Andrew Gross - The Dark Tide

Hauck gagged, sucking in a desperate breath.

“You think we did it to protect him?” Hodges said, squeezing him, his face turning red. “You don’t know a fucking thing.” He continued to press the poker into the cavity of Hauck’s neck. Hauck felt his airway closing on him, a clawing tightness taking over his lungs. Intensifying. He tried to roll his attacker off, knee him, but he was pinned and the iron rod was squeezing the life out of him. He felt the blood rush into his face, his strength waning, his lungs about to burst.

Hodges was going to kill him.

Straining, he tried with everything he had to push the poker back. His breath was desperate, his lungs clutching for blocked air. The blood was almost bursting through his head.

That’s when he felt the hard mound of the gun pressing sharply into his back. Hodges had him pinned, but somehow Hauck forced a shoulder up and reached, one arm dangling back, the other vainly trying to pry Hodges’s grip away from his throat. Fingers grasping, Hauck found the warm steel of the muzzle, spun it around under his body for the grip.

“Stop,” he gasped, “lemme talk. Stop.”

“How did you get here?” Hodges shouted at him. “How did you find out?” It was as if an iron hoe were being clawed inside Hauck’s throat. Finally he managed to wrap his fingers around the Sig’s handle. With the gun still underneath his body, he maneuvered it around.

“How?” Hodges demanded, pinning Hauck’s legs with his thighs and pressing the last gulps of air out of his chest.

All Hauck could do was raise himself ever so slightly, creating the tiniest space for him to slide his gun hand around, as Hodges now saw what he was attempting. And so, exerting himself even harder, he pinned Hauck’s arm back with his knee, jamming the poker tighter into his larynx.

Hauck’s lungs were about to explode.

His shoulder was pressed back so tightly there was no way he could aim. He managed to wrap his finger around the trigger, but the muzzle was jammed in against his body. He had no idea where it was even pointed, only that his strength was waning, his air disappearing… No more time.

He braced for the explosion in his side.

And fired-a muffled, close-in pop.

Hauck felt a jolt. The concussive shock seemed to reverberate inside both of their bodies. He tensed, expecting the rush of pain.

None came.

On top of him, Hodges grimaced. The iron rod was still pressed into Hauck’s neck.

There was a sharp smell of cordite in Hauck’s nostrils. Slowly, the pressure on his throat released.

Hodges’s eyes went to his side. Hauck saw an enlarging flower of red oozing from under his shirt there. Hodges straightened, his hand reaching to his side, and drew it back, smeared with blood.

“Sonofafucking bitch…” he groaned.

Hauck pushed his legs, and, glazy-eyed, Hodges rolled off him. Heaving, Hauck gulped precious, needed air deep into his lungs. His side felt on fire. There was blood all over him-whose, he wasn’t sure. Hodges crawled his way to the door.

“It’s over,” Hauck gasped, staring over at him, barely able to point his gun.

Clumsily, Hodges dragged himself up. A damp scarlet blotch seeped out of his shirt. He clamped it with his hand. “You don’t have a fucking clue,” he said, coughing back a heavy laugh.

He winced. Stood there, waiting for Hauck to pull the trigger. Exhausted, Hauck could barely raise the gun.

“You’re dead! You don’t know it yet, but you’re dead.” Hodges glared at him. “You have no idea who you’re fucking with!”

Hunched over, he staggered out of the room. Hauck could do nothing to stop him. It took everything he had just to pull himself up, coughing air back into his obstructed air pipe, his clothes drenched in sweat. He lurched outside after Hodges, clutching his ribs. Everything had gone wrong. He heard the sound of Hodges’s truck starting up, spotted droplets of blood leading off the porch to the driveway.

“Hodges!” Hauck came down the steps and leveled his gun at the truck. It backed out of the driveway and sped off down the road. Hauck took aim at the rear tires, his finger pulsed. “Stop!” he called after him. Stop. He didn’t even hear his own voice.

But he just held there, watching the truck ramble down the road, his gun aimed into the retreating cloud of dust.

It took everything Hauck had to focus on a single thought.

That he was involved in something-something that had blown up in his face.

And that he was no longer representing anything. Not all the oaths, not the truth, not even Karen.

Only his own base desire to know where it led.

His side was on fire.

His neck was swollen twice its size. He could barely swallow.

Every time he breathed, his ribs ached like he’d been through ten rounds with a heavy weight. His chest was covered with a bright red welt.

He didn’t know what he had done.

He’d gone back in and grabbed the papers he’d copied out of the copier. Then he headed to his car.

As he drove back, Hauck’s first thoughts centered on Jessica-how lucky he was just to be alive.

Stupid, Ty, just plain stupid. He tried to size up the situation. Everything he’d done had been outside his jurisdiction. Breaking into Dietz’s house. Taking in his gun. Not informing the local authorities. And Hodges…he would live. But, Hauck realized, that wouldn’t be the half of it. Dietz would know-and so would whoever he worked for. This thing could explode. Of course, they had no way to know he was doing this on his own. Or, the thought calmed him slightly, that Karen was in any way involved.

That was the only fucking thing about any of this that was good.

It took him over three hours to drive back home. He got back in the early afternoon. He threw himself on his couch in exhaustion and examined his side, his head rolled back, trying to make sense of what he had done. He had broken laws. A shitload of them. He had put Karen in danger. The oaths he had taken in his life, to uphold the law, to do the right thing, they were all pretty much shattered now.

Hauck peeled off his bloodstained clothes and tossed them in a ball in the pantry. Just lifting his arms made him feel incredibly sore. The gash on his side had caked with blood, the skin torn where Hodges had slashed him. Bright red welts were all over his neck and chest. He looked in the mirror and winced. He didn’t know if he needed medical attention. His head was heavy. He just wanted to sleep. He felt alone. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do.

He eased himself back onto the couch. There was just one person he could think of to call.

“Ty…?”

“Karen, listen, I need you,” he huffed. “Up here.” It was more of a plea than a statement. He caught his breath and sucked in air.

“Ty, are you all right?” Karen’s voice was alarmed. “I was worried. I tried calling you. You didn’t answer.”

“Karen, something happened… Just come on up. Please.” In close to a daze, he told her where he lived.

“I’m on my way. You don’t sound good, Ty. You’re scaring me. Just tell me, is there anything you need?”

“Yeah.” He exhaled, his head falling back. “Disinfectant. And a whole lot of gauze.”

HAUCK STAGGERED TO the door when he heard her knock. In a pair of gym shorts and a robe to conceal his wounds. He grinned, pale, his expression saying something like, I’m really sorry for getting you into this. Then he sort of leaned into her.

She looked at him, horrified. “What the hell’s happened, Ty?”

“I found Dietz’s place. I staked it out all night. I didn’t think anyone was there. This morning I went in.”