chest.
“Oh, shit, Scott’s been hit,” Dantzler yelled to Milt. “Call for backup and go help Eric. Keep that damn kid alive, Milt. I’m going after Stone.”
Milt went left toward Eric and Scott, cell phone at his ear, screaming orders for backup and an ambulance. Cramming the phone into his pocket, he knelt next to Eric, who now had both hands on Scott’s wound. Scott was alive-barely. His eyes were open, he was white as a snowman, but he was breathing.
“You hang in there, Rookie,” Milt said, putting his hands over the wound. “Medics will be here in seconds. Keep those eyes open, hear me? That’s an order.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Dantzler was about to cross Palms Drive when he saw Stone dart between two houses, veer to his right, and disappear behind a large storage shed. Dantzler crossed the street, took cover behind a black Honda Accord, and checked the clip in his Glock. As sirens wailed in the distance, Dantzler duckwalked past the Honda, using a row of cars for cover, until he was even with the opening Stone had taken. He raised his head in an effort to see Stone, but had to duck down quickly when a new burst of gunfire shattered the car’s front windshield and blew out the right front tire.
Dantzler returned fire, waited for a second assault from Stone, and was surprised when nothing happened. Briefly, he entertained the thought that one of his bullets had wounded or killed Stone. But that was, he knew, only wishful thinking. Stone was too well protected by the shed to have been hit. Seconds later, Stone made it official that he was alive and well by rattling off another dozen shots, all of which did further damage to the car protecting Dantzler.
When the shooting stopped, Dantzler peered over the car’s hood and saw Stone running hard between the houses. Dantzler gulped in fresh air to refill his burning lungs, stood up, and began to give chase. As he reached the opening between houses, he heard noise coming from behind. Turning, he saw Eric moving at blinding speed, gun in his bloody right hand, a hard look of hate on his face. Before Dantzler could say a word, Eric raced past, quickly closing in on Stone, who had made the crucial mistake of running into an alley with no exit.
Realizing he was trapped, Stone, now desperate and panicked, swung around, steadied himself, and prepared for what he had to know would be his last stand. Screaming like a mortally wounded animal, Stone lifted his rifle and took dead aim at Eric.
Then in a flash Stone’s head came apart. Blood, bone, and brain matter painted a grotesque mural on the side of the house Stone was standing in front of. The rifle fired skyward as it flew from his hands. Stone tumbled to the ground, right leg twitching for several seconds, his shattered head at the center of an expanding pool of blood. After several more seconds, the twitching stopped and his breathing ceased.
Eric had ended the rampage with a single shot.
Dantzler got to Stone’s body first. Out of habit, he kicked the weapon, a.223 assault rifle, away from Stone’s right hand. He thought about checking for a pulse, but knew it wasn’t necessary. Kevin “Rocky” Stone was a goner.
“You okay?” Dantzler said to Eric.
“Never felt better.”
“That was some serious cowboy shit you pulled, Eric. You should be thankful you aren’t the one lying on the ground.”
“He shot my partner. I had to go after him.”
“Is Scott still alive?”
“Yeah. But he’s hurt bad.”
“You know, Eric, if I wasn’t so damn relieved, I’d be pretty pissed at you.”
Eric nodded, started to say something, but didn’t.
Dantzler put an arm on Eric’s shoulder and said, “But eventually I would get over it.”
The man watched with delight as the deadly scene unfolded in front of him like a wild big screen cops-and- robbers shootout. And damn it had all happened so fast, like a lightning bolt from the sky. First nothing, now this. Amazing. Less than twenty minutes ago, this had been a quiet, peaceful suburban neighborhood; now it was a war zone. He had anticipated drama, even as he followed Dantzler to Stone’s house, but he had never expected action of this magnitude. This far exceeded his wildest expectations.
Keeping his head low, baseball cap shadowing his blue eyes, he watched as two police cruisers and an ambulance zoomed down Alexandria and turned onto Palms Drive. Sirens wailed, detectives and uniformed cops arrived like storm troopers, intent on getting in on the action. Medics showed up, hoping to save the wounded. All part of a scene that had dissolved into chaos and bedlam and pandemonium, fueled by the combined energies of death and madness and fear. Curious neighbors stepped out of their houses, all eagle eyes, desperate to get a closer look at what had just happened. Frightened mothers ran screaming and crying, grabbing up young children and herding them to safety. Above, a helicopter from one of the TV stations hovered like a mechanical raven waiting to swoop down and photograph the chaos. A live, real-time video game for the viewing audience. Tonight’s ratings would be sky high.
Beautiful, the man said to himself, just peachy. He smiled and shook his head. Leave it to a worthless nobody like Rocky Stone to cause this kind of madness. Like the TV ad says, shit like this is priceless.
What the man didn’t know, and wouldn’t be able to find out until later, was the outcome of all the gunfire. Somebody had been killed, that much was a given. He’d been in similar situations, where bullets were flying in all directions, and it was rare when there wasn’t at least one casualty. But who? Was Rocky dead? Dantzler? One of the other detectives? Maybe, he thought, they were all dead. Now, that would be peachy.
Regardless of the outcome, whether Dantzler was alive or dead, the man realized his course of action had been altered. Thanks to today’s events, a heavy and dangerous burden had been lifted. After today, there was no longer a pressing need to eliminate Dantzler, even if the famous detective had been lucky enough to survive the gun battle. Given what happened today, and given the facts that would be uncovered in the next few days, Dantzler would have no choice but to close the file on Rocky Stone.
And Eli Whitehouse.
The man’s smile widened.
He was now free and clear.
CHAPTER FORTY
Dantzler remained at the scene until well after dark, overseeing the removal of Stone’s body, the collection of evidence-early estimates had it at more than a hundred rounds fired during the skirmish-and rehashing the series of events for Don Andrews, the new guy in IAB. He also made a point to be on hand when Eric had his initial debriefing with Andrews. Dantzler wanted to make certain Andrews understood it was a good shoot. After hearing the evidence and walking through the crime scene with Dantzler and Eric, Andrews’s preliminary assessment was that Eric had acted within the proper guidelines.
At nine-fifteen, with little left to do except stand around and watch the capable crime scene techs do their thing, Dantzler hopped in his car and headed for the hospital. Turning onto Alexandria, he saw Eric standing on the sidewalk in front of the Lopez house, talking with three uniformed officers. Some of Scott’s old buddies, no doubt bent on hearing all the gory details of the bloody gunfight, each one expressing disappointment at having not been involved while secretly thankful they weren’t.
Dantzler pulled up next to the sidewalk and motioned for Eric. “Go home, Eric. Get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day. You’ll need to be sharp.”
