This is a work in progress - I think this is going to be the beginning of a novel that has been floating around in my head and in some of my journals for a while:
Redemption – 8/12/17
A Deadly Librarian Novel
The sound of gunshots and screams
woke the rough looking man on the corner
“Shots fired! Shots fired! Ah,
I'm hit!” the Police officer screamed in pain as he keyed his CB.
Blood streamed from his head and both arms. “I'm bleeding, my
throat... my arms are broken.” his voice weakened “I...I...”
He didn't know why he got up –
he didn't even realized he had walked over until he was beside the
officer. The officer was a black man – he looked to be in his late
forties and fairly healthy other than the profuse bleeding. His
breathing was labored, the blood from his neck wound had splattered
his white stubble-laden chin.
“D...Don't...” he sputtered
feebly
“We have to stop the bleeding.”
the disheveled man said quietly and evenly. “Let me get your first
aid kit.” He popped the trunk remotely and grabbed the box full of
bandages. “I am going to probably have to trach you – that neck
wound is bleeding so badly, I am going to have to bandage it tightly
– I am afraid it will choke you if I don't provide some help.”
His voice was strangely calm as he staunched the wound with his
shirt. He held a gauze pad tightly against the wound and wrapped it
with the flexible cloth bandage in the kit. “Looks like you are
breathing ok.” The bum picked up the CB handset. “We have an
officer down. This is car..49. Do you copy?”
“Who is this?”
“I was sleeping nearby – the
shots woke me. Officer... Wilson is down, GSW to neck and both
forearms. Neck is life-threatening, both forearms are shattered. I
have the neck wound wrapped as tightly as I dare. I do not see the
perp at this time, officer is missing his tazer and his sidearm is
still holstered. His shotgun is still in the car.” A scuffling
noise nearby made the scruffy man look up. “Correction, perp and
about five others are surrounding us now.” he dropped the handset
and pulled the shotgun from its resting place. “Stop. Now.” The
tone was commanding but not strained.
The figure that had been shuffling
directly at him gestured with his gun. “Get outta da way. We gunna
kill dat pig.” He appeared to be in his twenties – his baggy
jacket bore a repeated pattern of the logo of some music star. His
clothes were new, ill-fitting, and dirty. He smelled like marajuana
and cheap beer. In one hand was a pawn-shop pistol.
Well, it didn't take something
expensive to do the job, just something effective, the bum thought to
himself. “No, you're going to die. You're not smart enough to walk
away, and you don't to look weak in front of all your homies.” The
tone was matter-of-fact.
“That pig is an oppressor, an
Uncle Tom – he holdin' us down.” A bear of a man to his left
spouted up.
“Oppressed? You all are out here
doing nothing – not working, not struggling. You're all wearing
name-brand clothes and brand new shoes. You don't know oppression.
When did the local police come to your house and kill members of your
family to send a message from the government?” He looked around,
checking his kill order. Two obviously armed opponents with firearms,
a couple who might have brass knuckles, and definitely knives all
around. “I've seen real oppression.”
“'Nuff talk...” The shooter
stepped forward and then flew back as the shotgun blast caught him
full chest. Everyone else froze. They were bullies, street-hoods, not
battle tested. The tall, thin white man standing between them and the
prostrate police officer was not something they had come across
before. He worked the shotgun's pump then leveled it at the nearest
thug.
“You may want to go now.”
Cursing as they backed away, the
remainder of the gang left.
The stranger wrapped Officer
Wilson's arms as gently as he could. He could hear the sirens coming
– coming for the two of them. Well, he had always known he was
going to have to return to the world some day.
“You're going to be fine Wilson,
just fine.”
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