"Two more from the north, two east," his partner, a woman named Estevez, added.
"You have three officers on approach. ETA four minutes," Cage said. "EMTs and fire trucks inbound in three."
They could hear the approaching sirens. One of the young men raised his weapon and fired. Estevez clutched her right arm, but returned fire with her left. The man stumbled and went down.
"Incoming!" Jones roared. "Cover!"
Newton was stuck in the steps, but he could still shoot. Picking off stragglers, he provided cover fire for Eilene to move.
"Reload," he said over coms.
Eilene opened up, picking off the outliers, as he had. More converged on their position, and the five officers were hard pressed to hold them off.
Three patrol cars screeched to a halt, soon joined by two more. Surrounded by police, the gang members finally surrendered.
The ground was littered with bodies. Luckily, of the police, only Estevez had been hit, and her wound was a graze. Newton's leg was cut, but not seriously injured. The paramedics were able to patch them both up on site.
When he'd been treated, Newton surveyed the battle ground. Twelve corpses, eight injured, only five had the good sense to surrender.
"Jesus, none of them is over twenty-five," Newton sighed. "I tried to just wing them, if they were kids."
They all had, but he and Jones had accounted for most of the dead.
"I thought I'd left this behind me. Not just the war," Newton murmured. He started to pray in Hebrew, feeling God's blessings for the dead, were needed. To his surprise, an EMT and a firefighter joined him. When they were done, Eilene started to sing. God Bless the Child. It might have seemed an odd choice to some, but to her, it was appropriate. This was a battlefield of children. The others joined her.
"That bastard has a lot to answer for," Bailey growled when the song was over. "Sixteen dead. Eleven arrested. Ten injured. These are kids. He used babies to do his dirty work."
"And no telling about this family," Eilene nodded at the house. "Or the families of the rest."
"Unless this was a setup, too," Jones said.
"The guy looked and sounded sincere. Either he was giving an Oscar-worthy performance, or he really was being coerced," Newton said.
"I'd lay even money on the strong arm," Bailey said. "I been at this a long time." He was in his early forties. "Shit like this makes me want to retire early."
They left the coroner and other medical personnel to clear the scene. The fire was under control, and wasn't their job anyway. Back at the station, they all showered and changed.
"I've been busy," Canon said when they all filed into the bullpen. "Some of these boys are talking so fast, they're getting road rash."
"How about our chatty friend who sent us there?" Newton asked.
"Left him for you and Bailey to converse with. He's in one."
The two officers went down the narrow hall. They were so broad shouldered, they couldn't walk side by side. Bailey went in first, his ebony skin taking a blue hue from the fluorescent lights. Newton looked green, his slanted eyes narrow like a reptile's. Eilene and Canon watched from the observation booth.
Bailey stood at the corner of the table, massive arms folded. Newton sat, putting his injured leg on the tabletop. He'd had some break through bleeding and the gauze was bloody. It hurt like hell, but he wouldn't admit it. However, it had soured his, usually even, temper. He channeled the pain and anger into quiet aggression.
"Know how I got that?" He pointed to his leg wound.
"No, sir," Rivera mumbled.
"Hm? Bailey's getting old. Speak up."
"No, sir," he said more loudly.
"From what's left of your mom's front porch. Now, Corporal Bailey, he thinks you set us up. Sent us into a trap. I say you genuinely thought they were there, and in danger. Which of us is right?" He swung his leg down and stood, looming over the table. "Consider very carefully before you reply."
"B-Bailey is partially right. But I thought—I really thought they were there. I swear! They were there when I left. Did you find them? Are they okay?" He tried to stand, but Bailey shoved him into the seat and stood over him.
"No," Bailey growled.
The young man faltered. "Are they—dead?"
"No idea. But twelve more of your homeboys are. Sixteen of you—dead. Ten inured, some seriously. And eleven of you in jail. You better talk fast, boy, or Corporal Bailey might lose patience."
Bailey puffed up his chest, looking even more intimidating.
"You got my friend hurt," Bailey rumbled. "Another officer was shot. I don't like when my friends get hurt!" He slammed his fist on the table. It sounded like a bomb going off.
The young man jumped. "It was Teddy. He set this up."
©2021 Dellani Oakes
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