“Backup on the way,” was the crackling response in my own ear.
“Enrique Faldon, you are under arrest,” Patrick shouted. “Drop your weapon and show yourself with your hands up.”
Nothing.
“He’s got to still be there,” Ricardo muttered.
“Yeah, we’d have seen him running.”
“You’re outnumbered,” Patrick went on. “There’s no place to run. Give yourself up.”
Still nothing.
“Fuck, we’ve lost him,” I mumbled.
Patrick looked at us and shrugged.
“Don’t take any chances, Patrick,” I said quietly. “Faldon is an ass-wipe.”
“He won’t,” Ricardo said, straightening with his gun high. “And if anything happens, we’ve… fuck!”
Suddenly, from directly to the side of Patrick, Faldon appeared. He was a skinny, bald guy with tattoos covering his head and neck. He wore tight jeans, ripped at the knee, and his feet and torso were bare.
He held a revolver and within a split second of appearing he had it jammed beneath Patrick’s chin, one of the few parts of his body not protected by his SWAT uniform.
Ricardo stepped forward, quickly tipping his gun so it was pointed at the sky. “Steady. Steady. Why do you want to put another murder on your list of offenses?”
“Get the fuck out of here,” Faldon sneered, jabbing the gun harder and forcing Patrick’s head back at an angle.
Patrick grunted and made an attempt at holding onto his weapon as Faldon tussled to get it.
“Stop!” Ricardo called. “Take it easy. No one needs to get hurt here.”
“You bags of shit all need to go. Now.” Faldon yanked Patrick’s gun from him and let it dangle from his fingers. “You’ve got ten seconds to disappear then I blow your buddy’s head off his fucking neck.”
“Wait, wait.” Ricardo was getting closer. His spine erect, his wide shoulders even broader in his uniform. “Let’s talk about this.”
Nausea swept through me. I’d seen shit like this before. It was fifty-fifty whether or not it would turn out well for Patrick. But I beat down my physical reaction; it wouldn’t do anyone any good.
Instead I slowly raised my weapon over the refrigerator. Taking a few deep breaths I followed it, knowing my helmet would be in view should Faldon care to look my way.
In the distance sirens blared. A dog barked to my right. I concentrated on Faldon. He was shouting now, his voice high pitched, the octave telling me he was panicked. Like a wild animal cornered, he was unpredictable and dangerous.
And he had my friend’s life in his hands.
This bastard thinks Patrick is nothing.
I looked through my sights. Push had come to shove. I could react to this. It was what I’d spent my adult life training for.
Iwouldbe victorious.
I pushed fears of failure to one side. I had no room for them. The only fear was fear of the unknown and I knew I could take this shot. I was close. Calm. It was perfectly doable and the outcome predictable if I concentrated and did what I was good at.
He was in my sights but he wasn’t still—he was yelling, his head moving, he was staggering a little too, and taking Patrick with each step.
Ricardo was talking again. I blocked out what he was saying. Gut instinct told me Patrick was running out of time. Faldon was spooked and if he was going down, like any piece of shit, he’d take as many with him as possible.
But he wouldn’t take any of my team.