Page 10 of Spilled Ink

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They got the call about midnight, and since he and Donny were the closest to the address, they took it. The code was armed robbery, and the address was a business. It niggled at him, but Mark didn't realize it was Rooster's place until they got there, because dispatch hadn't given them a business name.

Shit. Holy shit. The car had barely rocked back on its springs before Mark was out of it, reminding himself forcibly to check his danger areas and fucking act like a cop. Not to go rushing in there, just in case.

"You want the front or the back, man?" he asked Donny, vibrating in place.

"I'll take the front." Donny had his sidearm out, was already out of the car and moving, keeping away from the windows.

"Give me ten seconds." He needed to be in place. They'd rehearsed this a million times, had done it in real time twice so far. They worked well together. Just follow the rules, asshole, Mark told himself. Just follow the rules.

He slipped around to the back of the shop, moving into the little courtyard, the gate's lock busted and hanging.

By the time he'd counted to ten, Donny was announcing them, clear and sharp, like they were trained to do when the suspects had left the premises before the call was made. "Seaside Police! We're responding to your call."

The 911 operator should have told Rooster or whoever was on duty to lock all the doors until they arrived, and to let them in. Mark hoped like hell everyone was okay and that Roostercouldlet them in.

"It's about motherfucking time." Rooster's voice was close, right near the back door. "Let them in, Betsy." The back doorknob turned, and the door swung open. "And whoever the fuck's still back here, I'm gonna fucking bash your head in like a baby seal."

A bent and bloody bat appeared, along with too-pale, furious eyes.

"Just securing the scene, man." Mark stepped out of his concealed position, meeting those eyes. "Just me."

"Oh." There was blood all over Rooster and that bat didn't lower as Rooster stared a minute. "They came in from back there."

"Then stay out of the area for now. I saw the broken lock, but we'll have to do an extensive search. Can I come in?" Fuck, fuck, fuck. Rooster couldn't be hurt.

"Yeah. Yeah. Come on. I need to check Jimbo out."

"You all right?" The little back hall didn't look too gory, so the damage must have been done out on the floor.

"Fine enough to make those little fuckheads pay." Rooster turned and headed toward the front where a big man was holding a rag to one arm, blood pulsing from the limb. "You holding up?"

"Yeah, man."

"Cool. Betsy?"

A pierced and inked Betty Page wannabe blinked over from where she was talking to Donny, mascara running. "I...I'm cool. I'm cool, honey."

"We need to get you some medical attention, sir," Mark said to... Jim? Jimbo.

"No. No, Rooster'll sew me up."

"Shit, man. I'll pay for the hospital. That fucker cut you bad."

Rooster pushed his hair back, a cut at the temple starting to bleed a little, the skin around it bruising.

"I'll check on their ETA," Donny said, patting the chick on the shoulder. "Betsy here says she mentioned there was injury."

"Okay." Mark watched Donny leave the building before turning back to Rooster. "Sit down, man. Get something for that head of yours and you, Betsy? Are you hurt? If not, come help Jimbo put pressure on that cut."

"I'm not. I'm not. They said they were going to..." Betsy's hands started fluttering and Rooster growled, hand slamming on the counter.

"They wouldn't because me and Jimbo were right here, goddammit! Quit crying and go fuckinghelp!"

Fuck. Someone needed to defuse Rooster, and fast. He grabbed one of the ever-present roll of paper towels and pulled a huge hank off, handing it over the to poor gal. "Here. Fold this over and hold it right here."

Leaving the shaking girl to it, Mark stepped in front of Rooster, cutting off his view of the other two. "Tell me what happened?"

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