Canine Cupids for Cops Page 13

  Like many families on the fringes of organized crime, Phil and Emil Tavasci operated a number of legitimate businesses, which they kept squeaky clean. They were good employers if you were loyal, reliable, and played by their rules. Roy had known worse over the years, for sure. Knowing that, he tried to do the best job he could. He needed the work, a steady job, while he got back on his feet after leaving the Navy hospital. He relied on his pay to keep a roof over his head and food on the table. It was a point of pride to support himself.

  He went back to his evening clean-up routine, keeping an eye on the officer and the dog, but with no particular concern. He felt sure no one had come in recently. The muffled sound from the direction of the storeroom at the rear of the bar caught him by surprise. When he wheeled to face the doorway, he found himself looking into the muzzle of a large caliber pistol, probably a .44 Magnum.

  Obeying the stranger’s silent hand signals, Roy edged back until he found himself between the stranger and the cop. Maybe he’ll get distracted in a minute, and I can disarm him. Yeah, right. Me and how many Marines? That wasn’t much of a hope, but he could hardly argue with a man holding such a businesslike weapon on him.

  From their reactions, the officer and his patrol dog both saw the swarthy man at the same instant. The policeman barked another command. The dog froze, staring intently at the intruder, almost quivering with tension as it awaited the command to attack. Stopping midreach in going for his own sidearm, the cop’s gaze riveted to the pistol in the man’s hand. In a heartbeat, the intruder closed on Roy, snaking an arm out to get him in a choke hold.

  When Roy bent back slightly to take the pressure off his throat, he felt the cold metal of the pistol barrel resting against his neck. The man steadied his weapon on Roy’s shoulder.

  Oh fuck! What do I do now? Roy had served two enlistments in the U.S. Navy, but he’d been a medic, not a fighting man. The intruder was several inches taller, and as he pressed close behind him, Roy could feel the man had a wiry toughness that hinted at considerable strength. Somebody’s going to get hurt here, and it’s a good chance it may be me.

  The dog crouched, tail tip twitching with suppressed energy, his fight drive building to an explosive level. The cop hissed another quick command. The dog leaped. Roy felt the jolt an instant before the fiery heat as gunpowder exploded short inches from his ear. The sound deafened him for a moment. He saw tan fur scatter and scarlet drops spray, but the dog kept coming.

  Another shot. This time the policeman stumbled, halted. Within an instant, a dark patch bloomed on the left leg of his navy blue trousers. He steadied himself and drew his gun. At that moment, the dog hit the apex of a running leap. The animal grabbed the man’s gun arm, teeth crunching in a steel-trap snap on the bare, brown forearm. The impact spun both the gunman and Roy around. The pistol went flying as the man screamed. He released Roy an instant later.

  Roy staggered a couple of steps, sinking onto the nearest barstool. Sweet Jesus. It’s a wonder I didn’t piss my pants.

  Limping, the cop advanced. At another command, the dog released the strange man’s arm, now bleeding profusely. He was clutching at the torn flesh, cursing and whimpering. The policeman fumbled for his handcuffs. He snapped them on the man’s unbitten arm first. Then he hesitated, as if not quite sure what to do next. With a muffled whine, the dog sank to the floor, all fight gone.

  When he looked down in surprise at the sound, Roy saw gouts of blood, not just from the bitten man but more, draining from the long furrow along the dog’s left side. Whoa, this pooch just saved my ass and prob’ly the cop’s too. I need to help him.

  If there was one thing Roy knew, it was treating gunshot wounds. Been there and done that. He reached behind the bar and came back with a handful of clean towels. Kneeling on the floor, he pressed two of them in a wad into the dog’s wound to staunch the blood. He wasn’t sure how deep or serious it was, but it was spurting blood. Slowing that flow was the most urgent need. After a moment, he tied three more towels together and bound them around the dog’s body to hold the makeshift compress in place, easing the improvised tie under the animal’s heaving ribs as gently as he could. To his surprise, the dog tolerated his attention, stayed quiet. Roy could almost believe the beast somehow understood it had saved the day and was now going to be saved in turn.

  By then, the policeman had handcuffed the suspect to the rail along the edge of the bar, leaving his bleeding arm free. After that, the officer sat down on a nearby stool with a thump. With an expression of disbelief, he stared down at the hole in his dark trousers, at the patch getter bigger and darker still, where blood welled to stain the fabric. Roy could see the shock in the man’s face then, a paleness and tension that dimmed his masculine beauty.

  “Hey, you’re shot too.” Roy grabbed some more towels and made a second hasty compress. The wound was high in the other man’s thigh, to the inside. The bullet appeared to have missed the bone, but must have clipped at least one artery because the blood was coming in spurts. Roy jammed the wad of towels against the cop’s leg, bearing down hard.

  The officer drew a sharp breath that hissed between his clenched teeth.

  “I know, it hurts like hell, but I need to slow the blood. Have you got backup coming?”

  The officer nodded. “I called before we came in. They should be here any minute. How’s Samson?”

  “Samson?”

  “My dog. I saw he was hit. Is it bad?”

  Roy shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think it just sliced along his side, but it was bleeding too much to see for sure. That’s why I’ve got him bandaged. That should hold until we can get him to a vet. Does the department have one they use?”

  “Yeah, I take him to the St. Francis Animal Clinic. They have a vet on duty 24/7.”

  Roy tossed one bundle of bloody towels aside and made a fresh compress. The man was weaving in his seat, starting to weaken from loss of blood. Tourniquet—I hate to do that, but better than bleeding to death. He took his web belt off and bound it around the cop’s thigh, almost into the crotch. He had to get that blood flow cut off fast.

  “You’re going to have to go to the ER yourself, you know,” he said, careful to keep his tone conversational. “You’ve lost quite a bit of blood already. I can’t tell the extent of the damage yet. Can you hang on a minute while I call 911?”

  “No need.”

  At that moment, Roy registered the dying wail of sirens and, in a breath, three other officers came barging through the door en masse. One was a sergeant. He took in the scene with a quick scan and began to issue orders. One of the other cops helped the wounded officer out through the door and into his cruiser. They took off with red lights and siren. Before the sound faded, more lights flashed and a couple of EMTs came in. They took charge of the prisoner, but the second officer went with them. Once they were gone, only Roy and the sergeant remained.

  The sergeant turned to Roy. “What happened?”

  Roy related the incident as well as he could. “The dog saved us both. I’d be glad to take him to the vet. I can lock up in a minute or two, and my car is right outside the back door. If you can help me move him—I think we can get a big serving tray under him and carry him on that.”

  “I’ll take care of Sam,” the sergeant replied. “He’s a big favorite down at the station. Can’t let any more harm come to him than we can help. But I’d appreciate it if you could give me a hand. Are you the one who bandaged him and also Officer Rommel?”

  Roy nodded. “I was a medic in the service. I’ve had a little experience dealing with gunshot wounds. After the first shock, the old training kicked in and overcame my panic. I’ve been in the middle of a few good battles, but never quite that close to the action. For about five minutes, I was deaf as a post. The guy shot about two inches from my right ear.”

  The sergeant gave him a wry grin. “Let me shake your hand, then. I’m a veteran myself, and I know what you medics went through. Saved a lot of guys’ asses over there in the sandbo
x. My name’s Sheldon, Len Sheldon.”

  Roy took the offered hand. “I’m Roy Dunham, Sergeant Sheldon.”

  After that they worked together to slide a large serving tray under the injured dog. Again Roy was amazed by the dog’s calm behavior. He might have been in shock and had to be in pain, but Sam hardly made a whimper. He seemed to realize they were trying to help him. He started to get up once, but Roy put a hand on his neck and pressed him back down. The tray was barely big enough to support the main part of the dog’s body. His head, legs, and tail hung off the edges, but it worked. They eased him into the back seat of the sergeant’s cruiser. Roy stood on the sidewalk and watched the car pull away.

  He’d agreed to go in to the police station the next day and give a statement. Maybe then I can also find out how Officer Rommel and Sam are doing.

  He really hoped they’d both recover. Although he’d thought the cop too high-handed at first, he realized now that he’d have been in real danger if the officer and the dog had not come in once the guy had spooked and run. It looked like someone had forgotten to lock the back door after a delivery today, and the drug dealer or whatever he was had managed to slip in. There would be hell to pay over that, but the delivery had not been made on Roy’s shift, so he’d only reap a small bit of the blame.

  It took all the energy and will he could muster to finish cleaning up and then lock the bar for the night. He hadn’t been as tired or as strung out since he’d come home from the war, spent some time in the psycho ward, and then mustered out. Home might not be fancy, but he’d be damned glad to get there tonight. Maybe his friend Frank would be there so he’d have someone he could tell the adventure to.

  Lately, though, Frank was spending more time with Kerry, an old girlfriend he’d hooked up with again, but that was okay. At least they never made him feel left out. Still, now that Frank was out of the shadow of his criminal stepbrother, the one he’d helped the female FBI agent bust, the two of them were getting very close.

  Roy hated to be relying on him too much, anyway. At one time they’d helped each other, but Frank, over time, had become the one to provide the strength, and Roy, in desperation, had been unable to resist accepting all Frank offered. There were still too many demons in Roy’s closet that wanted to sneak out when he wasn’t paying attention, and Frank was always able to chase them back in again.

  But he knew Frank deserved to have his own life, since he’d found the girl he’d always secretly loved. Kerry was a pretty special woman. Roy had to admit that. He liked her a lot, even wished he’d had a sister like her. A lot of women scared him, but she didn’t. She might be tall, gorgeous, and pretty damn tough, but inside she had a good heart.

  He thought about Kerry and Frank to keep the heebie-jeebies at bay as he drove home, although Officer Rommel’s impressive looks popped into his thoughts now and then too. He wasn’t much of one for religion, but he said a prayer that both the blond officer and his courageous dog would be all right.

  * * * *

  Three weeks later

  Roy was still careful when he came on shift at four each afternoon. He made sure the back door was locked and checked to be sure no one was hiding in the restrooms. Sometimes he felt a little foolish to be so paranoid, but better to be cautious than dead.

  Sunday afternoons were pretty slow. Someone had to be there, but he didn’t need a cocktail waitress or a second bartender like Friday and Saturday often demanded. Keeping half an eye on the two men at the bar and the couple at one of the small tables, he also watched the baseball game on TV. It wasn’t a very exciting game, but it was better than watching a fly drown in a discarded beer glass and a hell of a lot better than remembering the shots and the blood.

  The door always squeaked a little when it opened. If there was a crowd, music playing and people talking, you didn’t hear it, but when it was quiet, the sound seemed shrill and loud.

  Roy turned toward the squeal, everything going on hold for a moment as the tall, broad-shouldered figure filled the doorway. He wasn’t wearing a uniform now, but Roy would recognize that body anywhere. Officer Rommel looked just as good in jeans and a sport shirt as he did in uniform, and he only limped a little bit as he crossed to the bar.

  “Officer Rommel, it’s good to see you up and going.”

  “Please, call me Craig. I know Rommel’s a famous name, but I’m only a very distant relative of the late general. Still when anyone says Officer Rommel, I tend to look and see if his ghost is standing around.”

  Roy chuckled. “Okay, Craig. Call me Roy. I’d say we’re well past the preliminary getting acquainted stage anyway.”

  “I hope so. We shared more in a few minutes the other night than I’ve experienced with guys I’ve known for years. From what the doctors said, your quick action to slow my blood loss could’ve saved my life. And I know you saved Sam’s. He’s going to be a little longer healing up than me, but he’ll make it and should be able to come back on duty in about six weeks. The bullet took a chunk out of three ribs and tore some muscles up big time, but he’s coming along. Again, the blood loss was the most critical element, and you took care of that.”

  Roy looked down at the floor, trying not it fidget like a kid who’d just won the spelling bee. “It was just my training that kicked in. I served as a medic in the Navy, assigned to a Marine unit in Iraq. It’s just basic first aid. Start breathing, stop bleeding, and treat shock. If the victim is breathing, blood is the next thing to take care of.”

  Craig eased onto a stool, taking the weight off his injured leg. “I wanted to thank you for the plant you sent me at the hospital too. Never expected anything like that. Oh, some of my brother officers—I expect the married ones—went together and sent flowers. I think it was the lieutenant’s wife who did it, but you didn’t have to. It was really nice, though. I took it home with me. It may die because I don’t know one thing about plants, but it’s okay so far.”

  “I had to do something. I was a little ashamed of myself. I’d figured you were just another cop with an attitude when you barged in here that night and kicked out the last patrons, but I soon learned otherwise. I—it was the only way I knew to say thanks for saving my ass. No telling what that guy would’ve done if he’d waited until everyone was gone—probably cleared out the till and maybe left me dead. I had no idea that back door wasn’t locked. The boss reamed the day man a new asshole and chewed me some for not checking the door. You can bet we do it now.”

  Craig grinned. “I’ve been told I come on pretty strong. Maybe I need to watch that, but you get so used to dealing with scumbags, pretty soon you’re that way with everyone. Is it too late to say I’m sorry?”

  Roy looked up then and met the intense blue gaze head-on. “No need. You were doing your job, you and Sam. That’s some dog, by the way. I heard the crack when he bit into that guy’s arm. God, almost made me puke, even though he deserved it. And Sam got his prey. He’s a real trooper.”

  “I heard the perp went to jail in a splint—both bones in his arm were broken. It took about fifteen stitches to close the wounds, so they have to be able to access it to change the dressings. Cast will come later. He’ll be behind bars a lot longer, though. There were about five keys of pot in his car, plus a big packet of crystal meth. He’s either a dealer or a mule, delivering the stuff. That plus felony assault on an officer and a few other things should earn him a good spell of hard time.”

  They fell silent a minute, both thinking about the incident. Roy spoke first. “Can I get you a drink? This one’s on the house, or on me. Name your poison.”

  Craig shrugged. “Sure, since I’m off duty for another week. I’ll take a Heineken if you have it.” Craig’s gaze met Roy’s. He held the eye contact for a long moment, and something about that steady look set off a spark of awareness. Tingles shot through Roy’s whole body.

  “The reason I stopped by was to invite you over to my place for a barbeque. If all goes well, I should be able to bring Sam home the end of the week, and I w
as planning a small celebration on Saturday evening. Just a few buds, not all cops either, so you won’t feel like a misfit. Grill some steaks, play some poker, and have a few brews, just kind of chill out.”

  Roy considered the surprising invitation while he got Craig’s beer. He had to admit he was tempted. Craig seemed to be single, which didn’t mean he was interested in anything more than a limited friendship, but then there was that look. Is he trying to tell me something? It sure felt like it for a minute there. Aw, what the hell. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

  “If it’s Saturday, that would work out fine. Next week is my once-a-month Saturday off. Most of my Saturday afternoons are spent right here.”

  “See, it was meant to be. I’ll draw you a map how to get to my place. I live out on the west side, a newer complex over there. I’d rather have a house now with Sam, but I’ve only been here a year. When I came, I wasn’t sure I’d be staying. Now it looks like I will, so maybe I’ll start shopping for a house with some space around it. But for now, Arroyo Apartments is home base.”

  They filled some time with casual talk, while Craig drank his beer. All too soon he got up to leave. Still he shook hands, and his smile seemed very genuine as he told Roy good-bye. “See you next Saturday, Roy. Take it easy, and don’t let any dope dealers sneak up on you.”

  Chapter 2

  The week seemed to drag by. Roy found himself thinking about the blond cop a lot. He had to admit there was something about the man that drew him strongly, a lot more than just the fact he was one good-looking but very masculine guy. After the things he’d been through growing up, Roy had a built-in sense for people with a past. Something told him Craig Rommel was one of them, just as he was.

  He also knew it was past time he loosened his hold on Frank. Deep down, Frank was not really gay. He was okay with being bi, but now that Kerry had come back into his life, Roy was pretty sure his friend wanted very much to build a long-term relationship with her. Frank was taking great pains to make sure Roy didn’t feel abandoned, and Roy appreciated that, but it was time to pull away, to slide back to a plain, old platonic friendship, which was how they had started out. Yet he was honest enough with himself to recognize he wasn’t ready to go it alone…not now and maybe not ever. He’d never had a real family, and he understood now how much he craved a connection with someone special. Maybe Craig was the one to make him feel complete.