The Desperate Minutes Part 2

He slammed the phone down on the floor and I could hear the shouting cop through the receiver. Jake's finger tightened on the trigger. I sprang forward, grabbing his wrist, forcing his arm up. The .45 boomed; plaster and dust rained down from the ceiling. I twisted his arm back, his upper body twisting and arcing with it. He was thinner and weaker than I was, and he stood no chance. I stepped in and slammed my free fist into his back just above the kidney; he doubled over. Jake's grip on the gun loosened. I brought my knee up into his face, and I heard his teeth crunch just before he hit the floor. I leveled the .45 on Jake's face, the rubber grips of the automatic warm in my hand. Jake's lips were a pulpy mess.

The big black hole at the end of the gun looked Jake straight in the eyes. All it would take was one little squeeze, and -- The window shattered behind me. "Police! Drop the gun!"

I cursed under my breath, but I flicked up the safety and tossed the gun onto the couch. Two cops in tactical gear rushed past me as I stepped back. They hoisted Jake up, wrenching his arms back violently. He cried out as the cuffs snapped on his wrist. The room was suddenly full of cops; I saw one take Tommy outside.

Jake panted, the two tactical cops supporting him. I gave him a hard look and said, "Just ain't your day, Jake. You rob a liquor store with a cop in it, then you take a private detective hostage. And I just happen to be an ex-cop, too."

His jaw dropped open and he groaned.

"Guess I should have told you," I said with a smirk. "I run the Hood Investigative Agency."

He tried to say something but only a moan came out; the two cops dragged him away.

Sergeant Jerry Wise came over to me. We'd worked street patrol together and he'd risen steadily in the ranks. "You okay, Dave?"

"Fine, Jerry."

"We chased him all over the city. When we saw him going into this neighborhood, we tried calling you, tell you to keep an eye out, but you didn't answer."

I would have laughed, but my body started shaking and my legs felt like rubber. I reached out to grab Jerry's shoulder. "Jerry -- "

"Take it easy, Dave," Jerry said, letting me lean against him for support. "It's been a long day."

"Yeah," I said. He led me over to the couch and I sat down. Stared at the floor a few seconds until an officer came over and said, "Excuse me, Mr. Hood. Your son wants you."

I got up quickly; the cop led me outside to where Tommy sat in the back of a patrol car. I squatted down in front of him. He came to me and I scooped him up, rising. His arms tightened around my neck and he started to sob. "It's okay, Tommy," I said, patting his back. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

I'd almost lost my son today. He'd almost lost his father. I told myself it was a random event, it could have happened to the neighbors, anybody. But then I thought of Monday morning, when I'd venture out on the mean streets in wild pursuit of some dream. It suddenly didn't seem as important as making sure I stayed alive so I could go home at night. To Tommy. And Lisa. As I stood there holding my son, I thought about my employees, wondering who could take care of the field operations while I stayed at the office and ran the business. From behind a desk. The irony made me smile.

Copyright (c) 2000 by Brian Evankovich.

Brian Evankovich is 25 years old and has been writing since age 14. A radio broadcaster, he currently works behind-the-scenes at KFAX-AM and carries out news anchor duties at KJQI-FM in the San Francis...o...b..y Area. Mickey Spillane, Richard Stark, Andrew Vachss and Donald Hamilton as his main writing influences. "You can't go wrong with those guys," he says. "I devour their work." When not writing or working, Brian directs the youth drama program at his church.