think anything chased them. They just wanted the hell out of the building.
Brian grabbed the radio and flipped a switch to turn it into a high-powered megaphone.
“Calm down, everyone. Move to your left and gather on the other side of the ice machines. Flat against the wall. Do not. I repeat. Do not enter your vehicles and leave the premises, or you’ll be arrested.”
Mesmerized, Cory observed the scattering bodies merge into a tight pile and shift to the left as if a big dog herded them toward a warm barn.
Damn, that was some righteous shit.
“Watch their hands,” Brian barked. “Scan for weapons while I try to straighten this mess out.”
“Got it.”
The car swerved at an angle in front of the trembling mass, and Brian threw it into park. “Round the rear of the unit and stay on my left, five feet back.”
“Yes, sir.” It felt good to crawl out of the vehicle and pull his weapon. He trained for this, craved the opportunity. Cory wasn’t looking forward to blasting a hole in anyone, but hesitation be damned if any of the freaked-out bunch made a hostile move.
“Where’s the shooter?” Brian shouted in a voice so beastly even his own flesh pebbled.
Every head shifted in the sergeant’s direction. Despite his tall, lanky build, the deep rumble combined with a gun drawn and lowered in their collective direction commanded immediate attention.
Numerous arms pointed out toward the far, right side of the parking lot.
“How many?”
“One,” they all screamed, or whimpered, in unison.
Cory eyeballed everyone’s hands yet kept his peripheral on the door, overlooked accomplices trying to fire their way to freedom the last thing on his wish list.
After a round of head swiveling to assess the surroundings, Brian gestured for a sturdy older man in a camouflage T-shirt and work-worn jeans to step forward. He appeared to be the only one with his shit somewhat together. Brian frisked him down. Satisfied, he motioned for the calm man to stand at the front of the patrol car.
“You see anything?”
“Sure did. Slight, heavyset build with short brown hair, green T-shirt, and black shorts falling right above the knees. White, early thirties, maybe. Tell you the color of her eyes or what type shoes she wore, but my mind keeps jumping back to the handgun she was rocking like a pro. Glock. Not sure of the model.”
Cory’s gut clenched. She? As soon as the call came for shots fired, the perp formed in his mind as a drunk male shooting a few cans in his backyard and scaring the patrons. Brian appeared just as disturbed, yet his voice remained even and steady.
“A female?”
“Yep. Calm. Like she done it a thousand times. First shot and my ass skedaddled through the side door of the meat market. Locked myself inside the manager’s office and saw the whole goddamn thing through the two-way mirror.”
“Did she take off on foot?” Brian pressed.
“No, blue minivan. Dark. Took the far exit and hauled ass up the I-40 ramp. A Dodge, I think. Didn’t run outside in time for the license, but there was a Garfield stuffed animal with those little suction cups holding his paws to the back window. You see those before?”
“Yes, got it.”
Despite the nuttiness of what they’d learned, Brian’s voice remained steady as he lifted the radio to his lips and called out to all open channels with the latest.
Hard glare focused on the busy highway filled with morning traffic, Cory wished they’d rolled into the parking lot right as the crazy bitch hauled ass. He’d give anything to be part of the fucking chase. Involvement in a pit maneuver would highlight his day—a proud back slapping retelling over dinner with Pops tonight his ultimate goal.
Another unit arriving with full sirens and flashing lights caught Cory’s attention. He recognized their faces from roll call but couldn’t remember the names. An ambulance and a firetruck weren’t far behind. Both held back until Brian motioned them toward the stiff, wide-eyed crowd.
Maneuvered to the side of the sliding glass doors, Cory trembled in readiness for Brian to hurry his ass over before someone else got the pleasure of clearing the crime scene. His partner gave the approaching duo the skinny, directed them to start interviewing the group, and ordered camo-guy to stay put. The detectives would salivate to learn what he had to say, that was for sure.
Cory tried to keep his face passive, hiding the jubilation upon seeing Brian line up on the other side and take a quick peek inside. It was time to go in. He got the nod to take the right quadrant as Brian’s shoe pressed the black runner. The doors parted, and Cory shot forward.
No matter the extensive number of hours spent on the academy’s video study, simulated breaches, or shootouts in a controlled environment he conducted, Cory came ill prepared for a slippery slide through a puddle of dark liquid and bringing him down to one knee. A furtive glance to the right, and he found himself staring into dull, fixed eyes of the first dead person ever encountered. The dude looked right at him. More like through him.
Time seemed to crawl to a stop. His mind screamed nonsensical crap as he gapped at the bullet-riddled chest. It was nothing but a wet stain of bright red blood from stem to stern.
What the fuck?
No amount of reasoning could explain why the guy’s hair hung off his ear.
A pungent blast of copper and acrid stench of loose bowels struck Cory’s nostrils as he ripped his eyes away, just so they could collide with one body after the other scattered around the registers and along the front aisle, their own individual growing puddles adding to the nauseous smell and horrid images burning into his retinas. His gag reflex kicked in with a vengeance.
Gut erupting like a pissed off volcano, Cory’s teeth clacked together upon a tight yank on his collar, instantly cutting off the oxygen supply and trapping the burning cesspool at the hollow of his throat. Arms flapping, he stared at a length of blood-spattered tiles strewn with shell casings and then the pristine whitewashed sidewalk as Brian hustled him to the opposite end of the building and away from the grownups.
Hands and knees smashing against the green grass still covered in silky dew, Cory hurled everything he remembered eating this morning, and probably some from last night, until all he could do was live through the dry heaves and inwardly curse from watching half of the gross shit splashing across the weapon he failed to re-holster. Fuuuck me.
Through a veil of liquid leaking from his eyes, he saw Brian retrieve several bottles of water and a rag out of the patrol car while motioning for the other two officers to enter the store. Determined not to keep looking like a rank puss of the highest order, Cory two-fingered the butt of his gun, jumped to his feet, and shoulder rolled around the building’s edge. Back smacking against the hot brick to keep from ass planting, he held the weapon out as far as his arm could reach and observed a calm hand pouring water from trigger to barrel before draping it with the cloth.
“You need to clean it good tonight. Lots of oil. Lift your right shoe.”
On
