Free The Betrayed by David Hosp Page B

and slid across the wall toward the edge of the bathroom door. Train watched as his partner set himself and then swung into the room, pointing his gun into each corner. It was empty.
    Train got to his knees, still shaky from the impact of the round in his chest. It felt like someone had hit him with a baseball bat. He looked over at Minnelli, whose eyes were wide, but who seemed well in control of Washington. He nodded at him. “Stay here,” he said, confirming Cassian’s orders. Then he got to his feet and followed Cassian into the bathroom.
    Cassian was already over by an open window in the corner of the room, but was plastered up against the wall. “You all right?” he asked again as he inched closer to the edge of the window.
    “Yeah. You?” Train kept low, in part to avoid any shots coming through the window, and in part because the pain in his ribs made it difficult to stand straight.
    “Oh, just fuckin’ great.” With that, Cassian gave a smile and thrust his gun through the window.
    The shooter was moving quickly, crab-walking down the shallow-sloped roof at the back of the house a short jump down from the bathroom window. Train came up behind Cassian so he could see what was happening. The suspect looked young—Train was guessing only fifteen or sixteen—and he flew down the structure, disappearing over the edge of the roof just as Cassian seemed to get him within his sights.
    “He’s going down, out the back!” Cassian yelled. Train wondered where Kiper and Halston were. They were supposed to be covering the back alley to prevent anyone from escaping in that direction. He felt his chest tighten at the notion that the little punk might get away, but then he saw the officers. They were partially concealed behind some overgrown bushes toward the end of the backyard. Just then, the shooter emerged on the ground from behind the roof. He was limping, now, and he looked up at the window, raising his gun and firing off two shots that went wild, missing Cassian and Train by several feet.
    Cassian drew a bead on the young man, and appeared ready to shoot, but Train tapped his shoulder and nodded toward the other officers. “Let them get him,” he said.
    The young man was moving below again, sprinting toward the gate at the back of the lot that led into the alley. As he ran, he looked back over his shoulder twice, to be sure that no one was shooting at him. That was his mistake.
    The first blow caught him completely by surprise, landing on his wrist, just above the hand that held his gun. It made a sickening sound that Train could hear from all the way up in the window as the bones in the boy’s forearm snapped. Train watched as the young man looked up just in time to see Halston raising his police baton again. He tried to duck, but the second blow caught him behind the ear and he went down hard, unable to make a sound.
    The two officers in the yard pounced on the boy, labeling him with kicks and punches to the head and torso.
    “Stop!” Cassian yelled from the window. The two officers looked up with expressions of shock. Train couldn’t tell whether it was shock at their own brutality, or at the fact that Cassian was calling them off. There was a momentary standoff, as Halston and Kiper seemed inclined to pick up where they’d left off. As the senior detective, Train knew they would take their cue from him. He felt his ribs, and recognized that there was a part of him that wanted the beating to continue. Shooting at a police officer should come with drastic repercussions, and too often the judicial system allowed suspects— particularly young suspects—to walk too freely. There was a part of Train that wanted revenge.
    At the same time, he knew that it would be an empty revenge, and it would leave him unsatisfied. “Call it in,” he said to Cassian quietly, pulling away from the window, signaling an end to the retribution.

Chapter Twelv e
    M INNELLI HAD CUFFED Jerome Washington by the time Train and