Wasted Lives, a Detective Mike Bridger novel (26 page)

He was
scrolling through his contact list looking for Gary Stone’s number,
looking down more than at the road, almost driving blind, holding
the steering wheel steady by jamming his knee under it. Another
loud air horn sounded from out the front and he looked up in time
to see large headlights flashing wildly directly in front of him.
Grabbing the wheel with his free hand, he swung the car into a wild
arc and narrowly missed the next oncoming truck, dropping his phone
in the process.

“
Shit, I
don’t bloody need this right now”, he said aloud, trying to reach
down between his legs. He could not keep his eyes on the road and
reach low enough at the same time so Bridger forced himself to slow
down. He needed to get where he was going and not kill himself in
the process. Working hard to keep his foot from pressing heavily on
the accelerator in his urgency and keeping the vehicle at a steady
120km/hr he glanced down quickly to get a bearing on where the
phone had landed. Seeing it resting just short of the brake pedal
he took a deep breath then ducked under the dashboard grabbing it
on the first try. Bouncing straight back up he was relieved to see
that he was still on a steady course.

This time he
rang the number for the central police station, a number that he
knew by heart and asked the operator to put him through to Sgt Gary
Stone’s cell phone. He was just entering the motorway at the base
of Saddle Hill when someone answered.

“
Stone”
The voice was gruff and rushed.

“
Gary
its Mike, I need to know what’s going on”

“
Mike,
you’re a hard man to find these days.” He sounded annoyed. “Make it
quick,” he continued, “We have Martin McLaren in the cross hairs,
he’s armed Mike and not in good place right now, he’s currently
standing in the middle of the road with a shotgun. Ken is squad
sniper…”

Bridger did
not have to ask what that meant; if Martin moved an inch from where
he was, he was going to die. Despite his own history with Ken
Moore, he knew Ken was a ‘by the book’ kind of man when it came to
his current role, and he was an excellent shot. His feeling of
helplessness deepened and his foot pressed harder on the
accelerator.

“
I’m two
minutes away Gary.” Bridger looked down at the car’s speedometer
that was reading 155km/hr and climbing “For god’s sake, do not
shoot him.” He cut the connection and threw the phone on the seat
beside him, concentrating on the top of the hill and the cars that
were banking up as he reached the apex and the next lower speed
restriction. He pictured Laura’s face, beautiful, sad, and then the
image was gone.

He knew he had
less than a few minutes… at most.

Martin stood
stock still, his breathing was normal, his heart wasn’t beating
that fast, well not as fast as he would have thought, standing in
the middle of the road with a load of Pigs pointing guns at him. He
knew he had control of the situation though, he had watched enough
films to know what cops did if you pointed a gun at them. It would
be his decision, he would choose when, he had already chosen
how.

He had seen
that Pig though, the one that did all the talking on the loud
speaker. He had answered his fucking phone, casually, standing
there talking to someone, like he did not matter. Like that fucking
cops life was more important than what was going on. Martin was
surprised at how much that hurt him inside, it started to bring
back those feelings again. No one cared about him; he was not even
a threat to take seriously. Anger bubbled in the pit of his
stomach. He had thought that he was not going to pull the trigger,
but what the fuck, it did not matter either way.

He took a deep
breath. Not today, he thought, I will not let them take this from
me.

Today he felt
free, of the shitty baggage he had been carrying around most of his
life. He felt free of his unfounded fear of the bullies and thugs
that ruled his part of the world, and of Tama, not that he did not
love him in a brotherly way, but because Tama was the anchor that
had kept him trapped below the surface. It would not get any better
than today. He looked up at the bright blue sky, today was a good
day to die.

Looking back
at the police dressed in black, guns pointing directly at him, he
waited for his life to flash before his eyes. He knew it was
supposed to happen, everybody says it does, but nothing came. He
closed his eyes as he tried to remember his life, just something to
take with him when he went, a happy memory maybe, but still nothing
came.

Maybe its
best, he thought sadly, make a clean break, I do not want it to
follow me into the afterlife as well.

The sound of a
siren broke into his consciousness, quiet at first but getting
louder. This sound was oddly comforting to Martin, echoing his life
in a way he could not articulate himself. It was the sound of
safety, but it was still too far a way to do any good, always out
of reach. He could always see it but could not quite get there.

It’s time, his
mind told him.

The siren got
louder, and then it stopped.

There was
definitely a small movement, it was almost lost in the cacophony of
siren noise that had encroached on the scene from over on the left,
but Gary Stone had seen it. He had deliberately left his eyes on
the target and not strayed to the police car that had driven
through the cordon and stopped, tyres squealing, a short distance
away. He already knew who it would be in the vehicle and did not
feel the need to check.

The movement
he had seen though made him hold his breath in anticipation. He had
watched Martin tense up, and from his experience, he knew that he
must have made his decision. The same decision many men before him
had made, for many different reasons. Martin would raise the gun,
point it in their direction, and then they would shoot him. It was
the inevitable outcome. Bridger would be too late.

He saw the
shotgun begin to move upwards slightly, time slowed down, things
were running in slow motion, any second now… he became aware that
nothing had happened, no shot had come from his sniper. He did not
even have time to think about why Martin was still standing, when
his answer came with an angry outburst from Ken Moore.

“
What
the fuck is this…?” He heard him yell, the adrenalin running
through his system muffled the frustration and anger in Ken’s
voice.

Out of the
corner of his eye, he saw a figure moving into their line of fire.
He was wearing a crumpled white shirt with damp sweaty patches
under the arms and un-pressed dark trousers. He knew Ken would not
take a shot with a second person in the firing line unless
necessary; he was too professional for that. He also knew that he
would still have Martin in his crosshairs, one eye on the target
and the other on the approaching figure, a difficult position for
him.

The figure had
his arms outstretched and Gary could see that his focus was on
Martin as he moved closer. It looked like Martin had not noticed
this interloper yet and had raised his shotgun almost to shoulder
height. He watched Martin close his eyes, when they opened a few
seconds later he had a confused look on his face as if he to
expected that someone would have shot him by now.

Everything was
still moving slowly though as if time had slowed down, muffled
sounds were all around him. The scene unfolding before him was
almost surreal. The figure had moved right in front of Martin now
and was standing facing him, the shotgun pointing at his chest. It
was Bridger.

“
What
the fuck is Bridger doing? He’s going to get himself killed.” He
heard Ken’s voice through the fog in his head. “Get the fuck out of
it Bridger.”

The outburst
bought Gary back to reality. “I’m not sure what he’s up to Ken…
Have you still got a shot?”

“
All I
can see is the small of Bridger’s back, if Martin starts shooting
there’s not much I can do about it”

Gary
opened his radio microphone again,
“Alpha
one to all members, be advised the sniper has not got a clear line
of site. Any member with a shot is clear to engage if
needed.”

There was no
positive response from the squad members surrounding the
address.

“
Shit…
why do you have to be so bloody impulsive?” Gary said
aloud

“
I
should just shoot the bastard in the backside to teach him a
lesson.” Ken spat out.

Gary glanced
down at Ken; his finger was still inside the trigger guard, the
knuckle white. Bloody hell Bridger I hope you know what you are
doing, he thought.

He looked back
up; Bridger and Martin were still face-to-face, he could not see
the gun but he knew Bridger would probably have a good view of
it.

Martin raised
the gun, subconsciously bracing himself for the pain, but also
welcoming the end. When the siren had stopped, he knew it was time.
He closed his eyes in anticipation but nothing happened. This
wasn’t what happened in the movies, he wanted a hail of bullets,
every gun in the street to open him up and spill his secrets onto
the ground, he wanted out. Nothing happened.

Then a man
came out of nowhere and stood directly in front of him. He watched
as the man reached out and touched his shoulder. He saw the man’s
mouth moving, he was saying something but his mind could not hear
it. He looked down at the gun in his hands; it was pressing up
against this man’s chest. He could just pull the trigger and then
they would have to shoot him.

Pull the
trigger…, pull the trigger..., pull the trigger you pathetic
useless coward. His mind was screaming at him but he could not do
it. He saw the man’s mouth moving, he saw the man had something to
say, he knew he should listen… He knew deep down that he could not
pull the trigger even if he wanted to, he would always be afraid…
He relaxed the finger he had on the trigger slightly, his heart
slowing.

Snippets of
sound were invading the quiet in his head, he heard the word
‘father’ and ‘prison’, he became confused, this man didn’t want to
shoot him, he wanted to help. Martin took a deep breath, accepting
the fact that he probably would not die today. He lowered the gun
to his waist, pointing it at the ground, and then the world came
rushing back in.

“
Thank
you Martin, it’s not a nice thing having a gun in your chest. You
have done the right thing... My name is Mike Bridger.”

Martin could
hear him clearly now, he looked at the man in front of him with the
sweat patches under his arms. It was warm, but not that warm. “What
do you want?” he asked, tears of frightened anger prickling at the
corner of his eyes.

“
I want
to make sure you don’t get hurt and that you don’t do anything
stupid with that gun. I want to help you.”

Martin took a
deep breath trying to calm down. “Are you a cop?”

“
Yes.”

“
You
don’t look like a cop” Martin took in the sweaty bedraggled man in
front of him, he had a crazy look in his eyes, no cop he had ever
seen had looked at him like that. “I didn’t kill him.” Even if he
was not a cop, he wanted this man to know he was not a killer, it
was important.

“
You
didn’t kill who?”

Martin looked
behind him at the house “My step father… He shot himself… with
this,” he said, indicating the gun hanging by his side.

“
What
are you going to do with that?” The man called Bridger asked
him.

“
What do
you care, I’m supposed to be dead already, but you fucked that up
by just being here”

“
I
promised your father I would not let you get hurt…; I need you to
hand me the gun Martin”

Martin looked
Bridger in the eye, confusion running through his mind. Was this
some kind of joke? “What the fuck do you know about my father…,”
This was not how it was supposed to happen, Martins mind started
reeling, he had forgotten until now, the phone call from that man
in prison, was this what he had meant. “I’ve never met my father.”
Martin did not know what kind of game this man was playing but he
was trying to mess with his mind. He said he was a cop and cops did
not care about what happened to him, just as they did not care
about Tama. He got what he deserved- according to them.

The man just
looked back at him with a look now bordering on fear; he could not
quite work out whether he was afraid of him or something else.
Either way, he only cared for himself that much was obvious, so he
actually looked just like any other copper Martin decided. He was
probably just full of lies to try to get him to hand over the
gun.

“
You’re
a fucking liar,” he shouted. Martin had made his decision. He
shoved Bridger hard in the chest catching him off guard. He watched
him stumble backwards slightly, it gave him all the room he needed.
Raising the shotgun up to shoulder height, he waved it back and
forth and then pointed it directly at the cop who had called
himself Bridger.

“
Fuck
you…”

A single shot
rang out breaking the lazy silence in the still air.

The bullet
caught him just below the right clavicle, striking the meaty part
of the shoulder. A searing hot pain went straight through him,
spinning him around and dropping him to the ground, the rough
tarmac scraping his back and tearing open his shirt. He was
expecting it but he did not think it would hurt this much. God it
hurt like hell. He lay on the ground, staring at the sky, trying to
control his breathing. The pain was getting worse as the initial
adrenalin wore off and his body realised it had been shot. He
struggled to make his muscles work but managed to put his hand up
to his shoulder and felt a hot sticky wetness. When he pulled his
hand back, he saw it was red with blood before it dropped uselessly
to the ground beside him, the strength in his muscles giving out.
He felt his heart starting to beat faster as it tried its best to
compensate for the loss of fluid from its vascular system. His
vision started to blur, the blue sky above him became grey and
mottled, shadows fell across his face and then his sight became
cloudy, sinking him even further into darkness. The last thing he
saw before slipping into a murky unconsciousness was the
distinctive shape of a rifle barrel pointing at his chest; the eyes
staring out of the black mask behind it looked angry and
confused.