Chapter 16
Just as he said, Tomic appeared on screen ten
minutes later. He spoke to Berkman and wanted to know where we were.
"They've gone to escort your brother here," our boss lied. We were really in the next room, watching footage of Kira.
The sign language translator explained whatever Kira was trying to tell us wasn't clear. From his side-on position, we could only see one hand, and being bound behind his back, his hand movement for signing was severely restricted.
We watched and re-watched, trying to piece
together the puzzle. The first thing we could make out was when Kira held out three fingers, then did what looked like the sign for talking. It was quick, and we weren't even sure if we were seeing the whole message, or just a part of it, or if he was using full words or spelling.
Kurt held up his hands, gestured what looked like two birds squawking and groaned in frustration. "What does that mean?"
The translator shook her head. "With the hands held down low, I'm not sure. But this," she said, mimicking the
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hand action and holding her hand up to her forehead,
"means male."
Males. And three fingers. "Three males," I repeated.
"There's three men."
The translator nodded and smiled. "I think so."
There wasn't much else to see, given that Tomic stood in the way, or we couldn't see Kira's hands clearly, or he was being hit. But the next time we could see him was after a particularly bad beating, his hands were shaking, but we could see what he was signing.
Kira formed his hand with his thumb, forefinger, and pinky extended out and his middle and ring finger folded in.
"What does that mean?" Mitch asked.
The translator looked at me, but I was the one who answered. My voice was quiet and I was sure they heard my heart break. "That's the sign for I love you."
Mitch's eyes softened, but before he could say anything, the translator called out, "Rewind that." She walked up close to the screen and pointed to where Kira curled his forefinger over, making a hook, but we lost visual when Tomic moved in front of him.
I stared at the translator. "What does that mean?"
She shook her head and shrugged in answer.
Fuck.
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Tomic appeared on the live-feed, being fed bullshit by Berkman and two negotiators, while we watched from the next room. He was getting angrier and more frustrated that he'd not seen his brother, and when the telecast was cut a little short, Berkman scrubbed his hands over his face.
He walked out toward us, his expression grave.
"He's running out of patience, and we're running out of time." He looked at the four of us. "We need to piece this together now. Tell me what we know."
"There's three men."
"They're within a fifteen-mile radius of here."
"Tomic's keeping all telecasts under two minutes?"
"Why?" Berkman asked.
"We're not sure," Kurt said.
Berkman frowned. "What happens every two
minutes that he doesn't want us to know?"
"Subway?" I offered.
"Airport?" Mitch said.
"Airport…" the translator repeated. "Airport! Of course! This—" She held up her hands in the 'I love you'
sign. "—means I love you when the hand is facing forward.
But this," she said, pushing her hand facing down, outward from her chest, "means airplane."
The hairs on my neck stood on end.
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"And this," she said excitedly, pointing to the screen, paused on footage of Kira's hooked finger, "if he could use both hands and curl one finger over the other, it means coat hanger."
"Coat hanger?" Berkman repeated disbelievingly.
Oh, my God.
"Not coat hanger," I told them. " Plane hangar."
"They're in a plane hangar," Mitch said, racing over to the map of the city.
Berkman grinned at me. "Your boy's one smart cookie."
The translator urged the video tech to replay the second video we saw. "At the very end of the feed," she said. We watched as the footage rolled. "There!"
It was like Kira was flinching his hand, not signing anything. The footage paused to show as brief as it was, and the angle wasn't great, but he was pointing his index finger and thumb, then in slow motion, we watched as his hand closed in a fist before Tomic cut the feed.
"LA," the translator cried. She spun to look at us.
"It's fast and the angle is wrong, but I think that's an L, and then an A."
"They're in a plane hangar in LA?"
"No," the translator shook her head. "He didn't finish. I'd bet money the next letter was an X."
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"LAX," I put it together. "They're in a plane hangar at LAX."
* * * *
The entire floor flew into action. The four of us were on our feet, checking our guns, getting ready.
"Detectives," the film tech called out from across the room. "Tomic's back on screen. Detective Elliott, he's asking for you."
Knowing that could never be good, I walked
hesitantly back to the office with a new sense of dread.
Tomic was on screen alright. And so was Kira.
There were two thugs holding him. Kira was on his knees in front of a small table with his hands stretched out in front of him, tied to the table. He had blood dripping freely from the cut above his eye, his jaw looked bruised, and he was covered in a sheen of sweat.
He looked scared. Resigned.
It took everything in me, not to reach out and touch the screen.
"Detective Elliot," he addressed me. "There comes a time we reach the point of no return, when you can't go back. Don't you agree?"
"What are you talking about?"
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"Your boyfriend's been misbehaving," Tomic said with an eerie calm. "Trying to give hand signals when I wasn't looking, apparently. One of my men saw him."
Oh Jesus, no.
"I really was hoping we could get through this ordeal without violence," he shook his head and clucked his tongue. "But I really need to make sure your boyfriend doesn't do that again," Tomic said, and my blood ran cold.
One thug pulled Kira's head back by his hair, and Tomic grabbed his face. "Can't talk with your hands if I break your arms, can you?"
Like the world disappeared, all I could see was Kira. I knew Berkman was yelling, pleading, but I couldn't hear what he was saying. I couldn't hear anything.
I couldn't see anything except how Kira's eyes closed as Tomic lifted a metal rod over his head, swinging it down onto Kira's outstretched forearms.
I heard the sickening noise—a wet snap and a
muffled scream.
I could feel hands on me, grabbing, holding me back from Tomic's smiling face on the screen. "If I don't see my brother in ten minutes, I'll start breaking other parts."
"You'll be dead in ten minutes!" I screamed at him, but the screen just went black.
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My world went dark.
I didn't remember shoving a table across the floor or throwing a chair at the wall. But when Mitch grabbed me, holding me back, I saw the room around me was trashed, and men were staring at me, with fear and pity in their eyes.
I could feel Mitch's hands on me as the weight of what just happened settled over me. The same hands that held me back were now holding me up.
I looked at Mitch and tried to tell him, but it only came out as a whisper. "I want to kill him."
He looked at me, and his eyes were fierce. He
nodded. "Let's go."
"Boys," Berkman said flatly. He looked at the four of us, his sympathetic eyes settled on me. "SWAT's been briefed. You boys can't go in there."
Our response was immediate and in complete
unison. There was no way we were not going. There was no way we could not be there when this went down. The four of us faced him down.
Berkman put his hands up, palms forward. "Right,"
he sighed. "But we don't go in. We wait and watch until the site is cleared and the hostages are safe. Understood?"
* * * *
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The van ride to LAX was the longest five minutes of my life. The five of us— Berkman refused to let us go alone—sat with wide eyes and in complete silence.
The airport was business as usual, but we snuck through the commercial gates normally used by transport, trucks and tankers. The airport officials reported dim lights in the old hangars now used for storage but had no record of registered users. Intel confirmed the suspicious activity, so we knew exactly where we were headed.
The van pulled up a few warehouses over, and we waited.
Lining one wall of the van was a row of
surveillance screens, and we watched as the heavily cloaked, heavily armed tactical response team got ready to move in.
No one made eye contact. No one made a sound.
It was as though we were watching something else.
It was surreal. Horrific. As if all the years of training we'd had, to be detached and calculating, meant nothing. And we sat with our hearts in our mouths as we watched the SWAT
boys move in. Like black smoke, they crept around the building, surrounding each point of entry, and when we were given our signal, we slipped out of the van.
We ran quietly to the side of the hangar, and as hard as it was, knowing they were just yards away, we waited.
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When we were in position, hidden in the shadows, the SWAT team moved in.
We'd done this a hundred times, it was standard procedure. Protocol.
I'd never been so scared in my entire life. It had only been seconds, barely enough time to think. My heartbeat measured each moment, hammering triple time.
A shrill scream cut the darkened night, and the men beside me jumped. It was a woman's scream, and I instinctively grabbed Mitch's arm. When gunshots rang out, all four of us panicked and started to move.
Berkman put up his hand. "Not yet."
Two more shots were fired, and I thought my heart would burst. Fear made it impossible to breathe.
After what felt like an eternity, Berkman's radio crackled loud in the silence. We had the all clear to move.
My body shot forward without conscious decision to do so. Kurt pulled the door open, and without knowing what would meet us, we raced inside.
Adjusting to the light, I scanned the large room, and when my eyes trained in on Kira, I ran. I didn't care that there were other cops or the SWAT team guys. I didn't even think.
Kira was sitting on the floor, his bound feet out in front of him, his arms against his chest, and I almost
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tackled him. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him against me, mindful of his left arm. It was obviously broken—there was a lined dent above his wrist, and it was going purple. He slumped against me with relief and exhaustion.
I held him. I just held him, feeling him in my arms, his familiar body, the warmth of his skin. I kissed the side of his neck, the side of his head, all the while telling him he was okay. He was okay. I had him. He was safe.
Pulling his face into my hands, I looked him over, his bruised and bloodied, beautiful face. I slowly peeled the tape off his mouth, and he took sudden, deep breaths. I kissed his face, his hair, telling him it was all over.
I sat my ass on the floor and pulled him into my lap.
I didn't want to let him go. I looked around then, at the other three guys, all in a similar position on the floor as me.
They were doing the exact same thing; whispering, holding, rocking. I knew they saw me hold Kira, and kiss him, and I knew they heard me tell him I loved him.
After years of hiding, of trying to keep my life a secret, I simply didn't care.
I now knew what really mattered. When the bullshit was stripped away, I could see with perfect vision what really mattered. So I held him a little tighter and kissed the side of his head again.
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What happened after that was a bit of a blur.
I saw the bodies of three men. I remembered being disappointed that Tomic was dead. I wanted to kill him myself. I saw Tomic's lifeless body and thought this wasn't anywhere near as satisfying as it should have been.
The scene around us was filled with uniforms and noise with the four of us cops huddled, cradling our lovers, while people worked around us.
We rode in the back of the ambulance with the
paramedics and arriving at the hospital, but it was all in slow motion and soundless, and I felt heavy and numb.
I didn't remember conversations. I didn't remember ever speaking. As I looked around the waiting room at Mitch, Kurt, and Tony, I couldn't remember walking in there. The nurses and then doctors talked to me, but I couldn't repeat anything they said.
I did remember being told I had to wait.
That's what I was doing. Sitting in the waiting room and… waiting.
I looked around at the three men waiting with me.
None of us were the same. None of us were the same men we had been just a few hours before. We were forever changed.
It was after one AM. My head fell back against the wall behind me, and just for a moment, I closed my eyes.
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I was startled when Berkman sat down beside me with a huff. "The media's all over this," he said with disdain. "It's a fucking circus."
So that was it.
Just like that, it was done. I sighed. "My career is over." My voice sounded flat, even to me.
Mitch blinked tiredly and looked hard at me,
obviously not up for riddles. "What do you mean?"
I shook my head. "Never mind," I said quietly, dismissively.
"You mean because of the gay thing?" Kurt asked bluntly.
I raised my eyebrows at him. "Gay thing?"
Berkman looked between the four of us, then at me.
"They didn't know?"
Tony answered. "No, we didn't know."
I looked at Berkman. The way he asked the question was odd. "You knew?"
"Yeah," he shrugged. "It's not rocket science. You said Kira was Japanese."
I nodded.
"Well, Kira in Japanese is a guy's name," he said simply.
Oh. Of course. I shrugged. "I didn't think anyone would know…"
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Mitch looked at me, his voice was quiet. "Why didn't you tell me?" Kurt, Tony, and Berkman stayed silent, knowing this was an issue between partners. "You should have told me."
"I tried," I told him honestly.
"The last few weeks? Is that what you've been trying to tell me?" he asked incredulously. I nodded, and he laughed without humor. "What about the last two years?
We've been partners for years." He swallowed loudly.
"You lied to me."
"I never lied," I said defiantly, getting to my feet. "I never said she or her. You guys did, not me."
"But you never corrected us either!" Mitch cried.
"Have I ever given you reason to think I wouldn't accept it?"
I shook my head and conceded, "No."
When I looked at him, I could see his issue wasn't with me being gay. It was honesty. He looked like he'd been through hell. He had. We all had.
"Then why?" he growled at me.
"Because I'm a good cop," I told him. "I'm a great cop, a tough cop, a fair cop."
He looked at me, confused. So I spelled it out for him. "As soon as the media finds out," I said, pointing toward the outside window. "No matter what the hell I do
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after today, no matter how many drug rings I bust, no matter how many lives I save, I'm nothing but a gay cop."
"Is that what you meant when you said your career's over?"
Before I could answer, two doctors walked into the room. The other four men joined me, standing. "How are they?"
The first doctor said, "Gentlemen," in greeting.
"The three women are shaken and in shock, considering what they've been through, but physically they're unharmed. We'll give them something to help them sleep, but they can go home in about half an hour."
Everyone in the room breathed.
The second doctor said, "All reports say the same thing. If it weren't for Mr Franco, it could have been a very different story. According to all three women, Mr Franco put himself between them and the attackers."
I was almost scared to ask. "Is he okay?"
The first doctor looked at me apologetically. "He's taken one hell of a beating. His left arm was badly broken and needs surgery, and he has broken ribs, stitches above his eye, and a lot of abrasions. We've run x-rays and scans.
There's no fractured skull or internal injuries—"
I sucked back a ragged breath. "Can I see him?"
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I was led down a hall, and when the doctor stopped at a door, he looked at me and spoke softly. "We've given him something to help him sleep."
I was frozen, unable to move. Fear rooted my feet to the floor. A hand touched my shoulder, and Mitch's voice told me it was okay.
I could see Kira on the bed, lying still and quiet. My eyes stung, and I willed myself not to cry. He was so broken, so vulnerable.
My legs felt as if they were made of lead, but I somehow walked past machines to the far side of the bed.
He'd been cleaned up. The dried blood was gone, replaced with bandages and bruises, and some plaster. I was scared to touch him.
I leaned down and kissed his lips, his bruised and swollen lips. I knew he was sleeping and couldn't hear me, but I told him anyway that I was sorry and I loved him.
When I looked up, Mitch was still there watching me. I was so tired and scared and relieved and sorry. I tried not to cry.
Then Kira's mother, Yumi, was there, rushing into the room. I was too tired to be surprised to see her. She touched my arm, but didn't look at me; her concern was for her son. Sal stepped around Mitch, and the tall, silent man, Kira's father, stared at me.
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What could I say? What could I possibly say for what I'd done to his boy? I lifted my right fist to my heart, drawing circles over my chest. I did it again and again, telling him over and over I was sorry.
I was so fucking sorry.
Mitch watched as Sal pulled me into his arms, and I couldn't hold back the tears. Kira's father held me as I fell to pieces in his arms and cried.
When I looked at Mitch, he was staring at me with sad, glistening eyes. He gave me a nod then turned and walked away.
Sal cupped his large hand on my cheek, making me look at him. His eyes flickered to Kira and then back to me.
He led me over to the bed, and I quietly told them what I knew about his injuries, what he went through, how brave he was. Then I told them I loved their son. I loved him, and I hoped to God he could forgive me.
Yumi wiped my face, gave me a hug and smiled
through her tears. She explained how the phone had rung, some channel wanting the scoop on Kira. "I hang up, and it rings again, but this time it was the hospital. How do the TV people know before the parents? The next of kin?" She was angry and scared, and I didn't blame her.
I looked at my watch. It was three AM. "Are there TV crews outside the hospital?"
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Yumi nodded. "Everywhere."
A wave of exhaustion rolled over me. I think I swayed, because Sal put his hands on my shoulders to keep my steady.
"You should sleep," Yumi said softly.
I shook my head. "I'm not leaving."
She nodded, then had a sign-conversation with Sal that I didn't even pretend to follow. Then Yumi said, "We'll go. We've seen him, and you're with him, so we know he'll be okay. We'll come back first thing." She smiled kindly, motherly. "Is there anything you'll need?"
I had no idea. I couldn't think, so I just shook my head.
Kira's mom looked at me sadly. "He's sleeping. You should do the same."
I didn't wait for them to leave before I sat on the edge of the bed, and taking up as little room as possible, I laid down on my side next to Kira.
Resting my head on the inside of my arm, I looked at the side of his face and listened to his soft breathing, until my eyes wouldn't stay open any longer. Sometime later, a nurse came in with a blanket, telling me I couldn't sleep on the bed. She pulled out the chair, helped me into it and threw the blanket over me.
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The next thing I knew, it was daylight. My body ached, and I heard voices and footsteps.
I remembered where I was.
I sat bolt upright, trying to get my bearings, when I saw him.
Kira was awake, and there was a nurse talking to him, but I went to him and took his right hand like she wasn't even there. His left eye was almost swollen shut, the bruises were highly colored and swollen, and he had small cuts everywhere.
"Hey," I breathed.
He squeezed my hand, and his voice was soft and croaky. "Hey."
Leaning in, I kissed his lips softly. If he was surprised at my public display of affection, I couldn't tell. "I don't care who sees," I told him. His one good eye blinked slowly, then looked at me for a long moment. Maybe it wasn't the right time, but I said it anyway. "I was so scared, baby," I said, swallowing my emotions. "I was so scared."
He nodded. His good eye closed, but his hold on my hand tightened.
He was quiet, not withdrawn, more reflective, and considering what he'd been through, it was to be expected.
He picked at his breakfast and answered all questions with a nod or a shake of his head.
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His room was constantly busy. His mom and dad
were there before seven, bringing a change of clothes for both of us and some coffee for me. Nurses came in and out, taking observations, telling us if he promised complete bed rest, he might even be allowed to go home today.
The most surprising visitor was Berkman.
He poked his head around the door, saw me and
smiled. He looked… older. Like last night had aged him ten years. "Just checking in on our hero," he said as he walked in.
I smiled at my boss and introduced him to Kira's parents. When Sal signed hello, Berkman looked to me and smiled with an understanding nod. "Ah, the sign language…"
I grinned, and taking a deep breath, I introduced him to Kira.
"Ross Berkman, my boss, I'd like you to meet Kira Takeo Franco." Then I added, "My boyfriend."
Berkman didn't bat an eyelid. "It's an honor to meet you, Kira," he said, shaking his hand. "You saved my entire team last night."
Kira blinked and answered softly. "I um, no, I just…"
Berkman interrupted him. "Don't argue with me, son." I chuckled, knowing Berkman and his no-nonsense
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boss-of-police attitude. "I saw the whole damn thing,"
Berkman went on to tell him. "And you're front page news."
Kira looked at me, then back to Berkman, wincing at the sudden movement. His voice was quiet. "Is it bad?"
Berkman sighed and nodded. "Don't have anywhere you can hide out for a week or two while this blows over?"
I looked at Kira. "Actually, we do." Turning to Yumi and Sal, I asked them, "If it's all right with you, maybe I could take Kira to the cabin. He'll need complete rest, and it's so peaceful there."
Yumi nodded and smiled. "Of course. Good idea."
Kira tried to sit up, but wincing and holding his side, he settled back on the bed. I was quick to reach out, not sure where to touch him. "Are you okay?"
He breathed out slowly and gave me a nod. "How do we leave here?" he looked at me and mumbled. "If they know…"
Yumi snorted. "I'll send your father out for a press conference. He can listen to all they have to say." Sal rolled his eyes, and I couldn't help but chuckle. Berkman grinned, and even the corner of Kira's swollen lip curled upward.
I took his hand and told him, "We walk out of here with our heads held high. I'm not hiding anything from anyone anymore."
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