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Fuck. I’m hit.“Everyone down!” While blood oozes out my wound, I jump down and cover my client’s body.
When the shooting stops, I lift my head. The motherfucker who shot me stares at his weapon, confused. Hell, I’m sorry, but he should’ve thought this over. I can’t risk him killing anyone. Moving my pistol to my left hand, I shoot at his armored chest, and he goes down.
“DCPD. Drop your weapons. We have all your ID’s with facial recognition. You’re all accessories to attempted murder.” My pal’s voice sounds through the megaphone’s Bluetooth.
As the drone flies over the tops of their heads, the wanna-be commandos come to their senses. Eyes wide, mouths open, they lift their arms in the air. Thank God, murdering a bunch of high school kids was not on their agenda.
Holding my arm so it doesn’t gush more, I roll off my client. “You hurt?”
“No. I’m fine.” He helps the girl next to him to stand and they trail behind me as I work with the two local cops to disarm the terrorists.
Hands sounds in my ear. “How bad is it?”
“Through and through, but it may have hit a major pipe. I’m bleedin’ like a stuck pig.”
While I grip my bicep, Ken shakes his head. “This is exactly why we’re protesting.”
“Wahl, y’all need to get busy. Have everyone post this shit on social media. Soon, reporters will be shoving microphones under your noses. Spread your message. Rally your troops. It ain’t what happens to you, it’s how you respond to it.” Done with my speech, I grasp his shoulder to keep from falling.
“Maybe you should sit.” The thin female points to the hole in my favorite jacket.
In my ear, my brother back at HQ sucks in his breath. “Do as she says.”
Putting more pressure on the wound, I shoot her a wink and a smile. “I’ve had much worse. Believe me, it’s jes’ a scratch.”
Afore long, more members of the Capitol police show up along with some Feds, ambulances, and the metro PD. Helicopters whap-whap overhead and the place swarms with reporters.
By the time my cell phone rings, I’m sitting on the paramedic’s tailgate. “Hey sugar.”
“Do not sugar me. Look up and wave.”
After I do as my wife says, she sighs. “Hands tells meyou were shot.”
“Yes ma’am.” I put her on mute and dip my head into my chest. “Seriously, pal? You ratted me out?”
“Not me. She saw it on the news.” While he pleads his innocence in one of my ears, my gal insists on talking in my other.
“Suds? You there? Are you hurt bad?”
“The bullet jes’ nicked me darlin’.” The dizziness in my brain probably indicates the wound is a little more serious, but I see no point in mentioning that to her right now.
“Was anyone else injured?”
I hate how worried she sounds and try to make light of the whole thing. “Well, the guy who shot me took a hit to the vest. And the one with the AK? I’m afraid he’s dancin’ with the devil… Hold on. I see the DC police. They’re gonna want a statement.”
No doubt catching the pure glee in my tone, my wife groans. “Suds. Do. Not. Ramble.”
“I won’t honey. I swear. It may take me a while to get out all the facts, though. A man needs to be thorough. Gotta go. Talk soon. Love ya, babe.” Chuckling, I swipe the red icon and wave over the closest officer.
It takes a bit of finagling to retrieve my wallet with my left hand. Eventually, I get it out and hand it over.
The cop’s dark eyes study my face. “It says here you’re a private eye.”
Eager to confess, I nod enthusiastically. “Yes sir. My gun permit is in there, too. I was on the job, working for Patten Securities. Their card is right behind my Visa, under the picture of my wife and son.”
“Cute kid.” A small smile breaks his stern countenance and I take that as a sign to keep talking.
“Smart as a whip. Jes’ turned four. Could you wave up at the helicopter? My spousegets a bit worried if’n I get shot. You married?”
