Tai Anne Roper 2
by Nicole Sutter
FOR MATURE READERS ONLY
Chapter 2 - "A Righteous Shoot"
The Summit Medical Center was one of the largest, non-profit hospitals in Oakland, the doctors and staff prided themselves on taking in any and all patients, regardless of their ability to pay. That meant that the ER was almost always crowded, with the mostly poor and mostly black of Oakland backed up into the halls and filling the chairs in the waiting room.
Will Tanner-Hyde looked distastefully at the bleeding and injured humanity around him. He was a tall, handsome and well to do Englishman in his mid-thirties, with long dark hair and cold, gray eyes. He was well dressed in a Givenchy three-piece suit and tie. He tried to keep his distance from any of these walked wounded, lest they bleed on him.
He recognized Dr. Warren Hoskins by spotting his hospital ID as he was coming out of one of the Trauma Rooms, pulling off a pair of bloody rubber gloves and a blood-splattered gown. Hoskins was the senior attending in the ER. He was a middle-aged, overworked black man who put in 80-hour weeks and still didn't make enough money to put his three kids through college.
"Doctor," Tanner-Hyde acknowledged him with a curt nod. "I'm Tanner-Hyde."
Hoskins nodded. "I have the man you've been looking for. Are we set on the price?"
"As agreed," Tanner-Hyde said. "If he is indeed the one."
Hoskins took him up the elevator to the third floor charity ward. This is where the sick, destitute and homeless of Oakland ended up.
"He was found this morning in the Alameda County landfill near Altamont," Hoskins said as they entered a pleasant, clean room with four occupied hospital beds. "That’s where San Fran sends all its trash. We figured he was a homeless guy who passed out in a dumpster and got tossed into a garbage truck and compacted... not the first time that's happened."
They stopped before a bed, where a man wrapped in bandages and casts from head to foot lay. Even his head was wrapped, with only one eye showing.
"Patient has a broken right hand and wrist," Hoskins whispered to Tanner-Hyde. "Broken left wrist and elbow, and a dislocated left shoulder. Also a brain concussion, fractured jaw and is missing six teeth. He also had a ruptured testicle, which we surgically removed. He appears to be a Caucasian, early to mid-twenties, with brown hair and... eye."
Hoskins turned away from the patient. "While in that dumpster, the patient was evidently attacked by... rats. Big ones. They chewed away most of the skin on his face, including almost all of his nose and lips. He also lost his left eye. We've... disinfected the wounds, but he's going to need skin grafts. A lot of them."
"Has he talked?"
"No... he also lost most of his tongue," Hoskins said. "And he has refused to communicate with us in any other way."
Hoskins handed Tanner-Hyde a fax. "We run the fingerprints of all John Does. Here's the kickback on this one. I haven't added it to his file."
"He is the one." Tanner-Hyde nodded. "Can he be moved?"
Hoskins shrugged. "He's stable. But where..."
"A private facility."
"Sure... if he agrees to it."
Tanner-Hyde nodded. "Allow me a moment alone with him, will you?"
Dr. Hoskins left. Tanner-Hyde leaned over the patient and spoke softly. "I am Will Tanner-Hyde. You don't know me, but I do know you. Like you, I was involved in the recent pursuit of young Jessica McClintock."
The patient's single eye blinked and looked at him.
"I know you worked for Paige Torne at her 'Brickyard'. I know you stole away Jessica from her care. I know you gave her to Fiendly and Wenche. After that... who knows?
"I have a friend who runs a chop shop here in Oakland. He tells me that last night, Fiendly and Wenche showed up driving a 'boss looking' 1968 Shelby Mustang GT-500KR, jet black with white racing stripes..."
The patient moaned, his body shaking.
"While they were waiting to get their vehicle new license plates, VIN and a new paint job --candy apple red, I believe-- Fiendly contacted a friend and used some passbook codes to wipe out your secret bank account in the Caymans..."
The patient began to moan, tears rolled from his eye.
"My friend gave me the old license plate number, which is how I found out about you... I figured if they had your car and all your money you would turn up either in a hospital, or a shallow grave."
Tanner-Hyde bent down close to his ear. “You have nothing. Nothing and no one. Meanwhile... your former employer, Paige Torne, is looking for you as well. What she will do to you when she finds you is anybody's guess."
Tanner-Hyde patted his bandaged cheek dry with a kleenex.
"What I am offering you," Tanner-Hyde continued. "Is a fresh start. A new identity. A new face. A new body. Not in months, or even weeks. But in days."
The single eye now seemed to blaze with anger, blinking furiously.
"Ah! you have a... list? A list of people who have wronged you?" Tanner-Hyde smiled. "I offer you a chance for vengeance on all who have done you wrong. Of course, as with all things, there is a price to pay."
The patient nodded.
"I do all of this for you," Tanner-Hyde said. "And in return, you will belong to me. You will give to me your... eternal soul."
The patient blinked. Tanner-Hyde knew it sounded a bit theatrical... but it was the truth.
"Do we have a deal? Or do I leave you to the tender mercies of municipally subsidized health care?"
The patient nodded.
"Good, a private ambulance will be along shortly to take you to a private medical facility." Tanner-Hyde nodded as he headed for the door. "You just rest and relax. Your day will come."
*******
Northridge lies deep within the San Fernando Valley and is a vast area of factories and warehouses. It is also the capital of the adult film industry. Here, adult movies are produced, made and distributed in an 8 billion dollar a year local industry that can boast a wider profit margin than any of the 'mainstream' studios that were located on the other side of the Hollywood hills.
The vast majority of these businesses were run completely above board, with a union for their actors and actresses, their own HMO and 401K plan and daycare facilities for their kids. Miracle Pictures was not one of those businesses.
Founded back in the seventies, it had never recovered from the 'direct to video' revolution in the adult film industry, and had eventually been sold out to east coast mob interests as part of a loan gone bad, with the original owners now sleeping with the fishes.
These days, Miracle Pictures --If Its A Good Picture, It's A Miracle!-- was well known as a haven for coked-up, fading starlets and leading men who had trouble getting a stiffie, where anything goes and you were paid an extra fifty bucks if you didn't use a condom.
Traci Brooks was one of those faded stars. She was now washed up at 32, after spending her teen years on an NBC sitcom called That Darn Black Kid!. After a few years in Vegas, a handful of shoplifting arrests, and her own segment of VH-1's Where Are They Now?, she had finally arrived at the last square on the walk of fame.
Right now she was standing in the dank, smelly bathroom at the Miracle 'studios' making sure all the flakes of cocaine were off her nose. She was still good looking, with long, golden blonde hair and green eyes. Best of all, she still looked like she did when she starred in that stupid fucking sitcom.
Except then, she never had to wear a pink latex mini dress that fit her body like a second skin.
"Hey, you fall in or sumpin'!" a voice called from the other side of the door.
"Coming!" she called back. She sniffed, wiped her nose again, and then stepped out for the cameras once more. I'm ready for my closeup, Mr. DeMille!
The studio was a drafty old warehouse, filled with boxes and boxes of Miracle's product line in both DVD and VHS, from Annie's Anal Adventures to Zena: Warrior Pricksress. A rough set with a few klieg lights and some video cams were set up in one corner.
"Where do you want me?" Traci asked.
"Right over here, baby!" The director, Mr. Willie called out. She minced over, having trouble walking in her six inch ankle strapped, pink leather heels.
It was almost 8 o'clock at night; the place was deserted, which suited Traci just fine. She really didn't want an audience around when she gave Dirk Kirk a blowjob and then let him fuck her up the ass.
"Now, here's the set-up!" Willie said. He was an excitable, skinny little guy who was always... bruised. Right now he had a black eye and a split lip. "Kandee over there is gonna walk up behind you and tie you up with that armbinder and those straps... then we cut. Got it?"
"Hey...waitasec!" Traci said. "Our deal was for no 'girl-girl' stuff! And also none of that sicko bondage shit!"
"Change a' plans, baby." The voice came from the darkness. Traci turned as a figure stepped out into the light. A tall, dark weasel of a man dressed in an expensive suit.
Traci gulped. Tony Scagnetti, or 'Crazy Tony' as he was known back east. His dad was some big wheel mafioso, and Tony was out here to make his bones and prove himself. He was younger than she was for Christ's sake.
"But Mr. Scagnetti..."
"No 'buts', baby," Scagnetti growled. "This is just da set-up t' sell the vid to da kink n' freak crowd. After dis, Kirk Dirk is gonna show up n' we'll walk da straight n' narrow. Capice?"
"Well, okay." Traci nodded bravely and sat down on the shiny pink PVC couch in the center of the set. Her bottom squeaked as she shifted.
"Good girl!" Scagnetti grinned and went back to the darkness, where he once more flicked the wheel on his Zippo lighter under his glass crack pipe.
"And... action!" Willie shouted.
"Okay, bitch... time for you to get yours!" Washed up porn actress Kandee Kaine strode into the room wearing her street clothes, tight blue jeans and a tee shirt that showed off her massive siliconed breasts.
Kandee grabbed Traci and threw her across the back of the sofa. Traci moaned as her hands were pulled back behind her and the black leather armbinder was yanked up her arms. Straps were tightened about both her shoulders until they hurt. Then the leather casing was tightened until her arms were crushed together all the way to her elbows. Straps were secured and buckled tight.
"Hey..." Traci whined. "This is too... ummmmph!"
A big red rubber ball was jammed into her mouth and strapped tight around her cheeks. She shook her head and moaned.
Kandee tossed her back over the sofa and grabbed Traci's feet, running a leather strap around her ankles and under her stiletto heels and finally cinching them off. The strap was pulled back through the steel ring at the end of the armbinder and tightened up, putting Traci Brooks in a very severe hogtie.
She could wiggle and grunt a little but that was it. She looked up and watched Kandee Kaine walk over to Willie for her pay for the day --a few grams of nose candy-- and then walk off and leave the studio.
"Mmmmmmph fmmmphh!" Traci wiggled some more.
Tony Scagnetti stepped out of the dark again, he looked calm, but his eyes were glazed over. "Willie, tell Joey t' bring up da car."
"Lissen, Tony..." That's as far as Willie got before he was backhanded. He retreated, whimpering like a whipped dog.
Scagnetti sat down next to Traci and caressed her face.
"Y'know, I hadda real crush on you," Scagnetti said. "When was it? Fifteen years ago when you had dat crazy sitcom? Shit, I was twelve... thirteen years old. Musta had my first hard-on lookin' at you."
Traci moaned and drooled on the couch.
"Dis makes whats gonna happen t'night, all da more special." He laughed. "There's a house in da Hollyweird hills, where lotsa rich n' freaky rich folks wanna see something special. Like a real actress... a TV star... get raped 'n then murdered."
Traci screamed into her gag. It wasn't very loud.
"Its gonna be bloody," Scagnetti said. "And you're gonna suffer... but da video rights on da black market for a celebrity snuff flick...will be through da fuggin' roof!"
A sleek, black Cadillac Sedan DeVille squealed up through the warehouse and came to a stop before them. A massive man mountain in a cheap suit lumbered out. If this had been a movie, he would've been listed in the end credits as 'Mob Thug #1'.
"Yeah, boss?"
"Show our Miss Brooks da trunk, Joey," Scagnetti said.
Joey opened the trunk using the remote and picked up Traci with one arm. As she wiggled and grunted again, he dropped her into the trunk like he did Scagnetti's golf clubs every Sunday. He closed the trunk and watched his boss finish off with a few lines of high grade Columbian white.
"Okay, Joey... let's make a movie!" Scagnetti sniffed as he hopped up and went to the car.
"Sure t'ing, boss."
In the trunk, Traci Brooks hummed ito her gag and pulled uselessly at the armbinder and straps that held her. She knew she was being taken away to be slaughtered like some animal... sacrificed on the video altar that she had served all her life.
And there was nothing and nobody who could do anything about it.
Please... Somebody help me!!!
*******
Jeb Stuart considered himself one lucky guy. He had a beautiful wife who loved him, three great kids, a thriving business and a nice, two-story clapboard house not far from Golden Gate Park in the Sunset District of San Francisco.
Dinner was now over and the dishes were in the sink, upstairs he could hear thumping, bumping and laughing, where his twin, ten year old girls were playing and horsing around with their dinner guest, Tai Anne Roper.
"Shouldn't you rescue her yet?" His wife Kate asked. She was a beautiful woman in her early forties. Wise and caring with a killer bod.
"Not just yet," Jeb replied, chomping a breadstick. Dinner had been one of Kate's Italian feasts of spaghetti, homemade sauce, meatballs and Italian sausage washed down with a good Italian Lambrusco... everybody had eaten way too much and now just wanted to sit quietly, except for Tai.
"I see why you like her so," Kate said. There was not a trace of jealousy in her voice. When you're the wife of a CIA agent who had spent more time in the last twenty years overseas, than stateside with you and the kids, you either learn to trust him, or get a good divorce attorney.
"I'm glad," Jeb said simply. He had met the abduction-prone Ms. Roper a few years back when he had still been with the Agency. He was now a freelance 'consultant', gathering intel for the private sector. A few days ago, he had been contacted by his old friend Tai. She had come to The City to look for a girl named Jessica McClintock. Tai asked Jeb to look into the doings of her very rich and powerful father, Matthew McClintock.
Things had gone downhill from there.
Jeb Stuart looked up as a loud crash shook the ceiling. He was a tall, handsome man of 42, with long, light brown hair and piercing blue eyes.
"Tess? Would you go rescue our guest?"
Tess was Jeb and Kate's just 18-year-old daughter. She sighed and put down her midi-walkman and ran up the stairs.
Tess was a tall, lithe young lady who was into ska music, skateboarding, and health foods. Jeb thanked the Lord everyday that it wasn't gang tats and body piercing.
Jeb and his wife moved into the comfy living room with a pot of coffee and tray of china cups. "Tess seems to like her too," Kate said. "First time we've had a friend over for dinner where she hasn't disappeared into her room mid-way through the meal."
"Well, they're almost the same age," Jeb allowed.
A few seconds later Tess and Tai were bopping down the stairs, laughing themselves silly.
"Oh, coffee!" Tess said. "Can I have a cup?"
Jeb and Kate looked at each other. Will wonders cease? "I'll get another cup," she said, going to the kitchen. Tai Anne and Tess sat down on the sofa together, still chattering like magpies.
"So you're already outta high school?" Tai asked.
"Oh yeah. I'm frosh at USF, which isn't that far away," Tess replied. "How about you?"
"Mmmm... I was home schooled, got my GED at 16 and picked up some college credits before I left New Lesbos a year ago."
"New where?"
"New Lesbos," Tai replied. "It's a... commune, women's center and shelter... what have you, down in Santa Cruz. My two moms run the place. Have for years."
"Your two moms?"
"Long story short; My parents are a lesbian couple, one of whom got artifically inseminated --every rich lesbian can do this now, but believe me, this was a big honkin' deal back in the Reagan eighties-- I was born and raised by two women at New Lesbos."
Jeb and Kate waited for Tess' reaction.
She grinned. "Like that is sooooo kewl!"
"Mmmmm... it may sound kewl, but in real life, it's a pain in the ah... butt." Tai accepted a cup of coffee and got some cream but no sugar. "Thank you, Mrs. Stuart..."
"I've told you... it's Kate!" she grinned.
"Sorry... Kate." Tai took a careful sip. "Those twins of yours are a handful! I love playing with them. If you ever need a babysitter just call!"
"Now you've done it!" Tess whispered. "Now that you've offered, you'll be Mom's slave for life!"
Jeb bit his tongue trying not to laugh.
Tai smiled, a blush creeping over her face. "Of course, I'll understand if you don't... have a need for me."
"Are you kidding?" Kate said. "How about this Friday night? Tess has a date and Jeb and I have rehersals til midnight! Can you get here around 5 pm?"
Tai nodded. "Yes, Kate. I'd be honored. Thank you!"
"Hmmmph! Thanks for what?" Tess asked.
"For trusting me with your children," Tai said, looking at Kate.
"That's alright, dear," Kate replied. "Jeb's vouched for you."
*******
According to the glowing hands of Iwana Binder's Swiss Veronix watch, it was a few minutes after 8 pm. Mid-watch. Night had fallen in North Hollywood and the neon was out in force. Traffic was heavy and the calls were coming in fast, but now there seemed to be a lull.
"Ready fo' Code 7?" Iwana asked.
"Sure thing!" Jamaal Bledsoe grinned, already snatching up the handmike. "Any good eats around here?"
"Letsee... there be a Fatburger at Ventura and Bevery Glen that has th' best footlong, chili-cheese hotdogs in th' known world..."
"Hotdogs?" Bledsoe made a face. "Do they have any salads?"
"Salads? At a Fatburger?"
"Well, I'm trying to watch my cholesterol..."
"Hol' that thought." Iwana looked to her left as she slowed down. Ventura Boulevard was five lanes wide and traffic was heavy but still moving. Iwana touched the strobing red and blue lightbar on her cruiser for just a second, making a fast and dirty U-turn accompanied by a chorus of horns.
"What's up?" Bledsoe asked as Iwana now accelerated east on Ventura.
"Black Caddie," Iwana said. "When it spotted us, th' driver sped up and switched t' the far lane like we wuz haulin' manure or sumpin'."
"So?"
"So it got mah hackles up," Iwana replied as she weaved through the traffic and ended up right on the Caddie's tail. "Run the plates."
"Right." Jamaal tried to access the mobile data computer set up on the console next to their police radio. "It's overloaded with requests right now..."
"Then do it th' old fashioned way."
Bledsoe keyed the handmike. "15-Zebra-3 to dispatch, requesting wants and warrants on California tags, 4-Ocean Ida Sierra-496."
"Very good!" Iwana said. The Caddie changed lanes and so did she.
"In the academy they said this was called 'black and white fever'," Bledsoe said.
"Not quite. That's when somebody gets so nervous when a cop's 'round that he blows a red light or rear-ends someone," Iwana replied. "This guy is jus' tryin' t' jam-pony past mah radar."
The Caddie slipped back to the right lane.
"Sum'bitch is gonna try t' hang a right on Cold Water Canyon and lose us up on Mulholland, you watch," Iwana said.
Sure enough, the Cadillac made a right turn onto Coldwater Canyon Road, heading up into the Hollywood Hills. The radio crackled their call sign, and Bledsoe acknowledged.
"15-Zebra-3, vehicle is a black, 2002 Sedan DeVille, registered to Starbound Productions, 12228 Sunset Boulevard, West Hollywood."
"10-4, dispatch." Bledsoe looked at Iwana. "Now what?"
"Better pull'em ovah and warn 'em about that flickerin' tail light," Iwana said.
Bledsoe looked. "What flickering tail light?"
Iwana just chuckled and activated the lightbar, speeding up til she was right on the Caddie's tail.
"Look, Sergeant, we don't have any probable cause to pull these guys over!" Bledsoe said.
"School's out, Jamaal!" Iwana replied. "Welcome to the real world."
She touched the siren. Two long woops were enough to get the Cadillac to pull over to the side of the road. They were in a neighborhood of expensive residentials with plenty of woods around. The Caddie stopped in the darkness between the few streetlights that were on the road. Iwana pulled in behind the Caddie and kept the headlights on, even aiming the door mounted searchlight onto it.
"What now?" Bledsoe asked.
"Stay cool, partner," Iwana replied. "Let dispatch know we doin' a traffic stop. You stay with the unit and back me up."
"Okay."
Iwana got out of her cruiser and started walking slowly towards the Cadillac. This was the thing she hated most about police work. Traffic stops. Cuz you never knew what the hell you were gonna get when you bent down to look into that window.
*******
"Youse stupid motherless fuck!' Inside the Caddie, 'Crazy' Tony Scagnetti was living up to his name by punching and slapping his driver, Joey.
"Hey, calm down, boss!" Joey said, easily riding out the tirade. "Cops are always hasslin' me. Just stay cool an' we'll be on our way."
"We fuggin' better be!" Scagnetti squinted through the rear windshield as Iwana approached. "Damn, that's a big nigger bitch!"
Iwana Binder tapped on the closed side window. Joey smiled as it hummed down. "Is dere a problem, officer?"
Iwana smiled as she bent down and shined her big Maglite over the interior of the vehicle. "Evenin', sir. Would you please turn off your car's engine?"
Joey complied. As her flashlight beam hit Scagnetti, he winced and turned away.
"Could I see your license, vehicle registration and proof of insurance, sir?" Iwana asked next.
"Sure t'ing, officer." He handed the items over to her right away, like he had played this game a thousand times.
She looked them over. "You Joey D'Amato?"
"Yeah."
"Bet yore friends call you Joey Tomatoes, huh?"
He laughed. "Yeah..."
"You an employee of Starbound Productions?"
"Yeah. Dis a company car."
"And who's yore lil' buddy sittin' beside you there?" She shined the flashlight into Scagnetti's face again.
"None o' your fuggin' business," Scagnetti growled back.
"You wanna rephrase that, buster?" Iwana asked.
"Ummmm... dis is Anthony Scagnetti," Tony said. "He's da CEO o' Starbound. Scuse his manners... he's kinda hung over."
"Really? Looks to me like he's on something," Iwana shined the flashlight on him once more. "Now I have heard of a 'Crazy Tony' Scagnetti... he makes dirty movies in the valley, and pays his stars with nose candy..."
"Hey, bitch! Wanna get that fuggin' light outta my eyes?!" Scagnetti shouted, spittle flying.
"Okay! That does it fo' me!" Iwana keyed the handmike to her handie talkie that was clipped to the epaulet of her uniform. "15-Zebra-3, requesting backup for traffic stop at 12000 block of Coldwater Canyon Road..."
"Hey hey hey!" Joey got out of the car. Fast. He was still smiling, but he was also towering over the six foot tall Iwana. "Now dat ain't necessary, y'know?"
"Really?" Iwana took a step back, right hand close to her holstered service piece.
"Really!" He was keeping his hands out in the open "Can't we... like, work somethin' out?"
He kept advancing as Iwana backed up.
"Tell you what, Joey," Iwana stopped by the rear fender. "You do one thing fo' me, and Ah'll cutcha both loose."
He grinned. "Name it."
"Open the trunk." Iwana said.
"Hah?"
"First thing Ah noticed when Ah started followin' you was how low yore rear end was ridin'," Iwana said. "Caddies got mighty stiff suspensions...so, you gotta be haulin more'n a hundred pounds back there."
"Golf clubs," Joey said. "Nuthin' but golf clubs back dere."
"Then show me," Iwana replied, she emphasized the point by pounding three times on the trunk.
Something on the inside pounded back.
For a long moment, Iwana Binder and Joey D'Amato stared at each other.
Then they both moved. Iwana took a step back and went for her revolver, while Joey took a step forward and cold-cocked Iwana with a hard punch to the jaw that knocked her right on her ass.
Joey ran for the Caddie while Bledsoe hollered for him to stop, drawing his pistol but not firing as Joey ducked down and jumped into the car.
Iwana raised herself up in time to get a faceful of dirt and gravel as Joey peeled out and took off, up the hilly, dangerous curves of Coldwater Canyon.
"Sergeant! You okay?"
"Shaddup!" Iwana shook him of while she got to her feet and wobbled back to the cruiser.
"You want me to drive?"
"Get in the goddamn car!" Iwana shouted. She floored the accelerator before Bledsoe could even get his door closed.
"Buckle up, partner," Iwana said. She flicked on the siren and grabbed up the handmike. "Dispatch, this 15-Zebra-3, in pursuit of a black, '02 Cadillac DeVille, Cal tags 4-Ocean Ida Sierra-496. We are southbound, Cold Water Canyon Road passing the 12000 block. Suspects wanted for felony kidnap, believe hostage to be in trunk."
"Holy shit!" Bledsoe exclaimed, still trying to get his seatbelt fastened.
"Requesting air support and roadblock at Cold Water and Mullholland... oh shit!"
Iwana took the first hairpin curve too fast, taking out a few mailboxes, but holding onto the road. She tossed the handmike to Bledsoe. "Keep calling our location out, partner!"
"Roger that!"
Coldwater Canyon Road was one of three main roads that connected the San Fernando Valley with the LA basin by snaking through the Hollywood Hills --and cresting along Mulholland Drive-- before leading on the downward leg into Beverly Hills. Once upon a time, it had been a haven for nature trails and street racers. But now it was a heavily wooded, densely populated residential neighborhood of very expensive houses perched on cliffsides and held there by stilts.
Iwana squealed the big Ford around another hairpin and was glad to see she was catching up with the red tail lights of the Caddie. It had a V8 like she did, but it was pushing alot more steel.
Cold Water Canyon Road then changed to famous Mullholland Drive for a mile. A nice long, straightaway that let Iwana get almost up to the Caddie's back bumper.
"Where's our backup?" Iwana shouted.
"Beverly Hills PD is heading up northbound Cold Water Canyon!" Bledsoe shouted back. "LAPD is closing off Laurel Canyon at Mullholland!
Nearest chopper is 15 minutes away!"
Iwana nodded. They had them trapped. But there was still a helluva lot of road for them to run around in. And a lot of residential side streets, dirt roads and even trails to lose them on.
"We gotta keep 'em in sight!" Iwana shouted. "If we lose 'em, they'll kill the hostage and bail on us..."
*******
"Godammit, you fuck! Lose that bitch!" Tony Scagnetti was pounding on Joey again, even as he was being bounced around the Cadillac's plush interior.
"I'm tryin, boss!"
"Fuck this!" Scagnetti spat. "I'll get rid of her!"
He grabbed a workout bag from the backseat and pulled out an Ingram MAC-10 machine pistol. He jammed home a 32 round stick clip and worked the bolt. He lowered his side window and aimed the machine pistol just below the strobing blue and red lightbar that was chasing them through the night.
"Hey bitch!!!" Scagnetti shouted. “Say hello to my lil' friend!"
*******
"Dispatch, we are still eastbound on Mulholland passing... Oh, shit!!!" Bledsoe ducked below the dashboard as a dozen or so rounds slapped into their black and white, sounding like hail as they peppered the front cap, fenders and spiderwebbed the windshield. One headlight went out.
Iwana floored it and tried keeping to the left of the Caddie. But another long burst raked the cruiser's left side, shattering the sideglass.
"Dammit, Iwana!" Bledsoe shouted. "We gotta back the fuck off!"
"Just hol' on..."
Iwana waited for the next lazy turn and with tires squealing at 80 plus MPH, she pulled forward and sawed the wheel hard right, letting the right front of her cruiser push into the left rear fender of the Caddie. The result was the Caddie never making it out of the turn, but instead squealing into a 180-degree slide that sent it sparking into the guardrail and finally grinding to a halt.
Iwana stood on the brake pedal, letting the cruiser come to a long, squealing halt ten feet from the smoking hood of the Cadillac.
"Bitch!' Scagnetti pulled himself through the passenger side door and hosed down the black and white with an entire clip. As bullets thunked into the body, took out the lights and blew out the glass, Iwana --hunkered down with Bledsoe on the floorboards-- pushed open her car door and slide out underneath the door and onto the pavement with her revolver in hand.
Most cops don't carry 'wheel guns' anymore. Preferring the 15-to-18 round clips of the so-called 'wondernine' semi-auto pistols. Iwana Binder carried a Colt Python .357 magnum revolver…a big, powerful piece with twice the stopping power of a police issue Beretta or Glock.
Iwana aimed at the long flame of Scagnetti's muzzle flash and fired twice, the KA-THUMPAH of her magnum overpowering the sustained chatter of Scagnetti's machine pistol.
Then silence. Except for the ringing in her ears and the warble of sirens coming from both directions.
"Call it in!" Iwana hissed at Bledsone. "And get the shotgun!"
Bledsoe got on the radio. "This is 15-Zebra-3, suspect vehicle has TA'd on Mulholland east of Cold Water. Suspects firing automatic weapons..."
Scagnetti changed out the clip of the MAC-10 and looked at Joey, who was pushing hard at the jammed door. "Where'd ya think yure goin'?" Scagnetti slurred. The bitch had caught him once in the chest, but it didn't seem to hurt.
"Away from you!" Joey said as he finally cracked the door open. "Sorry, boss, but I ain't ready ta die just yet!"
Iwana was still on her belly and Bledsoe was out with the Mossberg .12 gauge pumpgun when Joey yelled, "Don't shoot! I'm surrenderin'!"
Joey D'Amato hurried out of the wrecked Caddie with hands raised and got three steps away before he got cut in two from a long burst of fire from Scagnetti's machine pistol. Bledsoe took out the Caddie's windshield with a shotgun blast that boomed and echoed down Mulholland.
Giggling like a loon, Tony Scagnetti kept firing at the swiss-cheesed police car, dropping out the door and onto the grassy slope. He ducked down and headed for the back of the Caddie.
"He's goin' fo' the hostage!" Iwana hissed at Bledsoe. "Cover me, partner!"
Bledsoe tromboned the pumpgun and kept it on target. "You got it!"
Iwana Binder bellycrawled to the steaming front cap of the Cadillac and then got up and duckwalked around the fender and along the right side. Scagnetti was trying to work the trunk key with one hand while holding the machine pistol in the other. Iwana came up by the rear fender with her Colt Python cocked and aimed.
There was no time for shouts or warnings, just a split instant in time between two people with guns.
Scagnetti got off a long burst that took out the Caddie's rear glass as Iwana shot him twice in the chest. He backpedaled and hit the pavement.
But he was still alive. He rolled onto his belly and got to his feet with the machine pistol dangling from his right hand. He began walking down Mulholland in a herky-jerky gait.
He's on something, Iwana thought. Crack or coke. Something's keeping him propped up...
Two LAPD units were coming up fast from Laurel Canyon with lights and sirens. He raised the machine pistol to fire at them.
"Scagnetti!" Iwana shouted. “Drop the gun!!! Last chance!!!"
He turned to face her, his face pale and blood flowing from his mortal wounds. For an instant Iwana Binder was reminded of those unstoppable zombies from the video game she had played at The Geek's place earlier today.
She fired once. The left side of Scagnetti's face exploded into a vicious spray of blood, brains and skullbone. He dropped to the street. Dead as dead can be.
The other units screeched to a halt before his body. Red and blue lights strobing madly over the scene. A lieutenant she knew out of West Hollywood Division named Franscioli came running up to her just as Bledsoe joined her.
"Iwana, you okay?" he asked. "I saw it myself. Son of a bitch was drawing a bead on us. It was a righteous shoot."
"'S’cuse me." Iwana managed to make it over to the guardrail before throwing up.
Jamaal Bledsoe shook his head as other cops joined him. "I don't get it..."
"Godamned slick-sleeved rookie," another cop growled. "When you've been on the job for more than a few weeks you're allowed to have an opinion. Til then, shut the fuck up!"
"This might be LA, but it ain't the movies, kid," Franscioli said. He walked to Iwana and held the back of her head as she dry heaved.
Ah'm... okay." She wiped her mouth. "Now somebody check out that trunk!"
Scagnetti's keys were still in the trunk lock. Franscioli yanked it open, revealing a bound, gagged and bruised --but very much alive-- Traci Brooks.
She was crying as they unbuckled the straps and removed the rubber ball from her mouth. She started telling them what had happened to her, how Scagnetti had kidnapped her and was going to use her in a snuff film...
Iwana Binder walked back to her black and white to pick up her personal effects. 15-Zebra-3 was totaled out.
Looking south, the vista that was La-la Land was spread out for all to see…the glittering lights of Hollywood and Sunset Boulevard, all the way to the glittering spires of downtown LA. She looked down at the car door of her black and white, where 17 bullet holes had pegged the steel, while in the upper left corner of the door there was still the motto of the LAPD, to protect and to serve.
Sergeant Iwana Binder had earned her pay for the day.
*******