The Dodge Hellcat had just turned the last intersection when Jack heard two gunshots, almost simultaneously. One was loud and familiar; it was undoubtedly Danny's antiquated Smith & Wesson M39.
The other was much fainter, almost completely drowned out by the cacophony of the street. It would have been nearly impossible to distinguish it without someone's superhuman senses.
Two more gunshots followed, and this time they were even more familiar to Jack, as they came from the Glock 22, the most common sidearm used by FBI agents.
Almost nauseated by Jack's constant rapid lane changes, Rossi, no longer able to hold onto the car door handle, pointed toward a nearby alley and shouted, "Jack! They're there!"
At the same time, Emily's nervous voice came over the radio, "Officer down! Officer down! West of the corner park!"
"Squeak!" Jack slammed his foot on the brakes, and Rossi, in the passenger seat, unbuckled his seatbelt almost instantly, opening the car door and drawing his sidearm.
"Hey! Don't be impatient!" Jack hurriedly followed him out of the car, fearing that the old man would rush forward and become an additional culprit.
"Danny! Danny! Hold on!" At the entrance of the alley, Danny fell to the ground, his life or death unknown. Emily was frantically trying to untie his bulletproof vest to find the bleeding point.
Jack passed Rossi like a whirlwind, rushed to the two of them with a standard sliding tackle, grabbed Danny's arm, and the next moment after the healing spell was activated, he let go of the guy's arm with some doubt. His whole body was intact, except for a little kidney deficiency, he seemed to be fine.
With a "swish", Jack pulled open the bulletproof vest that Emily had been unable to pull open for a long time, and a slightly deformed .22 bullet fell to the ground with a crisp sound.
"He's fine, the bullet didn't penetrate the bulletproof vest." Hearing Jack's words and seeing the bullet with her own eyes, Emily breathed a sigh of relief and sat down on the ground without any image.
"Cough, cough, cough." Danny, who had been unconscious, was gently prodded in the ribs by Jack, and he coughed violently. He quickly regained consciousness, only to be met with a look of disdain upon opening his eyes.
"You should stay up less late, and especially drink less coffee. The impact of a .22 bullet that can't even kill a rabbit hitting your body armor could knock you unconscious. No wonder Linda's wild night with you has you terrified."
Danny instinctively touched his chest, a hint of fear still lingering in his expression. It took him a long time to retort to Jack, "Nonsense! Linda has always been pleased with my performance."
"The suspect is dead, but where's his gun?" Rossi asked, returning from a body lying in the alley.
Emily pulled a Ruger LCP pistol from her pocket. "It's here. I confirmed he was down and took his gun."
Jack took the toy-like gadget, shook it in his hands, and sighed. No wonder these guys were so successful in their street attacks.
The gun, fully loaded with six rounds, probably weighed less than 300 grams and was shorter than the palm of an adult's hand, making it virtually impossible to detect in a pocket.
Jack first pulled Emily to her feet, and the two of them then worked together to lift Danny to his feet. Together, they approached the body.
The man was a young black man who looked barely older, perhaps even under 20. He had a small mustache and lay facedown on the ground, his eyes staring blankly at the sky.
Three bullet holes were visible on the front of the body: one in the left shoulder and two in the chest.
"What happened?" Rossi looked from where Danny had fallen at the alley entrance to where the body lay, then back at the body, puzzled. A large trash can lay just three or four meters behind the body, yet the suspect had collapsed in front of it.
Common sense dictates that whether a desperate counterattack is a desperate response or a premeditated attempt to counterattack the pursuer, a normal person would instinctively seek cover, such as the nearby trash can.
"I don't know. This guy was simply committing suicide. We moved closer after hearing the report on the radio. When he saw us, he ran straight into the alley. When I reached the entrance of the alley, he just stood there with a gun pointed at me."
Danny frowned and tried to think and recall. "He ran very fast. He could have escaped the alley before we caught up, but he stopped and just stood there, as if waiting for me."
"How did he behave at the time? Panicked, breathless, or like he was on drugs?" Jack tried to help him recall.
Danny looked at her with a joking expression. "How could I possibly have observed his expression at that moment? I arrived at the alley entrance first, and when I saw him pointing the gun at me, I fired immediately. In fact, we fired almost simultaneously, and then I lost consciousness."
However, Emily's response instantly slapped a veteran detective in the face. "He looked very calm, his hands steady. Detective Reagan shot him in the shoulder, but he just staggered and continued pointing the gun at me.
I fired twice before he fell. If I had to describe his expression, I'd say martyrdom."
Danny looked at Emily with his mouth half-open, his expression awe-inspiring. "How did you do that?"
The female FBI agent before him looked even more panicked than he was, her hands still shaking from the moment she fired the gun, yet she was able to observe so many details in a split second.
"These are all basic skills for a behavioral analyst," Jack explained casually, donning gloves and examining the body. He found nothing.
The man didn't even have a piece of paper in his pocket, let alone any identification. His clothes looked like generic items you could buy at a secondhand clothing store down the street.
"Well, now that this guy's dead, he won't give us any clues. I bet it'll take us quite a while to figure out his identity, and we'll end up with nothing," Rossi said, his words laced with meaning.
Just then, the sirens outside the alley gradually grew closer, and Garcia's panicked cries echoed through the headset again. Jack then remembered he'd forgotten to call her.
Ten minutes later, the alley was cordoned off on both sides. The ambulance, having made a wasted trip, stopped at the entrance, flashing its lights in vain, alerting passersby that a murder had occurred.
Hotchner and the others hurried over, and seeing that everyone was safe, he breathed a sigh of relief.
"Good marksmanship! One shot to the lungs and one to the heart. It seems you've been practicing your marksmanship while I've been away."
Jack smiled as he handed the still pale Emily to Jiejie's care. He then glanced meaningfully at a red-faced NYPD detective whose poor marksmanship was causing him to blush.
"But I also killed our only lead," Emily said with a look of regret.
Jack's smile disappeared immediately, and he even glared at her fiercely, "Put away your idiotic thoughts and always remember my words. Never stop pulling the trigger until the other person falls to the ground unless the magazine is empty."
"No, I mean, uh, like I said before, this guy is almost like he's using us to commit suicide. The expression on his face at the time ..."
Emily wanted to continue explaining, but was interrupted by Rossi, "Let's talk about it when we get home, Emily."
(End of this chapter)