More people rushed through the hole in the wall that used to be my front door. The door was on the floor, one side higher because of the knob it rested on. The second guy in lost his balance on the unsteady door, stumbled and staggered until he hit the newel post of the stairs. He bounced off, regained his footing, and joined another guy on the floor by Bill.
The two EMT guys squatted by him, one on each side, and checked him over. He yowled every time one touched him, a sound somewhere between a cat in a tree and a pig stuck under a gate.
Two police officers stood in the door to the kitchen, awaiting John’s directions. One of them, Officer Chuck, I knew.
“Take this guy outside and read him his rights,” John ordered, taking Chris by the arm. “Put him in your car till I get there to talk to him.”
Chuck took control of Chris and guided him out through the hole in the wall.
John lifted the front door off the floor, propped it up against the bookcase and cleared the way for foot traffic.
Tim shifted to the side to watch Chris leave in cuffs.
The EMT’s worked over Bill, one of them talking into his collarbone to some kind of gadget clipped there. The other had pulled off the BP cuff and wrapped it up, calling out numbers. Voices filled the room, punctuated by bursts of static from police radios.
One of the EMT’s left and returned with a folding gurney that he snapped into position. John had to move out of their way. My kitchen wasn’t all that big and now crowded with men trying to work around one another, there was barely room to breathe.