coat pocket, turned the car on, and swung past the pine trees toward the club’s side entrance.
“They went in,” Loh said, the binoculars still to his eyes, his voice urgent but calm. “Go, Bobby. Nice and easy.”
“Are there just the two?” Davila asked.
“I can’t tell,” Loh replied, “the car windows are smoked.”
Davila, driving cautiously, his headlights off, crossed the quiet street and headed up the mansion’s driveway, stopping where the asphalt pavement looped toward the house. He did a quick scan. The house’s large oak front door was wide open. Suspect 2 was lying on the threshold, his legs twisted beneath his body. The visitor’s car, a black Hummer, about fifty feet away, was running, smoke from its tail pipe condensing in the cold air. His unmarked Ford was blocking the bulky SUV’s exit.
Then he got on the radio.
“China 1, China 1, this is Red 2 calling. Acknowledge.”
Nothing.
“China 1, this is Red 2, come in. Suspect 2 has been shot. We’re going in. We need backup.”
“Red 2, this is China 1. I read you. Do not enter. Repeat, do not enter. Backup is on its way. Acknowledge.”
“They’re gonna kill the other one.”
“Do not enter. Acknowledge.”
Before Davila could respond, one of the two visitors, a tall, bearded man in a long black leather coat, appeared at the front door and began to drag Suspect 2 into the house. The next thing he knew, Loh was in a crouch outside the car, pointing his service revolver at the black-coated visitor.
“Stop right there,” Nick yelled, his voice sharp and crystal clear in the night air. “Put your hands over your head.”
Instead of complying, the man, in one deft and swift movement, reached inside his coat, pulled out a large automatic pistol and began spraying the detectives’ car from driver’s side to passenger’s side, back and forth, twice. Davila ducked down and scrambled out of the driver’s side door, crawling around the back of the car to Loh, who was flat on his back, bleeding heavily from his chest. Davila had his Glock 19 out. Shielded by the open passenger door, he fired three quick rounds at the front entrance, but when he looked quickly he saw only the body of Suspect 2. He dragged Loh closer to the side of the car, then reached in for the radio, which he had thrown on the seat.
“Officer down! Officer down!” he shouted, pushing hard on the transmit button. “I need backup. China 1, acknowledge.”
“Two minutes, Red 2, two minutes. We’re on Forrest Avenue. Over.”
“Call EMS! Officer down…”
Davila took a quick look at the house, then crouched over Loh and tried his version of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. His friend’s body was inert.
“Nick,” he said. “Nicky…”
Inside he heard shots. He grabbed Loh’s Glock, still in his right hand, stuck it in his belt, and peaked around the open car door. Nothing. Suspect 2 still lying there. Then he heard the sound of the Hummer starting up. They left someone in the car, he thought, but before he could react, the Hummer was backing up and smashing into the front of the Ford, whose passenger door swung wildly on impact, knocking Davila onto his back. He rolled quickly to his right, rose to one knee, and fired four rounds rapidly at the Hummer as it smashed into the Ford again, knocking it another twenty feet back and leaving Nick Loh’s body lying exposed in the snow.
Looking around for cover, Davila saw the first two visitors run out of the house, both firing bursts from their automatic weapons in his direction. He returned fire and one of them went down. The other one jumped into the moving Hummer, which, trampling over shrubs and knocking a small tree halfway to the ground, careened across the snow-covered lawn back to the driveway then onto the street and away. Davila found the radio in the snow and called to Fuchs, describing the Hummer. At least two armed suspects , he said, I got dead bodies here.
The detective took off his coat and
“They went in,” Loh said, the binoculars still to his eyes, his voice urgent but calm. “Go, Bobby. Nice and easy.”
“Are there just the two?” Davila asked.
“I can’t tell,” Loh replied, “the car windows are smoked.”
Davila, driving cautiously, his headlights off, crossed the quiet street and headed up the mansion’s driveway, stopping where the asphalt pavement looped toward the house. He did a quick scan. The house’s large oak front door was wide open. Suspect 2 was lying on the threshold, his legs twisted beneath his body. The visitor’s car, a black Hummer, about fifty feet away, was running, smoke from its tail pipe condensing in the cold air. His unmarked Ford was blocking the bulky SUV’s exit.
Then he got on the radio.
“China 1, China 1, this is Red 2 calling. Acknowledge.”
Nothing.
“China 1, this is Red 2, come in. Suspect 2 has been shot. We’re going in. We need backup.”
“Red 2, this is China 1. I read you. Do not enter. Repeat, do not enter. Backup is on its way. Acknowledge.”
“They’re gonna kill the other one.”
“Do not enter. Acknowledge.”
Before Davila could respond, one of the two visitors, a tall, bearded man in a long black leather coat, appeared at the front door and began to drag Suspect 2 into the house. The next thing he knew, Loh was in a crouch outside the car, pointing his service revolver at the black-coated visitor.
“Stop right there,” Nick yelled, his voice sharp and crystal clear in the night air. “Put your hands over your head.”
Instead of complying, the man, in one deft and swift movement, reached inside his coat, pulled out a large automatic pistol and began spraying the detectives’ car from driver’s side to passenger’s side, back and forth, twice. Davila ducked down and scrambled out of the driver’s side door, crawling around the back of the car to Loh, who was flat on his back, bleeding heavily from his chest. Davila had his Glock 19 out. Shielded by the open passenger door, he fired three quick rounds at the front entrance, but when he looked quickly he saw only the body of Suspect 2. He dragged Loh closer to the side of the car, then reached in for the radio, which he had thrown on the seat.
“Officer down! Officer down!” he shouted, pushing hard on the transmit button. “I need backup. China 1, acknowledge.”
“Two minutes, Red 2, two minutes. We’re on Forrest Avenue. Over.”
“Call EMS! Officer down…”
Davila took a quick look at the house, then crouched over Loh and tried his version of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. His friend’s body was inert.
“Nick,” he said. “Nicky…”
Inside he heard shots. He grabbed Loh’s Glock, still in his right hand, stuck it in his belt, and peaked around the open car door. Nothing. Suspect 2 still lying there. Then he heard the sound of the Hummer starting up. They left someone in the car, he thought, but before he could react, the Hummer was backing up and smashing into the front of the Ford, whose passenger door swung wildly on impact, knocking Davila onto his back. He rolled quickly to his right, rose to one knee, and fired four rounds rapidly at the Hummer as it smashed into the Ford again, knocking it another twenty feet back and leaving Nick Loh’s body lying exposed in the snow.
Looking around for cover, Davila saw the first two visitors run out of the house, both firing bursts from their automatic weapons in his direction. He returned fire and one of them went down. The other one jumped into the moving Hummer, which, trampling over shrubs and knocking a small tree halfway to the ground, careened across the snow-covered lawn back to the driveway then onto the street and away. Davila found the radio in the snow and called to Fuchs, describing the Hummer. At least two armed suspects , he said, I got dead bodies here.
The detective took off his coat and
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