The Garden of Betrayal - Lee Vance [112]
“Freeze,” Reggie screamed. He was standing over us, gun out and pointed straight down. I rolled onto my back and let the Ruger slip to the floor. Smith lay beside me lifeless, the wound in his chest just beginning to bleed.
39
“You hurt?” Reggie demanded.
“My ears are ringing,” I said thickly.
“No surprise. What about the rest of you?”
“I think I’m all right,” I said, exploring my chest tentatively. My shirt was torn and singed, but everything else seemed intact. “Maybe a contact burn …”
The words died in my throat as my eyes traveled to the open door. Joe was on the floor of the gallery, back propped against the railing and legs stretched out in front of him. His gun was on the ground next to him, and he had both hands pressed to his left thigh. Pain creased his face. I started to my feet, but Reggie held me down by the shoulder.
“Stay down. I don’t want you keeling over. We got too many casualties already.”
He turned his head to the door. “You doing okay out there, partner?”
“Fine. That first shot just put a little nick in the leg. Smith dead?”
“Either that or doing a hell of a good imitation,” Reggie replied. “I need another minute here. You think you can call 911, let them know we’re on-site? Be the perfect finish to a shit day if one of us got blown away by some trigger-happy rookie.”
“I’m on it.”
Reggie returned his attention to me, probing through the hole in my shirt.
“I checked it.”
“Let me check it again.”
The closest of the multiple sirens sounded as if it was only a block or two away. On top of all the questions and fears racing through my mind, I suddenly wondered what kind of trouble I was in.
“Listen,” I said, wincing as Reggie probed a little harder. “I know I fucked up. But this is self-defense, right? I haven’t got anything to worry about here, do I?”
“One thing for a cop to shoot a bad guy,” Reggie said, his voice hard. “Whole different thing for a civilian to do it, particularly when the bad guy was cuffed to a bed and the civilian had a motive. Chief Ellison is going to take that bright light I was talking about and shove it right up your ass, no matter what Joe and I swear to.”
“So, what do we do?”
“Go to plan B,” he said, taking the Ruger from my hand and pulling me roughly to my feet. Glancing down, I noticed a pool of blood spreading outward from Smith’s body, the carpet fibers too worn or cheap to absorb it. My head was buzzing, and I felt faint. I’d killed a man. It was a different thing from having hurt someone. No matter that Smith had deserved it—my body was rebelling against the act. My tough talk in Reggie’s car suddenly seemed laughable.
“You feeling light-headed?” he asked.
“No,” I lied, ashamed to own up to my weakness. I took a shaky step sideways, away from Smith’s body.
“Good. Because the second half of plan B is your disappearing through the bathroom window, like our friend Mohler. Much better if we tell everyone that you took off before the shooting started.”
“So, who’s supposed to have shot Smith?”
“Me. That’s the first half of the plan.”
He squatted down before I could object, pressed the Ruger to the side of the mattress, and fired a fifth shot. The gun’s report was muffled by the bedding, but the coverlet caught fire, releasing a wisp of acrid gray smoke.
“Why the hell did you