Benefit of the Doubt: A Novel Read Free Page A

radio transmission was a hysterical call for cover that caused a hundred sirens to scream out at once from all over the city. It was clear the rook had made contact and the fight was on. Sergeant Ben Sawyer was two blocks away and on scene in thirty seconds.
    The hell with it, Ben thought. You really wanna go there? Let’s go. Ben dug deep and pushed the speed of the machine to seven-minute miles. The sights and sounds of Deep East Oakland came clear in his mind.
    Ben jumped from his car before it stopped rocking on its chassis. Visible waves of heat blasted up from the asphalt; sirens wailed from all directions, growing closer. Just ahead, an officer lay prone on the sidewalk with Hector’s hulking figure on top of him. Hector wore a tight wifebeater T-shirt over a tattooed physique that marked him as a recent graduate of the California penal system. He outweighed the cop by sixty sculpted pounds. As Ben closed in, he could hear the cop’s panicked voice, shrill and full of fear.
    He’s got my gun. He’s got my gun.
    The music kicked in full force, and Ben opened his gait, taking longer and longer strides, arms and legs moving in a smooth but furious motion. The nearby crew of Newberg officers turned to gawk, but Ben saw only the face of Hector Espudo. Brown, full of hate and determination. Prison-green tattoos of two teardrops inked beneath one eye and the name of his barrio pulsing on his neck, all outlined in a sheen of sweat. As Ben closed in, he saw that Hector’s hands were wrapped around the grip of the officer’s gun, the barrel pointed directly into the man’s chest. The rookie, true to his training, had both hands tight around the slide of the semiauto and his finger shoved behind the trigger, making it temporarily impossible for the gun to fire.
    Ben’s chest burned and his breath came hard. With any luck his heart would explode and kill the memory forever, ridding him of this constant reminder of lost honor and betrayal.
    Ben wasted no time, grabbing the thick, greasy ponytail that ran ten inches down Hector’s back, wrapping it tight in his fist and jerking hard. Hector’s head snapped back until his face pointed to the sky, blinding him in the intense sunlight. His mouth spewed spit and profanity. The odor of Mad Dog 20/20 mixed with the chemical smell of meth radiated like red heat off Hector’s muscular frame.
    “ Hijo de puta, pig motherfucker. I’ll kill both your asses,” Hector shouted in a coarse, rage-filled voice.
    In one fluid motion, Ben slid his gun from the hard plastic shell of the tactical holster he wore and shoved the barrel against the side of the man’s head. Ben made sure the contact was hard enough that there would be no mistaking his intentions. A contact shot to the temple or through the top of the skull was justified, but Ben didn’t pull the trigger.
    “Your choice, Hector: hands off the gun or die.”
    The second syllable wasn’t spoken before Hector’s hands came off the cop’s gun and went high over his head in a clear display of unconditional surrender. His eyes filled with terror as he looked awkwardly toward the gun that was still poised at the side of his head. His expression said it all. Hector knew this cop would not hesitate to kill him.
    It could have ended there, and if it had, Ben figured he probably would have received a commendation for lifesaving. Hell, not only for saving the cop but he even managed to keep Hector alive. Avoiding an officer-involved shooting always gave the department brass something to brag about. Yep. It could have been a great day for the Sawyer legacy. A hell of a war story for the locker room: how Sawyer almost performed a gangbanger street execution with his forty-cal. But it didn’t end there. Ben was just getting started.
    Ben smashed the Stop button on the treadmill in defeat, his heart pounding defiant and strong, signaling there would be no easy exit. The intense whine of the machine slowed to a steady drone, then went