Ambiguity

.

AMBIGUITY

By

Allen Renfro

.

Copyright © 2014 by Allen Renfro

ARMSlength Publishing Ltd.

Cover Art: LJP Book Cover Designs

Editor: Beth Lynne, BZHercules.com

Smashwords Edition

Ebook Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please visit your preferred ebook distributor and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Ambiguity is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All Rights Reserved

-1-

She should have taken up the offer for a ride home, but the walk was not that far. It had been a long day at the hospital. It was a beautiful, warm Saturday night and she hoped the walk would help clear her head. The route she took to her apartment was safe at night. The lit streets bustled with college kids and club goers making their way to different places for a night of debauchery. Their energy always made her feel better; she would reminisce about the days she was doing the same things, before college, before nursing school, before a regular life. She wondered if a short, skinny, tired woman wearing only scrubs and carrying a purse on her shoulder grabbed anyone's attention.

The turn onto Kings Avenue, she imagined, was like stepping onto Bourbon Street in New Orleans, and she felt the excitement seep into her bones; the laughter and crazy conversations of friends walking up and down the street, the blasts of music coming from front entrances of dance clubs and bars. She savored the thrill with a smile, but was glad to walk past the bustle into the quiet of her sleepy neighborhood with dark houses and apartment buildings. The blasts of dance music faded to the wisps of singing crickets and grasshoppers as the soft footsteps of her comfortable shoes pressed against the sidewalk.

In the shadows of the dark street, she heard the sound of a door slamming and strange, confusing noises that she didn't recognize. She stopped in her tracks, standing in the safety of the dark nightshade underneath a tree. A silhouette moved within the shadows near a parked pickup truck across the street from her. A man dressed in black, gathering something up into his arms from the bed of the truck; flashes of silver reflected against the street light that did not cast enough glow. She remained motionless, quiet. With a loud, creaking slam, the gate of the truck bed closed. The dark man stepped into the middle of the street.

Muffling the scream in her throat, her shaking hand reached into her purse. She withdrew her cell phone and, with trembling fingers, pressed 911.

* * *

Happy birthday, Laylay!

Six shot glasses clanked together, but the toast and their loud voices were barely a whisper over the blasting dance music just behind them. The muscular, blond bartender behind the bar offered his congratulations and took off his shirt to a roar of cheers and applause. He tossed the shirt directly into Erik's face, snagging it on the pointed birthday hat on his head. Laughter erupted from the crowd and, even with the dark of the club and the random flashing lights and mirror ball reflections, they all could see Erik's blushing face.

Keep it! The bartender laughed. Happy birthday!

Erik looked at Derek like the dog who catches the car, as if to say, what do I do with it now?

Derek took the shirt away from Erik and tucked it into the back of his jeans. Laylay! What am I gonna do with you?

Well, excuse me, Erik replied. Not all of us had slut training.

Derek laughed out loud as the bartender poured him another shot.

Where'd everybody go? Erik shouted right at Derek's ear as Derek gulped down the shot, tossing the lime wedge aside.

Girls are dancing and the guys had to pee, he replied, sneering as the bite of the tequila took hold. Here, let me get a picture!

Hell no! Erik said loudly, stumbling backward almost into the crowd of people on the dance floor. The liquor was getting the best of him.

Oh, come on! Derek laughed as he pulled the cell phone out of his jeans pocket. Stand right there in front of the dance floor. Leave the birthday hat on! Now pose!

Derek focused the cell phone camera at Erik, the dance floor just behind him packed with dancers with strobe lights flashing and mirror balls reflecting glances of light. Pose! Dammit!

Jesus! Erik whined and struck a provocative pose. He looked at Derek, the hunky detective with the perfect dark hair, the perfect smile and eyes, and felt a touch of envy, and a touch of love. This isn't something a fat boy should be doing.

Oh, shut up and smile. Derek grinned, focusing through the screen on his phone. Wait a minute; let me back up just a little bit more.

Widening the frame, Derek could see more of the dance floor. Okay, now hold it!

Through the frame behind Erik's pose, across the dance floor, a shadow, someone dressed in black turned toward them.

Oh my God! Derek screamed, dropping the phone. Laylay, get down!

* * *

Derek needs a ride, Will thought as he reached for the rectangular, vibrating light on the nightstand, pushing his fingers through his disheveled hair. He knew how adult birthday parties could be, especially when the party involved bar hopping. He answered his cell without checking the number.

Couldn't handle the tequila? he kidded, his voice sounding more tired than he was. He had anticipated the call from Derek and wasn't asleep. Just getting off his shift, he was still winding down.

Will! The voice was frantic.

Kyle? Will was immediately alert, sitting up in bed. Something was wrong. His instincts as a detective took over.

There's been a shooting at Exodus, Kyle was shouting, his voice filled with urgency.

Oh my God, Will said as he leaped from the bed, searching for his clothes and nearly dropping the phone from his ear.

Ain't that where they were having Laylay's birthday party?

Yeah, Will replied, frantically pulling on his pants.

It's bad, Kyle replied. The gunman is still in the building. I'm heading there now.

Okay, Will said. I'll try to call Derek.

No! Kyle shouted. If they're hiding, the last thing they need is for the phone to ring.

Dammit! Will said with frustration, wrestling on a t-shirt, jeans, and his shoes, not knowing what to do. I'm on my way!

* * *

A ringing phone is never a good omen in the middle of the night. He groaned as he rolled over in bed, reaching for his cell on the nightstand, hoping the ringing phone didn't wake Judith. He silenced the ring with a yawning hello. The immediate thought was who in his congregation had just died.

Reverend Wallace?

Yes, he replied, making sure his voice sounded as tired as he was. Crutched on his elbow, phone stuck in his ear, he made note of the digital red numbers on the alarm clock: 11:26.

The voice was out of breath, as if running.

It's Johnny, the voice said. I'm sorry to wake you, but you need to turn on the news.

He recognized him without the introduction. Johnny, the thirty-something, was still a teenager in his head, and wanted only to be a deacon of the church. He was the quintessential lap dog at his feet.

Edward, what is it? the sleepy feminine voice asked behind him. He felt the touch of her hand to his back.

He sat up in bed, his feet resting on the floor as he reached for the lamp on the nightstand and filled the room with light. What is it, Johnny? Where are you?

Just turn on the news.

He reached over to grab the remote next to the alarm clock and pointed it to the big screen TV anchored to the wall that faced them. What channel?

It doesn't matter.

Honey? What is it? Judith asked again from behind him, her hand pressing harder against his back, nervous.

The television screen illuminated. Edward could hear Johnny's heavy breaths.

Johnny are you all right? Are you running? he asked.

I've done God's will.

What? Edward exclaimed loudly.

Oh my God, Judith cried. Edward!

He turned to the images on the television screen; the volume was so low they could barely hear the strong, male voice speaking. Blue and red flashing lights, police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances scattered along a street. Bright spotlights were beaming down from helicopters; news choppers showing images of people running, screaming, some lay bleeding on the sidewalk, emergency personnel attempting to help them.

A group of men dressed in black from head to toe with the word SWAT written on their backs moved uniformly like a pack of hunting wolves through the chaos. They moved slowly and cautiously toward the entrance of a two-story building tucked between several other taller buildings along the street.

That looks like downtown! Judith said nervously.

Johnny? Edward asked.

I did this for you, Reverend, he replied, his breath coming in hard gasps. God bless you.

The phone line went dead.

* * *

The screams of ambulance sirens flew past Will as his shaking hands held tightly to the steering wheel; the flashing lights illuminated the concrete walls and the trees along the freeway. He kept his car in the far right lane, out of the way of the dozens of emergency vehicles that were racing in one direction: downtown to the Exodus Club. The headlights of his car didn't feel bright enough; the speed of the car wasn't fast enough. The radio was turned to a station reporting live from outside the club, a stern male voice speaking.

…the SWAT team that was moving into the club has retreated back to what they are calling a safe zone. From what we're hearing, there is fear that the front entrance and all exits have been booby trapped with explosives, but this can't be confirmed. There continues to be gunfire inside the club and several explosions have also been heard. We can see people running with their hands over their heads toward the police barricades, their clothes covered in blood, men and women, screaming and crying. I can see victims of the shooting being attended to on the sidewalks. There have been dozens of casualties…

Will slid his hand across his eyes, wiping away the heavy tears about to streak down his face. Please, God, let Derek be okay and I promise I'll tell him the truth.

* * *

Johnny? he shouted. There was no response.

Edward looked to the framed picture of Judith and himself on the nightstand. A formal pose, smiling faces, hints of gray at the edges of his hair. He was too young to be turning gray, he told himself. Judith, with her beautiful blond hair and perfect smile, looked much younger than he.

The rising volume brought his attention to the television screen. Judith held the remote in her hand.

The handsome dark-haired reporter was local, wearing a blue cap with the station name on his head and blue jeans and a t-shirt, stood a good distance away from the flashing lights behind him. He stood hunched down slightly; an idle police car blocking the street was a shield to protect him, his mouth too close to the microphone.

….here's what we know at this point. At approximately 11:00 p.m., a gunman, heavily armed with automatic weapons and ammunition and possibly grenades, dressed completely in black, approached the Exodus Night Club. He walked down the center of the street that we're standing on and made his way to the front entrance of the club and began firing. He then went inside, where he continued firing his weapons and may have detonated several bombs. According to police radio communications, the first 911 call came from a concerned woman who saw the gunman as he walked down the street. She described him as a man of average height, dressed in black with a black mask covering his face. He was carrying several weapons and lots of ammunition. The number of casualties is unknown at this point, but we can say with certainty that people have been killed and many have been wounded. As you can see from our overhead shot, a SWAT team that was approaching through the front entrance of the club suddenly retreated. 911 calls have been received from inside the club from those who have been injured or are in hiding. It is believed that authorities are still in contact with callers, who are giving the police information as to what is actually happening inside. I can confirm that I heard shots being fired just about three minutes ago…

* * *

Will's black Mustang screeched to a halt at the end of Kings Avenue just behind Kyle's rickety old truck. He shielded his eyes with his hand as he stepped out to the street, making sure his badge was displayed at the waist of his jeans. He quickly pointed to the badge as the armed police officers approached him, halting their potential interrogation.

The constant blinding flashes of blue and red were staggering. He could hear Kyle's loud voice above the screams and shouts and sirens as he approached the police car that idled sideways across the street. He felt a numbness climb from his legs up to his heart as he fought his way against the rush of emergency personnel around a long line of ambulances waiting to take the injured to hospitals. He pushed by a reporter, knocking his blue baseball cap to the ground. He was in no mood for the media's cameras.

Kyle was in a discussion with Chet, Will's partner. Will could see Chet's big bouncing belly and his too short tie through the blinding lights. Kyle and Chet stood face to face, talking directly into each other's ears. Only the yellow official tape separated them.

Yeah, Chet shouted and pointed with his pistol to the far end of the street. The sergeant is over there with the chief.

Will had just been a few seconds behind Kyle in arriving. From their perspective, they could see three fire trucks aligned in a semi-circle in front of the club. Will knew the chief had ordered the fire trucks arranged in that position as a barricade. They offered a means for officers to move back and forth with less risk of being shot from the gunman, should the gunman choose to fire his weapons from the building. With all the flashing lights and scrambling people, they could not see the chief or sergeant.

Hey! Will shouted, grabbing Kyle back by his shoulder and acknowledging him. What the hell's going on?

Hey, Kyle shouted over the noise. SWAT was about to go in, but they think there's explosives at the entrances and exits.

Any word from Derek? Will said.

No, Kyle replied, his arms folding across his chest in frustration.

How many of our guys have been called in? Will asked, trying to filter the flashing lights from his eyes and look for familiar faces. He counted six city police cars scattered in the street, their lights flashing, and he could see more at the far end of the street beyond the black vans, fire trucks, and ambulances.

All of us, Chet chimed in loudly. For a bunch of …

Will's pointed finger silenced Chet immediately. Shut up! I'm not putting up with your shit tonight!

Will took Kyle by the arm and pulled him back away from the noise so he could hear better and he didn't have to look at Chet.

Who's running the show?

We still are, but I'm sure the FBI is on their way.

It's like a war zone, Will said with frustration. We gotta find the sergeant and the chief!

Where's your vest? Kyle suddenly asked. Will noticed that Kyle was wearing his bulletproof protection over a t-shirt, the white of the t-shirt sticking out near Kyle's slightly plump waist. Kyle's tie and jacket had been discarded.

Dammit, Will shouted. It's in the car.

Go get it! Kyle insisted.

We gotta find the sergeant! Will had nothing but Derek's safety on his mind.

Kyle grabbed Will by the sleeve of his t-shirt, the fabric clutched in his fist. The sergeant is right over there! Go get the vest! Derek will never forgive me if something happens to you. Now get it! I'll wait right here.

We don't have time for this, Kyle! he declared.

You have time to get your vest, Kyle shouted back and dragged him by the sleeve of his t-shirt. Now come on! Guess I'll have to go with you!

Okay, okay! Will said loudly, pulling his arm away more angrily than he intended.

The area was clearing of people and the interested onlookers were sufficiently away from the scene behind a line of policemen and road closed signs that flashed timid, round orange lights at them. Will fumbled with his keys, attempting to unlock the trunk of the car as Kyle attempted to be patient, pacing nervously behind him.

He wrestled the bulletproof vest over his t-shirt and slammed the trunk closed. They both made sure their badges were visible to any observer.

Satisfied? he asked with a glare on his face.

Yeah, Derek would be, Kyle said back with southern sarcasm his mom would have been proud of.

They ran down the street, the galloping sounds of their feet on the pavement loud for such a chaotic and noisy scene. They ducked under the yellow tape and behind the row of fire trucks, heading for the sergeant and the chief. Will glanced over to the building; the green neon sign that glowed with the word Exodus was overwhelmed by the flashing blue and red lights that danced off the wall.

Quick repeating bursts of gunfire from an automatic weapon echoed from inside the building.

They froze in place.

Sweet Jesus! Kyle whispered.

He's still shooting! Will replied, his eyes no longer hiding the horror of what could be happening inside.

Come on! Kyle said, taking the lead, running and crouching low to the ground as they made their way to the chief's car.

The feeling inside Will's chest sank deeper as they ran to where Chief Wilson and Sergeant Tucker stood, behind the chief's car, uniformed policemen standing all around them, awaiting orders, their eyes focused on the front of the building, guns drawn.

Chief Wilson was on his cell phone, pacing back and forth, as the sergeant studied a map spread across the hood of the car with leaders of the SWAT team. The chief wrestled his gray hair out of his eyes and pulled at the microphone attached to his collar, the ear bud resting on his shoulder. The tone of his voice was filled with frustration and urgency.

Will’s and Kyle's sudden presence didn't stir a single curious look; everyone focused on the task at hand. They stood behind the group, Will listening intently to the chief.

You're sure? No explosives? the chief asked, his voice stern, commanding, like the father he was. He was talking to someone on the inside. Where exactly is the DJ booth? We don't have that kind of detail on the design drawings.

He's sure about the explosives? the sergeant interjected, but was ignored by the chief. Everyone stood at attention, awaiting the chief's orders.

The chief stopped pacing, turned around, looking toward the building, his eyes not meeting theirs. He's what? Can you hide? Get down! Just get down!

The chief pulled the phone from his ear, pointed at the SWAT members, and pressed the button on the mic. Go! Go! Go! Now! No explosives at the entrance, I repeat, no explosives!

With the precision of a military squad, the SWAT team turned with automatic weapons drawn and raced to the front entrance of the club, moving in formation around the fire trucks.

The pop of a single gunshot was followed by the rapid-fire sound of an automatic weapon, the noise rolling from inside the building.

The world stood still and silent. No wail from sirens; no electronic-sounding voices over official radios; policemen crouched lower behind cars and barricades.

Oh, shit, Kyle said as Will turned and stared in horror.

The sergeant looked up from the map, the chief stood holding the phone down at his side as he looked toward the building.

That was two different guns! Will said.

Oh, shit, Kyle repeated, their eyes reflecting the same dread as they stared at each other.

Suddenly, the phone was back to the chief's ear and he was screaming into it. Cooper! What's going on? Cooper? Are you there?

Derek! Will shouted excitedly, looking at the chief. He's okay?

Chief Wilson was oblivious to Will's elated questions. His attention was completely focused on the cell phone pressed to his ear.

Cooper! he shouted. Answer me, dammit!

Fuck! Kyle shouted, turning to stare at the front of the building as the SWAT team swarmed inside.

Hey! the chief shouted, squeezing the phone tighter, putting his left hand over his ear in order to hear better, acknowledging a voice on the other end of the line, grabbing Will’s and Kyle's attention. Yeah! Yeah! SWAT is coming in now! We're right behind them!

The chief pressed the button on his mic. Suspect down! I repeat, suspect is down! All teams move in! Get EMS in position! We got a man down too!

* * *

-2-

The cell phone fell from Ed's hand to the floor as he and Judith sat on the bed, watching the scene unfold before their eyes.

Johnny did this? Judith asked, staring at the images on the TV screen, afraid to look at Edward.

He didn't answer. His eyes took in the long line of ambulances with their flashing lights; the SWAT team storming the front doors of the building; the mass of people covered in blood stampeding in terror from the front entrance into the care of the EMS attendants.

The reporter who was crouched behind a squad car was yelling into his microphone.

…shots were just fired and, as you can see, a SWAT team has stormed the front entrance of the club with other officers following behind. A large number of injured are making their way out of the club, covered in blood; some being carried by friends and good Samaritans. We are hearing unconfirmed reports that a city detective was inside the club when the attack occurred. We are also hearing reports of an apartment fire on north Broadway Avenue and, while this is speculation, one has to wonder, based on the history of these types of attacks, if the fire is somehow related to the gunman…

Ed, you have to call the police! Judith's words were like frozen shards of ice cutting through his skin.

He couldn't hear her. His mind wouldn't listen. Words raced through his head. Words he would not repeat.

* * *

Outrunning Kyle to the front entrance, Will came to a stop at the double doors. Many wounded and panicked victims covered in blood fled through the doors, negligent of the broken glass and blood on the ground. He stepped cautiously away from the shattered glass and pools of blood, his gun drawn as Kyle lumbered up behind him with the chief and sergeant just behind him.

The chief was barking orders on the radio as he approached. Secure the suspect and find Detective Cooper!

Fighting every urge to run inside and find Derek, Will allowed his training to control the anxiety. He could hear Kyle's voice in his head. Think clearly, allow the experts to sweep the crime scene, focus on keeping yourself safe.

Fuck this! the chief shouted. Let's go!

The number of victims stumbling from the entrance slowed to a trickle as the four men crouched through the shattered panes of the doors into the dark entrance. The sounds of screams and moans filled their ears. The light they could see came from the flashing lights from the street and the sharp rays of light from the chief’s and sergeant's flashlights. A strange haze drifted through the air; the smell of gunpowder and burnt flesh was thick.

I want EMS in here! Give me confirmation the scene is secure! Chief Wilson shouted.

Two men lay on the hall floor that led into the bar and dance area of the club. The men were lifeless and covered in blood, face down. The walls were scarred with shrapnel.

It's their security people; looks like the shooter got them in the back as they were trying to get away, Kyle said as he knelt down to the first one. The two men wore black t-shirts with the word SECURITY written in white on the back. A woman lay against a wall in front of a small reception booth; her head down into her chest, her arms to her sides.

She must be the one who checked I.D.s, Sergeant Tucker said as he knelt down to her and whispered a quick, silent prayer.

Kyle pointed toward the ceiling at the corners. The shooter didn't hit their security cameras.

Hopefully, we'll have good footage, Chief Wilson replied.

Hold it! Will said as he froze, holding up his hand. A bright-colored duffle bag rested awkwardly against the wall near the entrance to the main dance area.

Explosives? Kyle coughed from the smoke.

Will knelt down and examined the bloodstained bag closer, not touching it. It was hard to see without his own flashlight. No, it looks like a bag of costumes.

Costumes? the chief asked with a strangeness in his voice, not understanding.

For a performer, a drag queen, Will said as he pointed to a person lying face down near the wall, wearing a long, sequined dress stained in blood.

Oh, the chief replied and grew quiet with the rest of them, allowing the screams and groans from the club to overwhelm the silence.

The four stepped into a room of blood and death, a scene from a battlefield after the battle was over. The club was a wide expanse with four bars, one at each wall. A large dance floor was in the center and they could see just to the left on the other side of the dance floor the room that was the DJ booth, the panes of glass that surrounded it shattered into small pieces on the floor. To their left, just behind them, was a circular staircase that led to the second floor of the club.

A few of the dance floor lights were working and they helped in illuminating the hazy darkness. Their eyes scoured through the smoke. The wounded and dead lay in pools of blood across the dance floor; strewn about like leaves on the ground; other victims lay behind toppled tables and bar stools. Waterfalls of liquor from broken bottles drifted down along the bullet and shrapnel riddled walls behind the bars in a glistening display.

Like scarecrows dripping with blood, Will thought. That was what some of the victims looked like. Shot dead where they sat, their bodies slumped on the bar, dangling from the bar stools where they fell; the smell of burning, the smell of blood, and death.

None of them wanted to count the number of bodies.

Jesus, Kyle muttered softly.

The chief pressed the button on the mic at his collar. Tell me if the scene is secure goddammit!

Derek! Will called as loudly as he could, hoping to drown out the commands of the SWAT team, who were securing the building and the sounds of the crying and screaming.

Will! shouted a voice familiar to both Will and Kyle. Over here!

In the haze and smoke, they looked to their right toward the far corner of the room. In the flash of disco lights and shattered mirror ball reflections, a man was on his knees, leaning over another person near the blood-splattered bar. Just a few steps away from the man were three SWAT team members who were surrounding another man, the suspect, who lay on the floor. Their guns were poised at the motionless figure.

Laylay? Will shouted as he and Kyle raced to the figure, trying to be courteous of the bodies lying across the floor.

Chief! one of the SWAT members shouted. The suspect's alive!

Will drowned out all other sounds, his vision focused on the man leaning over another. Was it Erik? The chubby size, the roundness of the man's body told Will it was Erik, but in the dark shadows, he wasn't sure. Was the man performing CPR? His body was not moving the way one should. He was still, his hands and arms pressing down against someone else. Derek can't be dead, he told himself.

Laylay? Will asked, reaching his hand out to the man's shoulder, Kyle just behind him, both hesitant, not wanting the shadows to reveal their dreaded secret.

Will could see a flow of blood from the crown of the man's head, the crew cut hair stained red. It was him.

Hey, we need an ambulance! Erik commanded. Jesus Christ, I've been shouting it out forever and nobody's paying attention!

Erik's hands were pressed against Derek's chest as blood squirted between his fingers. Derek's eyes were open. He stared up with a fading smile at Will's face. Will quickly knelt down, pushing the dark strands of hair from Derek's forehead. Derek's pistol was still in his hand.

Hey, Will said.

Hey, he replied.

Kyle's voice and the scramble of his feet burst through the noise. Get EMS in here! Now!

The