Page 24 of Wild Idol (Tyson Wild Thriller #82)
D r. Chaos met us at the station and recounted his story again without changing a word. His consistency gave his story credibility.
Marcus Carter, a.k.a. Dr. Chaos, was a chill dude with sleepy eyes and a skinny frame. He looked anything but chaotic. Perhaps he had an entirely different stage presence.
We got a warrant to search Deezy’s condo and had a tactical team at his door in no time.
I rang the bell, beat on the door, and shouted, “Coconut County! We have a warrant.”
The concierge had given me a key, so we didn’t have to break down the door.
After a brief glance to the team, I slipped the card into the slot, and the light flashed green.
I flung the door open, and we stormed in.
With weapons in the firing position, I led the team down the foyer.
I shouted again for good measure, “Coconut County! We have a warrant! ”
By the time I reached the living room, Darius had leapt from the couch and grabbed a stainless steel, semi-automatic pistol. With wide eyes, he aimed it in my direction.
“Drop the weapon, now!” I shouted.
It all happened in the blink of an eye.
Music blasted. A racing video game was on a large flatscreen display. The car he was driving had crashed during the interruption.
The glass coffee table was littered with beer bottles, a bong, and a tray of weed.
I think Darius was scared shitless. He didn’t know what else to do, so he squeezed the trigger. It was a bad idea.
The bullet snapped across the living room, echoing off the walls. It was deafening, the sound bouncing off the concrete floor. The bullet whizzed past my ear and embedded into the sheetrock.
My finger squeezed the trigger, and the bullet rocketed from my barrel with a flash. The grip hammered against my palm, and that zesty scent of gunpowder drifted.
I didn’t want to kill the guy, but my bullet clipped his right shoulder. The impact spun him around and sent a river of blood spewing through the air. The pistol clattered to the ground, and the tac team advanced.
Darius groaned in agony, clutching at the wound, trying to stem the tide of blood.
The team advanced around the couch .
I kicked the pistol away, pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves, and attended to his wounds.
Jack called dispatch and had them send an ambulance.
Piercing shrieks filled the air.
“Just take slow, deep breaths,” I said, applying pressure. “You’re gonna be fine.”
Darius would live, but he might not use that right arm again. He certainly had a long recovery ahead of him.
I read him his rights.
It wasn’t long before the EMTs and paramedics arrived. They took over and stopped the bleeding. When Deezy was stable, they transferred him to a gurney and wheeled him out of the condo.
We searched the place and confiscated his laptop, phone, and tablet, hoping there were incriminating pictures or text messages on the devices.
We left the condo and returned to the station to fill out after-action reports. I surrendered my duty weapon and was put on leave. It provided a great excuse to take a few days off and see if we could talk any sense into Ivy.
At the least, Darius was going down for attempted murder of a police officer. But I knew Haley didn’t get in that dumpster without help from his friends, and I wanted names. I intended to have a little chat with the punk after he was out of surgery.