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One month after the incident at Saint Manuel-Florentino Children's Hospital

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Author Topic: One month after the incident at Saint Manuel-Florentino Children's Hospital  (Read 575 times)
Spring; the season your dreams take place in
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« on: 29 July, 2010, 01:30:50 am »

Sunday afternoons in St. Manuel Florentino usually aren't peaceful, but Vincenz's, a small restaurant popular for lunch, is comparatively pleasant to the rest of the city. Always full, always busy and the brashness of the clientèle could be considered proper decorum by the city's standards. Crime had been getting worse all around and the corruption had even permeated every part of the law.

At the moment, the restaurant was right where Inspector Gaffit wanted to be, just not for the reasons anyone else did. He looks around as casually as he can, finding himself looking for any sign of a gun in the handbag a young mother is carrying as she leads her kid out of the restaurant by the hand. He closes eyes briefly with a humorless smile on his face. He opens them again and looks around the restaurant yet still keeps lingering on people; the old bald man drinking coffee by the door who kept scratching his leg, the laid-back guy with coiffed hair, aviators and white jacket, the guy with a dark polo shirt sitting across the table from Aviators, and the woman on her phone who kept glancing around the restaurant. They all looked suspicious, as if any could pull a gun at any moment. He secretly wished they would so that after weeks of dead ends in the Children's hospital case and even more time spent having to put up with people's **** and being nice with them, he could maybe let out some of that frustration.

He suspected that he was picked to be head of the department's newly formed strike team because of his levelheadedness, so he had to peacefully oversee all busts and most activity related to organized crime.

"Hm. Organized..." Gaffit said to himself as one of the buyers did little to hide that he was involved in something illegal.

"You know, I would've had a chance to use one of these if I had waited to kill that punk Ecko..." the buyer says to one of his cronies. He looks up, as if remembering the dealers were still there. "Oh, it was just an old friend who tried to run off with his **** he knocked up, or something, after jacking us. Nothing notable."

Gaffit, sitting in a booth nearby, looks across the table at his partner with an exasperated look and mouths "Told you." His partner doesn't react, which he never seemed to do anymore, after the hospital incident, and instead nods to two other officers at another booth, one a man and the other a woman. They were there despite the guy wanting nothing to do with the force anymore and girl just recently becoming a mother. They were essentially the only ones who had the training for the team, since most of the precinct was called to investigate Kevin's murder.

"All right, gentlemen," the buyer says, grinning. "It's always good doing business. I hate your guts though, and we assume you have all your guns in your cars, so we'll be taking those."

The buyer already has his gun drawn under the table, aimed at the dealer.

"You-!...We've been doing business for years!" the dealer screams. Gaffit looks at his partner who is already drawing his weapon on the dealers and buyers. Gaffit and the two other officers do the same

"Give it up, 'Cads'" Gaffit says. Cads' arm is still outstretched, pointing his weapon at the arms dealer's face.

"I haven't done anything wrong," he says innocently, staring blankly back at them with a slight smile.

"Shut the **** up and drop your weapon. You're wasting everyone's time with your stupid bullshit," Gaffit's partner says with vitriol. The restaurant falls quiet.

Cads grins, pulling the trigger to his Ruger Blackhawk revolver, blowing open the skull of the dealer just before a bullet from somewhere else pass straight through his eye and out the back of his head.

Gaffit instinctively drops to a sitting position on the floor, kicking off of the table, sending it into one of the arms dealers, sending him stumbling back as everyone carrying a gun draws their weapons. Gaffit slides backward along the floor, having pushed off from the table, shooting one of the now armed buyers in his gun arm causing him to lurch in pain and fall, slamming his face into the tiled floor. The remaining criminals scatter like roaches away from their poorly chosen table in the center of the restaurant. Gaffit and his partner vault over the booth's wall another booth as bullet tear through their surroundings. They land roughly yet unscathed, breaking the table on their way down. Gaffit briefly wonders if the other officers were still safe.

As the commotion and panic begins to envelop his very being, Gaffit blinks, trying to get a grasp of the situation as his eyes close. Cads shot the dealer. Someone shot Cads, almost as he pulled his own trigger. It wasn't from a cop, even if he had shot, none of them would be aiming at his head; not in their training. It was planned. A someone who knew what they were doing.

Gaffit's eyes open again. The old man was underneath the table in his booth, shaking. The aviators guy wasn't near his seat, neither was his friend. The woman who was talking on the phone was crying barely, lying on the floor, dialing another number on her phone, possibly 911. He looks up at his partner who stands up and begins firing over their cover at one of the criminals before leaping back over the wall to give chase.

Two customers walk past quickly toward the kitchens. The man in the aviators and the black polo. There's still gunfire coming from seemingly everywhere and they could get hit. Gaffit, briefly wondering why they're risking standing up at all, leaps up after them.

"Hey! Stay low you two; you mig-"

Without looking back, the one in the aviators and white jacket aims a silenced MP-446 "Viking" 9mm pistol directly between Gaffit's now widening eyes. He half-stumbles, half-dodges sideways a split-second before the gun fires. The bullet flies back into the restaurant destroying a neon sign hanging above the counter in a shower of sparks. The two keep walking as Gaffit blinks involuntarily, eyes wide. He snaps back to awareness as a shotgun firing is heard and one of the criminals' body flies into the wall next to Gaffit.

"You OK, Bass?!" a voice says.

"Yeah!..." the female officer yells back. "...Nine!! The entrance!"

Gaffit looks back to see Nine dive behind the counter with his Remington 870, sweeping plates and utensils with him on his way as a criminal who had made it outside steps back in through the front door, carrying an a G36 rifle, already firing indiscriminately into the restaurant, pulverizing the inside of the restaurant. Just before he fires, Gaffit sees Bass lean out from behind her cover, fire and manage to hit the attacker in the throat. Gaffit let out a relieved sigh, gets up and runs into the kitchen.

He hears the silenced gunfire, only slightly quieter than the gunfire out in the restaurant, piercing the pots and pans hanging around the kitchen. Gaffit ducks behind the sinks and hears one set of footsteps run out the back doors. He glances around for something he can use, his eyes darting around before looking at a bag of flour in an open cabinet near the floor. He takes it and hurls it up into the air. Immediately, it gets blasted open by a gunshot, exploding the bag an releasing a cloud of flour everywhere.

The white powder lingers in the air for only a moment. As it settles, Gaffit finds himself looking down the barrel of his Magnum at the man in the aviators, who's leaning up against wall a fair distance away, the slide of his gun locked back from having spent all his ammo.

"...Drop the weapon," Gaffit says.

The man lazily holds out his MP-446, holding it with his pinky extended. He speaks.

"It's a lot more difficult to try to keep from killing someone chasing you than it is to kill them, especially when they're being persiste-"

"Shut up," Gaffit says. "And drop your gun, now."

The white-jacketed man lets go of the pistol. Just before it hits the ground, he kicks it, sending it flying toward Gaffit's face. He lifts his arms up to shield himself from it, and as it hits him, he lowers his arms just in time to see the man pushing his gun hand aside, punching Gaffit in the stomach swiftly. Gaffit's gun goes off, hitting some containers near the exit.

Before he can think about what he'll do, Gaffit feels his feet being swept out from under him, and an elbow hitting his now horizontal frame hard in the solar plexus, sending him  straight into the floor. His Magnum clatters across the kitchen floor, out of reach. The white jacket wearing man already has his pistol out, and aimed at Gaffit. There were no more gunshots coming from outside the kitchen and all he could do was stare right back into those reflective sunglass lenses.

"We need to go."

The other man's voice is heard. He must have come back inside.

"I was trying to leave, but this guy wouldn't let me," Aviators said, referring to Gaffit. "...I need a **** smoke. We should be going."

Gaffit, despite his head being in throbbing pain from having been slammed into the floor, could picture the look of annoyance the other man had on his face.

"OK..." Aviators said. "Bye," he said to Gaffit as he turned and walked toward the exit. he could hear them clearly, despite the high-pitched whining noise he kept hearing, similar to when one hears too loud a sound.

Gaffit, knowing how foolish he must be to try to pursue these men any further, forced himself up holding onto the counter in the middle of the kitchen, just barely enough to get a glimpse of the men. He saw the one man look back; he was black, had glasses and was stout, with no humor on his face. The other guy was the opposite for he was white, kind of lanky and still had a slight grin on his face; he pulled a match from the pocket of his white jacket that had a print of bamboo going up and down it. Just as the guy struck the match, Gaffit happened to look at the shelf where he had shot earlier when he was taken down. The high-pitched noise he was hearing wasn't in his head. one of the propane tanks on the shelf near the exit had a bullet hole and was letting out some of its contents, right into Aviator's now lit match.


The explosion shook the very foundation of the building the restaurant was in. Flames gushed out of the back doors to the kitchen. Gaffit was thrown back out into the restaurant itself and anyone who had garnered the necessary courage to stand back up were pushed right off their feet.

After a few long moments, everyone's world began to fade back in with their hearing. The police and the firetruck sirens whining discordantly in the distance. Water from the now blown apart sinks and the sprinkler system sprays over the ruins of the restaurant.

The man in the black polo lifts his associate up off the alleyway floor up by the arm, supporting him; his white jacket now heavily singed and his sunglasses nowhere to be found.

"What happened?" the man in black said, exasperated yet calm. "You couldn't keep that cop from following you without almost killing yourself?"

"WHAT DID YOU SAY, ING?" the man in the white jacket said, squinting up at the other man.

Ing squints while carrying his partner to their black 1967 Pontiac GTO down the alleyway before propping Bizzle up against it.

"Can you hear me, Bizzle?" Ing says, mouthing the words without speaking them.



The two get in their car and drive off as Gaffit comes to.

He stumbles through the ruined restaurant, helping restaurateurs to their feet. He comes across the body of the old man he saw from earlier now riddled with bullets just as Bass comes up to him.

"Are you all right? What the hell happened?" she asks.

"I'm fine...there was an accident...I'll catch you up later, first..." Gaffit wipes some blood trickling down his forehead. "First, are any of the suspects still alive?"

"Yeah," Bass said. "Jawo' caught one of them after he made a break for it. They had far more weapons in their car then we could have expected. Nine is with him, just a block away..."

Before Gaffit can respond, Bass turns on her radio back on in tire to hear a call already being sent out.

"All units, respond, possible 243 in progress assasult on an officer, Rio Juarez addition...make that possible 10-108, all units..."

"Rio Juarez..." Bass says. "Is that?..."

Gaffit, half-listening to the radio call, looks around outside aimlessly. He turns back to Bass.

"...Yeah...he's the only one of us that live there...C'mon."

The two wait to cross the busy street to get to their cruiser as cars zoom back and forth under the unrelenting sun cutting through the smog above.

In the police station, DB passes empty desk after empty desk on his way to the interrogation room upstairs, wanting to be anywhere in the world other than in that room with the suspect currently in there.
« Last Edit: 23 August, 2010, 08:46:09 pm by Spring-Loaded » Report Spam   Logged

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