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Los Angeles Police Department Sergeant Roger Murtaugh wiped sweat from his brow. He'd lost track of how long they'd been at this. And the bad guys just kept coming.
"I'm getting too old for this shit!" He considered how his partner would laugh at hearing the old phrase.
"Rog, behind you!" Sergeant Martin Riggs hissed, taking aim and firing before Murtaugh could even react.
"Thanks, kid," the black man said, looking behind him at his would-be assailant, now lying prone on the ground. "How many more, you figure?"
"Hard to say," Riggs muttered, looking around. "Geez, I didn't think there'd be so damned many."
"Yeah, well someone must've put up a bulletin board," Murtaugh returned. "Free hits on the cops today."
"I wouldn't be surprised." Risking a peek over a crate, Martin ducked back quickly as a shot whizzed over his head. "I'm gonna circle around, see if I can draw them out, okay?"
"Gotcha. Be careful, Riggs. These guys are good."
Flashing a feral grin, the younger man shot back, "You ain't seen nothin' yet, Rog."
"That's what I'm afraid of…" Aiming over the crates, Roger laid down some cover fire. "Riggs, go!"
Scuttling crabwise around to the left, the detective moved into position behind the shooters. Soundlessly climbing a crate, he shot one assailant before they knew he was there. As the other one spun, Riggs warned, "Drop it or I'll shoot."
When the other man hesitated, he pulled his trigger, watching in satisfaction as the man dropped like a stone. "You were warned, asshole."
A faint sound from behind made Riggs whirl. His gun came up and he fired on instinct, recognizing his victim too late. "Oh, shit!"
Leaping down from his perch, Riggs ran to the fallen man. "Rog?! C'mon, Rog, talk to me."
Murtaugh groaned, opening a single eye to peer at his partner. Either his eyes had been playing tricks – or his partner had shot him.
"God, Rog, I'm so sorry, man," the younger man apologized, kneeling close. "I didn't mean—"
"Unnn," Roger groaned again. "Martin—"
"Yeah, buddy? Take it easy, okay? I'm right here."
"You shot me," the downed man whispered. "You god-damned-fuckin' shot me!" he continued, his voice rising to a bellow.
"I know— I— I'm sorry, man, okay?"
Taking a deep breath, Murtaugh continued, "I'm one of the good guys, remember? Good guy. Cop. Fellow detective. I'm your partner!"
"Oh, God… How 'm I gonna explain this to Trish?" Riggs lamented. "And the kids."
"You better think of something – fast," his friend advised, closing his eyes against the pain. He moaned.
Hovering closer, Riggs asked, "How bad is it?"
"I've been shot, you asshole! How bad do you think it feels?"
Just then the pair were joined by two other detectives. One grinned as he approached. "Hey, Riggs, we found your trail of bodies."
Roger swore under his breath.
A strange expression crossed Martin's face, somewhere between a grimace and a smile. "Yeah, well—"
The detective's partner noticed Murtaugh for the first time. "Geez, Roger. You gonna be okay? Looks like they got you good, man."
The first detective took a closer look. "Hey, I don't believe this!"
"Don't say it, okay? Don't," Roger threatened weakly.
"Cal, man, take a look at this!"
The second man did as instructed. "Holy— Wait'll the guys at the station hear about this!"
"You might wanna re-think that," Martin growled, aiming his gun at the grinning detective.
"Whaddya gonna do, Riggs?" Cal challenged, still grinning. "Shoot us, too?"
With a yell of frustration, Riggs did exactly that.
"Ahhh!" Jerry Rallins yelped as the projectile hit him in the chest. "Jesus Christ, Riggs, we were only kidding!"
"Yeah, lighten up, man," Cal advised, rubbing his forehead. "It's only paintball, for cryin' out loud."
"Not to him," Roger muttered, sitting up and eying his partner sourly. "He thinks it's an invitation to war."
"You mean it's not?" Riggs grinned innocently, cleaning his paintgun.
Shaking his head, Murtaugh climbed slowly to his feet. Putting an arm around the smaller man's shoulders, he said, "C'mon, let's go explain to Trish how one of my best shirts got ruined."
"Hey, Rog. If that's your best I'd hate to see your worst," Martin said and laughed.
"Ha-ha-ha," Roger mocked. "Let's hope you're still laughing after dinner."
"Oh no. No. Come on, man. Roger, please, not that. Anything but that!" the younger man pleaded as they headed for the door of the warehouse.
"Hey, hey, hey. Is that a slam on my wife's cooking?" The older detective stopped, eying his companion. "'Cause if it is, you're in some serious shit."
"I'm screwed. Absolutely and completed screwed," Martin lamented, pulling a dog biscuit out of his pocket and crunching on it.
Laughing evilly, Murtaugh warned, "You ain't seen nothing yet, partner."