Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [classic children's novels txt] 📗

once. Vincenzo stuck his hands up in the air, while Joe pulled his piece to fire. The other uniform screamed, “Drop it!” and the unseen shooter fired twice and dropped him. Dehan and I both fired and Joe went down. Feet were running behind us. Another shot and the light went out. Dehan was shouting, “A flashlight! A flashlight! Get back to the car! Get a flashlight!” More feet running, and for a moment there was a silhouette against the pale oblong of the open door. One of the uniforms, a crack, a spit of fire, and the silhouette cried out and fell.

Then there was stillness and absolute silence. Dehan’s voice again. “Officers down! Repeat, officers down! Request immediate back up to Coster Street!”

I whispered to Dehan, “Cover me!” and sprinted headlong for the door, keeping low. I threw myself on the floor and rolled to the left of the opening. Two cracks and two whining ricochets off the steel blind. I crawled toward the opening, took a hold of the door and heaved it back, widening the gap by about four feet. Then, I frantically scrambled and rolled over the threshold under a hail of bullets, next I was up and running for the nearest car. A movement behind me and a voice shouted, “Detective! This one!”

It was the other uniform, making for his car. As he jumped in, I said, “I’ll cover you!” In the distance, I could hear the screeching of rubber on blacktop as the other cars approached. He fired up the engine, hit the gas, and, with his lights on long and a wild screaming of tires, he slammed the patrol car through the entrance. The hangar was immediately flooded with light. I followed him in and dodged to the side, into the shadows, swinging my piece left and right, searching the warehouse for the shooter.

Next thing, I was hit by an express train and slammed onto the floor. The wind was knocked out of me and instinctively I covered my head and face with my arms. They took the full brunt of a fist like a ball of rock that slammed into me twice. Then a big foot stamped on my ribs and my assailant was gone.

I staggered to my feet, feeling like somebody had rammed a crowbar through my lungs. As I went back through the door, the two cars that had been covering the back, in Manida Street, came blazing in from north and south. I winced in the glare of their headlamps, searching for my assailant. I couldn’t see him. I stepped into the road, waving the cars to stop, shouting at them, “Search the road! One man! Six two! Black! In a suit!”

Then they were out of their cars, the beams from their flashlights bobbing in the darkness, probing behind the cars, under the cars, moving away from me. My mind was spinning.

I ran back to my car and called dispatch. “We have three officers down and two suspects, all injured or dead. We need ambulances. We have one escaped suspect. Request back up patrols to search the Coster Street area, black male, six two or six three, powerfully built, armed and dangerous, wearing an expensive suit.” I gave them the parameters of the search, but even as I was doing it, I knew it was hopeless.

The uniforms came back at a jog. “No sign of him, detective. What do you want us to do?”

“You two take the car, start searching west, he may have made for the park. I’ll see if I can get a chopper.” They scrambled for their car. I turned to the other two. “You two, get inside, assist Detective Dehan with the arrest.”

They headed inside at a run and I called the captain.

“Stone, what the hell is going on?”

“Not now. You’ll have my report. I need a full manhunt. I need a chopper over Baretto Park and I need every available car crawling over every inch of Hunts Point.”

“Have you…”

“Now, Captain! Every second counts! I’m bringing Vincenzo in. We’ll talk then.”

“You wha…”

But I’d hung up, and as the sirens began to wail across the night, I went back inside. The officer who had been shot while trying to get the flashlight was on the floor, receiving first aid from his partner. The other two who had gone down in the firefight were dead. Dehan had Vincenzo in cuffs, sitting on the floor, and the two cops from the patrol car were untying Bellini. He looked rough.

The sirens swelled in volume and the pulse of red and blue lights filled the hangar to the screech of brakes. Next thing, paramedics were streaming in like ants and somebody was barking, “Get this damn car out of the doorway!”

I stepped over to Dehan. She was looking down at the bishop, talking to him, reading him his rights. Then the cops had him on his feet, and they were pulling his arms behind his back. His face was ugly and swollen. One eye was completely closed and the other swiveled, looking at me with pure, undiluted hatred. And in that moment, he keeled over and fell.

He sprawled in a heap next to Tony’s lifeless body. One of the cops shouted, “Paramedic! We need a paramedic here!”

Then everything happened in slow motion. I could see his eye, still focused on me. I could see Dehan, looking down at him, taking half a step back. One cop was shouting, looking for the ambulance teams, the other was bending to assist Bellini. And Bellini’s right hand was reaching, reaching out for Tony’s automatic. He swung it around in a slow arc till it was leveled straight at my chest. I was aware my legs ached, my head was foggy, and I had shooting pains like blades in my chest. I knew I had to move, but I knew I was going to