Colin was already reaching for the door when Margolis flew back out of the doorway, his jacket and shirt soaked in blood, his hand on his neck. He stumbled off the porch, falling backward onto the steps and sliding down onto the walkway.
By then, Colin was already out of the car… operating on instinct… running toward Margolis… accelerating with every step… watching Margolis as he writhed on the ground.
Lester stepped onto the porch, screaming incoherently, holding a gun. He raised it, pointing it at Margolis. Lester’s face held both fear and anger, his hand on the gun shaking. Lester screamed again and lowered the gun before raising it once more…
Colin continued his sprint toward the bungalow, cutting across the neighbor’s lawn, hurdling a small bush, closing in on the porch. On Lester. Zeroing in. A few more seconds.
Lester continued to aim the gun at Margolis without pulling the trigger. His face was red, his eyes bloodshot. Out of control. Screaming at Margolis: It’s not my fault! and I didn’t do anything! and I’m not going back to jail! and I know what Maria is doing!
Lester approached the porch steps, closing the gap between him and Margolis as he continued to aim the gun, his hand shaking. Taunting. Lester, aware of a blur out of the corner of his eye, suddenly turned, swiveling the gun in Colin’s direction…
Too late.
Colin launched himself over the porch railing, arms wide as he collided hard with Lester. The gun went flying, wheeling end over end and landing on the porch.
Colin outweighed Lester by forty pounds, and he felt Lester’s ribs crack as they hit the ground. Lester screamed in agony, momentarily paralyzed.
Colin moved fast, shifting off of Lester’s body, his arm immediately wrapping around Lester’s throat, then he locked the arm down with the opposite hand. Lester began to thrash and squirm, neck sandwiched between Colin’s biceps and forearm. Colin applied hard pressure to the carotid arteries in a classic choke hold as Lester tried frantically to escape.
Within seconds, Lester’s eyes began to roll back, going white, and all at once he stopped moving.
Colin kept applying the pressure, enough to keep Lester out for more than a few seconds. Then, scrambling to his feet, he rushed to Margolis.
Margolis was still breathing but no longer moving, his face a chalky white, and Colin tried to figure out what he was seeing. He’d been shot twice, in the stomach and the neck, and was losing blood fast.
Colin whipped off his shirt and tore it in half as Evan came running up, looking terrified.
“Holy crap! What do we do?”
“Call 911!” Colin shouted, trying to will his own sense of panic away, knowing that more than ever, he needed to think clearly. “Get an ambulance! Now!”
Colin knew nothing about gunshot wounds, but if Margolis kept losing blood, he had no chance at all. Because the neck wound looked worse, Colin started by applying pressure to Margolis’s neck. Blood began to seep through the torn shirt immediately; he did the same for the stomach wound, where blood was still pulsing, forming a growing puddle beneath the detective.
Margolis’s face began to turn a sickly gray.
He could hear Evan shouting into the phone that a cop had been shot, that they needed an ambulance, now.
“Hurry up, Evan!” Colin shouted. “I need your help!”
Evan disconnected the call, staring at Margolis as though he might pass out. From the corner of his eye, Colin saw Lester roll his head to the side. Already waking.
“Grab the cuffs!” he said. “Make sure Lester can’t get away!”
Evan, still staring at Margolis, seemed frozen in place. Colin could feel the blood continuing to soak through the remnants of his shirt; he could feel the warmth in his hand, his fingers red and slick.
“Evan!” Colin shouted. “Cuffs! On Margolis’s belt! Now!”
Evan shook his head and began fumbling with the cuffs.