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Episode II - Session II - Five Points South
Episode II - Session II - Five Points South
The camera’s embedded spotlight focused in on a young female reporter huddled down in the back of a parked news van, peeking up over the empty front seat through the windshield at a city street. Gunfire sounded somewhere nearby. The reporter turned towards the camera and made a signal with her hand. A second later the light was extinguished, and the inside of the van was dark.
“This is Andrea Huff reporting to you live from Twentieth Street and Five Points South, where gunfire has erupted…and is still going on…in a nightclub here in the heart of Southside and where apparently the violence has spilled out onto the street.”
The feed suddenly cut to a different camera, mounted on the roof of the van. The view zoomed in on the scene a block down the street.
“I’m not sure you’re able to see what we are seeing on our monitor here…my cameraman is signaling me…that yes, we are getting a picture here…As you can see, the area is still very dangerous right now. We’re going to maintain our position here behind cover for the moment and use our external camera for the moment. What you are seeing here is Twentieth Street South, in the heart of Southside. The police cars you are seeing were brought in to try to block off the area, but we are not seeing any policemen currently moving around in the area…”
The camera slowly panned across the street. The windows on many of the half-dozen police cars were shattered, as were the windows on several of the shops and bars on both sides of the street. A thick grey smoke was slowly seeping out of the windows of a large nightclub on the left where almost every window had been shattered. The camera paused for a moment pan up over the door of the club, to poetically frame the flickering marquee which was shattered in several places by bullet holes, emblazoned with “Five P…s Music Hall S…rday Defenders of Dayb…k”
On the sidewalk were several bodies, including at least one uniformed police officer. Even from this distance, the camera had no problem picking up the bleeding wounds on those bodies. Another gunshot shattered a window in the background. The camera jerked up to point at the falling glass in the window and caught some movement nearby, but could not focus in on any shooter.
“What we are seeing now…um…well I want to apologize to our viewers for these graphic images. This is definitely a horrible tragic scene we are seeing here. We are still unclear on the exact cause of this violent…this outbreak of violence. It does appeared to be centered in on the Music Hall where apparently a gun battle broke out just moments ago. We know that police responded to the scene but apparently have not yet been able to secure the area…At this time we do want to advise anyone in the nearby Southside area to stay indoors and out of ---”
The picture suddenly went out of focus. A blurry image of a dark-colored car screeched into view, skillfully dodging between two parked police cruisers and fishtailing around the corner to come to a stop hidden behind a tour bus. The picture brightened for a moment, then darkened, then came back into focus.
“We have a new arrival on the scene. We’re not sure…I couldn’t make out whether that was a police car or not, but---”
A black Harley-Davidson dodged the parked police cruisers in the same skillful manner as the blurry car had before it. The motorcycle stopped dead in the middle of the road. The rider was wearing a helmet hiding his face, but nothing hid the unmistakable shape of the shotgun the rider was balancing on the bike’s handlebars.
“Um…I think we definitely have more people entering the area now, and this person is definitely armed with what appears to be---”
The rider started to slide off the bike, when headlights popped on in the background. The camera widened focus in time to see the shape of an El Camino roar out of an adjoining alley. The El Camino was gaining speed, and was aiming straight for the motorcycle rider. The rider leapt back onto the bike and darted forward again. The El Camino scrapped hard up against the side of the tour bus, showering the whole scene in sparks, but the motorcycle was already out of the way. The camera tried to follow but the motorcycle was already speeding up the hill on Twentieth Street, with the El Camino in pursuit. When both vehicles were out of sight, the camera swung back around to the nightclub again. A flurry of half a dozen gunshots echoed down the street.
“I…want to remind our viewers again…this is a live situation, and this is a very dangerous situation. We have very little information about what is going on, but clearly there is a lot of violent activity going---”
The camera caught the movement of someone walking on the left beside the tour bus, but as it panned over, the image blurred again, and a grainy static began to overtake the image.
“There is someone else out there now. This could be a police officer or this could be…well this could be anyone. We seem to be having some trouble with our monitor here…”
The camera watched as the blurry image of a person crossed the street. It stopped and hovered for several seconds on the sidewalk, near the pile of bodies. Gunfire sounded again from inside the club. Static erupted again across the image.
“Alright, we’re definitely having some technical issues with our equipment, but there is definitely a figure out on the street now. I can see him myself from here. He’s definitely a white male. He seems to be doing something with the people on the sidewalk. This could be…maybe an out-of-uniform paramedic---“
The image shifted again, back to a grainy view of the darkened interior of the van. The image shifted as the cameraman tried to get up to get a good view through the windshield with the handheld camera. After a stomach-churning second or two of very erratic movement, the image stabilized again on the sidewalk with the bodies. The figure was gone.
“Alright, we’ve switched back to our handheld again. And I am not sure what has just happened The man we just saw is not there now. I am not sure what just happened. Again I apologize for the technical difficulties we seem to be facing here. And I just have to commend the bravery of my crew here. Again this is a very dangerous situation, and Fox is here to give you coverage of these breaking events live---”
The handheld image was grainer, and the color was pitched a little too yellow under the light of the fluorescent streetlamps, but the camera clearly caught the image of an older adult male in a cowboy hat huddled up on the side of the tour bus, taking cover from the gunfire erupting in the club. Over one shoulder, he carried an unmoving body. Beside him, he heroically provided cover to two teenage boys. The camera captured the looks of fear on the boys’ faces perfectly, offset by the grim protective determination in the cowboy’s face beside them.
“We are seeing this situation develop as it happens, and I think we are seeing something very heroic here. I…I can’t say for sure but I see what a man that looks like…well I know this is going to sound crazy, but it looks like…well…it looks like the preacher at my church…Brother Guyzell Cooper…ohmigod, that is Brother Cooper. I don’t know why he is here, but he is definitely, I just have to say he is heroically getting these victims out of the area.”
The camera watched as the preacher shuffled the teens from one section of cover to the next, huddling first behind a car, then a dumpster, then forward again. In a moment, he was nearing the van. The camera spun sideways. The reporter slid open the side door on the van and leapt out with her microphone.
The preacher was clearly startled and confused for a moment, but he recovered and motioned the two boys forward, “You two…get in the van and stay down.” He gingerly set the girl down on the sidewalk behind the van. He took off his hat, and set it up as a pillow for the girl’s head.
“Brother Cooper! What are you doing in this area? Do you know what the situation is inside the club?”
The camera caught the momentary confusion and frustration on his face, and watched as it vanished, to be replaced by a friendly but stern expression.
“Miss Huff, do you know CPR? I mean…do you have a first aid kit in the van?”
The reporter paused, uncertain.
“Okay forget that, just come here. No, put the microphone down. Look, put your hands here, on her leg, and apply pressure. No, harder, press down…there you go. Keep your hands there.”
The sound was more hollow now, working just from the built-in microphone on the camera, but still audible.
“But, Brother Cooper, what is going on? What is your involvement?”
“Miss Huff…” The preacher was clearly exasperated as he stood back up. Now that he was standing again, the image was even more evocative, as the camera showed the stains of the girl’s blood running down the front of his shirt. The preacher ran his hand through his thinning hair. “Look, I know you have a job to do…I’m not sure at all what is going on here. I was in the area and the Lord says when there’s people that need helping, you help ‘em, so here I am.”
The preacher turned now and looked directly into the camera, “If there aren’t already at least …ten ambulances on the way, there better be. For you ambulance fellas, y’all can come up past the fountain and you shouldn’t ever be in the line of fire. I’ll try to bring whoever I can up here by this van. I figure it ought to be easy enough to spot with that big dish thing on the top. Now, I’ll be back in a minute. I know I saw a couple of policemen up there near the front that looked like they were shot. I’ll bring ‘em back here.”
With that, the preacher spun around and ran back towards the club. Two more gunshots sounded from inside the club, and the preacher ducked down as he ran. After he disappeared behind the tour bus, the camera swung back towards the reporter. She was still kneeling over the body of the girl, pressing down on the unconscious girl’s wounded leg. She opened her mouth to say something, the closed it again. She opened her mouth a second time, then closed it again, and shrugged.
. . .
Willie saw the body behind the bar and stage-whispered, “Ernie, that you?”
The body shifted. “What? Willie? Brother, what the hell are you doing here?”
The entire club was dark and full of black acrid smoke. Willie was forced to duck-walk to stay within the breathable lower half of the room while still maintaining mobility. In one hand he was carrying his shotgun, and in his other hand he had his field bag. The whole thing was hell on his knees.
Willie whispered again as he scanned the area around him. He could see flickering neon somewhere through the smoke, or maybe something on fire, but nothing concrete. He had come in through the back door and he was not familiar with this club, so he had stumbled around in the smoke for a minute or two trying to get his bearings. He couldn’t hear anything over the pounding rock music playing through the club’s speakers except for a gunshot every few seconds.
“Ernie, you okay?”
Ernie looked bad. His left arm was bleeding pretty seriously from what had to be a gunshot wound. He was laying down behind the bar, amid a pile of shattered glass. Some distant part of Willie’s brain could distinguish the distinct scent of rum even through the smoke and the odors of the other alcohol and the blood. Willie shook his head to clear it. He carefully set his shotgun and field bag down on the top of the bar. He grabbed a bar rag from the top of the bar, squeezed the alcohol out of it and wrapped it around Ernie’s arm.
“Ow! That burns!”
Willie grabbed his shotgun back up again as soon as he was done, “Yeah, I bet that would…well, hell, it’s killing germs. It’s good for you. Now, you want to tell me what’s going down here?”
Ernie shook his head. “I got no idea, man. We got a case looking for this missing doctor that works for a company downtown…”
“Yeah, I know, I’m on the same case.”
Ernie raised an eyebrow and looked like he was trying to decide whether that was a good or a bad thing. Ernie worked over at Blue Star Investigations, and even though Willie knew that Ernie was no happier working for Blue Star than Willie was working for his cousin, the private eye field was still competitive. Ernie stopped talking.
“Oh, come on Ernie, don’t start being like that with me. Look, I’m filing papers this week. I’m starting my own agency. And I’m gonna need some people to work for me.”
Ernie looked suspicious.
“And I’m gonna pay ‘em better than Triple-A does.”
“How much better?”
A bullet shattered the mirror over Willie’s head and he was showered with bits of broken glass. He covered his head as best he could, and shook off the fragments that covered his shoulders. “This is not the time for a negotiation, Ernie! Will you tell me who the hell is shooting at us?”
Ernie shrugged, “I got no idea. All I know is I got a tip the doctor was here, so I came in looking for him. And when I got in here, there was a bunch of other guys like us in here too.”
“Other P.I.’s?”
“Oh yeah, place was crawling with ‘em. Kinda easy to spot. We was the only ones over twenty-one in the whole place. So I was just gonna grab a drink at the bar and then head out when people started shooting.”
“Who was shooting at who?”
“Not sure how it started, but all I saw was a bunch of kids, looked like they were all Indians, you know, like Cherokee or something?”
“Native American, right.”
“Right, and they were shooting at the P.I.’s. And then some of them were shooting back, and then all hell broke loose. I don’t know---”
Ernie’s eyes went wide, and focused on something over Willie’s shoulder. In an instant, Willie reacted. He spun round and leveled the shotgun.
The kid was maybe seventeen, but he fired the revolver like he knew how to use it. If Willie had been a second later, he would have been laying there beside Ernie. As it was, the bullet grazed his across the cabinet beside him. Willie pulled the trigger on his shotgun. BOOM! The kid collapsed into a loose pile on the floor.
Willie ejected the spent shell, and readied the gun for another shot, but the kid wasn’t moving. Willie turned reassuringly to Ernie, “Don’t worry. I’m loaded with non-lethal rounds.”
Ernie winced, “Brother, I don’t care if your loaded with sh%# as long as you keep them mothers from shooting me again.”
Willie nodded and rifled through his field bag one-handed while keeping his gun ready for another shot. He found his zip-ties inside the field bag and pulled one out. With practiced ease, he one-handedly zip-tied the kid’s hands behind his back.
“Alright, E, just hang tight. I’m gonna check out the rest of this joint.” Before Ernie could protest, Willie duck-walked out around the bar and disappeared into the smoke.
Willie crept past another body on the floor. Willie couldn’t be sure if the guy was dead or just in shock. He wanted to help, but if there was anybody else left up in this place with a gun, Willie didn’t want to be tending to the wounded and get shot in the back. So he kept searching.
He thought he saw movement up ahead in the corner behind a table. He moved slowly and circled around to come at the table from behind. After getting in position, he peeked around.
Joe was there, crouching over someone. Even as Willie watched, Joe lost his balance, and fell down to all fours, vomiting and retching all over the poor guy he was on top of. A sudden mental image of chemical weapons crept into Willie’s mind. But it was too late now.
“Joe! Jeez! Joe, what the hell are you doing? What’s wrong? Where’s Crystal?”
Joe looked up and met Willie’s gaze. He looked like a madman. His eyes were bloodshot and dripping tears, his nose was bleeding, and his chin was splattered with whatever he had eaten for dinner that night. “It doesn’t work, Willie! I can’t save anybody!”
“Joe? What the hell are you talking about Joe?”
Joe was taking in big gulps of air, “F#%$in’ healing Vishanti touch! F#*&!” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and stood up shakily.
“Joe, stay down, man! You’re gonna get shot!”
“F*&# it!” Joe cursed as he staggered off towards the front of the club.
Willie cursed. A moment later, he heard more sirens from outside. He hadn’t heard any more gunshots since he had taken out the kid behind the bar. Maybe that was the last one.
Taylor’s voice crackled over the radio, “Willie! Ah got company outside! I cannae stay! Get back out here!”
Willie tried to peer through the smoke, but he couldn’t tell where Joe had disappeared to. Willie keyed his microphone, “Taylor, aw hell…I think Joe’s gone crazy! Where’s Crystal and the preacher?”
Crystal’s voice radioed back in a cool tone: “I’m in Homewood. I’m a little busy right now getting shot at.”
Willie waited, but there was no response coming from the preacher. He cursed again. “Alright, T, you got the car at the back door? Pop the trunk. I’m coming out hot, and I’m bringing a guest with me.”
Taylor confirmed he was in position as Willie raced across the room again. This time he was running upright, hoping that there was no one left shooting in the room and that the heat from whatever was on fire in the place wouldn’t knock him out. He ducked back behind the bar with Ernie.
“Alright, E, listen up. I was never here, dig?”
“What?”
Willie scooped up the teen’s limp body into a fireman’s carry. He held the teen steady with one hand as he stood back up. His knees protested dramatically.
“E, if you want to work with me then I need you to work with me. Now, I was never here.”
“Cool with me.”
Willie staggered back towards the back door and the waiting car.
Episode II - Session II - Five Points South
The camera’s embedded spotlight focused in on a young female reporter huddled down in the back of a parked news van, peeking up over the empty front seat through the windshield at a city street. Gunfire sounded somewhere nearby. The reporter turned towards the camera and made a signal with her hand. A second later the light was extinguished, and the inside of the van was dark.
“This is Andrea Huff reporting to you live from Twentieth Street and Five Points South, where gunfire has erupted…and is still going on…in a nightclub here in the heart of Southside and where apparently the violence has spilled out onto the street.”
The feed suddenly cut to a different camera, mounted on the roof of the van. The view zoomed in on the scene a block down the street.
“I’m not sure you’re able to see what we are seeing on our monitor here…my cameraman is signaling me…that yes, we are getting a picture here…As you can see, the area is still very dangerous right now. We’re going to maintain our position here behind cover for the moment and use our external camera for the moment. What you are seeing here is Twentieth Street South, in the heart of Southside. The police cars you are seeing were brought in to try to block off the area, but we are not seeing any policemen currently moving around in the area…”
The camera slowly panned across the street. The windows on many of the half-dozen police cars were shattered, as were the windows on several of the shops and bars on both sides of the street. A thick grey smoke was slowly seeping out of the windows of a large nightclub on the left where almost every window had been shattered. The camera paused for a moment pan up over the door of the club, to poetically frame the flickering marquee which was shattered in several places by bullet holes, emblazoned with “Five P…s Music Hall S…rday Defenders of Dayb…k”
On the sidewalk were several bodies, including at least one uniformed police officer. Even from this distance, the camera had no problem picking up the bleeding wounds on those bodies. Another gunshot shattered a window in the background. The camera jerked up to point at the falling glass in the window and caught some movement nearby, but could not focus in on any shooter.
“What we are seeing now…um…well I want to apologize to our viewers for these graphic images. This is definitely a horrible tragic scene we are seeing here. We are still unclear on the exact cause of this violent…this outbreak of violence. It does appeared to be centered in on the Music Hall where apparently a gun battle broke out just moments ago. We know that police responded to the scene but apparently have not yet been able to secure the area…At this time we do want to advise anyone in the nearby Southside area to stay indoors and out of ---”
The picture suddenly went out of focus. A blurry image of a dark-colored car screeched into view, skillfully dodging between two parked police cruisers and fishtailing around the corner to come to a stop hidden behind a tour bus. The picture brightened for a moment, then darkened, then came back into focus.
“We have a new arrival on the scene. We’re not sure…I couldn’t make out whether that was a police car or not, but---”
A black Harley-Davidson dodged the parked police cruisers in the same skillful manner as the blurry car had before it. The motorcycle stopped dead in the middle of the road. The rider was wearing a helmet hiding his face, but nothing hid the unmistakable shape of the shotgun the rider was balancing on the bike’s handlebars.
“Um…I think we definitely have more people entering the area now, and this person is definitely armed with what appears to be---”
The rider started to slide off the bike, when headlights popped on in the background. The camera widened focus in time to see the shape of an El Camino roar out of an adjoining alley. The El Camino was gaining speed, and was aiming straight for the motorcycle rider. The rider leapt back onto the bike and darted forward again. The El Camino scrapped hard up against the side of the tour bus, showering the whole scene in sparks, but the motorcycle was already out of the way. The camera tried to follow but the motorcycle was already speeding up the hill on Twentieth Street, with the El Camino in pursuit. When both vehicles were out of sight, the camera swung back around to the nightclub again. A flurry of half a dozen gunshots echoed down the street.
“I…want to remind our viewers again…this is a live situation, and this is a very dangerous situation. We have very little information about what is going on, but clearly there is a lot of violent activity going---”
The camera caught the movement of someone walking on the left beside the tour bus, but as it panned over, the image blurred again, and a grainy static began to overtake the image.
“There is someone else out there now. This could be a police officer or this could be…well this could be anyone. We seem to be having some trouble with our monitor here…”
The camera watched as the blurry image of a person crossed the street. It stopped and hovered for several seconds on the sidewalk, near the pile of bodies. Gunfire sounded again from inside the club. Static erupted again across the image.
“Alright, we’re definitely having some technical issues with our equipment, but there is definitely a figure out on the street now. I can see him myself from here. He’s definitely a white male. He seems to be doing something with the people on the sidewalk. This could be…maybe an out-of-uniform paramedic---“
The image shifted again, back to a grainy view of the darkened interior of the van. The image shifted as the cameraman tried to get up to get a good view through the windshield with the handheld camera. After a stomach-churning second or two of very erratic movement, the image stabilized again on the sidewalk with the bodies. The figure was gone.
“Alright, we’ve switched back to our handheld again. And I am not sure what has just happened The man we just saw is not there now. I am not sure what just happened. Again I apologize for the technical difficulties we seem to be facing here. And I just have to commend the bravery of my crew here. Again this is a very dangerous situation, and Fox is here to give you coverage of these breaking events live---”
The handheld image was grainer, and the color was pitched a little too yellow under the light of the fluorescent streetlamps, but the camera clearly caught the image of an older adult male in a cowboy hat huddled up on the side of the tour bus, taking cover from the gunfire erupting in the club. Over one shoulder, he carried an unmoving body. Beside him, he heroically provided cover to two teenage boys. The camera captured the looks of fear on the boys’ faces perfectly, offset by the grim protective determination in the cowboy’s face beside them.
“We are seeing this situation develop as it happens, and I think we are seeing something very heroic here. I…I can’t say for sure but I see what a man that looks like…well I know this is going to sound crazy, but it looks like…well…it looks like the preacher at my church…Brother Guyzell Cooper…ohmigod, that is Brother Cooper. I don’t know why he is here, but he is definitely, I just have to say he is heroically getting these victims out of the area.”
The camera watched as the preacher shuffled the teens from one section of cover to the next, huddling first behind a car, then a dumpster, then forward again. In a moment, he was nearing the van. The camera spun sideways. The reporter slid open the side door on the van and leapt out with her microphone.
The preacher was clearly startled and confused for a moment, but he recovered and motioned the two boys forward, “You two…get in the van and stay down.” He gingerly set the girl down on the sidewalk behind the van. He took off his hat, and set it up as a pillow for the girl’s head.
“Brother Cooper! What are you doing in this area? Do you know what the situation is inside the club?”
The camera caught the momentary confusion and frustration on his face, and watched as it vanished, to be replaced by a friendly but stern expression.
“Miss Huff, do you know CPR? I mean…do you have a first aid kit in the van?”
The reporter paused, uncertain.
“Okay forget that, just come here. No, put the microphone down. Look, put your hands here, on her leg, and apply pressure. No, harder, press down…there you go. Keep your hands there.”
The sound was more hollow now, working just from the built-in microphone on the camera, but still audible.
“But, Brother Cooper, what is going on? What is your involvement?”
“Miss Huff…” The preacher was clearly exasperated as he stood back up. Now that he was standing again, the image was even more evocative, as the camera showed the stains of the girl’s blood running down the front of his shirt. The preacher ran his hand through his thinning hair. “Look, I know you have a job to do…I’m not sure at all what is going on here. I was in the area and the Lord says when there’s people that need helping, you help ‘em, so here I am.”
The preacher turned now and looked directly into the camera, “If there aren’t already at least …ten ambulances on the way, there better be. For you ambulance fellas, y’all can come up past the fountain and you shouldn’t ever be in the line of fire. I’ll try to bring whoever I can up here by this van. I figure it ought to be easy enough to spot with that big dish thing on the top. Now, I’ll be back in a minute. I know I saw a couple of policemen up there near the front that looked like they were shot. I’ll bring ‘em back here.”
With that, the preacher spun around and ran back towards the club. Two more gunshots sounded from inside the club, and the preacher ducked down as he ran. After he disappeared behind the tour bus, the camera swung back towards the reporter. She was still kneeling over the body of the girl, pressing down on the unconscious girl’s wounded leg. She opened her mouth to say something, the closed it again. She opened her mouth a second time, then closed it again, and shrugged.
. . .
Willie saw the body behind the bar and stage-whispered, “Ernie, that you?”
The body shifted. “What? Willie? Brother, what the hell are you doing here?”
The entire club was dark and full of black acrid smoke. Willie was forced to duck-walk to stay within the breathable lower half of the room while still maintaining mobility. In one hand he was carrying his shotgun, and in his other hand he had his field bag. The whole thing was hell on his knees.
Willie whispered again as he scanned the area around him. He could see flickering neon somewhere through the smoke, or maybe something on fire, but nothing concrete. He had come in through the back door and he was not familiar with this club, so he had stumbled around in the smoke for a minute or two trying to get his bearings. He couldn’t hear anything over the pounding rock music playing through the club’s speakers except for a gunshot every few seconds.
“Ernie, you okay?”
Ernie looked bad. His left arm was bleeding pretty seriously from what had to be a gunshot wound. He was laying down behind the bar, amid a pile of shattered glass. Some distant part of Willie’s brain could distinguish the distinct scent of rum even through the smoke and the odors of the other alcohol and the blood. Willie shook his head to clear it. He carefully set his shotgun and field bag down on the top of the bar. He grabbed a bar rag from the top of the bar, squeezed the alcohol out of it and wrapped it around Ernie’s arm.
“Ow! That burns!”
Willie grabbed his shotgun back up again as soon as he was done, “Yeah, I bet that would…well, hell, it’s killing germs. It’s good for you. Now, you want to tell me what’s going down here?”
Ernie shook his head. “I got no idea, man. We got a case looking for this missing doctor that works for a company downtown…”
“Yeah, I know, I’m on the same case.”
Ernie raised an eyebrow and looked like he was trying to decide whether that was a good or a bad thing. Ernie worked over at Blue Star Investigations, and even though Willie knew that Ernie was no happier working for Blue Star than Willie was working for his cousin, the private eye field was still competitive. Ernie stopped talking.
“Oh, come on Ernie, don’t start being like that with me. Look, I’m filing papers this week. I’m starting my own agency. And I’m gonna need some people to work for me.”
Ernie looked suspicious.
“And I’m gonna pay ‘em better than Triple-A does.”
“How much better?”
A bullet shattered the mirror over Willie’s head and he was showered with bits of broken glass. He covered his head as best he could, and shook off the fragments that covered his shoulders. “This is not the time for a negotiation, Ernie! Will you tell me who the hell is shooting at us?”
Ernie shrugged, “I got no idea. All I know is I got a tip the doctor was here, so I came in looking for him. And when I got in here, there was a bunch of other guys like us in here too.”
“Other P.I.’s?”
“Oh yeah, place was crawling with ‘em. Kinda easy to spot. We was the only ones over twenty-one in the whole place. So I was just gonna grab a drink at the bar and then head out when people started shooting.”
“Who was shooting at who?”
“Not sure how it started, but all I saw was a bunch of kids, looked like they were all Indians, you know, like Cherokee or something?”
“Native American, right.”
“Right, and they were shooting at the P.I.’s. And then some of them were shooting back, and then all hell broke loose. I don’t know---”
Ernie’s eyes went wide, and focused on something over Willie’s shoulder. In an instant, Willie reacted. He spun round and leveled the shotgun.
The kid was maybe seventeen, but he fired the revolver like he knew how to use it. If Willie had been a second later, he would have been laying there beside Ernie. As it was, the bullet grazed his across the cabinet beside him. Willie pulled the trigger on his shotgun. BOOM! The kid collapsed into a loose pile on the floor.
Willie ejected the spent shell, and readied the gun for another shot, but the kid wasn’t moving. Willie turned reassuringly to Ernie, “Don’t worry. I’m loaded with non-lethal rounds.”
Ernie winced, “Brother, I don’t care if your loaded with sh%# as long as you keep them mothers from shooting me again.”
Willie nodded and rifled through his field bag one-handed while keeping his gun ready for another shot. He found his zip-ties inside the field bag and pulled one out. With practiced ease, he one-handedly zip-tied the kid’s hands behind his back.
“Alright, E, just hang tight. I’m gonna check out the rest of this joint.” Before Ernie could protest, Willie duck-walked out around the bar and disappeared into the smoke.
Willie crept past another body on the floor. Willie couldn’t be sure if the guy was dead or just in shock. He wanted to help, but if there was anybody else left up in this place with a gun, Willie didn’t want to be tending to the wounded and get shot in the back. So he kept searching.
He thought he saw movement up ahead in the corner behind a table. He moved slowly and circled around to come at the table from behind. After getting in position, he peeked around.
Joe was there, crouching over someone. Even as Willie watched, Joe lost his balance, and fell down to all fours, vomiting and retching all over the poor guy he was on top of. A sudden mental image of chemical weapons crept into Willie’s mind. But it was too late now.
“Joe! Jeez! Joe, what the hell are you doing? What’s wrong? Where’s Crystal?”
Joe looked up and met Willie’s gaze. He looked like a madman. His eyes were bloodshot and dripping tears, his nose was bleeding, and his chin was splattered with whatever he had eaten for dinner that night. “It doesn’t work, Willie! I can’t save anybody!”
“Joe? What the hell are you talking about Joe?”
Joe was taking in big gulps of air, “F#%$in’ healing Vishanti touch! F#*&!” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and stood up shakily.
“Joe, stay down, man! You’re gonna get shot!”
“F*&# it!” Joe cursed as he staggered off towards the front of the club.
Willie cursed. A moment later, he heard more sirens from outside. He hadn’t heard any more gunshots since he had taken out the kid behind the bar. Maybe that was the last one.
Taylor’s voice crackled over the radio, “Willie! Ah got company outside! I cannae stay! Get back out here!”
Willie tried to peer through the smoke, but he couldn’t tell where Joe had disappeared to. Willie keyed his microphone, “Taylor, aw hell…I think Joe’s gone crazy! Where’s Crystal and the preacher?”
Crystal’s voice radioed back in a cool tone: “I’m in Homewood. I’m a little busy right now getting shot at.”
Willie waited, but there was no response coming from the preacher. He cursed again. “Alright, T, you got the car at the back door? Pop the trunk. I’m coming out hot, and I’m bringing a guest with me.”
Taylor confirmed he was in position as Willie raced across the room again. This time he was running upright, hoping that there was no one left shooting in the room and that the heat from whatever was on fire in the place wouldn’t knock him out. He ducked back behind the bar with Ernie.
“Alright, E, listen up. I was never here, dig?”
“What?”
Willie scooped up the teen’s limp body into a fireman’s carry. He held the teen steady with one hand as he stood back up. His knees protested dramatically.
“E, if you want to work with me then I need you to work with me. Now, I was never here.”
“Cool with me.”
Willie staggered back towards the back door and the waiting car.
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