Chapter 3

I got some frantic responses after the Dispatch operator heard my voice.

I soon learnt that I had depressed the call button on my portable radio’s mic moments before the first shots were fired. Apparently, the dispatch had heard my grunt of pain and then silence.

I was told that they had frantically called up my GPS coordinates, and the Super had tapped into my hat’s camcorder feed and my audio.

Once I had assured Mable that I was fine and confirmed that, yes, I was at the warehouses, I told her that the three perps were down. I then informed her that I would check on the driver and the other man. I would be away from the car and the radio for a few minutes, so I couldn’t answer their questions.

Mable and the Super, who was standing beside her, weren’t happy about me telling them that. To pacify them, I added that I would turn my camera’s light on, and I’d try to find my torch so they could see what I was doing, and I’d give commentary.

I flicked the small LED light on my hat on, so the camcorder picked up what I was looking at with a better picture. I’d decided that it wasn’t prudent to have the lamp on when the men had been shooting at me in the dark.

At the time, I’d totally forgotten that they would get audio with the video back at the precinct.

I got out of the Polly and propped my right foot on the door frame.

I wanted to take a quick look at the side of my leg. Upon inspection, I decided that I’d live. Not thinking about the fact that everyone watching could see what my camcorder saw. They got a good gander of the 6cm long gash, the blood and the smashed radio that was still partly hanging off my hip.

I was pleased the gash wasn’t very deep and had already started to clot, so I left it alone. With a bit of effort, I unclipped what was left of the radio and tossed it onto the passenger seat of the Linger.

Limping, I backtracked to where I’d dropped my torch near the pole when I had been shot at. I found it was still on and laying in the gutter where it had rolled. I picked up with my right hand. I had automatically reclaimed the pistol in my left hand as I got out the Polly.

I was relieved to have the torch shining the way when I hobbled to my left and around to the driver’s side of the lorry. The gates had slammed open and dug into the raised dirt in front of the fences, so I didn’t have to touch them.

The torchlight showed the driver was slumped sideways in his seat and the star in the glass of the windscreen was around the hole from my bullet. I’d had to aim low in the hope of hitting him from my prone position. The airbag was already deflated.

The driver’s window was down, and I called out and told him that I was opening the door. I waited a few moments, but nothing happened. I opened the door cautiously, but he didn’t move.

I aimed my pistol at him as I looked him over. Going by the blood on his chest and his pallor, his next move was to a body bag. I stepped up on the running board and checked for signs of life but couldn’t find any.

A guess that a bullet in the region of your heart is usually a good sign that you’re dead. I was a little surprised I’d made the shot, considering the conditions I was working in at the time. I did wonder where they would find the bullet had finished up.

Snapping myself back into work mode, I made sure the camcorder could follow me as I checked the man over. I made sure that I followed the SOP I had memorised that covered this procedure.

Satisfied that he wasn’t my problem anymore, I stepped back down to the ground. I left the door open and walked back around to the other side of the truck. I decided not to bother checking the third bloke, too, thoroughly. He was a mess, and most of him was still under the back wheels.

‘They are going to have fun scraping him up,’ I thought but didn’t voice.

I walked around the loose body parts and tried to avoid the blood and gore splattered all over the place. I hate getting blood on my boots as it tracks everywhere and leaves a nasty smell if you don’t clean it off thoroughly.

I moved to where I thought the shooter had been when he was shooting at me and picked out the shell casings with the torchlight. I touched a small button on my hat. It took a picture and recorded the time and GPS coordinates for evidence purposes.

I then approached the back of the lorry and found its roll-down door was halfway up. The perps must have been close to, or they had finished loading what they were after when I had turned up. The lorry was reasonably full of 1.5m square plastic crates of whatever the fuck they were stealing.

There were all sorts of weird stickers all over the crates. Some symbols I recognised, but others I didn’t. I didn’t touch anything. I just shone my torch over the boxes and took some stills to record how they were stacked. If any went missing later, we could possibly work out how many.

I headed over to the warehouse with its open roller door. I called out ‘Police’, as I went up the side steps to the loading dock. I didn’t get a reply or hear any movement from within, and I didn’t expect any.

However, it does pay to be cautious. I knew that the owners didn’t employ security guards, and the truck could only seat three people. So, I was fairly sure I could account for everyone here.

I shone my torch around and checked for a light switch. I determined that the building had no power when I operated the switch. I guessed that the perps had isolated it somewhere to kill the security system and the outside lights. I didn’t venture any further into the building.

It did surprise me that these buildings didn’t have backup power considering their location. Either the alarms and cameras had been bypassed quickly, or they didn’t work. I would have thought that the company would have installed better systems.

I walked back to my Polly via the other side of the lorry and checked the tyres I had shot out. I was quite chuffed that all three of my shots had hit precisely where I expected them to go. Those tyres were fucked.

They were going to have to bring out spares to shift the lorry. Cans of compressed air and tire sealant would not be good enough. As I looked at the tyres, I mentioned these facts aloud to control. I even read off the make and model numbers of the tires for them.

I chuckled as I informed whoever was listening to me that the front tyre was bald and wondered if I should give the driver a ticket. I don’t write it up though. Cops do tend to resort to gallows humour in stressful situations.