Chapter 209: Shots Fired: Roman
As Stan and I waited for the car, the sidewalk had virtually cleared out. A couple walked about 100 yards away from us, and there was a homeless man lying on the sidewalk across the street, but Stan and I were the only ones directly outside the club.
I breathed in the fresh air, glad to be out of the stuffy heat indoors. It was a cool, clear night, the stars twinkling like beacons of light in the sky. Had Hannah been by my side, I would have wrapped my arm around her and pulled her to my chest. I closed my eyes and took another deep breath, trying to remember the smell of her hair.
Then a shot rang out, and the next thing I knew, 300 pounds of muscled flesh had collapsed on top of me.
At first I thought Stan had been shot and had fallen dead on top of me, his body was such a heavy weight on top of my own. We heard another shot, and I buried my head in the pavement.
I stayed that way under Stan with my head down for a good few seconds. It wasn’t until Stan poked his head up slightly that I realized he had jumped on top of me to protect me. Needless to say, it was a bit jarring. We waited that way, anticipating more shots that never came.
When we heard police sirens in the distance, getting closer, Stan eased off me and stood up, surveying the scene.
Neither of us had seen anyone. Based on the direction the sound of the bullet had come from, we were sure it hadn’t been the homeless man nor the couple down the block who had fired the shots. Otherwise, the street was empty. Whoever had opened fire was long gone.
I stood up, wiping down my pants and straightening my shirt.
"Thanks," I said to Stan, trying not to show my vulnerability; however, I was certainly glad in that moment to have had him by my side.
Stan looked at the wall behind us, searching for the bullet holes. Once he found them, he traced an imaginary line to where we had been standing. They had missed us by only inches.
"Looks like someone skilled. Fortunately, a little off tonight," he said.
"You think someone was trying to kill me?" I asked.
He nodded as if it were as obvious as the fact that grass is green.
I was definitely shaken at that point. Not only had my wife been kidnapped, but now someone was after me - and all in front of the Roundhouse Club.
The sirens blared now that two squad cars had pulled up. A tall and lanky male police officer hopped out of the vehicle, gun drawn, yelling, "Get down. Get down."
Like I’d seen on all the television shows and movies, I raised my hands up. "Get down," he yelled louder, and I realized I had done the exact opposite.
I knelt on the pavement next to Stan, still keeping my hands raised. The cop was upon us in a flash and pushed me forward onto the pavement, moving his hands along my body, searching for any weapons. Another officer, a stout woman, frisked Stan, and then helped us back up.
"Got a call of shots fired," she said, as if that was explanation enough for traumatizing me further.
"Yeah, someone shot at US," I said, pointing to the wall.
The tall officer walked over and investigated the bullet holes. "Yeah, looks fresh. What are you two into? Girls? Drugs?"
"Look," I said. "Someone is after me. I don’t know who. I don’t know why." The frustration breathed heavy through my voice. "Let me see some ID," he said to me.
But before I could fish my wallet out of my pocket, a familiar voice bellowed, "That won’t be necessary. I can vouch for him."
It was the hefty officer from before, waddling up the sidewalk.
"Hi, old friend," I said.
"Trouble seems to find you, doesn’t it?" he said.
"Well, I didn’t ask to get shot at."
"That’s not the point." The cop gave Stan a once over. "What were you and your guardian angel here doing?"
"It’s a club. We were clubbing." I pointed to the entrance to the Roundhouse.
"Somehow I don’t think that was it."
The cops who had frisked us were standing idly by. "Why don’t you fill in your little friends about your developments?" I said.
"This wise guy here is looking for his wife. She was taken from this very spot two nights ago," the cop explained to his colleagues.
"Whoa, what a coincidence," said the officer who arrived first on the scene.
"It’s not a coincidence," said the older cop. "These guys were up to something. Think I can’t do my job? You have to go blazing your own trail. I supposed you came here to investigate," he said, stressing the last word.
"So what if we did? That doesn’t mean It’s OK for me to be used for target practice." My face hardened as I started to get the idea that the cop was blaming me for what had happened.
"No, but you need to obey the safety rules of common sense," he accused. "Rule #1 - Don’t go back to the scene of the crime. Rule #2 - let law enforcement do their job. Rule #3 - Stay out of the way."
"Aren’t rule #2 and #3 virtually the same?" I asked, giving him a questioning look.
"Whatever. My point is, you shouldn’t be here. We’re looking for your wife. Just because you have a totem pole following you around now doesn’t mean you you’re completely safe. So stop shaking the tree."
The valet returned with my car, pulling up behind one of the police cars. I could have jumped in and taken off, but I also wanted to make sure Hannah’s investigation didn’t get put by the wayside.
"I talked to you today. You told me this had nothing to do with the Auction House. Now I’ve been shot at, and you’re lecturing ME? We need to find some clues. A new lead. There’s a mad man on the loose."
I started to talk quickly, annoyed that we were wasting time. By my calculation, ten minutes had already passed, and no one had gone in pursuit of whoever fired the shots. The fact that everyone seemed to be wasting precious time irritated me.
"Look at this," I pointed to the wall. "You could start by trying to find the slugs. Seeing what kind of gun it came from. Matching that to people with a gun registered with that caliber, and then..."
"Okay, Sherlock. I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, but we’ll get to that. You," he pointed at my chest, "need to go home. You’re not a cop. My colleague here," he nodded at the tall lanky police officer, "is going to call our forensics team to check things out."
I couldn’t believe how slow the cops were to get things done. Two shots rang out, and they were there within minutes, but with no one hurt, they appeared to be taking their good old time figuring out who could have been responsible.
"How about a little speed?" I asked. "My wife is out there, probably with a person with a gun. We need to hurry," I moved my arms in a circular motion, trying to get the cops to realize the urgency in the situation.
"These things are delicate," said the cop. "They take time to process. Go home," he said.
I stood with my arms crossed over my chest, brooding about the night’s events.
I hadn’t really uncovered anything about Hannah’s kidnapping, and to top it off, I apparently had a bullseye on my back.
"Hannah is my wife. She’s my number one priority, so I’m sorry if I step on some toes."
The cop’s face hardened. He stepped toward me, and bared his teeth a little. "This is more than stepping on toes. Now, I’m going to tell you again. And if you don’t listen, I’ll have no choice but to arrest you."
"Oh what? You’re arresting victims now?" I retorted. "Stop poking around in our investigation. Go - home."
"You’re not even going to get my statement? How it happened?" I asked. "Maybe I saw something."
"Did you?" he asked.
"Well, no, but..."
"From what I can tell, you two were hanging out here, asking people questions. But I can assure you, the real police work is done where no one can see," he said, and I thought he sounded a little too much like a zen master who can forecast the future.
Nevertheless, I retreated. Both Stan and I headed to my car, and I purposely banged my forehead on the middle of the steering wheel.
Despite being shot at - again - I’d managed to narrowly escape the bullet. It had given me a little jolt of adrenaline, which had awoken all my panic and fear about Hannah.
It had also solidified my connection with my new bodyguard. Although no one could ever replace Hannah as my right-hand man, Stan had stepped up in a crucial moment.
"Thanks for saving my life," I said to Stan. "I owe you one."