“Over there!” Vic shouted, pointing at the burning building.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Erin muttered.
The fire captain ran toward Webb, a radio at his ear. “Lieutenant!” he shouted. “I’ve got men inside taking fire! I have a man down! I need cover!”
“Get me masks and fire gear,” Webb snapped. He waved over the nearest Patrol officers. “I need some volunteers. We’ve got men in there who need help.”
There was the briefest hesitation. Then a young officer whose nametag read RUIZ stepped forward. “I’ll go, sir.”
“I’m in,” Vic growled. Two more shots came from the building. Everyone but Vic flinched.
“Let’s do it,” Erin said. Turning to the captain, she quickly asked, “Is the fire safe for my K-9?”
“Can he do SAR?” the captain replied, referring to Search and Rescue training.
“Yeah.”
“Then we need him. Let’s move!”
The police grabbed firefighter overcoats and oxygen tanks on their way. Erin was trying not to worry about Rolf. He was absolutely willing to go, and being low to the ground, he wouldn’t have as much to fear from smoke inhalation as the rest of them, but he wouldn’t be able to stay inside long. And he couldn’t wear an oxygen mask without compromising his sense of smell.
“Komm,” she ordered, giving the command in Rolf’s native German. He trotted beside her, alert and attentive.
“You better stay outside, sir,” Erin told Webb. He tended to get short of breath at the best of times, what with his smoking habit and extra bulk.
“You giving me orders, O’Reilly?” he retorted. “I’ve been sucking smoke since I was sixteen. I’m used to it.”
Ruiz looked very young, and very scared, but he buckled on his gear with steady hands. The four officers formed up outside. Even through the protective gear, Erin could feel the heat of the fire, like an open oven door.
“Let’s go,” Webb ordered.
“NYPD!” Erin shouted as they plunged in. “Sound off, guys! Where are you?”
The fire made a strange, hollow roaring sound. Everything was smoke, heat, and flickering flame. Erin heard the rasp of her own breathing in the oxygen mask. The smoke was disorienting. Even though they were barely inside, she had trouble remembering the way out. Strange shapes of tables and chairs appeared and disappeared through the smoke. If anyone answered her call, she didn’t hear them.
“Rolf!” she ordered. “Such!”
Hearing his “search” command, the K-9 moved forward, sliding with his belly close to the floor. How he could smell anything but smoke was a mystery, but he was clearly on the scent of someone. Erin held his leash in one hand, her Glock nine-millimeter in the other. She was in the lead, the other officers keeping close so as not to lose contact.
Rolf suddenly stopped and scratched the floor. Erin saw a body at her feet. She knelt and saw it was a man, dressed in street clothes, face down. Blood was pooled around him. He didn’t seem to be breathing, but it was hard to tell.
“Got a casualty!” she shouted. Even as she said it, a sustained burst of gunfire came from very close at hand.
“Christ!” Vic said. He snapped off two shots in return.
“Don’t fire blind!” Webb barked. “You out there! This is the NYPD! Put down the weapon and give up! Otherwise you’re going to die in here! We’re here to help you, idiot!”
“Fire Department!” someone shouted to Erin’s left. “We got a man down!”
“Rolf!” Erin repeated. “Such!” She nudged him in the direction of the voice.
Rolf was off again, sneezing and snorting. Erin went with him, keeping as low as she could. Another gunshot sounded, followed by two more from Vic.
“God damn it, Neshenko!” Webb shouted. “Cease fire!”
Erin found an overturned table, a looming shape in the smoke. Behind it, three firefighters were huddled with a fourth one at their feet. The wounded man was writhing in pain.
“We’ll cover you!” Erin shouted.
Ruiz was behind her. He tapped her shoulder to let her know he was there. He rested the barrel of his pistol on the edge of the upturned table. “Go!” he said.
Erin and Rolf moved back the way they’d come. The firefighters followed, carrying their downed buddy. No more shots were fired. Erin dared to hope Vic might’ve gotten lucky. Or maybe the shooter had gone down from smoke inhalation, or suffered an outbreak of common sense and just stopped shooting.
The police and firefighters tumbled out of the building onto the sidewalk, into blessed fresh air and sunlight. Erin thought a bleak, cold March day had never felt so good. They pulled off their masks and sucked in the air. Rolf, at her side, gave a wheezing cough and sank to the pavement.
Erin dropped to one knee beside her dog. “Good boy,” she said. “Sei brav, Rolf. Sei brav.”
He wagged his tail and coughed again.
“I need some help here!” she shouted. “It’s my K-9!”
One of the firemen hurried over, holding a special oxygen mask. Erin thanked God for Americans’ love for their pets. The FDNY had taken to stocking masks for dogs and cats in their trucks, and Rolf was the beneficiary of the policy. He was soon breathing more easily, but Erin stayed beside him, like a good partner should.
After the shooting, the firefighters drew back from the building and concentrated on containment, keeping the fire from spreading. There wasn’t much left to save in the restaurant by now anyway, and they weren’t about to risk more lives over a big pile of wet ashes. The uniformed officers on scene, very twitchy, kept an eye on the blaze and fingered their weapons.
Erin’s colleagues were a short distance away. Webb had his hands on his hips and was looking up at Vic, who had six inches of height and many pounds of muscle on his boss.
“Detective Neshenko,” Webb said in a dangerously quiet voice.
“Sir,” Vic said, looking at a point just over his commander’s shoulder.
“I’d love to hear why you disobeyed a direct order.”
“Incoming fire outranks the
