Robert Crais: The sentry

The banger, facedown on the floor with Pike's knee in his back, said, "Dude broke my arm. He attacked me, yo? I need somethin' for the pain."

The lead paramedic glanced at Pike. Her name was Stiles.

"He the guy who did this?"

"Him and a friend."

"His arm really broken?"

"Uh-huh."

She told Pike to let the man sit up, then nodded at her partner.

"Check out the lovely. I have this one."

Stiles managed to rouse the victim, whose speech was muddy and slurred, but grew more focused as she checked his pulse and blood pressure. He identified himself as Wilson Smith, a transplant from New Orleans who relocated after the storm. Pike found it interesting Smith did not refer to Hurricane Katrina by name; he called it "the storm." Pike also found it interesting that Mr. Smith did not have what Pike would have called a Southern accent. He sounded like he was from New York.

When Stiles flashed a penlight in his eyes, Smith tried to push her away.

"I'm okay."

"No, sir, you're not. You have a scalp wound with an open flap, and a concussion. My guess, you're looking at ten or twelve stitches here. We're bringing you in."

"I'm fine."

Smith tried to push her away again, but abruptly threw up. He settled down after that and closed his eyes. Pike watched the paramedics work as he waited for the officers to arrive. He was in it now, so he had to stay. There was nothing else to do.

The first responding officers showed up within minutes. The lead officer was a middle-aged Latina with calm eyes and P-3 stripes who introduced herself as Officer Hydeck, the Anglo name probably coming from a marriage. Her partner was a big, tough-looking rookie named Paul McIntosh who stood with his thumbs hooked in his Sam Browne like he wanted something to happen.

Hydeck spoke quietly with Stiles for a few minutes, asked both the victim and the suspect how they were doing, then came over to Pike.

"You the one called it in?"

"Yes, ma'am."

The emergency services operator would have relayed the information Pike provided.

"Uh-huh. And your name would be?"

"Pike."

The banger, who was being fitted with an air splint, said, "Dude broke my arm, yo? I want him arrested. I wanna press charges."

Hydeck asked for their identification. Pike handed over his driver's license, which McIntosh copied onto a Field Interview card along with Pike's phone number. The suspect had none. Pike wasn't surprised. Ninety-five percent of the people he had arrested while a police officer did not have a valid DL. The suspect identified himself as Reuben Mendoza, and claimed he had never been arrested.

Mc Intosh towered over him.

"You ganged up?"

"No way, bro. I roll clean."

McIntosh pointed at the initials on his neck. VT, which Pike, the paramedics, and the officers all knew meant Venice Trece-Venice Thirteen, a Latin gang.

"That why you're inked Venice Thirteen?"

"Them's my initials."

Hydeck said, "How you get VT out of Reuben Mendoza?"

"That's how you spell it in European."

Pike told them what he knew to be true, in short, declarative sentences just as he had been taught when he was a boot patrol officer, and gave Hydeck the pistol he had taken from Mendoza.

"Had this in his pocket."

Mendoza said, "That ain't mine, man, don't put that on me. I never seen that gun before."

"Was he hitting Mr. Smith with it?"

"Not that I saw. It was in his pocket."

Mendoza said, "I'm gonna sue you, bro, way you attacked me. He did something to my neck like Mr. Spock, yo? Gonna get pain and suffering."

McIntosh told him to shut up, then turned back to Pike.

"What about the other one? He have a gun?"

"Didn't see it if he did. When I entered, Mr. Smith was on the floor. The other man was punching him in the head. This one was kicking him. When I took this one down, his buddy ran out the back. I didn't see a weapon."

McIntosh grinned at Mendoza.

"Homie had your back, bro. Right out the door."

Hydeck passed the gun to McIntosh, told him to secure it in their vehicle and call in a second EMS wagon. The victim and suspect would not be transported in the same vehicle.

Another patrol car and the second EMS ambulance arrived a few minutes later. The new officers took Mendoza out while Stiles and her partner brought in their gurney. Hydeck questioned Smith while the paramedics worked on him. Smith told her the two men asked for a sandwich, but he wanted to close so he could go to the bank, and told them to leave. He claimed the two men refused, and that's how the fight started.

Hydeck appeared doubtful.

"So they didn't try to rob you or anything like that? You got in a fight 'cause they wanted a po'boy and you wanted to leave."

"I mighta said something. It got out of hand."

The paramedics were lifting him onto the gurney when Pike saw her enter through the rear door. She hadn't seen the ambulances and police vehicles out front, and now the uniforms crowding the small room stopped her as if she had slammed into an invisible wall. Pike watched her eyes snap from the paramedics to the gurney to the police-snap, snap, snap-sucking up the scene until-snap-her eyes came to him, and that's where they stayed. She looked at him as if she had never seen anything like him. Pike guessed she was in her early thirties, with olive skin and lines around her eyes. She had smart eyes, and the lines made them better. She wore a sleeveless linen dress, flat sandals, and short dark hair. The dress was wrinkled. Pike liked smart eyes.

Then Hydeck and McIntosh turned, and her eyes left him for them.

Hydeck said, "May I help you?"

"What happened? Wilson, are you all right? Wilson's my uncle."

Smith shifted to see past the paramedics.

"That's Dru. She's my niece."

Her name was Dru Rayne, and she moved between Smith and the police as they told her what happened.

"You were assaulted right here? Right here in the shop? They attacked you?"

"I was doing okay, then this guy here stopped it."

Dru Rayne studied Pike again, and this time she mouthed two words, as if the officers and paramedics and her uncle could not see or were not there, creating a moment between the two of them that included no one else.

"Thank you."

Pike nodded once.

Then she turned to the paramedics.

"Is he going to be all right?"

"They'll keep him for observation. With head injuries like this, they like to keep them overnight."

"I'm not staying. They stitch me up, I'm outta there."

Dru Rayne moved to the gurney and looked down at him.

"Wilson. Please don't be like that."

Hydeck gave her card to Ms. Rayne and informed her that detectives would likely interview her uncle at the hospital. The paramedics finished strapping Smith to the cart, and Pike watched his niece follow them out. She did not look back at Pike as she left.

Hydeck waited until they were gone, then turned back to Pike. She still held his driver's license.

"You think what happened here was a dispute over a sandwich?"

Pike shook his head, and Hydeck glanced at his license again.

"You look familiar. Do I know you?"

"No."

"Those tattoos ring a bell."

A bright red arrow was inked onto the outside of each of Pike's deltoids. She could see them because Pike wore a gray sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off. Government-issue sunglasses shiny and black as a beetle's shell hid his eyes, but the arrows hung on his arms like neon signs. They pointed forward. Pike was six feet one, weighed just over two hundred pounds, and his arms were ropy with muscle. His hair was a quarter-inch short, his skin was cooked dark, and his knuckles were scarred and coarse.

Hydeck thumbed the edge of his license.

"Most people walk into a beat-down like this, they run. But looking at you, I guess you can handle yourself. What do you do, Mr. Pike?"