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JACK
Idon’t know who shot first. All I know is that after hearing the clacks of guns, my instinct was to run. That’s not easy to admit, being in the FBI and all. We’re tough guys, thick skin, running at danger for the greater good. But I didn’t run into danger because I heard some gunshots. I ran at it because I heard Jess’s cries of distress mixing in with the sirens approaching, and I wanted to help. As I ease around the corner, I see her and Vince lying on the ground. Because he’s so still, I know her cries are not from an injury she’s enduring.
I squint across the way and see a body— I think it’s Carlito’s— definitely dead, by the looks of irreversible damage to the skull. The gun is lying beside Jess, and my gut tells me she did it. Was it self-defense or revenge?
The sirens continue to grow in volume, and I decide it doesn’t matter. At all costs, I’ll tell the cops it was a defense. The man was a maniac, and they’re responding to a kidnapping call, so I think it’s safe to say that the least of their worries isn’t whether he did something wrong or not.
Two cop cars arrive with their lights flashing, sirens carrying on as they pull into the building. An ambulance is close behind, and the moment the medic leaps out of the car, I see their eyes go to Jess. I scoop her up, instinctually knowing that their efforts will probably be met with swinging. She meets my efforts with the aggression I predicted as I drag her away, but after I hold her tighter, she finally relaxes.
She does try to fight me some more, but I try to reassure her in the simplest way possible that they are helping him. I know where she wants to go, but this isn’t the type of situation where they allow outsiders to fall over their patient while they try to work. I dig my feet in deeper as she puts up a fight that’s not nearly half the amount of strength I know she has.
They pick him up and lay him on a stretcher as Jess continues to sob in my arms. To the right of us, they’re already putting Carlito in a body bag and marking the scene. Jess’s cries continue as a cop approaches me.
“Sir, this is a crime scene now. You’re going to have to move out.” She puts her hands on her belt, not about to take any other answer but compliance. I do think for a second that we can just take the SUV. Lee’s probably still waiting for us, angry at me for not listening, but still loyal. As they prepare the ambulance to drive off, I realize we can’t legally trail this thing without an escort— especially not to help the mafia or mafia sympathizers… Shit, am I a mafia sympathizer?. I want to help Jess, so I pull the only card I’m not really allowed to
“I’m with the FBI, and I’ll need your car.” The cop looks me up and down suspiciously, and I reach into my pocket, still holding tightly to Jess, who is slumping in my arm like a ragdoll kitten. I flash her my badge, and she leans in with her flashlight, squinting at the details until she finds what she’s looking for.
“Okay.” She hands me the keys, and I grab them, pulling Jess to the car and buckling her in. She’s like a deflated balloon that you didn’t want to throw away after your birthday party. Two weeks go by, and it’s lowly floating to the ground, discolors, deflated, on the verge of uselessness. Not that I’m a hoarder of stuff like that… I just like balloons. Okay?
I jog around to my side of the car and start it up. My fingers find the switch for the siren and lights, flicking them on as I do a quick whip around to keep up with the ambulance turning back towards the road. They are booking it, so I do the same, following way closer than a car's length behind. They must think they can save him if they’re so urgently speeding. I can’t imagine why they would put this much effort into bringing a dead man to the hospital. Unless his teeth are made of gold, and he’s a registered organ donor.
I try to comfort Jess with my theory (minus my poorly timed joke), but she doesn’t seem to perk up much. We are swerving in and out of lanes as I try to keep a close connection to the ambulance. When I see the hospital in the distance, I know we can’t go to the emergency entrance made for the ambulance, so I pull us into the drop-off lane, and that’s where I park. It’s probably not the best idea on my part, but it’s what the nature of the situation calls for.
She doesn’t realize we’ve arrived, so I place my hand on the console, “Ready?” I ask, and she looks up at me, then around to where we are. She looks so defeated, I don’t know what else to say, so I get out of the car and walk around to help her down on her side. To my surprise, the moment I shut the door behind her, she begins to sprint to the door. I catch up with her, and we jog like that all the way to the front desk, where I know we’ve startled this poor nurse who probably just started her shift.
She was likely told about us already because she’s prepared with a response to our huffing.
“He’s in surgery. We can’t let—“ I do want to let her finish, but it’s just a waste of time at this point because I’m not taking no for an answer, so I get sort of rude.
“We need to be as close as we can get to him.” I tilt my eyes, so she can actually get a look at Jess. She follows my cue then looks back at me with what looks to be an annoyance. It might be a consideration. Either way, I’m not giving up, and I think she’s aware, so she tells the other nurse to watch the desk and shows us to the hallway just outside the surgery rooms.
I thank her before she leaves, and then we wait. Boy, do we wait. I don’t know how many hours or days (maybe that’s too dramatic) we’re here and at what time Jess started sleeping, but she’s snoring now. I’m looking at my phone, waiting for Agent Smith or even Traitor Agent Fine to message me, but they don’t. It’s strange what happens when you’re always on call. Even in situations that are sincerely devastating, you’re wandering in the back of your mind when you’ll be needed. It’s also possible that I only feel this way because this is my first real case in the field.
The doctor comes out and is asking for Jess, so I grab her attention, they chat, and she somehow convinces Jess to wait in the room they’ll be bringing Vince to. I did give her a look, trying to convey that the gesture alone was the doctor, so maybe that’s what did it. Doubt it, though. She’s so stubborn.
We are left in the room, looking out at the city lights, and I look to see if I can read where she’s at on a scale from breaking down to surviving. She looks alright. Eyes are tired, no doubt, hair is still as shiny as it always is but her clothes… the bloodstains all over them remind me of how long we’ve actually been here. I think I can see the sun beginning to rise (or set?), so I suggest going back to the apartment.
Of course, I don’t ask her to leave, that would cause World War III, so I offer to go and get her clothes while I’m there. She doesn’t seem to think it’s a bad idea, which means it’s good because she hasn’t insulted me yet. So, I say goodbye as she sits in a chair by the window, and I head out of the room, back down the elevator, and to the cop car still waiting where I left it.
Right as I get buckled up, my work phone begins to buzz in my pocket.
“Hey,” I answer without looking who it is and cough when it’s met with silence. “Agent Beys.” I correct myself.
“Beys, this is Agent Smith.” His voice is more stern than usual, and I hope he doesn’t know about tonight or the past few days with Vince. Technically, I was working to uncover the double agent status of Agent Fine. I’ll admit I got a little sidetracked. He continues after a brief pause. “We’ve got a problem. Agent Fine hasn’t been responsive for the past two days. We heard about Carlito’s death from police and heard there was an FBI on sight that we didn’t call in—“
“That was me, sir. I just want to say—“
“Beys, I know. We need your help to retrieve him. This case is a lot more complex than we thought. I’m going to need everything you know about it in a write-up on my desk by tomorrow evening. Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”
“Cool it, Beys, nobody’s in trouble… except maybe Agent Fine.” Was he joking? I can’t tell. Unless he means he’s legally in trouble, then he probably has no idea what’s coming.
We get off the phone as I drive away and make a well-over-the-speed-limit journey to the apartment. If another cop car sees me, what are they going to do? Give me a ticket? I let out a chuckle at that one. Definitely because I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours.
When I make it up to the door, I remember that Kinzi needs to be fed, the house probably needs a deep clean, and— I smell my armpit— I also, one hundred percent, require a deep clean. I’m surprised when I walk through the door because Kinzi is just relaxing on the couch. The mess is mostly in Jess’s room, but that’s because she has a massive, half-packed suitcase, most of which is sprawled across her bed and floor.
I give Kinzi some food and grab some fresh clothes from my backpack before hopping in the shower for a quick, but thorough rinse. The only thing clean in my bag was a white t-shirt, black pleated slacks, and of course, my Vans. So, I slip those on and make sure to hide the gun I still have from Vince inside my petticoat hanging off the barstool. It’s crucial to always be prepared for anything.
