' about Davis?"
"Yeah, I called the hospital last night. He's in a coma; they have no idea when he'll wake up. They say it's still pretty serious."
"You know what I was thinkin' the other night?" Bosco turned to face her, swiveling around in his seat. "Why the hell was Davis walkin' down the street alone in the middle of the night? I know his car got stolen or whatever, but why didn't he call a cab or somthin'? I mean, if I were him, I'd think somethin' bad would happen."
"Yeah...something bad did happen." Faith mused aloud.
"God, It just scares me. He got Davis, for cryin' out loud...he got Davis..." Bosco shook his head slightly and winced at the harsh reality.
**********
Martin Nash stole a glance over at his partner for the week. Young Thompson was engrossed in the morning paper, his eyes flitting back and forth quickly as he absorbed the sports section. Thompson had already proved himself an interesting partner, a bit on the green side and very cocky. His overconfidence had already run them into trouble a few times, but he reminded Nash so much of himself that it was hard to stay angry at him for long.
Nash sighed and leaned his head against the headrest. He had been asked by Swersky to fill in on the third watch, his old shift, for a few days until they found permanent replacements for the unfortunate number of open positions.
When his unit had gotten the call for substitutes, nobody had been eager to fill in. They all were very aware of the many deaths related to the third watch and were not enthusiastic to sign up for duty. For some reason he had felt obligated to help out, perhaps because he'd worked with many of them for years and years, or because it was the right thing to do.
Horns from the busy intersection up the street blared, reaching their RMP and reminding him exactly why he'd transferred to a later shift. Rush hour. By the time he got on the streets normally, the traffic was gone and the city relatively quiet, for New York at least.
Only three more days of this...only three more days... he told himself as he watched a white sedan speed through the busy intersection. Nice, idiot. Speed by a cop. That's real smart.
Without alerting his engrossed partner, Nash flipped the sirens on and took off after the car, starling Thompson out of his paper. "What the hell?"
"Speeder. Up ahead." Nash informed him matter-of-factly.
Thompson grunted uninterestedly in reply and fastened his seatbelt as they raced through the intersection. The white sedan had slowed significantly as they caught up, the clogged street refusing to afford him a clear path. Nash pulled up behind and motioned to the driver to pull off. The driver reluctantly obliged and slowly pulled his car over into a nearby alleyway.
After parking behind the offending car, Nash stepped out and strolled towards is slowly. His hand rested habitually on his gun; ten years of being a cop in the big city had scarred him with permanent on-guard mode, no matter the situation. Always be prepared; the golden rule.
He tapped on the darkly tinted driver's side window and pulled out his ticket book. The window rolled down to reveal a very unhappy man in his late twenties. The man scowled at him, as if he should have been allowed to speed. This, after all, was his city was it not? Nash suppressed a smile at the amusing thought.
"Sir, I need to see your license and proof of registration," he chanted automatically as he scribbled the date and time on the ticket slip.
The man reached over into his glove compartment and rummage around for a moment before handing over a white card with his license.
Nash took a minute to write out his information then started back to their RMP to run a license check.
"Nash!" Thompson was sticking his head out of the window. "We just got a call in; shots fired, three blocks from here!"
"Okay, radio us in, kid," he called back and turned back to the offensive driver. "Hey, pal, it's your lucky day. Drive safely now, okay? No more speeding." The driver nodded happily as Nash tossed his papers back to him.
**********
"Central to all available units, shots fired at 15th and Hodges."
Faith felt her heart drop for a moment. Shots fired. Please don't be another cop…she pled silently.
Bosco radioed in,"55-David to Central, 15th and Hodges." He glanced over at Faith with a worried frown on his face, "You think...?" he started, unable to finish the sentence as he turned on the sirens and made a hasty U-turn.
"I don't know, Bos...I don't think so, they didn't say anything about a 10-13," she answered, trying to reassure herself as much as her partner.
**********
The cruiser's tries squealed slightly as Nash and Thompson pulled up to the intersection in question. A small group of pedestrians stood off to the side talking excitedly amongst themselves.
Nash circumspectly searched for a body or a broken window glass, but everything seemed normal. "Where?" he heard Thompson ask impatiently.
He didn't answer, but slowly exited the cruiser and glanced around again. Nothing. Everything seemed perfectly normal. For some reason he felt his heart rate jump and his adrenaline run. The eerie calm felt wrong.
He unclipped his gun holster and rested his hand once again on his trusted defense. Maybe the group of people saw something. Nash walked over, still very aware of the possibility of a gunman somewhere near. He could hear Thompson's nervous breaths as he trotted up behind him, his boots slapping against the pavement softly.
"Hey, did you call in a shooting?" he roughly asked the group of obvious tourists. If this was a prank...
A short Hispanic man dressed in an 'I Love NY' jacket responded in broken English. "Si, si, eh...how do you say? A gun...si, a gun. Boom!" He gestured with his hands, throwing them out to demonstrate the loud sound of a gunshot.
"Where?" Nash motioned to the intersection that was oblivious to any so-called gunshot. Maybe they heard a firecracker. People continued to set them off for weeks after New Years and the loud, popping reverberation could sound almost exactly like a gunshot, confusing most.
The man had no answer, just a simple shrug of his shoulders and a shake of his head. They had no idea where it came from. Great.
55-David pulled up right behind him and Boscorelli and Yokas immediately got out of their RMP. "What's goin' on Marty?" Faith asked, using his nickname. They had worked together for seven years before he'd changed shifts.
"Uh, these people say they heard a gunshot, but I don't see anything out of kilter. Maybe they heard a firecracker."
Bosco snorted loudly behind them, "God, don't you just love this city? Someone shoots off a firecracker and you get the whole police department runnin'."
Nash rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, I know. Lets just clear the intersection and get outta here."
"Fine by me. The faster I'm back in my warm cruiser, the better. It's freezin' out here." Bosco remarked and started walking up the sidewalk, checking for anything out of order.
Faith grabbed her CB, "Central, this is 55-David, false alarm at 15th and Hodges."
"10-4, 55-David, clear the intersection."
Faith nodded at Nash and his young partner and took off in the opposite direction as Bosco.
"Okay, Thompson, check out that side." Nash commanded and quickly wrote out the 'statement' given by the tourists. "You can go now," he told them, his thumb and forefinger making a circle, giving them the universal A-OK sign, "Everything's okay."
They smiled broadly and nodded, then made their way slowly down the street, headed for downtown.
"Tourists," he muttered under his breath, smirking slightly at the way they were dressed. In New York, the tourists could usually be spotted from a hundred yards away, their attire giving them away entirely, even before you noticed the way they kept staring at the looming skyscrapers.
"Okay, Nash, my side's clear. Looks like we're done here." Boscorelli called loudly as he ran up, slightly out of breath.
"Yeah, okay. I'll do the paperwork on this one."
"Good, 'cause I wouldn't know just how to write up stupid tourists hearin' a firecracker. Morons." Bosco shook his head at their blissful ignorance before changing the subject. "So, Marty, how do ya like workin' with Thompson here? Heard he's a little hard to handle."
Nash opened his mouth to answer, but a loud 'crack' interrupted him, resounding through the intersection like a lightning bolt.
The next thing he knew he was lying on the ground, his hands clutching his vest and the burning fire in his chest.
**********
Bosco didn't hear the shot until he saw Nash fall towards him, arms swinging up and grasping his chest. Wet, warm blood sprayed all over his face and in his mouth, the salty taste burning the back of his throat.
"Nash!" he heard himself scream as he dove over his friend to protect him from another bullet.
Oh, God, this isn't happening...he thought as he heard Nash start to choke. Get up, get up... he told himself, willing himself to help the struggling Nash.
Bosco pushed himself off the ground and forced himself to look. Blood. There was blood everywhere. Nash, face down on the hard pavement, was choking and gasping, his mouth open wide but unable to get air. Bosco grabbed him and rolled him over onto his back. "Nash, where you hit? Where you hit?" he yelled over the awful choking sound.
Nash couldn't answer, just kept clutching at his chest and struggling against the pain. Bosco pushed his hands out of the way and ripped his jacket open. There was so much blood. Where was it? Where was the damn bullet?
"Oh, God." He whispered, finding the bullet hole. The deadly piece of metal had somehow ripped right through his vest, entering through the back and exiting out the massive hole now in his chest. "Hold on, buddy," he told Nash, whose lips were turning an alarming shade of blue. "Just hold on."
Bosco tore off Nash's vest and lifted his undershirt. The hole was so big, too big. Little streams of crimson blood were spurting out rhythmically. It took a second for him to remember what that meant-An artery. The bullet had hit an artery. "Oh, God. Oh God, no..."
He could vaguely hear Faith and Thompson screaming into their radios as they ran up. "Central, 55-David, Shots fired! Officer down! 10-13 at 15th and Hogan, Officer down! Requesting a bus at this location!"
"Help me!" Bosco yelled at them, his hands pressing deep into Nash's wound, into his chest. Blood seeped around his fingers and ran out onto the ground. He felt his stomach turn in revulsion. Oh, God, please! His mind shrieked as he struggled against the nausea.
"Bosco!" Faith screamed, "Are you hit? Oh my God, Nash!" She knelt down beside him, her hands quickly finding Nash's thrashing arms and holding the down gently, "It's okay, Marty. We got you, it's okay. Just breathe, breathe!"
Nash continued to choke and gasp, his lungs not finding the breath they needed. His dark eyes started to roll back into his head.
"No!" Bosco yelled at him, "Stay awake, Nash! Com'on, buddy!" He could feel the thumping of Nash's heart start to slow under his hands as the steady stream of warm blood leaked through his fingers.
"Thompson!" Faith looked up as she shouted to Nash's terrified partner. He was standing to the side, just watching in horror, shaking. "Get down here, I need you to hold his arms down!"
Thompson hesitated considerably before falling to his knees beside them and pinning down his partner's flailing arms. "Oh, God...Oh, God...Oh, God..." He kept mumbling, his eyes wide with panic.
"Marty? Marty!" Faith tapped his cheek softly, but he didn't respond, his eyes rolling further back into his head and his strangled gasps becoming more and more infrequent.
"He can't breathe! Do somthin'! Start CPR!" Bosco commanded harshly, his voice breathy with alarm. He pressed harder on the wound to stop the rush of blood escaping through his hands, but the rush of warm fluid refused to slow. Bosco suppressed his own rising feelings of panic and took a deep breath. "Oh, God," he prayed silently, "don't do this! Don't do this!"
Faith tipped Marty's head back and began breathing for her friend, her mind tormenting her with the possibility of losing him. She refused to listen, instead focusing on the task at hand. Breathe, just breathe for him!
Thompson, next to her, was starting to hyperventilate, his breaths coming quick and short. He had never seen anybody shot before; he'd never seen anybody…dying. Now his partner, his friend, was lying in front of him, not breathing with blood pouring out of his chest. He couldn't handle it; he was going to be sick.
Faith noticed the rookie struggling, "Thompson, go get a rag or a towel or something! We need to put better pressure on that wound!" He hesitated again, his eyes fixed intently on his fallen partner. "NOW!" Thompson let out a frightened sob and took off running towards their cruiser
Bosco fingers felt the soft thumping of Nash's heart slow even more, "Faith! He's... his heart is stopping! God, do something!"
Faith stopped CPR for a moment and felt for a pulse. It was weak and slowing quickly. "Marty! Hang on, okay? You hear me? Help is on the way." She brushed his dark hair off his forehead, leaving an ugly, bloody streak across his face. "Just hold on..."
"Where the hell is that bus?" Bosco yelled as he lifted his head to look around. People now milled around them, their eyes wide at the show, wanting to avert but their morbid curiosity forcing them to stand and stare. "Get away, give us some room!" Bosco yelled at them.
Nash's body jerked, a last effort to regain control as his system slowly shut down. Bosco felt sick to his stomach as he moved one hand to his shoulder radio. It was soaked in blood. "We need a rush on that bus, dammit! Officer down!"
Faith breathed again and again, forcing vital air into Marty's empty lungs. "Bosco, start compressions. I lost his pulse," she directed between breaths. Nash's partner ran back up, his trembling hands clutching a T-shirt. "Thompson, take that and put pressure on the wound!"
"Oh, God..." Bosco moaned as he removed his bloodied hands from Nash's chest wound. Thompson immediately pushed the shirt against it, tears running down his young face.
"One, two, three, four, five..."Bosco counted softly as he pressed his hands forcefully against Marty's sternum.
The shrieking sirens in the distance grew closer and closer as the three officers worked feverishly on their fallen comrade. Faith, her head bent over Marty, heard the sound of the ambulance doors pop open and then slam shut with urgency.
"Hurry!" she called over her shoulder at the approaching footsteps.
"Okay guys, back off and give us some room. We got it." Faith recognized Doc's soft voice as she felt his gentle hands pull her away. Carlos pulled an oxygen mask out of a bag and placed it over Nash's mouth and nose. Doc quickly checked his vials. "No pulse, lets get him out of here now!"
Time moved too swiftly as they loaded Nash's limp body into the ambulance and sped off, leaving the three officers standing stunned around a large pool of blood.
**********
Bosco sat in the ER waiting room, for the second time that week, watching young Thompson as Faith consoled him. The poor kid was scared half to death, his cocky manner gone and replaced by trembling hands and a shaky voice. He reminded him a lot of Gusler when he'd had his first real taste of action. Scared and upset, just a kid wanting to go home and forget about what he'd seen.
The thought of Gusler made him fell sick all over again. He took a few deep breaths to rid himself of the awful, sourness churning inside. Everything inside of him screamed to be sick, to purge his body of the bad feeling, but he forced himself instead to concentrate on filling his lungs and emptying his mind of the triggering thoughts.
All too soon a doctor entered the room, his scrubs splattered with drying blood. No, Bosco thought, he's back too soon. Something's wrong...
The doctor licked his lips, starting his sentence with the two most dreaded words, "I'm sorry..."
Bosco brain barely registered the rest of his monologue. "We tried everything we could, but he had lost too much blood. His injuries were too severe. I'm sorry."
He saw Faith bite her lower lip, something she only did when she was struggling to be strong, struggling not to cry. Thompson lowered his head into his shaking hands and rocked back and forth slightly.
Bosco felt his stomach turning again as he looked down at his hands. There was still dried blood on them; his hasty washing hadn't taken care of it all. It was under his fingernails, between his fingers, a smudge left behind on his wrist. Marty's blood. Marty, whom he'd known for seven years, whom he'd worked with and joked with in the locker room. Marty was gone. Oh God, he was going to be sick...
He nearly leapt up from his chair and ran; out the door and down the hall until he was outside, the vomit burning his throat. He could hear Faith calling him, but he kept going until he reached the icy air.
He bent over a trashcan and released, retching again and again, each heave tearing into his side with agonizing vehemence. Somehow, it hurt so good.
Bosco felt a hand on his back, rubbing it gently. Faith. He could hear her crying. He couldn't stop heaving, the only thing coming up now was air but he still felt so sick...
After what seemed like an eternity, his stomach stopped convulsing. "Oh God..." he groaned, still bent over. He spit out the acidity in his mouth and stood, clutching his belly in pain.
"You okay, Bos?" Faith asked softly, her hand still rubbing his back. She had streaky tears lines down her face and her eyes were still welled up.
"Faith... His blood, so much blood... God, Faith, I couldn't stop it... I couldn't stop it..." Bosco's chest heaved as he broke down, his soft sobs catching in his throat. Faith pulled him against her and he grasped her jacket tightly as they stood there and cried together.
A long time passed before either of them moved, each comforting the other in the freezing night air.
"I gotta get out of here. I gotta get out of here now. I can't stand this place anymore." Bosco whispered finally, his throat stiff and sore.
"Okay," she nodded. "I'll drive you home."
***********
He sat in his shabby apartment, his eyes glued to the television. Yes! He'd done it again… Officer Martin Nash was dead, and he gotten away with it.
He closed his eyes and with great relish, remembered the scene from that afternoon in perfect detail.
The sixth floor empty apartment with the window open just far enough for his extremely accurate sniper rifle to push through. The ideal spot overlooking the semi-busy intersection. The icy air as it sifted in. The loud pop of the first shot, high and wide, over the heads of a group of lost tourists. The call. "Oh please hurry! I heard a gun go off!" in a mimicked woman's voice.
The police showing up less then five minutes after. He'd aimed… No wait. Another squad car. Looked like 55-David. Oh, this could be nice, he'd thought. A live audience. They'd dispersed around the intersection, no doubt clearing it so they cold go on with their miserable lives...
Then came the piece de resistance, the climax. One perfect shot to Nash's back, about chest level. And BANG! He was down with Boscorelli all over him, as if he could ward off another bullet. He'd been very tempted to fill the obnoxious Boscorelli with lead right then. But no, his valiant efforts to save his friend were much more fun to watch. The other two cops had rushed over to help but he was much better at shooting to kill then they were at life saving.
The end to a perfect day had been the sight of the over made-up newscaster with her 'breaking story'. Ahhh, utter perfection. But he'd top this day. Yes, when he got to use his knife, kill on a more personal level, he'd be even more pleased.
Boscorelli, watch your back...
**********
TBC... Hey guys sorry for the delay with this chapter, busy. I made it reaaaall long to make up for it! Make my day and write me a review!!! Thankx ;)