Max gets up in Francesco’s face and bodily shoves him toward the door. “Get your ass back in there and call 911!”
“Now!” Ed adds while Max’s eyes sweep the yard with his Glock at the ready.
Given something useful to do, Francesco seems to get a grip on his initial panic. He nods and hustles back inside.
“Did you get the fucker?” Ed asks when Max returns and kneels at his side.
Max’s eyes continue to sweep the yard. “Don’t know. Didn’t wanna hit the dog, and the garage blocked my line of sight to the gate, so I only had a split second to shoot after Deano dropped out of sight.”
Speaking of which, Ed thinks as he struggles to sit upright and casts his eyes around the yard in search of Deano. “Oh shit,” he mutters disconsolately when he spots an inert mass of black fur just inside the back gate.
Max’s eyes track Ed’s. “Fuck!” he growls before he gets to his feet and marches toward the back of the yard, pistol leading the way in a two-fisted grip. Given the murderous expression etched on his face, Ed suspects Max is hoping a target pops into view.
They both startle when the back door slams open again and Francesco pokes his head out. He’s got a telephone jammed tight to his ear. “The police! They come!”
Ed twists around to face Francesco. “Perfect. Now stay the hell inside before someone shoots your ass off!”
Thankfully, Francesco only glances Max’s way before he goes inside. It wouldn’t do to have him rushing over to Deano before the scene is secured. Ed scooches his ass back around so he can see Max, who is standing stock-still by the back gate. The stucco fence along the sides and front of the yard is only four feet tall. The back fences along the alley are a full six feet, so between those and the garage, the yard has privacy from the alley and, at the moment, that means protection. Stay in the yard, Ed silently urges his partner. While it’s unlikely that their assailant is lurking in the alley, the smart move is for Max to remain where he is and wait for the cavalry to arrive. As Ed watches, Max backs away from the gate and kneels beside the dog. Ed can’t bring himself to ask how Deano is; he’s acutely aware that the old dog probably just saved his life. No way was the shooter gonna miss a kill shot from twenty feet with that cannon.
After a thirty-second inspection, Max looks up and meets Ed’s gaze. “No blood, but he’s hurt. The bastard must have kicked the shit out of him on his way out.”
Ed squeezes his eyes shut as sirens in the distance announce that help is on the way. Better than being shot… unless the bastard pumped a bullet into Deano that stopped his heart instantly before he could bleed out. Is there some sort of 911 for dogs? He slips his belt off and ties it around his arm to stem the flow of blood while Max paces back and forth by the back gate.
Sirens begin converging on the scene a minute later. Ed waves his good arm to get Max’s attention as the first sirens die and car doors slam on the street out front. “Get the vet’s number from Francesco and get Deano some help.”
Max nods as he walks briskly toward the gate at the front of the yard and shouts, “We’re in the backyard! Scene is clear! Retired police officer down!”
“We’re coming in,” a tense voice calls back. “Hands where we can see them.”
“Understood,” Max replies calmly.
Ed manages to stagger to his feet and get one hand on top of his head before a pair of Cedar Heights PD officers march into the yard. Their guns linger on Ed and Max for a long moment before the older of the two cops says, “I know these two.”
Ed recognizes Marty Zeller. Good cop. Good guy to have around in a crisis. “Yard’s clear,” he tells Zeller. “Shooter went out the back gate.”
The cops nod but sweep the rest of the yard and the garage, anyway.
“You okay, brother?” Max asks while they wait.
The wound burns like hell and throbs with every beat of Ed’s heart, but it isn’t debilitating. “Sure. Hurts like a bitch, though.”
Max nods, then goes inside to get the number for Deano’s vet.
“What the fuck, Ed?” the older cop says as they walk back.
“Doing just fucking great, Zeller. Thanks for asking.”
A police cruiser with siren wailing skids to a stop in the alley behind the garage.
Zeller takes a few steps toward the back fence, identifies himself, and announces, “Yard and garage have been cleared. The shooter left through the back gate.”
“Got it. We’ll hold here.”
More sirens scream down Liberty Street and die out front. More car doors slam shut. “If the bastard’s still anywhere in the neighborhood, he’s fucked now,” Max mutters as he returns.
Zeller walks back, takes a good long look at Ed’s arm, and then locks eyes with him. “Doesn’t hurt too much?”
Ed nods. Hell, now that he mentions it, it doesn’t feel too bad. Good sign? Bad sign?
Zeller herds Ed to one of the Adirondack chairs and all but shoves him into it. “Could be going numb, or you could be going into shock.”
“Sit the fuck down,” Max snaps when Ed resists.
A uniformed policewoman walks up. “There’s an injured dog?”
Zeller nods toward the back gate. “Down there.”
“I’ll take care of it,” she says with a concerned glance as she starts toward the back of the yard.
Max calls her back and hands her a Post-it note. “The dog’s named Deano, and he just saved our asses. This is the number for his vet.”
She nods solemnly and hurries away.
“What the hell went down here?” Zeller asks.
Max gives him a quick recap, ending with “All over in less than a minute.”
“Did anyone go after the shooter?”
“This old fucker?” Ed snorts with a sideways glance at Max.
