Amidst her ranting and raving, the sound of sirens were heard. I couldn’t tell if they were coming from the phone or directly from outside, but it really didn’t matter. The cops were here which meant they’d put a stop to the insanity. Through my phone, I heard the voice of Detective Bradley shouting for Shannon to put down her weapon. Shannon screamed, but did not indicate whether or not she was going to comply. Her phone cut off, so hopefully the detectives had winged the bitch. I poked my head around the corner into the living room and was relieved when no shots flew by—or at my head. After ascertaining that she wasn’t shooting any longer, I glanced down and saw my father on the floor, slumped against the couch, holding his arm. Blood was flowing freely, and his face was white.
“Shit,” I cursed, flying to his side, trying to stay low as I did. I hung up my cell and called 911, ordering them to send an ambulance. “Dad, hang on,” I said, after explaining the crisis to the operator. I was still on the line, but I wanted to reassure my father that help was on the way.
“Someone shot me,” Dad said, his eyes dulled with shock. “Trish, someone shot me.” There was knocking at the door, but I ignored it. Someone else would have to answer as I was not leaving my father.
“Oh my God! Bob!” My mother cried from the entryway of the living room. Heedless of possible danger to herself, she ran to my father. “You’re hurt. I shouldn’t have left without you. What was I thinking?” She started crying as she stared at the blood running down Dad’s arm. “I have to get you help.” She jumped to her feet, but I stopped her.
“I called 911, Mom,” I said, indicating the phone. “Did someone get the door? I think it was the cops.”
“Ramona did,” Mom said distractedly, checking Dad over. By now, the others were filtering back into the room, expressing their dismay at my father being shot. The guys looked ashamed that they had run without ensuring his safety. Beth and Sidney looked as if they didn’t quite know what hit them, while Michele was missing from the happy crowd. She must be with Mona and the cops. Speaking of which, they entered the living room. Detective Bradley looked tired but triumphant.
“We got her,” he said, nodding at us. “You’re lucky we were close by. We’re going to need to take your statements.”
“Later,” my mother said firmly. “My husband is hurt.”