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There are at leasta dozen cop cars and ambulances by the time we arrive at Westfield Mall. My body moves quickly through the crowd and I’m again grateful that on seeing me, especially with Riot’s crazy ass following behind, they part the way easily. I hear murmurs from varying conversations as I pass.
“Shooting…”
“Heard someone was kidnapped…”
“I was terrified!”
I shove through until I get to the police line.
“Step back, please,” the cop says to me and the rest, putting his arms out to stop us from entering the building. A woman’s clothing store of some sort is behind him, the entire glass front window shattered along the sidewalk. I look over his shoulder at the scene.
Broken furniture and glass are strewn about, bits of blood splatter in various places. Off to the right, I see paramedics helping an older woman holding fabric to her face which appears to be bleeding through the cloth. My heart speeds up as I look around, trying to catch sight of Phil or Kinsey.
“Who was hurt?” I demand to the cop, who looks better suited to be mall security than a fucking police officer.
“That’s official police—” the boy begins to stammer, and Riot steps up, getting right into the kid’s face. I’d laugh if I wasn’t so fucking over it.
“Who is that?” Riot’s voice is low as he points to the body bag being pulled from behind a case. I feel all the blood rush from my face and everything around me settles to a roar in my ears.
“Sir, there are privacy laws…”
I ignore the cop and Riot, and duck under the police line, heading straight for the paramedic wheeling the gurney.
“What are you—”
I push the woman aside and quickly unzip the top.
I’ve seen enough bodies, enough blood, in my lifetime. I wasn’t prepared to see one of my most loyal friends staring back at me with dead eyes.
“You can’t—”
“Fuck, man,” Riot says, stepping up beside me. The cop is buzzing around frantically, calling out on his radio. “We gotta get out of here,” he tells me as I realize a few more cops are coming over to us.
“Sorry, Phil.”
Shootings at malls in LA aren’t the most uncommon thing so we manage to walk away with relative ease. We don’t speak until we get to the car, both lost in our own thoughts.
I slam the door behind me and put my hands on the wheel, but make no move to start the ignition. My fists squeeze the worn leather and I feel my knuckle pop.
“Man, I’m fucking sorry,” Riot finally says. “He was one of the good ones. I remember—”
“Can you shut the fuck up for a second?” I interject and, to his credit, he does. My mind whirls as I try to figure out what my next move will be.
“Phil was a good fucking man, but right now, I need to find out where Kinsey is,” I say more to myself than Riot. “Eli must have gone to the fucking brothel for her and killed those whores when she wasn’t there. Then somehow tracked her down to my place and fucking waited for her to leave.”
Riot’s frown deepens. “Killed what whores?”
I give him another glance at the tone, devoid of his usual casualness and mockery. I ignore him and keep talking.
“I’m going to need you to get to work tracking him down. Elijah. I need—“
Riot slams his hand down on the dash. “Whatfucking whores?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “What’s it to you?”
“Doesn’t fucking matter. Tell me, or I ain’t finding shit for you.”
I raise a brow at that.
