Keeping the gun pointed towards Ramón, Nick turned his head slowly to stare at the woman on the stairs. How could he ever think that she looked like Mari? This girl was much too thin and her breasts were too high, and round, and hard looking. Obviously gained at the hands of a skillful surgeon, and at great price. And her eyes … where Mari's eyes danced with happiness or glittered with anger or went smoky with ardor, these eyes were dead slabs of cold dry brown. And they were currently trained on him over the muzzle of a very large pistol.
Ramón sat where he was, smoking his cigarette, a smug smile plastered on his face.
"I told you, Pig. You come to my house and play? You play by my rules. Rule number one. All the toys? They're mine. My girl Gina here likes to get high. You take me down, Gina don't get high. So Gina… is mine."
Nick gave him a slow nod. Tightened his grip on his weapon. "You know I can shoot you before she can get a shot off. Like you said, I'm a cop- I'm trained to do this. She's a strung out junkie. You betting on her reflexes over mine?"
"Yeah. 'Specially looking at the sorry state you're in, Bro. Besides, I go, you go too."
"So?"
It obviously wasn't the response Ramón was expecting. He raised an eyebrow slightly, the first sign of any disturbance in his unruffled demeanor.
"So? So you think she's gonna leave you alive, Pig?"
Nick gave a short shrug. "I'm already dead. See, I've got this infection. The docs can't do anything for me. I figure I don't have long anyways. But you'll go before me- that's all that really matters."
"Infection? What? No fancy antibiotics they got in the hospitals?"
"None of them work. My blood is poisoned. Nothing's gonna fix that. Tell her to put down the gun, or I put a bullet in your head."
An odd look passed over Ramón's face; his eyes looked away for a moment as he considered Nick's words.
"Blood poisoning, huh? I hear that's real painful. 'Specially at the end."
His eyes returned to meet Nick's, the odd look gone, replaced by the same greasy smile.
"Yeah, well you won't know about my end unless you tell her to put… down… the gun." Nick held his weapon out further and began to tighten his finger on the trigger.
A sound came from the entranceway, a brief almost incidental noise but it echoed in the cavernous room.
Nick glanced up to see Alberto standing in the archway, a stunned expression on the boy's face.
At the same time, the girl on the stairs heard it and pulled her gun from Nick, aiming it at the boy and firing off a single shot. The bullet struck the teen in the stomach, at the bottom of his rib cage. A red stain blossomed on his tee shirt and the boy grabbed his middle, slumping to the floor with a small cry.
Nick whirled, bringing the girl in his sights and pulled the trigger twice, planting two bullets in her chest, right between her perfect purchased breasts.
The gun fell from her hand as she fell, clattering down the wooden stairs and skating across the hardwood floor 'til it met the thick white carpet of the living room and came to rest.
Nick lowered his weapon and turned to look for Alberto. The boy had crawled back into the hall, leaving a trail of bright crimson blood.
"Berto?" He had only time to utter the name once before a motion caught in the corner of his eye brought his attention around as Ramón flung himself off the couch and lunged for the girl's fallen weapon. His hands grabbed it up and brought it around to bear on Nick's form as the CSI dropped to his knees to crouch behind the arm of a chair.
Nick managed to bring his left arm up painfully to bring his other hand up to brace his weapon on the chair arm and fired off a round.
The bullet struck Ramón in the arm, the gun falling from his hand with a muted thud onto the carpet. He grabbed his arm with a scream of anger and pain, writhing on the floor. The arm spurted a geyser of red; the bullet had bisected the brachial artery and his life's blood poured out of him to be soaked up by the thick shag under him.
Nick tried to leap up but fell sideways, grabbing at the chair arm for support. His chest was heaving, the adrenaline of the last few moments stealing his breath. He scrambled to his feet, lurching towards Ramón's form curled up on the floor.
He managed to make it over to the dying drug dealer and kicked the weapon away, out of reach, before falling once more to his knees next to Mari's killer.
Ramón tried to struggle away; his efforts weak and ineffective, as the man he'd tormented and tortured held his gun flush to his head.
"You gonna kill me, Pig? You gonna kill an unarmed man?" he chuckled grimly. "You do, and I'll save a place for you with me in Hell."
"The only Hell you'll be seeing is the four walls of your ten by ten cell in prison, you sadistic son of a bitch. I'm not gonna let you die. I'm gonna let you and your pampered ass rot in jail for the rest of your life."
Nick placed his gun behind him and took the tail of his flannel shirt between two shaky hands. He gritted his teeth and ripped at the soft cotton fabric, pulling a two-foot long strip from the bottom of the shirt.
He grabbed Ramón's arm roughly and tied the fabric bandage around the gushing wound. He knotted it tightly and placed his thumb over the damaged flesh, pressing deeply.
The injured man hissed at the pain and batted at Nick's hand, scratching and pulling as Nick's thumb continued to bear down inexorably on the open wound. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes and began to stream down his face. When a sob finally broke painfully from his throat, Nick released his grip and flung the arm down, his face a mask of rage and disgust. Ramón quickly pulled his arm in and curled up tighter, the sobs continuing- the dam and the man now broken.
Nick fell backwards, fumbling for his weapon under his ass. He scrabbled for the gun with numb fingers, finding the hot metal and returning it to his grasp. He pushed himself back along the carpet with his heels, distancing himself from Ramón who was now mewling like a scared toddler, rocking back and forth, cradling his arm to his chest.
Nick hadn't gotten more than a few feet away when his back came in contact with a piece of furniture. He used it to lever himself back up and he leaned against the overstuffed arm, his whole body quaking with fear and stress.
He wanted to collapse where he stood. The room spun around him and he squeezed his eyes shut against a wave of dizziness. When he reopened them the spinning had decreased and allowed him to survey the destruction around him.
The girl lay dead, sprawled in an unnatural looking pose on the stairs. Blood continued to drip from her chest wounds and made a macabre waterfall of scarlet that pooled on the hardwood floor.
Ramón's rocking had slowed and his whining had quieted to the occasional snuffle and muttered curse.
And the boy … Nick pushed himself up and he lurched unsteadily to the archway where he had last seen Alberto. The boy was curled on the expensive tile floor on the other side of the arch, his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach, a blood pool smeared around him.
Nick dropped heavily to his knees and pulled the boy into his arms.
"Berto? Berto? C'mon, Kid. Talk to me."
The boy's eyes fluttered open, a groan of pain escaping his lips.
"Berto? Did you call the sheriffs? Are they coming?"
The boy croaked out a broken, "Yeah".
"Why did you come back, Kid? What were you thinking?" Nick asked, his voice deepening with anguish.
The boy squeezed his eyes shut and grunted out a barely spoken whisper. "Mari woulda wanted me to look out for you."
"Oh, Christ, Kid…" Nick shook his head as tears brimmed in his eyes.
He pulled his flannel shirt off, the pain in his arm as he pulled at the muscle enough to gray his vision once again, but he managed to pull the last sleeve off and balled the garment up to place it against the boy's wound. He grabbed the boy up tighter against his chest and held the fabric on with as much pressure as he could muster, the cloth growing warm and wet beneath his hands.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
Jim Brass and Warrick Brown were hauling ass down US 95, their speed matching the route number. The bright red gumball flashed garishly from atop the roof of the Taurus, warning the early morning traffic to get the hell outa their way. Traffic was still thin and the left lane was thankfully mostly open as the sedan weaved in and out around those few hindrances in their path.
They were about twenty minutes away from their destination when the detective's cell phone rang shrilly from inside his suit jacket pocket. He fumbled for the small phone and flipped it open, jamming it against his ear, the wind rushing past the fast moving car and the occasional angry honk from other drivers on the road making it difficult for him to hear.
"What?" he yelled irritably.
"Call for you Captain Brass. Patching it in from Clark County 911 dispatch in Laughlin."
"Put them through."
"Captain Brass? This is Deputy Granger out of the Laughlin substation. Caller identified himself as an Alberto Pacheco. Said he was calling on behalf of one your CSI guys from up there in Vegas, a Nick Stokes. Says they're at the home of a Ramón Orozco and we should let you know to send someone out. I ran the address he gave- it comes back to a Rosalita Orozco. We've got no record of any previous calls out to that residence. You mind telling me what the call was about?"
"Granger, do you have any guys out that way?"
"It's a big area. Not much out there but some big houses and a lot of desert. I can get my nearest guy on the horn but I have no idea where he is in his rounds. And why am I sending him over there?"
"Ramón Orozco is wanted on felony warrants for Possession with Intent and two homicide charges - a murder and an attempted. Suspect in a third -the vics missing, presumed dead. You need to get your guy and have him go over there, stat. My CSI is most likely on the premises."
He then quickly described Nick and Ramón for the deputy.
"I'm about fifteen minutes away. I'll hook up with your deputy when we arrive."
"Roger that. Will do, Cap'n."
Brass slapped the phone shut against his chest and stuffed it back in his pocket.
He turned to address the worried face of his companion.
"Looks like Nicky still has his head on straight at least. He had the kid call 911 and ask for me. At least we know we're headed to the right place- gave the same address we've got."
"Can this Ford go any faster?" Warrick asked with a bleak smile.
"Good old gas-guzzling Detroit V-8 under the hood. Let's try her out." He depressed the accelerator, nosing the speedometer further over the 100 mark. The desert landscape flew by the windows in a blur of yellowish ochre. Warrick tested his seatbelt briefly, muttering curses at cars that reluctantly yielded to their high-speed approach.
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at the end of the long drive, the house in front of them looming large atop a lush green lawn. A Clark County Sheriffs truck was parked and a tall man in a tan uniform unfolded his body from the drivers seat. His tag read Juarez, and his complexion was dark, his mustache full and proud.
"Granger called," he said as he approached their car to lean in to peer through Jim's lowered window. "I just got here. Everything is quiet. Haven't heard a peep or seen any activity."
Jim and Warrick got out of the car and accompanied the deputy to the front door. The deputy put his ear to the door and shook his head, signaling he didn't hear anything.
The deputy banged on the front door and identified himself.
Jim and Warrick unholstered their weapons and walked around to the back of the house. They walked past the large swimming pool and entered in through a sliding door that had been left open. The house was still eerily quiet and their footsteps echoed on the tile floor.
"Orozco! Ramón Orozco! This is the Vegas PD. We have a warrant for your arrest."
No response. Brass's words continued to bounce against the plaster and high dark wooden beams.
They entered the front sunroom and approached a hallway that lead to a kitchen and a living area.
Warrick stepped cautiously forward, his eye catching a dark red pool of blood smeared in the hallway. He walked through a large open archway and gasped at what he saw.
Nick was propped up against a white leather couch. The smear of blood trailed from tile to white shag carpeting where it lead to the body of Alberto Pacheco, laid out in Nick's arms. Nick cradled the boy's limp form against his chest, the image like a grim Pietà. Nick's head rested on Berto's, his arms wrapped around the boy's stomach clutching a clump of cloth, soaked in dark blood.
A half naked woman's body lay sprawled down the stairs to the second floor. And Ramón Orozco's body lay curled up in the fetal position on the living room floor nearby.
Warrick holstered his weapon and dashed over to fall to his knees at his partner's side. His fingers reached to take a pulse at his friend's neck. The flesh was burning hot, but a faint beat fluttered under his fingertips.
"Nick?" he asked quietly, almost unwilling to break the silence in the room. No response.
"Nick?" he tried again, placing a hand on his partner's shoulder. Brown eyes twitched and opened at half-mast. He raised his head groggily to stare at Warrick.
"Th…re … dead." The voice came out as a slurry mumble, the words too hard to hear correctly.
"What, Bro?" Warrick prodded gently.
"Dead. They're all dead."