Love On The Beat - Jim Reed x Erin Blair (OFC)

Chapter 6 - 1-Adam-51, Okay 7

“Eddy! Oh, my baby! Sweetheart! Did they hurt you dear?” I climbed off the tree, taking deep breaths to control myself from yelling at the lady and her 'dear baby’. 

“I'm going to clear us,” I growled at Marty. He nodded, trying not to laugh at the situation. I felt something on my shoulder so I turned my head to try and see if I had something stuck on my uniform. “Holy cow!” I gasped. That dumb cat had ripped my shirt and scratched up my shoulder pretty badly. I was bleeding onto my shirt. I hadn't felt it though. I grabbed the first aid kit out of the trunk and put some antiseptic on it but I knew I'd need to go to the station and change. Once Marty had finished up with the lady and got back in the car he saw my ripped shirt.

“Are you ok?” 

“Yeah, I'll be fine. Just need to stop by the station to change.”

“Alright. Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital?”

“Yes! I'm sure!” I yelled. Marty immediately quieted down. I sighed. “Sorry, Marty. I didn't mean to yell. It's just that people like that annoy me so much. They make it sound like something so important and urgent. But then it's nothing and they waste our time!” 

“It's alright, Erin. Believe me, I understand. I'll call in a 7 and we'll get you cleaned up.” Marty called it in and, thankfully, we heard those magical words:

“1-Adam-51, Okay 7.”

On our way there, I saw a delivery van parked in an alley behind a house, loading up furniture.

“Turn around,” I said.

“Whatcha got?”

“I think I saw a delivery van in the alley behind the Wilkens’ house. Aren't they on our vacation list?”

“Yeah, they are. You good to check it out?” 

“Yeah, I'll be fine,” I replied as I grabbed for the radio mic. Marty was slowly driving up behind them. 

“1-Ada-” I was cut off by a gunshot. We both immediately ducked down inside the car. I went to click the mic back on but to no avail. “Of course,” I whispered to Marty. “We had to get the one guy who can shoot through a mic chord.” There were no further shots yet so I tried to start opening my door, without actually getting out yet. 

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Glass flew everywhere as our windows were hit by the bullets. A few went into the seats also. “We're stuck,” Marty said grimly. Suddenly, my door was yanked open and I felt something pressed to my back.

“Get out nice and quietly and we won't hurt you,” a man growled. Another, dressed in typical moving man attire and a stocking cap was behind Marty. He was about 5’ 10”, brown and blue, about 150 lbs, around 19 years old. We eased ourselves out of the car, quietly. We were quickly relieved of our weapons and restrained with our own handcuffs. “Get in the back.” We were then unceremoniously shoved into the back of the moving van, where they'd stashed most of the Wilkins’ family furniture. I recognized it all as we'd just gone through the house for a security check the week prior. I finally got a glimpse of the first man, he too was dressed in a moving man uniform but he was wearing a baseball cap with it. This man was definitely older, maybe around 40, black hair, graying at the temples, brown eyes, about 6’ and 210 lbs. “You stay back here with them, son.” 

“Ok, Dad.” The younger man climbed into the back with us. The 'Dad’ closed and locked the doors, leaving only a small amount of light shining in from a couple of vents near the roof. 

“At least we have somewhere to sit,” I quipped, moving myself to the sofa. 

“Shut up!” The kid yelled, obviously nervous. I knew if we worked him up enough, he might help us, or at least cause enough chaos we could escape, but, I also saw how jumpy he was. I was slightly afraid of him having an itchy trigger finger.

“C'mon, Erin. Settle down. You know we're not supposed to antagonize the suspects,” Marty said.

‘Oh great!’ I thought. 'I see where Marty's trying to go with this.’ “Where in your little black book does it say that, pally?” I spat.

“Settle down you two!” The kid yelled, waving his gun frantically. We both took a hint and this time actually shut up. The good cop/bad cop routine wouldn't work on this kid. After a while, I realized I really didn't know where we were at. I'd been trying to follow the turns in my head but I was just too much. It'd been about half an hour.

“Hey, kid. Where're we goin’ to?” I asked. 

“None of your business!” He yelled. He slowly walked closer to me, gun in hand. “Now shut up or I'll have to blow you to pieces.”

“You wouldn't want to do that,” Marty spoke up from behind him. 

“And why not?” The kid barked.

“You'd be stuck with a manslaughter charge. That could give ya life in prison. You wouldn't want that, now would you?” The kid paled visibly, even in the dim light. 

“No, I wouldn't. I just wanted a few extra bucks. My stepdad Bill said this would be easy. But,” He trailed off. He was quiet for a moment before his expression went dark and his grip on his gun tightened. “But I'll do this if I have to.” He raised his gun, aiming at Marty, and cocked it, ready to shoot. We suddenly hit a bump in the road and the gun went off. I heard Marty yell but I couldn't tell where he'd gotten hit right away. I knew, though, that this kid was now mentally teetering on the edge. Talking would do me no good.