Clouds scudded across the face of the dying moon, and a cold wind had woken the trees, their branches scraping and leaves fluttering, a sound like old men muttering.
FLEA Senior Detective Mark Caplan walked slowly down a path through the park. A whirlwind of falling leaves rose before him, danced for a moment, then died down again, but he paid it no mind. This is what I get for parking in the Director's space for five minutes. Late night meetings in the cold, in the park. He cursed under his breath. Why can't tipsters ever ask to meet in a bar, or a movie? Everyone has to be so damn dramatic.
The wind picked up again, and he dug his hands into his pockets and leaned into it, cursing again. Suddenly, an agonized shout split the night, then two fast low pops. Instinctively, he pulled out his gun, the cold weight in his hand a deadly reassurance. Caplan broke into a run.
The path turned, and before him was the Morgan statue. Two figures were running into the underbrush, one limping heavily. Another lay at the base of the statute. "Police! Freeze!," he shouted, but the running figures were already lost in the darkness. He knelt by the fallen man, keeping his gun ready, his eyes darting about at shadows.
"Hey, buddy, it's gonna be okay," he said. The man was coughing, trying to say something. Caplan unholstered his mag light and shined it on the figure on the ground. Two wounds, big ones, one in the stomach, the other center of mass, pumping bright red arterial blood. "Oh, hell," whispered Caplan, and he reached for his radio.
"This is Caplan. I've got a man down by the Morgan statue," he almost shouted, "I need backup and I need the park sealed off. Do it now!" Almost immediately he heard the siren on a nearby cruiser start up. He put his hands down on the two wounds, pressing hard, trying to staunch the flow of life. "Come on, buddy, you're gonna be okay. Ambulance on the way."
The injured man was whispering something. Caplan leaned down close. "C-c-cubans," said the dying man hoarsely.
The flow of blood was slowing, and for a moment Caplan thought he was suceeding. Then the life in the man's eyes faded. "What about Cubans, man? What about them?," Caplan said urgently, but then the flow of blood stopped.
Detective Mark Caplan recognized a dead man when he saw one, but he also didn't give up easily. He stripped off his jacket and started CPR. The statue of Charles Morgan watched impassively.
- Voshkod as demi-mod
FLEA Senior Detective Mark Caplan walked slowly down a path through the park. A whirlwind of falling leaves rose before him, danced for a moment, then died down again, but he paid it no mind. This is what I get for parking in the Director's space for five minutes. Late night meetings in the cold, in the park. He cursed under his breath. Why can't tipsters ever ask to meet in a bar, or a movie? Everyone has to be so damn dramatic.
The wind picked up again, and he dug his hands into his pockets and leaned into it, cursing again. Suddenly, an agonized shout split the night, then two fast low pops. Instinctively, he pulled out his gun, the cold weight in his hand a deadly reassurance. Caplan broke into a run.
The path turned, and before him was the Morgan statue. Two figures were running into the underbrush, one limping heavily. Another lay at the base of the statute. "Police! Freeze!," he shouted, but the running figures were already lost in the darkness. He knelt by the fallen man, keeping his gun ready, his eyes darting about at shadows.
"Hey, buddy, it's gonna be okay," he said. The man was coughing, trying to say something. Caplan unholstered his mag light and shined it on the figure on the ground. Two wounds, big ones, one in the stomach, the other center of mass, pumping bright red arterial blood. "Oh, hell," whispered Caplan, and he reached for his radio.
"This is Caplan. I've got a man down by the Morgan statue," he almost shouted, "I need backup and I need the park sealed off. Do it now!" Almost immediately he heard the siren on a nearby cruiser start up. He put his hands down on the two wounds, pressing hard, trying to staunch the flow of life. "Come on, buddy, you're gonna be okay. Ambulance on the way."
The injured man was whispering something. Caplan leaned down close. "C-c-cubans," said the dying man hoarsely.
The flow of blood was slowing, and for a moment Caplan thought he was suceeding. Then the life in the man's eyes faded. "What about Cubans, man? What about them?," Caplan said urgently, but then the flow of blood stopped.
Detective Mark Caplan recognized a dead man when he saw one, but he also didn't give up easily. He stripped off his jacket and started CPR. The statue of Charles Morgan watched impassively.
- Voshkod as demi-mod
Perhaps I'll be back later with you people. This is till now a goodbye. Happy Holidays all. If I come back it will be not before September. Have fun all.]
