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“You can get up. Slow!” the officer said.
Dupont slowly pressed up from the pavement. He kept his hands in front of him at shoulder level. Six marked police cars were now in the lot, bathing the entire area in blue and red lights. One officer stood in front of him, scrutinizing the photo on his credentials, comparing it to his face. Several others were by the cars. One appeared to be checking on the assailant, who must now be conscious as he was screaming in pain. The others were searching for the gun, he assumed. Another cop knelt by the man shot, and another was jogging towards the building.
The first officer nodded and then handed Dupont’s leather wallet back to him. “What happened here?” he asked after he’d called the scene in as secure on his radio.
Before Dupont could answer, another set of sirens was heard, and Dupont saw two ambulances approach from up the street. Dupont filled him in on what transpired. He pointed to the man on the ground between the cars. “His gun is in the vicinity, under one of the cars I’d guess.”
“If it’s there, we’ll find it,” the officer said, as though he didn’t believe him. “Stay here.” He stepped away and joined the other officer.
Only then did Dupont realize they hadn’t returned his gun. He hadn’t discharged his weapon. There was no reason for the Arlington Heights Police Department to hold on to it. He’d address that shortly if it wasn’t returned to him. Surveillance footage would prove that he hadn’t fired it.
Dupont stood alone and watched the activity around him. He felt dazed. And suddenly exhausted, which he recognized as the adrenaline receding. The first of the two ambulances pulled away with the gunshot victim. Near the other ambulance, the assailant still screamed in pain, laced with curses. Dupont saw his hands were cuffed to the rails of the gurney.
One of the uniformed policemen found the gun beneath one of the cars. He held it up announcing its recovery just as Cooper, in one of the black agency SUVs, pulled into the lot. Dupont watched him flash his badge and creds at the yellow crime scene tape that was now strung around the area before he ducked under the tape and approached him.
Cooper clasped his shoulder. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay,” Dupont said.
“You rammed the shooter with your car?”
Dupont nodded. He glanced back at his baby, dented and bloodied. Damn! His car would never be the same again.
“Good thinking.” Then Cooper’s eyes scanned Dupont’s car. “Is it drivable?”
Dupont shrugged. “No, his head cracked my windshield.”
“We’ll get it towed and I’ll give you a ride back to HQ. Are you done here?”
“I doubt it. I talked with a uniformed cop, not a detective yet.”
Cooper’s eyes pivoted to the plain clothes detective who was just exiting the gas station building. His face contorted into his trademark smirk. This was unfortunate. “Detective Russel,” he greeted as the man approached.
Russel presented his hand. “I should have known he was with you when I was told the CIA was on site,” he said, reaching out his right hand to shake Cooper’s hand. He then presented it to Dupont. In his left hand he held Dupont’s Sig .9mm. He handed it to him. “I just watched the footage from the security cams. You never fired. We don’t need this.”
Dupont took it and re-holstered it on the small of his back. “Thank you. I gave my statement and contact info to the uniformed officer. If you have questions, please ask them. It’s late and I’d like to go.”
“What were you doing here?” Russel asked.
“Just stopped in to get gas,” Dupont said with a shrug.
“Right,” Russel said. “I know whatever it was is above my paygrade. Tell me though, so I’m not chasing my tail, did the shooting have anything to do with what you’re working on?”
“I think you’re confused,” Dupont said. “I wasn’t working on anything locally. That’s against the CIA’s charter. I truly just stopped in to get gas.”
“Okay,” Russel said, still not believing him. “I’ll be in touch if I have any questions. Where should we have your car towed to?”
Cooper presented the business card of a local garage the agency used. Dupont stole one more look at his dented and bled upon prized car. Then he strode back to the agency SUV with Cooper.
Once Cooper shifted to drive and pulled away, he shook his head. “He thinks we’re with SAD.”
“He’s been watching too many espionage movies if he thinks the CIA’s Special Activities Division is operating in Arlington Heights, Illinois,” Dupont said with a laugh. Then he turned more serious. “HQ. Lassiter?”
“Yes,” Cooper said.
Dupont sat back in his seat. So much for the extra time he’d have to watch television and game. He never minded his regular check-ins with Lassiter. And working in Ops, he had seen some disturbing shit go down. But that had been the extent of his experience since becoming an intelligence analyst. He’d never been physically on the scene to be involved in anything. He’d certainly never pressed an accelerator to purposefully hit another human being, causing damage to his own car. Funny, he thought he’d feel more affected by it than he did. It really didn’t feel much different to him than seeing what he saw from Ops.
Echo
