On The Grind

Chapter 45

I had Rocky go down the hall earning the gun and take a position by the front window overlooking the street. My shoulder rover had squelched twice more in the last minute. Alonzo was impatient, demanding a reply. I pulled my sidearm and looked over at Carmen.

"I've got to fire this thing because I'm supposed to be committing a double murder," I explained. "They could be close enough to hear the gunshots. Ready?"

She nodded.

I aimed my police revolver at the wall that overlooked the courtyard and pulled the trigger. The first bullet punched through the plaster and started bouncing around inside. The second and third rounds hit a wall stud, thunking loudly. I jammed the gun back into my harness leather, then used the apartment phone to dial the number Alonzo had given mc.

After two rings a man answered, "Yeah."

"Make the call. Apartment four-fifty-six," I said and hung up.

The shots had awakened our neighbors. We could hear people out in the corridor, slamming doors and talking loudly in Spanish.

"Lets go." I led Carmen out of the room. There were about ten people milling around in the hall.

"Que es?" a young vato wearing a wife-beater tec said. He was only about seventeen, but was holding a blue steel. 45. His skin was crawling with 18th Street gang tats.

"No es nacla," Carmen said as we hurried past.

Rocky was next to the window, watching the street for Alonzo. The people in the corridor started to pick up on the fact that a celebrity was in their midst.

"El Alborotador," an old man said.

"Hey, it's Rocky Chacon," somebody else exclaimed.

Then my shoulder rover squawked. "One-L-Nine and all available units in the vicinity of Vista Street and Park. You have a four-fifteen with shots fired in the Garden Apartments, seven hundred block of Vista Street, apartment four-five-six. L-Nine, your call is code three."

I triggered my shoulder rover. "This is One-L-Thirteen. I'm in front of the location right now and will handle. Notify L-Nine that I'm in the building."

"Roger that. L-Nine, your call is now code two. L-Thirteen is inside the location."

A cacophony of radio calls followed. I grabbed Rocky and Carmen by the arm and led them to the fire door.

As we entered the stairwell, I glanced down to make sure Horace Velario was still cuffed to the railing. We hurried up to the roof.

My rover lit up again. Alonzo Bell calling the dispatcher.

"This is Sergeant Bell. I'm just pulling up to the Wilcox location now. All responding units and L-Thirteen, I've got my gun out and am in plainclothes wearing a green short-sleeved shirt and tan pants."

"Roger that. All units. All frequencies. The shift sergeant is on the location in plainclothes, green over tan."

Then I heard Roulon Green roger the call and announce his arrival. In another minute we were going to have enough cops out front to put on a police fundraiser.

I threw open the roof door and ran across the top of the building, with Rocky and Carmen a few steps behind. I didn't want to be a moonlit silhouette, so I stayed toward the center of the roof and kept low. Only once did I veer to the edge, crouching down to survey the activity in the street below. I could see four squad cars at the curb and one more boiling in a block away about thirty seconds out. The front of the apartment building was now lit by a strobing cherry orchard of red and blue Mars lights.

I spotted the white Escalade with the driver's-sidc door open. No sign of Alonzo. T hat meant he was in the lobby and would probably find Horace any minute. I wanted to stay up here just long enough to get the majority of the cops into the building. I had to time it just right.

I checked my watch and let fifty seconds tick off the dial. Then I nodded at Rocky and Carmen. We ran to the far end of the building, where the rooftop fire-escape ladder was located. Rocky went down first. I helped Carmen over the edge and then followed. As I clambered down, I heard Alonzos voice come over my rover.

"All units, all frequencies, be advised — we have an attempted murder of a police officer by our own patrolman, Officer Shane Scully. He and two armed Hispanics, male and female, are in the building. Set up a perimeter. I'm authorizing deadly force." Then Alonzo was talking directly to me. "Scully, you won't make this. I he only way you can save your ass is for you and the two beaners to give yourselves up."

I didn't respond, just kept descending the fire ladder, finally dropping to the ground on the north side of the building.

When I hit the pavement, I could hear at least five or six police radios blaring calls from two overlapping frequencies. The lights from the patrol units wigwagged furiously, strobing the neighborhood. Three fresh units arrived.

We took off running, trying to keep close to the buildings so we wouldn't be spotted. It didn't work.

"Over there!" someone veiled.

Carmen's red Mustang convertible was parked at the curb half a block from the front entrance. I glanced back and saw a wall of blue uniforms running toward us, all with guns drawn.

"Freeze! Police," somebody shouted.

"I'm driving," I said to Carmen, grabbing the keys from her hand. I triggered the door remote and slid in behind the wheel. Rocky and Carmen jumped in the back.

I jammed the key into the ignition and started the engine just as the first shots rang out. A bullet slammed into the trunk. The next one careened off the pavement under the car, hitting the asphalt, bouncing like a skipped stone before whining away into the night.

I floored the Mustang and left half a pound of rubber at the curb.

"Mama mia!" Rocky exclaimed.

We roared down Vista and made a hard right.

I heard a flurry of pursuit calls over my shoulder rover. "All units, One-L-Seven reports the fugitive vehicle is now westbound," one said. "The suspect vehicle is red 2007 Mustang convertible."

"Requesting air support. We need a chopper!" another voice chimed in.

Then Alonzo's unmistakable growl: "All units. The shoot-on-sight authorization is still in place. Don't let these scumbags out of Fleetwood!"

"Keep going straight!" Rocky yelled. "This street takes us into Monterey Park!"

I was doing almost eighty by the time we passed Pacific Boulevard. I got lucky and caught the green. At Lincoln, I had to break a red light. I almost hit a produce truck and swung the wheel frantically, fishtailing wildly, barely missing the rear end before flooring it again and continuing on.

"Only six more blocks to go!" Rocky yelled. "We're almost there!"

We didn't even come close to making it.