“Oakland Police! Open up!” Detective Wright shouted as he
pounded his fist against the apartment door. “Mr. Lopez, we have a warrant.
Open up!”
Trashed lined the corners of the corridor. Graffiti decorated
the walls. Shadows of the barred windows spilled down the hallway. Syringes
stacked like popsicle sticks by what little innocence remained in front of the
opposite door. Light peaked around his partner, Detective Shepherd, and their
uniformed officers – there for backup. Four badges in all. POLICE blazoned on
their dark blue vests. Hyper-weapons activated and raised, each held close to
their chests. Hearts pounded. But all were at the ready.
Detective Shepherd stood opposite of her partner who
returned the gesture, “Javier Lopez. Police! We have a warrant!” Shepherd
scanned the eyes of the uniformed officers. Then back at Wright. She whispered,
“Activate body-shields. We have thirty seconds.” Another nod from each officer and
Detective Wright. The confirmation to proceed with the next action.
Wright took a step back and loaded power into his foot. He
was always the favored one to kick in doors since he was gifted with size thirteen
feet. He launched his leg forward and smashed the door down. Splinters from the
door frame scattered across the entry. Wright was first to take the charge.
Shepherd behind him. The uniforms followed. Wright turned to his left with his
weapon ready to take aim. Shepherd turned to the right. She scanned the nearby
kitchen with her weapon in hand. They fanned out. The uniforms spread
throughout the apartment. Wright continued to announce their presence, “Javier
Lopez!” No one was in the living room. Lines of blow textured the coffee table.
A red sofa with ancient bullet holes laid rotting like a corpse.
One of the uniforms cleared the kitchen. The other
cleared the balcony. They continued their search. The lead officer backed by
his partner. Shepherd now backed by Wright.
Shepherd approached one of the bedrooms with Wright in
tow. Same strategy applied when they entered. The door was ajar. Shepherd
slowly opened the door with her foot. A Hispanic man fitting their suspect’s
description. He was halfway out the window. He looked back inside. He lifted
his gun in their direction. The glare from behind the suspect pierced
Shepherd’s eyes.
She shouted, “Put the gun down!” Her powerful Creole
voice pounded across the room.
The suspect began to raise his weapon. She fired once.
Javier’s shoulder flung back. Bone cracked. Blood gushed from the mouth of a
tattoo skull.
Another shot rang out from behind Wright and Shepherd. A
second suspect. The shot caused Shepherd to swivel in agony toward the door
frame. Blood splattered across Wright’s face.
A shot from their prime suspect zinged passed Wright’s left
ear. The mini-shockwave was deafening. Without hesitation, Wright took precise
aim and fired twice. Javier fell backward from two chest wounds – away from his
heart, if he had one. Blood drained down his white tank-top and covered more of
his tattoos. The look of shock filled his eyes. The look of regret filled his
face. Not from guilt. From getting caught. Wright kicked Javier’s gun away –
toward his partner.
At the same time the detectives were preoccupied, the
uniforms had one more door to open before heading down the opposite hallway. Again,
the same strategy applied. One officer at the ready to open the door. The other
stood like his training at the range. Door opened. A second suspect fired
several rounds. All missed the uniforms or absorbed by their shields and
deadened.
One shot echoed from behind Wright. Another shot hit Shepherd.
Instead of absorbing the shot, the shield only slowed down the inevitable for a
fraction of a second. And then the shot found a path above Shepherd’s vest.
Both uniforms fired upon the second suspect. Multiple
shots to the chest. Blood fountained from his mouth as he fell. His body spilled
blood on the floor like a squeezed sponge.
Shepherd had slid down the door frame. Her shield
deactivated. She clutched her shoulder. Applied pressure to the wound. She
managed to switch her weapon to her injured arm.
Wright shouted at one of the uniforms, “Call it in!
Officer down! Two suspects injured!”
One officer complied but reported, “Make that one suspect
injured.”
The other uniform took point at the entrance to the opposite
hallway. And waited for orders.
The first suspect was in no condition to retaliate.
Wright leaned down to his partner, “Help is on the way.”
She briefly gazed at her wedding ring. And then returned
her focus on the assailant. “I’m alright,” she pointed her weapon at Javier.
“I’ll keep an eye on him.”
A muffled scream came from the second bedroom, opposite
from where Wright and the other uniform stood. Wright redirected his weapon down
the hallway. He nodded at the uniform. The officer mirrored in acknowledgement
and aimed his weapon at the cracked door. The second officer covered Shepherd.
Just in case there were others unaccounted. Wright kicked the door open but
remained back. “Show yourself!”
“Not a chance, pig!” A third suspect shouted. The muffled
scream became a grunt. Female.
Wright looked over at the uniform. His face. He read his
face. The uniform did the same. He nodded. Wright rushed the room with the
uniform at his back. The uniform turned to the left then to the right. The
detective was now faced with a dilemma. And all shields were down.
The third suspect held his hand firmly over the mouth of
a little girl. His gun pressed into her skull, “I kill her!” He snarled. “Let
me go, or she dies.” He gave him the evil eye.
“Let her go,” Wright ordered. “You don’t want to hurt
anyone,” he calmly added.
A faint voice from the master bedroom barely made it into
the second bedroom, “No las lastimes,” Javier repeated. “Diego, don’t hurt
her.” His voice faded.
“Who is she? Diego. Is this Javier’s little girl? He
wouldn’t be too happy if you killed her. After the doctor’s patch him up –
well, you may find a shank in your gut once you get to Folsom, or worse,
Quentin.”
From the doorway, the uniform had a clear bead on the
third suspect’s head.
Wright stole a quick glance at the uniform and shook his
head and quickly redirected his attention on Diego, “Hey! You’re looking at
three to five for the coke. Don’t add murder to the charge.” He stared at him
with a glare of finality.
“Comer mierda!” Diego sneered. A look greater than hate –
indifference.
He slowly moved to his right. Closer to the third
suspect. The third suspect followed him with his eyes. His head did not move.
The uniform shuffled to the left, further into the bedroom. Wright had a
decision. Risk the little girl’s life. Or further diplomacy. He attempted the
latter one more time, “Release the girl. Tell me where Esposito is, and I’ll tell the D.A. you
cooperated. Get your sentence reduced. What do you say?”
“No deals, pig!” He increased the pressure of his gun
into the little girl’s head. She winced in pain and muffled a cry for help. A
bleak cry for help.
“Let her go! Or I'll take you down. How’s
that for a deal?”
The scream of sirens filled the streets outside. Hyper-gun
smoke filled the air. The little girl tried to scream. The sunset began to peer
through the blinds. It reflected off of the uniform’s badge. The beam of light
glared into the third suspect’s eyes and blinded him. He removed his hand from
the little girl’s mouth and reached for his eyes. Wright took action. He lunged
for the little girl and snatched her from the clutches of the snake. The snake
recoiled as he lunged his gun in the direction of the uniform. The officer
instinctively fired two shots. One to the head. The other to the chest. The
snake’s head was crushed. Blood and brains spewed onto the wall behind him.
The little girl clutched Wright’s legs and cried a stream
of fear and relief. The light from the sunset shown upon his chest like the
spotlight of a performing stage.
He gave the little girl to the uniform to watch her. The
uniform took her away from the bleak horror that continued to spill onto the
bedroom floor. She continued to thank them both as they waited in the kitchen.
Back in the master bedroom Wright double-checked his
partner who confirmed she was alright. He knelt down next to Javier and applied pressure to his wounds, “EMTs are
almost here. Should I have them attend my partner first or you?”
Javier attempted to spit at the detective, “You can’t do
that. I have rights.” He muttered.
“I’m thinking, you tell me where I can find Esposito and
– the EMTs attend to you first.”
Shepherd added, “He’ll do it too.” She went along with
his bluff.
“Go piss yourself,” Javier blurted with blood spewing
through his teeth.
Wright turned to his partner, “What is it with these
assholes? They all have some sick fascination with shit and piss.”
Before Wright could grill Javier again, the EMTs arrived.
Four of them. Two immediately attended to Shepherd. The other two to Javier.
Within minutes they were able to stabilize both. Javier took a bit longer.
Wright turned toward the backup officers, “Read him his
rights.”
Shepherd declined a gurney as Javier was wheeled out to the hallway toward the elevator.
Someone from Social Services arrived moments later.
Before they took the little girl away, Wright knelt down beside her, “¿Como te
llamas?”
“Gracia,” she softly replied.
He smiled at her. The kind of smile he’d give his own
daughter.
Out in the parking lot, the ambulance with Javier drove
off. The Crime Scene Unit arrived with other uniformed officers and headed
upstairs. Just before a second ambulance drove Shepherd to the hospital, she
asked Wright, “Think he’ll talk?”
“After he’s patched up, we’ll question him in the box.
Sooner or later, he’ll talk.”
And with that, the ambulance doors shut and drove off. As
they stood on the corner of Bleak Street and 7th Avenue, the media
had gathered. Drone cameras circled the neighborhood. A crowd had gathered behind the marked and
unmarked cruisers that whispered while parked. Some of the crowd taunted the
police. One demonstrator slammed his fist into one of the cruisers. The
vehicle’s defense system shocked the man into compliance and ran off in fear of
arrest.
One of the uniforms guffawed and quickly returned to his
job.
Wright caught the attention of the officer who shot
Diego, “Good job up there.”
“Just doing my job, sir.” By now, the officer had removed
his vest.
The detective took a closer look at his shiny name badge,
“Officer Davis. Thanks for having my back. By the way, your first shot – did
you miss?”
“Sir?” Davis tilted his head back as a realization, “I
didn’t intend to—” he stopped.
“It’s understandable. In the heat of the moment—”
“I didn’t have time to – the girl was all I could think
about.”
“And – you saved her life,” he firmly placed his hand on
the officer’s shoulder.
Officer Davis quickly looked up at the twilight sky, the
flickering street light, and then back at Detective Wright, “Sir, I believe we
had help from above today.”
With a deep exhale, Wright nodded, “I think you’re right.
I think – you are right.”
~
Sincere thanks to Retired Oakland Police Officer Kenneth
Douglas as a special consultant.
