Shattered Glass(134)

“You and me, Frank, we can get protection. We’ll go in together. It’s the only way.”

“Nah. Nah. There won’t be anywhere to hide if they find out what happened to that girl, Buchanan. I told you that. What they do to snitches ain’t half of what they’ll do to us. To everyone in our families. Marta? Your girls? We’re all dead. Destroy them papers and I’ll drop the gun. Turn myself in.”

“Oz, man, where are they?”

What the fuck was in that safe?

Was I going to trust Dave? Maybe this was some kind of ruse to get me to give up the location. Then he shoots me and they grab the safe. Only three things wrong with that line of thought. First, he’d warned me they were after Cai. Second, he’d come in here rather than just calling Frank’s cell phone. Third, I was just as dead if Frank and Dave were working together, but if they weren’t? “The cat carrier. It’s in the cat carrier.”

Frank’s breath eased out, his gun moving off my face. “Get it.” Neither he nor Dave lowered their weapons when I pushed off the wall and kneeled in the muck to get at the cage door.

“The plastic’s melted around it. I need a knife or something.”

“Is it in there?” Frank stepped forward, leaning in to look, his gun gliding across my vision. I grabbed his wrist and jerked down. A bullet fired into the floor, near enough to my knee that it frayed the fabric of my pant leg. I pulled his arm down further, trying to shove his hand under that knee. Frank’s fist slammed into my nose. I grunted as pain shot through my forehead and partially lost my grip. He leaned into me for leverage. We toppled over, both of us now locked in a struggle under the desk face-to-face. A piece of wood scraped through my jacket, my stitches ripped open, and my nose ached and bled; but I wasn’t letting go of Frank’s wrist.

Another bullet fired. Behind me, someone grunted and fell with a muffled ‘thump’. Dave? Shit! I started to twist and roll my shoulder over Frank’s arm, but he jerked at my grip and pulled backward. I wound up half on top of him chest-to-chest, two hands around his wrist, gun flailing above our heads. Through blood, ashy water and sweat, I couldn’t see where Dave was in the room.

Over all our grunting and swearing, several sets of feet sloshed down the hall. There was shouting, but with the blood pounding in my ears and my rough panting, I couldn’t decipher what they were yelling. I was too petrified to let go of the gun. With my nose already weeping blood and broken, I cringed in anticipation, right before I cocked my head back and slammed my forehead into Frank’s face. My nose gave another crack, pain shot up into my brain, and my vision went black. At the same time another bullet split through the air. Someone cursed in Spanish. I went limp. Lights out, Austin.





Sleep. Sleep Would Be Good Here

I wasn’t out long. A minute maybe. Long enough to get pulled off of Frank and jostled outside. The pain turned to an aching throb once I was set on the lawn. By the time the EMTs arrived, I just went with the flow. My eyes were flushed out, my nose and throat checked, butterfly stitches were applied to my lip. Like an intense sugar high, my adrenalin dissipated. The noise and chaos around me faded away. I passed out again in the ambulance.

I was lying on my side. My ass felt like it was on fire. Bright lights and a brown, nearly bare leg greeted my awakening. I followed it up, past a section of bandaged calf, up over a plump belly, to meet Luis’s dark glare. He sat on the gurney across from mine.

“What happened?” I asked groggily. My voice sounded nasal. I lifted a hand to my face. Thick bandages covered my cheeks and a metal splint encased my nose.

“I got shot. Because of you. Again.”

“Bad?” It came out ‘bah’.

He shrugged. “Passed through muscle.”

“Can’t even get shot right.”

“You’re paying for my pants.”

A hail of painful spikes kept my smile from forming. “Peter?”

“Still in surgery.

“Fran—?” None of my hard consonants were sounding. My tongue refused to contribute to the pain in the roof of my mouth.

“In custody. Del and Buchanan, too.”

“Dave shot?”

“Bullet hit his vest. He’s bruised, but fine.”

“Cai?”

“Last I heard, he was being treated at Mercy General.” I already knew what happened to Mick and Dick.

“Where are we?” My lip had split, I felt it tug as my ‘w’ formed, and a trickle of blood dribbled into my mouth.

“Denver General.” Across town. Not too far from Peter.

“The safe? They said passports.” I was sore, but not so broken that I needed to continue lying down. It took effort to sit up, however, and to balance on one ass cheek. I figured I should get used to that anyway.