Worthy Opponents(51)

“Spencer, get out of there, go home. There’s nothing you can do. They won’t let you go inside anyway, even when the shooting’s over. It’s a crime scene.”

“It’s my store. I want to go in when the shooting stops.”

“They won’t let you. Get out of there.” All it would take was one stray bullet to kill her. “Go back down the street you came. I’ll pick you up in a cab.” His voice was strong and firm.

“I’m not leaving,” she said stubbornly.

Mike was shouting at her then, and Zack came back from his bedroom in his wheelchair to see what was happening.

“Spencer, get out of there! Can you get into the building you’re in front of?” She tried the door handle.

“No, it’s locked. I’m safe where I am. I’ll call you later,” she said, and hung up and continued watching the carnage happening in front of her. Twenty minutes later, the gunfire had stopped, and a full SWAT team entered the building. There was no further gunfire, and minutes later they radioed other police and SWAT teams to enter. Only one man was led out alive, covered in blood. The others inside were all dead. They had shot each other. It was said to be the bloodiest gang war in New York in years, over a recent delivery of heroin that had come in by ship from South America.

As the police came out of the store again, through the windows, and the bodies were brought out on gurneys through the front door, with the alarms still sounding, Spencer came out of the doorway where she had been concealed for nearly an hour and approached the shattered windows of the store. Two police officers barred her way immediately, as she looked up at them with a determined expression.

“Get behind the barrier,” one of them shouted at her. They still weren’t a hundred percent certain that there weren’t additional shooters hiding somewhere inside.

“This is my store,” she said, and didn’t move an inch. “I want to go in and see how bad the damage is.”

“We’re still bringing the bodies out,” one of the officers told her, and she stood her ground next to him.

“Then I’ll wait.” The two officers looked at her, and one of them asked for her ID. She handed it to them, and her business card, and they nodded.

“You still have to wait. You can’t go in yet.” She nodded and took a step back so she wouldn’t get in their way, but didn’t leave.

Half an hour later all the bodies were out. There was blood on what was left of the displays in the windows, including a beige alpaca and sable blanket draped over an antique Louis XV chair. The blanket was priced at $100,000 and was splattered with blood. All the window displays had been destroyed, all the mannequins knocked down. Spencer cautiously approached the building, and while a cluster of NYPD police were talking to each other, she hopped up to one of the windows and walked inside. No one saw her go in. She bumped her arm against a shard of glass hanging from one of the window frames and paid no attention to it as she slipped inside. There was blood everywhere on the floors. Displays had been knocked over, vitrines had been shattered by gunfire, a wall of perfumes had been shot out and the perfumes were running down the wall. On the floor there was a bloodstained running shoe that had come off one of the bodies when they removed it. Police photographers were taking pictures of the scene and one of them looked up and saw her. They looked shocked to see each other.

“What are you doing here?” he called out to her, thinking she was there to steal something.

“I own the store.” She pulled her ID out of her pocket and handed it to him.

“You shouldn’t be here. Something could fall, and you’ll get hurt.”

“I wanted to see how bad the damage was. Did they go upstairs?”

“We don’t know yet.” He turned to his partner then. “Take her outside.” The police officer led Spencer back through the windows, and she saw that the sleeve of her jacket was drenched in blood, and it was running down her arm. The officer helped her down out of the window and signaled to a paramedic. “She’s hurt,” he shouted, and the paramedic came running with a gurney for her.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, as he looked her over quickly and pointed to her arm.

“Were you shot?” She shook her head. He pulled back her sleeve and exposed the nasty gash she’d gotten from the shard of glass in the window. The cut was so fine she hadn’t felt it. It had cut her like a scalpel, and blood was gushing from the wound as a tall man came forward and spoke to the paramedic.

“That needs to be sewn up.” Spencer looked up and saw that it was Mike.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him, shocked.

“I came to get you. I’m taking you to the hospital.” The paramedic pulled a bandage out of a kit and offered to send her in an ambulance. She tried to tell them she was fine, but Mike and the paramedic lifted her into it, and Mike climbed in with her. “Why is it that I know now that wherever there’s trouble, I’m going to find you in the thick of it?” He held her other hand as they careened through the night with the siren screaming. “How bad did the store look?” he asked her softly. He could tell she’d gone inside, which was how she’d cut her arm.

“Pretty bad. A lot of blood. A lot of them got killed in there, except one guy, and he was shot too.”

They got to NYU Medical Center quickly. Mike climbed out of the ambulance behind Spencer and followed her inside, while one of the paramedics pushed her in a wheelchair. The bandage on her arm was a dark burgundy color by then. She was losing blood at a rapid rate and Mike was worried. It had been foolish of her to push into the store, but it was too late to say it now.