ANGEL BLUE [1]

LEAD 17: by gun

      Blood pounds in my ears as Sam and I get out of the SUV and towards the rusted metal grate of the warehouse. Q Magazine did a photo-shoot last year regarding their new autumn range of fashion, Banks and I went to see and that’s how I know where it is. But this isn’t a photo-shoot, this is probably a shoot-out. 

      “This is Pingelly, requesting backup on Cherry Street,” Sam requests over the phone. “DC Stevens I understand that, no I won’t…yes…alright I will…yes they might have to be called in.”

      He hangs up.

      Sam and I use the buttonhook entry, which is similar to a boundary overwatch but we perform it with haste. One person moves through the doorway with their back to the wall whilst the other waits and guards the entry point. After the entry’s deemed clear, the guarding person moves through the doorway and both work as a team to inspect the premises. 

      Its behaviour is usually performed at doorways or easy-access windows whereas stacked movement typically occurs when the team is paralleling a wall. It’s my job to simply guard the sliding grate and divert attention while Sam goes in and announces our presence.

      Sam clicks the hammer back on his gun and I grab the handle with one hand and grip my gun in the other. He inhales deeply through his nose and lets it out through his mouth, he’s probably got implanted doubts thanks to the reporters. I give the ‘go ahead’ nod and slide the grate open.

      “FBI and NYPD!”

      Sam goes in as planned and I stand at the doorway, checking both sides of the entrance while Sam heads straight in. It’s a concreted building with metal walls and tin roof with large industrial lights hanging. A mound of boxes are to the left at the end while metal bars hang low.

      I go in when Sam gives the ‘all clear’ and we head straight to Banks and her father that are strapped to two chairs across from each other in the middle of the concrete. Banks is crying while Derek tries to soothe her. Before Sam and I can undo their restraints, I hear two aspirations behind us and I feel the slick barrel of a gun pressed against the hollow of my skull.

      “Drop the gun or else I paint your face red with your mate’s blood,” the voice says.

      My eyes flick up to Sam; we’re both in the same position. We’re crouched behind the chairs with one Night Crawler each holding us at gun point. Sam lowers his gun to the floor and his Night Crawler kicks it away. I’m not taking that chance; I just flick my holster and slide it in but hold my hands up.

      “Oi Luke, this is the bitch that popped Frankie,” says the Night Crawler. “This is going to be fun, grab the cuffs.”

      “Are you sure Nate? I mean, the guy wanted these two alive,” Luke grabs Sam by the collar of his suit jacket, pry’s the silver handcuffs from his belt and twirls them around one of his slender fingers. Luke catches on to what Nate wants to do, “Ah you want them to hang around. You’re a bloody genius.”

      It takes a split second, one moment I’m behind Banks trying to free her restraints, and then the next I’m gripping one of the metal bars for dear life as Nate pulls my own set of cuffs free and flicks them around my wrists before attaching them to the hook above.

      I dangle by my wrists and I try to kick for the floor but it’s at least half a metre from my reach. It sucks being average height, it sucks being in the NYPD, it sucks watching one of the Night Crawlers backhand my best friend.

      “Let her go!” Banks screeches.

      “Hands off arsehole!” I shout and kick out again.