*BOOM!*
A gunshot cracked through the air followed instantly by the clacking of the manual reload mechanism of a bolt action rifle.
*BOOM!*
Another shot, another reload.
*BOOM!*
Ben continued his long, steady breath as he reloaded a fourth bullet and studied his targets in the scope. One man had managed to jump behind cover and managed to dodge the detective's line of sight by sheer accident.
Nolan had fallen to the side. Andersen's situation worried him because she was still underwater. The detective couldn't wait much longer or risk her drowning.
Two members of the Southern Front were down on the floor, one of them was Cole who had held a weapon near Nolan's face and needed to be dealt with immediately. Ben had shot him twice, but maybe that was a mistake.
"Where the fuck are you?" Ben whispered impatiently.
The third gunman that had managed to jump out of his line of sight had created a splash. Ben thought it was likely that he might have joined Andersen in the pool in the hopes of getting a human shield after getting the woman out of the water. Or he had thrown something into the pool while running away.
Just as Ben decided to jump from the roof and run over to engage the lone remaining criminal with his pistol there was the sound of a subdued gunshot.
Underwater!
Ben looked at the water in worry, briefly leaning away from the scope to use both eyes. He hoped that the correct person would break the surface. There was no way he could aim and hit someone underwater from his flat angle. Or any angle. He had never trained such a shot and wouldn't experiment with Andersen's life on the line. With Nolan right there, still in danger.
*Splash!*
A drastic, laborious breath echoed all the way to his position.
And a hurried look through the scope reassured Ben that it was Captain Andersen who managed to free herself and wrestle the gun from the criminal underwater. There was blood dying the waters red and from where it was in relation to her, it did not seem to be the captain's.
"Damn, what a badass," he mumbled, impressed.
But the detective didn't relax just yet and once more trained his Remington 700 PSS on both wounded men from the Southern Front. He couldn't risk them getting up.
"Well, that was a mistake," Ben whispered with furrowed brows as he saw Cole snap out of his daze and wail in pain, clutching his crotch.
Ben's second shot hit him square in the chest and knocked the breath out of the moronic son of the Southern Front's leader.
His third shot had disabled the second gunman.
But it was the first shot Ben had aimed perfectly.
He tried to disarm Cole Midas, so Ben had aimed at his wrist. The wrist that - from his vantage point - was in the same line of fire as his nutsack.
The detective knew that Cole had assaulted plenty of women in his miserable life. Ben's only hope now was that he couldn't spread his misdeeds anymore if the insidious bastard ever managed to get out of jail after a conviction for the attempted murder in the first of a police captain and a second officer.
The deliberate trap part of this whole situation would absolutely convince any jury of the premeditated nature of the crime and add another felony to the attempted murder charge. His known status as the young leader of an organization that the Secret Service would probably list as a terror organization once they were done with their operation wouldn't help Cole's case.
Unless something went wrong, Cole would likely get a full life-sentence without the chance for parole for any of the felonies he would get the life sentence for.
But with the warning he gave Cole's father earlier, a shot with such consequences was a bad thing for his continued quiet life and the safety of his daughter. Now Ben needed to come up with a way to completely rip away Midas' power so that the man couldn't cash in any favors or use his influence to target his family.
"Control, two down, one conscious and breathing, the other not conscious but breathing. One likely dead, he hasn't resurfaced after getting shot underwater. Captain Andersen seems to be fine after she freed herself underwater. Officer Nolan is still bound. I'm running over to arrest the suspects and free Nolan."
Ben hurriedly jumped down from the garage's roof, dropped one of his cards with his name, rank, and phone number on the floor for the owner who came outside of his own home with a gun after hearing the shots, and hurried towards the next-door property. Thankfully that other home owner managed to read the big LAPD lettering on his vest and didn't shoot, but Ben didn't quite care as he scaled a stone wall and finally ran toward Nolan.
"John!" The detective shouted.
"I'm fine, I'm fine! How is the captain!?" Nolan shouted anxiously, his body jerking in an attempt to free himself.
He was like a turtle, still bound to the chair, unable to turn himself around. His back was towards the pool, and the captain lazily hung above water over the pool's edge with just her chin, resting her head on the wet stones and quietly breathing through her nose with closed eyes.
"I'm fine, Nolan," she mumbled after getting an arm out of the water to help her stay afloat.
Ben roughly cuffed Cole and his goon before unlocking Nolan's handcuffs - Cole was sadistic enough to use the police issued ones the rookie had in his toolbelt. Then the detective kneeled near the pool and offered a hand, suggesting, "If you want to laze around in a pool, I can offer you mine. But, uh, this one is getting kind of bloody."
Andersen turned around to look at the corpse floating a few feet away from her. Slowly, a cloud of blood began to grow and grow around it and threatened to reach her in a few more moments.
"I might just take you up on it," she whispered and grabbed Ben's hand, allowing the detective to drag her out of the water. She hissed in pain because she had to dislocate her thumbs to get out of her own cuffs.
Turning around and lying down flat while taking deep breaths and coughing out water from time to time, she asked, "How'd you know to come here?"
"Nolan didn't tell you about the signal?"
"So that's why he kept pressing his radio," Captain Andersen said in realization.
Ben nodded and did just that - pressed his radio, though for a different purpose, saying, "We are Code 4. Two suspects with GSWs in need of urgent medical attention. One suspect dead. Andersen needs medical attention, possible broken bones and dislocated fingers, nothing life threatening. Nolan is likely fine, but needs a good looking over from a medical professional and a potential psych eval."
"Hey!" Nolan exclaimed, almost pouting.
"Don't shrug it off. You were taken at gunpoint by a lunatic," Ben argued immediately as they all ignored the familiar chatter over the radio as control accepted the update and began organizing a response.
"A lunatic who looks like he is about to bleed out," Andersen commented, still flat on her back but with her head turned toward Nolan and Cole lying close to him.
The man did seem to be losing quite a bit of blood, but Ben wouldn't spit on him if he was on fire. Still, with a police captain watching him and the retaliation of the man's father on his mind, Ben got up and began undoing Cole's shoelaces.
"Officer Nolan," Ben called out and used his official title instead of his name to make sure his friend understood that the detective was now talking to him as a police officer and not a buddy. "I'm going to apply a tourniquet for his arm to stop the bleeding at his wrist. You try to locate any other bleeds."
"Yes!" Nolan instantly accepted and stepped closer.
His professional mask immediately turned awkward when he saw where the bullet had hit.
"Uh, Ben?"
"Yes?"
"He… the bullet hit his… his penis," Nolan explained, his voice turning more quiet with every syllable.
Cole was awake, glaring at Ben and moaning in pain. But it was too much pain and he lost enough blood to affect his system. The racist nutcase didn't have the strength to cuss out Ben like he wanted.
"Then let's hope the EMT will arrive shortly. He might lose it otherwise," Ben explained matter-of-factly.
-----
"I can't believe you actually won that bet," Sophia whispered. Her expression was one of deep awe as she regarded her boss.
"Lucky guess," Sara replied with a satisfied smile.
"*Over here!*" They heard Ben shout. It seemed the paramedics and the backup arrived on scene.
A minute later, the two women sitting in the hotel suite heard the detective excuse himself after handing over control to the higher-ranked captain despite her hurting hands and speak to his phone after what seemed like a short walk seeking some privacy, "*Sara? Are you still there?*"
"Yes!" She immediately answered, inwardly scolding herself for sounding so excitable, so desperate.
"*How's the situation over at your end?*"
"No change. No suspicious activity. Glad you're alright, and your colleagues, too."
They heard Ben take a deep breath.
"*Good. Great, even," he said with tangible relief. "*Give me fifteen minutes to give a statement to my former TO. They have most of the story, but he'll want to hear it from my mouth. After that, I'm coming to you and taking you to my house. Sophia, too. It's time Sophia and Zofia met.*"
Ben paused, thinking about something but neither of the two women interrupted him.
"*I'll likely not be able to spend a lot of time with you because I have a ton of paperwork to go through after everything that has happened today, but you'll be safe at my home.*"
Sara smiled deeply. This was the feeling she longed for. The unquestionable safety she felt as long as he was simply present.
"Alright," she accepted without consulting Sophia. "That works for us."
The blonde just smiled weirdly. The redhead narrowed her eyes because she understood the smile. It was a lewd one.
'You lost the bet,' Sara mouthed with a gloating smirk.
And that made Sophia remember the stakes. So she teasingly rolled her eyes.
-----
Ben got out of his car at the entrance of the nice hotel Sara stayed at. Showing the valet his badge allowed him to keep it parked there to pick up his girl, but Ben still tipped the man to show his appreciation.
Plus, he wanted to ask the young latino if he saw anybody suspicious back on the way down. The hotel employee would be much more receptive if Ben held a positive image in his mind. Valets usually had a lot of intel, especially at places like this where the young man wouldn't dare hang around glued to his phone and paid close attention to anything interesting.
His tips were on the line, the valet's service needed to be impeccable.
Allowing his eyes to roam the lobby, Ben caught a man roughly matching Sara's description. Before the detective could walk over to confront the potential suspect, the man turned around.
He was no suspect at all, his features stood out way too much. If Sara could see that the man wore Oakley sunglasses and describe his haircut, there was no way she could have missed the giant birthmark on the side of the man's face. A fist-sized red oval patch stretching all the way to his ears below his left eye.
Since he was still in tactical gear with just a less conspicuous windbreaker covering the weapon tugged into his vest, Ben hurried toward the reception desk.
They confirmed with Sara up in her room that Ben was supposed to pick her up with a call and that he was allowed upstairs, and they told the detective they hadn't seen anyone suspicious.
Ben could only accept and made his way to the elevators before he drew too much attention with his outfit. Hotels didn't usually like obvious police presence. It made the guests uneasy even if nothing was wrong.
By mere chance, the man with the birthmark entered the elevator together with Ben. Even more random but utterly alarming to the detective, they remained the only two occupants during the entire, long ride up.
"Good day," the man muttered with a somewhat friendly greeting somewhere before they reached the tenth floor.
"Had better," Ben answered with furrowed brows.
The man with the birthmark raised a brow but didn't comment.
Exiting on the twenty-seventh floor, Ben gave the man a polite nod and began walking in the opposite direction of where Sara's room was for as long as the elevator door remained open.
When it closed, Ben stepped back in front of it and studied the floor display above the elevator door, the displayed number was going up. He only sighed in relief when it stopped at floor 32 just like the man had pressed and not a mere floor up.
"Too paranoid," Ben whispered to himself and walked toward Sara's room.
Nearing her door and seeing nobody lurking in the hallway, Ben called Sara on his phone instead of knocking.
"I'm here, in front of your room. Open it when I knock four times," Ben instructed and the redhead confirmed.
Four knocks later, the door swung open and Sara threw herself into Ben's arms.
"You're hard," she complained in a whisper as Ben walked inside the room with the insurance manager clinging to him with her legs wrapped around his waist.
"Already? Damn, he's virile," Sophia quipped from behind the door and closed it after a short look to both sides of the hallway.
"You lost the bet, seize your promiscuous banter, whore," Sara commanded haughtily, her eyes narrowed in Sophia's direction, but she didn't jump down from the hug.
The blonde just laughed and skipped toward the bags they had packed.
"If you must know, she was talking about the gun positioned in the front of my bulletproof vest. I didn't get changed because I came right over," Ben commented dryly and looked around the room. "Anything I need to know before we go? Anything I can help with?"
"No, we're done packing," Sara denied and finally jumped down after giving Ben a quick peck on the lips.
The detective nodded and got out his phone to show the two women a picture. It was from an awkward angle, but it showed the man with the birthmark. Ben had taken it at hip-level as he walked out of the elevator with his hands at his sides.
"Either of you two seen him before?"
"Hmm, no, sorry? Is he a suspect?" Sara questioned with a shake of her head as Sophia studied him with narrowed eyes.
Something in her gaze told Ben that she knew him.
"Nope. Would have to be a nutter to forget a bloke with that kind of mark," she commented and walked away.
Ben narrowed his eyes, until Sara slapped his arm and chided in a small but insistent tone of voice, "Stop staring at her ass."
"You spend too much time with her," Ben said with a roll of his eyes and began to wheel Sara's large suitcase toward the door. "Grab your bag, we're going."
Keeping an eye on Sophia, he noticed her typing a quick message on her phone via the reflection of a piece of glass before she tucked it away and brought over some of the files and equipment Sara would need for work.
"Please don't make me draw my gun on you and tell me what you know," Ben pleaded once both women stood before him, ready to leave.
His gaze was firmly on Sara's assistant.
Sophia was about to play innocent, but a quick look at Sara told her that it was two versus one in the room.
She sighed and took out her phone. As she unlocked it, she complained, "You're way too perceptive."
'Have to shag at a later date. Something came up.'
Ben stared at the message for a while before looking at Sophia with narrowed eyes.
"What? Can't a girl have her secrets? I picked him up at the hotel bar two weeks ago after bringing Sara some documents. He's a decent lay," Sophia defended with a shrug.
"Today of all days," Sara muttered with an unsettled frown.
"Do you have a name? It just says 'Curved Dong'."
Sara rolled her eyes when Ben read out the name her assistant saved the man as.
"Hey! That's less insulting yet just as memorable as 'Tomato-Head Man'," Sophia rebuffed indignantly. "And sorry, I don't. Gustav Something - he gave me a fake name. I did, too. Told him my name was Pampelmousse LaCroix. Uncultured swine called me Pam in the sack."
"I'm not going to tell you how to live your life, but please have some sense of self-preservation," Ben commented with a roll of his eyes just like Sara.
"Can we go now? I want to hang out in a pool already. Plus, I'm starving," Sophia impatiently waved off.
As the three made their way to the elevator, Ben paid no attention to the two women. In fact, he didn't even push the suitcase or hold one of the bags. He wanted his hands free in case something would go down.
Yet, nothing did until they reached Ben's car.
"Detective Weiss!" The valet called out and waved him over.
"I saw the man, you know," the young hotel employee whispered as he leaned forward.
Ben slipped him another $20 and gave him a look to urge him to continue.
"You're, like, police, no?" Ben nodded in reply and the valet handed over a business card with a string of letters on it. "Here man, I got you his license plate. Belonged to a graphite painted Land Rover Defender, 2014 model."
It made sense that the valet knew his cars, so Ben instead focused on the card he was given.
"Mickey Haller, lawyer?"
"Sorry man, it was the only thing I had in my pockets to write it down on."
Ben looked at the valet stand with neat letterhead papers and business cards from the hotel for a short moment before he looked at the card in his hands again.
It was confusing, but Ben didn't dwell on it. Maybe the valet didn't want to use company property to write the message since Ben wasn't technically a guest.
"Alright, thanks man. Have a good one," Ben accepted and walked back after patting the valet on the arm.
"You, too, detective!"
Ben was driving the car with both Sara and Sophia in the back seats. His eyes were studying the traffic for the first two intersections to see if he could make out a tail, but nothing stood out to him.
Grabbing his radio from the dash, switching to another channel, he asked, "Hey Luca. You still working?"
"*Nightshift at the armory, you know it,*" came the immediate response.
"Can you do me a quick favor and look up a license plate? Use the VTS and send me the data for the last week. Attach it to the case number for the Southern Front task force."
"*Sure man, shoot,*" Luca answered and sounded like he already in front of the computer.
"Vanity plate: Romeo-Romeo-Hotel-Bravo-Delta-Six-Nine."
"RRHBD69? 'Really, really hung. Big Dick. Sixty-nine'? Holy banana that guy must be overcompensating," Sophia mumbled with wide eyes.
"*Alright Benny, I got it. Belongs to a Christopher Young, registered a 2012 McLaren P1, orange. Sending it to your inbox,*" Luca eventually said from the other side of the radio.
"A McLaren? You sure? Can you check if it's reported as stolen or if it was involved in an accident recently?"
"*Hmm, no. But Christopher Young owns seven cars - it might not have been noticed yet?*"
"Have a patrol unit check his address and have them confirm that the McLaren still has its plates," Ben ordered with a frown. "I know they are stretched thin today, but this is important."
That didn't make much sense.
"*Got it.*"
An intersection was coming up ahead, Ben still had green light. But he knew it would turn red soon since he was familiar with this area. Knowing what he knew, the detective accelerated - still within limits - and managed to hit the crossing before the light changed colors.
Yet suddenly, Ben hurriedly ripped the steering wheel to the side and did an emergency brake, positioning the motorblock into an oncoming SUV that had run a red light.
Without the maneuver, the truck would have hit the driver side hitting Ben and Sara. With it, the detective managed to make full use of the airbags and the cushioning of the crumple zone.
*Crash!*
Ben had braced himself in full knowledge of what was to happen. The crash was high-speed for the inner city, but the detective's actions shortened his recovery immensely.
Shaking off the impact into the airbag, Ben turned his head with a grimace and asked, "Are you okay?"
Pained groans were all he heard, so he hurriedly unbuckled. The door only opened when he physically rammed his shoulder into it, and Ben fell out of his seat from the momentum. Cutting his hand on the glass shards on the pavement, Ben flinched again but still stood up.
Looking at Sara for a brief moment and seeing that she was just dazed without any open, visible wounds, Ben sighed and looked at Sophia. The assistant seemed just as fine considering the situation. Her nosebleed was troubling, but could just be the blunt force from hitting the car seat instead of it being anything truly worrying.
"Control, this is Detective Ben Weiss. I was involved in a MVA at the intersection of Pico & Robertson. 11-41, three injured. I'm going to check on the other driver now," Ben breathed wearily as he ordered an ambulance through the radio still attached to his uniform.
Now he was glad he wasn't able to take it off yet.
Walking over to the driver of the other car, Ben was suddenly on high alert.
A Land Rover Defender.
His hand shot to his pistol holstered at his abdomen when he heard Sara's voice shouting, "Look out!"
Ben instinctively dropped to the floor. With one hand, he got out the backup pistol at his thigh instead and shot the first thing in his vision.
A man had tried to sneak up on him with some kind of melee weapon. His arm raised as if to attack Ben with it.
*Bang! Bang!*
One shot to the assailant's ankle, the other to the man's chest.
Ben hurriedly got into a crouch and scanned his surroundings. The dull ache in his head made him dizzy, his eye sight wasn't particularly focused.
From the corner of his vision, he saw the driver of the defender get out of the car with a weapon of his own.
"LAPD! Drop your weapon!" Ben shouted at him, but suddenly had to roll out of the way behind the Defender's engine block. The man had moved his finger to the trigger instead of making any kind of motion of losing the gun.
From the pavement, Ben shot the driver's feet that he could see from below the car. The man dropped with a pained screech and Ben was about to shoot him in the head when a third man entered the scene and kicked Ben heavily in his back.
The detective brought the gun around but it was kicked out of his hand. The disadvantage of not using both of them.
His injured hand that he had cut earlier shot to his weapon at the front while he brought one leg up to fend off another kick but then he heard a gun click and his head snapped in its direction.
The driver had aimed his pistol squarely at Ben, the detective used all his core strength and the bleeding hand to push himself up. And earned himself another kick to head in response.
By now, Ben's vision was swimming, only able to make out shapes that came in three different positions at once. But his free hand without the cuts found his knife strapped to his vest and held it in a reverse grip. He was briefly unable to care for the driver who could potentially be returning the favor of shooting at his feet and blocked a punch with a solid block that still made him almost stagger.
Instead, Ben lowered his center of gravity and stabbed the knife at the offending arm with all his might. Usually, that was desperation and desperation led to being overextended, but Ben needed some space.
When the man who had tried to punch him recoiled in pain, Ben's hand immediately shot to his pistol, unholstered it and released three bullets at the man.
The third shot was a mistake, his aching limbs didn't allow for full control. His subconscious tried to make up for his lack of certainty coming from his dull senses by shooting one more bullet than he usually would.
Ben immediately dropped behind the engine block again and he tried to run around the car in the direction of the trunk but he stumbled. His goal of making sure the driver didn't have Sara and Sophia in his line of sight was reached, however, so it took him a moment to firm his will once more.
The situation wasn't solved yet.
There could be a fourth or a fifth assailant.
"FUCK YOU!" Ben suddenly heard someone shout. "THAT WAS MY BROTHER, I'LL KILL EVERYONE YOU EVER LOVED!"
The detective decided to let himself be guided by his hearing for a short moment and stood up with his gun pointed at the direction he thought the man was in.
Immediately, Ben shot once and ducked down again.
"MY EAR!"
Blood curdling screams rang out and Ben allowed himself to fall in the direction of the car's left side where the driver was behind cover.
*Bang!*
A last shot rang out, Ben shot him from the ground in the hopes of not having to fight yet another assailant for now and having the advantage of coming from an angle where the man wouldn't aim.
The driver who rammed his car in what was clearly premeditated fell to the ground with disbelieving eyes. The bullet had hit his throat and severed his spine. The last instincts running through the man's mind wanted him to bring his hands to his throat to stop the bleeding, but his body had stopped obeying him moments before his thoughts ended.