For Our Eyes Only

Chapter 7

The best part of any investigation is always the actual catching of the bad guy.

It's also the most dangerous part, so we threw on our bullet proof vests, hopped in a paddy wagon, and rushed all the way to Gideon Street.

I had never been on Gideon Street, since I hadn't even lived in San Francisco for a year. Luckily, Jules had an idea as to where it was.

We pulled up outside the only warehouse on that street and got out of the car.

Jules and Lassie had their guns ready.

They never give Gus and I guns. Never. It's pretty frustrating, if you ask me.

We heard the rest of the cops that had been following us pull up to the curb.

I ignored them.

About a dozen cops, including my team, were making their way to the front of the warehouse.

Once they finally found an entrance, they busted the door down and we all poured inside.

It was just metal walls and huge wooden crates.

The lights were turned on.

Everywhere there were cops, guns pointed at nothing. You would have thought it was just a normal warehouse. I have to admit, after a few minutes of pure tension in the room, I thought it would be best to leave.

That's when at least a dozen men in black came from every direction- behind crates, from corners, even from the door we had entered through.

They all had guns. Enormous.

Then they started shooting.

"EVERYBODY TAKE COVER!" Lassiter yelled, making his way behind a crate.

Gus and I were just sitting ducks without any guns. I may have screamed like a little girl, but no one can confirm nor deny that. I grabbed Gus, prepared to use him as a human shield.

"Are you out of your damn mind? Get behind a crate!" he shouted above the sound of shooting guns.

Gus and I ran behind a particularly large set of crates and peeked out from behind.

Thank goodness there wasn't a shooter anywhere near us.

They were shooting everywhere, obviously trying to take all the cops out. They were clearly not planning on surrendering until we were rather getting out of the warehouse or dead.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man who matched Thorndale's description. He was shooting down cops with his team.

I looked across from where I was standing.

Jules and Lassiter were behind a shorter stack of crates, shooting away at any guys in black in sight.

From what I could see, a bullet grazed Lassie's shoulder.

Still shooting, he took one hand off his gun and examined his shoulder, grimacing.

"Son of a bitch!" he exclaimed.

Jules flinched away, scrunching her face up.

People always seem to be yelling right in her ear.

After a few of Lassiter's shouted expletives, he returned to shooting, hardly fazed by the wound now.

It was still madness in the warehouse; the shooting had been going on for a few minutes now.

There were about three cops and three shooters on the ground.

Dead.

I have experience with dead bodies, but I wanted to get out of there and away from those unfortunate cops.

Grievously, the next event prohibited me from going anywhere.

From behind the stack of crates, Gus and I watched as Jules took a bullet to the chest and crippled to the ground, disappearing behind her and Lassie's barrier.