Shots

For the first time ever, Cord did not go to work during the New Year's holidays. However, it did not really matter anyway, as there is usually nothing to do. During the main family holiday of the year, people practically do not commit murders. There are generally more accidents than anything else. Cord had previously worked and gone out on calls to take such statements as: "Someone shot me with a firework!", "I was sold counterfeit vodka!", "I slipped on the stairs! The communal maintenance services are assholes!" Dealing with such complaints was not his job, but he had to entertain himself somehow, right?

This year was different. The first week Cord spent with his family and friends. On January 2, Sky and Peace returned to the city, and Cord and Dia belatedly congratulated them: they gave them a ticket for two to the South with an open date. As a gift, they received excellent shoes made of genuine leather (Peace's parents were hereditary shoemakers, and he took over their craft), and Sky treated them to a curiosity—a bear's paw stewed according to a family recipe. The dish turned out to be a real delicacy. Dia, who at first looked at him with apprehension, ventured to try it and then instantly swept away her portion and asked for more, which, of course, made Sky happy.

Before starting the working days, there was one more holiday: on January 9, Cord turned thirty-three. All his friends would gather to celebrate, and Dia, like a madwoman, was searching for the most unusual recipe possible to surprise Sky and the others. Therefore, on the eighth, Cord went out in search of a wood grouse, which he found a few hours later in a shop called Nature's Bounty.

Before returning home for dinner, there was one more thing left to do—stop by the photo lab and pick up the printed photographs from New Year's and their meeting with Peace and Sky. The photo laboratory was only a few blocks from the house, so Cord decided to walk there. In his right hand, he clutched a weighty string bag with the five-kilogram bird inside, and in his left, a paper envelope with the photographs in it. Cord had quickly glimpsed at them at the laboratory, and they had, in fact, turned out very good. Especially the group photo with all the tinsel and the one where Dia had tried on the Father Frost costume and had simply drowned in it.

Wow! It is great outside! There were few people, almost no cars, and there was nothing to interfere with him enjoying the silence.

Suddenly, there was a bang.

Cord stopped abruptly and a step away from a hole which had appeared in the icy asphalt. In an instant, the logical chain formed in his brain: there had been no hole—a small solid object caused it to appear—there was a bang—it was a shot.

Cord rushed behind the car parked on the side of the road, dragging a passerby with him. Just in time: a bullet whizzed past him.

"What?! What?!" the man yelled in panic.

"Someone's shooting," said Cord calmly.

"At whom?"

"At me."

"Why?"

Instead of answering, Cord peered carefully over the hood. They are shooting from the opposite side of the road, but from where?

The next bullet slammed into the hood of the car a half meter from Cord's head. He quickly matched the funnel angle left by the shot with the rough position of the shooter. It looked like someone was shooting from a height, either from a rooftop or one of the upper floors. That was clear.

Cord got back behind the car.

"Now listen," he said to the man. "Are you listening?"

"Y-yes!"

"When I get out from behind the car, the shooting will continue. Wait fifteen seconds until I get away and then run to the payphone. Call the police, say: 'Someone is shooting at Cord, such and such a street, inform Force.' Got it? Repeat."

"They are shooting at Cord… but I don't know which street this is!"

"Ask someone or point out the landmarks. The main thing is not to forget to mention Force. Clear?"

"Yes!"

Cord tucked the envelope with photographs into the inside pocket of his coat and put the frozen bird wrapped in the string bag under his arm.

"Come on, man. My life depends on you."

Cord skirted around the back of the car and dashed across the road just as the green traffic light lit up. He crossed the first two right lanes, bending down and dodging, just moments before the traffic started flowing and almost ended up under the wheels of a red passenger car driving in the left lane.

The bullets were getting closer and closer. The shooter is good, but not quite enough. Perhaps he was not used to shooting at moving targets?

Moving quickly along the road, Cord ran behind an empty bus stop and looked around. Having heard the shots, people had left the line of fire, which meant that there would be no collateral victims. On the opposite side of the road, the man he had just saved was already calling from a payphone. Great!

Why am I still running around with this bird?!

Cord laid the wood grouse neatly on the bench at the bus stop. So now what? I need to carry out reconnaissance.

No more shots sounded. Cord cautiously peered out from behind the bus stop, and for the first time, nothing flew at him. Had the shooter retreated?

Bending down low, Cord cautiously came out from behind the bus stop and scanned the area. The shooting was coming from one of the nine-story apartment buildings, but from which one exactly? Come on, shooter, here I am, come on, take another shot!

He did not have to wait long. It missed and went past him. However, this time Cord noticed a flash on one rooftop and rushed towards the building where it had come from.

One after another, in less than a minute, four more shots were fired, and thankfully, all of them missed him. The shooter appeared to be in a hurry now. Perhaps he was panicking.

I am getting closer.

Cord ran into the courtyard of the suspected building and saw a hockey rink on which some young guys were chasing around a puck.

"Hey, boys!" Cord called to them. "Don't you hear that? Someone is shooting!"

One of them, in a funny knitted hat, skated up to the side of the rink towards Cord.

"We thought it was fireworks. We've heard that stuff all week."

"Did you notice where it was coming from?"

"Mmm… It seems to be from that building," he gestured to the apartment block.

"Thank you!"

Cord rushed to the desired entrance. The shots stopped: it seemed that the shooter saw perfectly well that he was approaching him, and took to heels.

Cord heard the sirens of the police cars in the distance. No, I won't wait for them.

He ran into the entrance and headed for the elevator. It had just left. Damn it!

Cord ran up the stairs and made it to the ninth floor in a minute and a half, and near the top was just starting to get out of breath. He opened the lattice gate opening onto the stairs leading to the roof and then slowed down. Up there, an ambush might be waiting for him. Getting shot in the face was not really what he wanted.

Damn, why do I never take my service pistol?

Chasing away unnecessary thoughts, Cord focused on the door leading to the roof. Whatever happened next, he must react correctly.

Cord flung open the door but, instead of going through it, stayed hidden behind the wall. There were no shots. Cord peered around the corner cautiously. Nobody. Okay…

He went out, looked around the roof, and almost immediately saw the position that the shooter had taken. He, like his weapon, was no longer there, but there was a purple pillow and a half-empty bottle of mineral water near the railing that ran along the edge of the roof. Great, it will be easy to identify the shooter.

Where had he gone? There is only one exit from the—

Damn it! To the right of the shooter's now empty position was an escape ladder. He had simply gone down it. Son of a bitch!

Cord looked down into the street below. Police cars had blocked in the courtyard. And there was Force's SUV.

Okay, until they come running up here, I have to inspect the position of the shooter. Maybe I would have time to find something unusual. 

So, what? The pillow, of course, was to make it more comfortable to shoot while he was on his knees. To the right—several spent cartridges. Obvious: this was not a professional. Only a little bit of water had been drunk—most likely, the shooter had not been here very long. He had left the bottle, so it was apparent he had been in a hurry. Possibly the same story with the shell casings?

And what is that?

Cord noticed a cigarette butt under the edge of the pillow. He grinned, picked it up—and with a flick of his fingers, sent the evidence exhibit flying from the rooftop.

Clear.

Cord's brain had already made the sequence of actions. The enraged investigator went to the escape ladder, kneeled in front of it, and out of helpless frustration, began pounding his fists into the concrete roof.

"Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!"

Every blow was one of maximum fury. Although the winter gloves mitigated the damage, Cord could feel that the knuckles of both his hands were already bloody.

"Cord! Cord! Stop!"

Someone grabbed him by the shoulders and made him turn around. Force had now made it to the roof and was standing there, out of breath. Two police officers went over and helped Cord to get up.

"The bitch got away!" shouted Cord. "That damn scumbag used an escape ladder! Bitch!"

"Cord, Cord, do you hear me? Calm down!" Force approached Cord.

"Yeah, right! What the hell do you mean 'calm down'?! That piece of crap was shooting at me! Right before my fucking birthday, that motherfucker decides to hunt me? Calm down, you say?!" Cord took a full chest of air and exhaled slowly. "So, okay! Okay. You're right." He pulled his gloves off and winced. The skin was flayed from all of his knuckles. "Damn."

"Are you okay?" his friend asked, alarmed.

"Well, other than this," Cord turned over his hands.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I was returning from the store, and someone opened fire on me. Fortunately, they were not very accurate. But damn it… By the way, are there any victims?"

Force shook his head.

"We have interviewed no one yet. But people are scared."

"That's obvious."

"Did you see the shooter?"

"If I had seen him, he would not have left this place alive. Well, or I wouldn't have," he chuckled grimly.

Force smiled. His friend seemed to be himself again.

"So what do you think? Who do you think it could be?"

"Who knows," Cord lied, "maybe the Villain?" The practical investigator took off his hat and tousled his hair. "Listen. Can you finish here? There's a bottle over there," he pointed to it. "It must have both prints and saliva on it. Nothing complicated. It's just… I'm really not up to it. I need a drink. No, not even that. I need to get smashed. Someone just made an attempt on my life! What the hell?!"

Force nodded.

"Of course. Of course, Cord, I'll finish up here. Should I tell Dia that you will be late?"

"Yes, thanks. Tell her I'm at the Wolfpack. She knows where it is." Cord thought a little. "Oh, and one more thing. At a bus stop nearby, there is a wood grouse in a bag. Could you take it to Dia when you finish? It is for tomorrow's dinner. Although now I'm not sure it will happen."