can do for that poor child," the fat woman shouted at them from the other side of the patrol car. "You best be worryin' about the ones he ain't killed yet." And Linda glared at the woman, squinted through the tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, spilling down her cheeks.
"Listen to the lady," Frank said. He leaned past his partner into the car, trying to sound calm as he grabbed the radio mike. "Hey, we need some fucking backup out here!" He paused before going on, took a deep breath and wondered if the operator could hear his heart pounding away in his chest, could smell the blood and adrenaline straight through the radio.
The man who had fired the shots was waiting for them on the second floor, had barricaded himself inside with his girlfriend and her three children. One of the kids was the dead baby in the street- the fat woman had told them that when Frank had finished radioing for backup. The guy's name was Roy and he'd been smoking crack all day. The fat woman had also told them that. They both drew their guns before starting up the iron-and-concrete stairs to the second floor, where they crouched just past the top of the stairway, Linda pressed flat against the wall, Frank a few feet closer to the door, a lot more exposed.
Almost five minutes had passed since he'd called for assistance and they still hadn't even heard so much as a siren. Frank's hands were sweating, slick around the grip of his pistol. They could clearly hear the man and woman inside, screaming at each other, and the terrified voices of the children, but there had been no further gunfire. On the way up Frank had glimpsed movement through a broken window. He'd guessed it was the same window from which the baby had been tossed.
"Shit," Linda hissed behind him. "Where the fuck are they, Frank? We shouldn't even be up here without backup."
"Just shut up a minute, okay?" he snarled at her, bracing himself against the iron railing, setting himself up for a clear shot if the door to the apartment opened and there was anything at all in that asshole's hands.
When he shouted to the people inside, he could hear the strain in his voice, the fear coiled there. It made him feel almost as sick as the sight of the dead kid had, the tire tread pattern pressed into the pulpy mess where its brain and skull had been.
"Roy? Roy, can you hear me in there? This is the police. Put down your weapon and open the door before anybody else gets hurt-"
"Hey, fuck you, motherfucker!" a male voice boomed from behind the door. The black paint was coming off the metal door in big, ugly flakes, and Frank could see a lighter, older shade of black revealed underneath. He remembered these details so clearly.
"I ain't doing nothin' for no goddamn City of New Orleans cops! You gonna get your lyin' cracker ass back into your police car and leave me the hell alone or I'll blow this bitch's brains out!" And then the woman screamed again.
"Jesus, Frank, where the hell are they? They shoulda fucking been here twice
already."
He didn't have an answer for her, but he knew they were in over their heads. "I don't know, okay?" he whispered, struggling to sound calm against the panic
gathering in his belly, filling his insides like cold lead. "But we're going to have to back off and just wait..."
"Back off and wait for what, Frank? Nobody's coming, and he's ready to kill those people in there. There are children in there, for Christ's sake."
"Hey, motherfucker!" the man's voice boomed again, a ravening, mad-dog voice that Frank knew there could never be any reasoning with. No answer to that voice except force, force enough to kill before it would back down. "Are you deaf or what? I said, get the hell off the goddamn stairs or I'm gonna pop this bitch in the fuckin' head!"
"It doesn't matter," Frank said, speaking to Linda as loudly as he dared. "There's nothing we can do by ourselves." He called out to the man behind the door, "Okay, Roy, we're going to back off now and leave you
"Listen to the lady," Frank said. He leaned past his partner into the car, trying to sound calm as he grabbed the radio mike. "Hey, we need some fucking backup out here!" He paused before going on, took a deep breath and wondered if the operator could hear his heart pounding away in his chest, could smell the blood and adrenaline straight through the radio.
The man who had fired the shots was waiting for them on the second floor, had barricaded himself inside with his girlfriend and her three children. One of the kids was the dead baby in the street- the fat woman had told them that when Frank had finished radioing for backup. The guy's name was Roy and he'd been smoking crack all day. The fat woman had also told them that. They both drew their guns before starting up the iron-and-concrete stairs to the second floor, where they crouched just past the top of the stairway, Linda pressed flat against the wall, Frank a few feet closer to the door, a lot more exposed.
Almost five minutes had passed since he'd called for assistance and they still hadn't even heard so much as a siren. Frank's hands were sweating, slick around the grip of his pistol. They could clearly hear the man and woman inside, screaming at each other, and the terrified voices of the children, but there had been no further gunfire. On the way up Frank had glimpsed movement through a broken window. He'd guessed it was the same window from which the baby had been tossed.
"Shit," Linda hissed behind him. "Where the fuck are they, Frank? We shouldn't even be up here without backup."
"Just shut up a minute, okay?" he snarled at her, bracing himself against the iron railing, setting himself up for a clear shot if the door to the apartment opened and there was anything at all in that asshole's hands.
When he shouted to the people inside, he could hear the strain in his voice, the fear coiled there. It made him feel almost as sick as the sight of the dead kid had, the tire tread pattern pressed into the pulpy mess where its brain and skull had been.
"Roy? Roy, can you hear me in there? This is the police. Put down your weapon and open the door before anybody else gets hurt-"
"Hey, fuck you, motherfucker!" a male voice boomed from behind the door. The black paint was coming off the metal door in big, ugly flakes, and Frank could see a lighter, older shade of black revealed underneath. He remembered these details so clearly.
"I ain't doing nothin' for no goddamn City of New Orleans cops! You gonna get your lyin' cracker ass back into your police car and leave me the hell alone or I'll blow this bitch's brains out!" And then the woman screamed again.
"Jesus, Frank, where the hell are they? They shoulda fucking been here twice
already."
He didn't have an answer for her, but he knew they were in over their heads. "I don't know, okay?" he whispered, struggling to sound calm against the panic
gathering in his belly, filling his insides like cold lead. "But we're going to have to back off and just wait..."
"Back off and wait for what, Frank? Nobody's coming, and he's ready to kill those people in there. There are children in there, for Christ's sake."
"Hey, motherfucker!" the man's voice boomed again, a ravening, mad-dog voice that Frank knew there could never be any reasoning with. No answer to that voice except force, force enough to kill before it would back down. "Are you deaf or what? I said, get the hell off the goddamn stairs or I'm gonna pop this bitch in the fuckin' head!"
"It doesn't matter," Frank said, speaking to Linda as loudly as he dared. "There's nothing we can do by ourselves." He called out to the man behind the door, "Okay, Roy, we're going to back off now and leave you
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