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Willie was a friend, graduated high school the same year as Hank. Still in uniform, and he preferred it that way. He wanted action, not a desk. And anyway, the uniform looked good on him.Realgood. He was tall, with perfect smooth-as-satin black skin, a beautiful white smile and a body made of pure muscle. He was a full scholarship wide receiver for the University of Colorado. He was good but not good enough for the NFL. Just like Hank, he graduated college and went right to the Academy. He taught me how to play poker, badly on purpose, and beat me every time we played. I’d met Brian a couple of times, but he was barely out of rookie status.
“Call an ambulance,” I said to Willie.
Brian answered, “It’s two minutes behind us.”
“Let’s get you up,” Willie grabbed my upper arm.
“No, no way. I’m not letting go until the ambulance gets here.” I was trying hard not to cry and pressing the now soaked-through-with-blood towel against Tex’s shoulder. The blood was coming fast and there was a lot of it. In normal circumstances this would make me gag, and possibly vomit, but I was fast acquiring new skills, including adrenaline-fueled nursemaid.
“Now you’re bein’ a girl,” Tex said. “Soon you’ll be slobberin’ on me. It’s just a shot to the shoulder. Shit, I’ve had worse than this.”
I looked at Tex. He was pale, his eyes were in a permanent wince and his voice betrayed the pain. I decided to communicate in a way he’d understand.
“Well, excuse me!” I shouted. “I’ve never seen anyone shot in the shoulder. I’ve never seen anyone shot at all! News flash, Tex. Iama girl and I’m not fucking letting go until the fucking ambulance gets here. Do you fucking hear me?”
Willie let me go and took a step back.
“All right, no need to get all PMS about it,” Tex relented then his eyes focused beyond me, and I looked over my shoulder.
Lee strolled toward us, one of his arms down, a gun held loosely in his hand. He was pushing Sandy forward with the other hand and Sandy’s arms were cuffed behind his back. Lee shoved him into the yard we were all occupying and Sandy went down, hard, to his knees.
“This one of them?” he asked Tex, not looking at me.
“Yep,” Tex answered.
“He shoot you?” Willie asked.
“Shotatme, and Indy. The other guy nailed me though.”
Brian and Willie were no longer listening. They only heard “and Indy” and then half the night air was sucked into their lungs, and Brian and Willie’s eyes narrowed on Sandy.
Almost worse than shooting a cop was shootingata cop’s daughter.
Sandy just bought a first-class ticket up Shit Creek.
It was then the ambulance came.
* * *
I madethe ambulance crew allow me to ride in the back with Tex. I did this by having the hissy fit to end all hissy fits. Until they wheeled him away in the emergency room, I stuck by his side.
Tex allowed this, mainly because he’d witnessed the hissy fit and knew I was hanging on by a thread. There were times when you humored a woman, even if you were a crazy man unafraid of flying bullets, and this was one of those times.
Tex told me in the ambulance that Kumar lived a couple of houses away from the one I was taken to and saw them unload me. As was apparently practice in the ’hood, Kumar went straight to Tex, and Tex gave him my card and told him to call Ally and ask for Lee. That was how Hank and Lee got there so quickly.
Detective Jimmy Marker, who had long ago caught me underage drinking, bought the case and questioned me in the hospital waiting room. Jimmy was somber and trying not to look as pissed off as he actually was. When I was eight, Jimmy took me to a father-daughter day because Dad was on-duty. We did the three-legged race together. I suspected he would have preferred to be escorting Sandy, wearing cuffs and ankle shackles, down a very long, steep flight of stairs.
The questioning took a while because half of the Denver Police Department came through the waiting room to see if I was okay. I’d amassed a lot of buddies on the force. Half of them had babysat me and the other half had partied with me.
Then, of course, there was Kitty Sue and Ally’s hysterical arrival with Malcolm and Dad dogging their heels.
Kitty Sue wasn’t crying and carrying on. She was shouting and carrying on. Gram told me often enough growing up that in times of emotional strain shouting was just as good a release as bawling. Both of them made you ugly, but only one of them ended in red, puffy eyes and a blotchy face. Kitty Sue was the wife of a cop. She’d long since learned that teary hysterics would get her nowhere, but yelling captured attention. Men as a whole didn’t know what to do with tears, but they’d do anything to make a woman stop yelling.
Mr. Kumar had come to the hospital too, and he didn’t seem to know what to make of these goings-on, so he remained quiet and tried to be invisible. Jimmy questioned Mr. Kumar after he questioned me.
Once Jimmy left, I finally went to the bathroom, and I kid you not, the relief was so immense I nearly cried.
Then I told everyone I was waiting for Tex to get out of surgery. I did this in a way that no one said a word in protest. I still had the cuff bracelets on my wrists and a goodly amount of blood on my body from cuts from the bushes, and possibly also from Tex. I wasn’t in a state, physically or mentally, to be trifled with.
