The shadowy figure materialized suddenly behind the stumbling detective, easing up to match the slow but steady progress the injured man was making. Not wanting to startle the seemingly oblivious young cop, the newcomer said quietly, "Steve, it's me, it's Bobby Cox."
Steve hesitated slightly, as if not sure what he'd heard, but continued to limp down the sidewalk.
"Steve, it's Bobby, let me give you a hand, man," Cox repeated, reaching out to gently grab the younger man's arm, trying to slow him down. Finally stopping, Steve turned to look at his dark-haired, bearded colleague. "I was in there, Steve, I know what happened. But I was caught in the back and I couldn't get to you.
Steve struggled to focus. He inhaled carefully. "You weren't supposed to, Bobby. You'da blown your cover. Don't worry about it, man." His words were slurred but his eyes were bright, almost desperate. "Mike –" He pulled out of Cox's grip and took a step, grimacing in pain.
"Don't worry about Mike," Cox reassured quickly. "We've got two more guys in there; we'll keep an eye on him."
"I didn't see –" Steve began, shaking his head, staggering unsteadily.
Cox grabbed his arm again, providing much needed support. "'Cause you don't know either of them," he said quickly. "Come on, we gotta get you to a doctor."
"No – no, Bobby, I gotta talk to Kyle… now, please…" His tone was so desperate the older officer hesitated then nodded.
"Okay… okay… come on, let me give you a hand." Having noticed which side Steve was favouring, Cox moved around to his left, slipping an arm around his waist for support. "Don't worry about Mike, okay?" he reassured again as they slowly made their way down the block, Steve's breaths coming in pain-laced gasps. Cox looked at him worriedly.
The Harley came into view and Steve started to slow down. Cox shook his head. "No way, man, you can't get on that. You can barely breathe. Look, I have an idea." He led Steve close to the bike and helped him to sit on it. "You stay here," he said as he released his hold on the injured detective and took a step back, "and I'll go on ahead to the van and get Kyle to drive up here and get you. We're far enough away from Coopers that nobody'll see us."
Steve started to shake his head, trying to get back onto his feet. "No…. no… we're too close…" He gasped, sitting back down on the bike and squeezing his eyes tight.
"You can't go any further," Cox said quickly, "stay here!" He took off down the block at a fast jog.
Both arms wrapped around his chest, Steve doubled over. He was nauseous and thought he was going to throw up, terrified that if he did so the pain would be so intense he would lose consciousness.
He couldn't afford to pass out; Mike needed him. He'd made a mistake, he knew, standing up to the drunken bully; he had pushed his luck and lost. And now their carefully planned operation was in jeopardy and he had left his partner alone in a very serious, and potentially deadly, situation.
Gritting his teeth, he tried to sit up a little straighter, swallowing the bile that rose in the back of his throat, leaving behind a burning sensation and a bitter taste on his tongue. He was still fighting to remain conscious when the black van slipped quietly alongside the Harley and stopped.
The side door opened and Cox got out, crossing around the bike to the sidewalk. "Can you stand?" he asked Steve and received a quick nod in return as the younger man tried again to get to his feet. Cox carefully slipped am arm around Steve's waist and helped him to the van.
Safely on the carpeted floor inside the almost empty cargo bay, Steve curled onto his left side on the rough carpet, as Cox got in beside him and pulled the door closed. The van took off, turning several corners before eventually pulling to a stop under a streetlamp.
Kyle Jenkins snapped on the dome light and turned in the seat. "Jesus, Steve, are you okay?"
Cox helped their injured colleague sit up as best he could. Steve tried to smile through a soft ironic chuckle. "Not really…" he almost whispered.
"Bobby told me what happened," Jenkins shook his head in frustration, his concerned stare snapping from one of his colleagues to the other. "What did you do to set him off?"
Steve managed a snort of derision. "I ordered a scotch…" he said through teeth clenched in pain, as if it was an explanation.
Jenkins stared at him almost uncomprehendingly for a long beat then shook his head again, glancing at Cox. "We'll talk about this later. Right now Bobby's gonna drive you to the hospital –"
"No!" Steve almost shouted, cutting the lieutenant off. "No… Kyle… I'm not going anywhere. Mike –"
"We've got him covered, Steve, he's not in there alone. And you're in no condition to do anything to help even if he wasn't, right?"
"I'm not… going anywhere…" Steve protested again, trying to get to his knees.
"Yeah, you are, you're going to the hospital, Inspector," Jenkins said again, his voice taking on an authoritative edge. "Do I have to make it an order, Inspector?"
Steve froze as their eyes locked, holding his breath. Then his body sagged and he dropped his eyes. Jenkins features softened in sympathy.
"Good. Thank you. Besides, whose ass do you think would be in a sling if Mike knew I didn't force you to see a doctor after we found you looking like this?" His gentle chuckle took the sting out of the uncomfortable confrontation, and Steve nodded in reluctant understanding.
Jenkins looked at Cox again and they both nodded then he picked up the walkie-talkie from the floor beside him and thumbed the Talk button.
As Jenkins called for another unmarked car to join them, Cox looked at Steve, who was trying to sit up even more. "Take it easy, Steve. Kyle's right. You're no use to Mike like this. Let me get you to a hospital and get you patched up and then we'll come right back, I promise."
# # # # #
The noise level in Coopers had once again risen to the same ear-shattering decibel level it had attained before the brouhaha had momentarily interrupted the drunken revelry. At the back of the room, Missing Persons Sergeant Dave Collyer was trying to scan the crowd overtop of all the heads but wasn't having much luck.
During the fracas he had been shoved out of the way and when things had quieted down had found himself near the overflowing booths at the back. He wanted to be nearer the bar, to keep an eye on the Homicide lieutenant, and he was attempting to work his way through the tight throng without much success.
For a split second he thought he caught a glimpse of the battered green John Deere cap that he knew Robbery Inspector Shaun Jacobs always sported, but he couldn't be sure. He hoped he wasn't the only one in Coopers at the moment.
He was sure he'd seen Bobby Cox leave the bar about a minute after Steve Keller had dragged himself out the door, obviously in great pain. He knew Cox felt as guilty as he did that they had been unable to come to their colleague's assistance, but they also knew that they couldn't or their covers would be blown. And being chewed out by all the lieutenants involved in this operation was not something any of them wanted to experience.
Collyer had managed to push his way closer to the bar. As he stood on tiptoe and leaned as far forward as he could, yelling at the bartender for another two Schlitzs, he snapped a quick glance at the end of the bar and managed to mask his relieved sigh.
Mike Stone was still on the stool, still nursing a glass of scotch.
# # # # #
It was close to midnight when the side and passenger doors of the black van opened simultaneously, briefly startling the Vice lieutenant behind the wheel whose attention was riveted down the street in front of him.
"Jesus, don't you guys knock!" he groused good-naturedly, his eyebrows rising rapidly in surprise as a stiff and slow-moving Steve Keller climbed gingerly into the passenger seat, trying almost successfully to smile his salutation. His face had been cleaned up and there was now a white bandage over his right eyebrow. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Bobby Cox slammed the passenger door after Steve got into the seat and climbed into the back of the van, closing the side door behind him. He nodded towards the injured inspector. "They wanted to keep him overnight but he refused, so they made me promise to take him home." He glared at the back of Steve's head. "This is home," he enunciated pointedly.
"Steve –" Jenkins began but the younger man shook his head.
"Kyle," he said as firmly as he could, "they taped me up and stitched my forehead and I'm up to my eyeballs in Tylenol. I'm not going home… not while Mike is still in there."
"You can't be serious –"
"Look, Kyle, once Mike is outa there, you can take us both to my place and I'll stay there, I promise… But not before." He was staring at the Vice lieutenant who, even in the dim streetlight reflecting through the windshield, could see the desperation in the young man's eyes.
Jenkins took a deep breath. "All right," he agreed reluctantly and both he and Cox could see the Homicide inspector relax and turn his attention to the street in front of the van.
"What's been going on? Any word on Mike?" he asked, nodding in the direction of Coopers with his chin, keeping both arms wrapped protectively around his chest.
"Well, our two guys are still in there. If there was a problem, one of them would have high-tailed it down here and let us know, so no news is good news in this case."
"Has the place started emptying out yet?" Cox asked from over their shoulders as all three stared through the windshield.
"Not that I've seen yet," Jenkins said, bringing the binoculars back up to his eyes.
# # # # #
"Hey, gents, we've run outa beer!" Danny had hoisted himself up onto the bar and was trying to be heard over the cacophonous din. "So finish up what ya got and get yer asses out of here!" he laughed as he jumped into the back bar, picking up the damp towel and beginning to wipe down the counter once again.
At the back of the room, Collyer made discreet eye contact with Jacobs, who was finishing off a Pabst several crowded feet away, and the young inspector began what he knew would be a slow trek to the door. Though it was still a couple of hours till closing, they didn't want to be seen leaving together, or in close proximity to Mike.
Jacobs' route to the exit was circuitous at best. He wanted to sneak one more look at the Homicide lieutenant before he left so he could report back to Jenkins and Newman on the status inside Coopers.
As the night wore on, it had gotten harder and harder to push through the increasingly drunk clientele, and Jacobs progress to the bar was painfully slow. He finally managed to squeeze past two belligerent drunks who didn't want to move when he finally found himself at the end of the bar nearest the door.
Pretending to be offended by the shove he'd received as he bulled his way through, he looked over his shoulder towards the far end of the bar and the stool tucked into the corner against the wall.
It was empty.