by Claire Adams
“Everett?” I called out as I began to walk from room-to-room.
Silence.
Eventually I had been through the whole house, and there was no sign that anyone was home. A creeping feeling of disappointment and despair was now beginning to trickle down my spine, and I was really feeling pretty terrible about this. Now there was only one last thing to do, and that was to check if his truck was still in the garage. Maybe it had been him I had heard at around 7:15.
I walked briskly with purpose and more than a little anger in my stride, and as soon as I got to the garage, I threw the door open.
Disappointment and anger hit me like a ton of bricks as I saw that the truck was gone.
“I don't believe it,” I grumbled to myself. “I don't believe it! He stood me up! The jerk stood me up! Not even a word of warning! He just up and took off!”
I stormed back across the road to my house, wrapped up in a storm of negative emotions. I'd been so stupid, so naive to think that this guy was different. Of course, he had been too good to be true – guys like the type I had hoped he was simply didn't exist in this world, and I had been a fool to believe that they could.
I had gone to all this effort, taken all this time to make myself look pretty, and had allowed myself to get all excited about this – and now it wasn't even going to happen.
I was about to sit down and sulk about it – because really, what else could I do now that my evening was ruined – when I remembered Angie. She had wanted to go out and party with me – so what better time than now, when I was all dressed up? I'd show that jerk Everett that I could have a great time in spite of his standing me up. Well, as long as Angie wasn't busy, of course. I prayed that she wasn't, because I didn't think I could handle being stuck in my house now.
I found her number and called her up. She picked up right away.
“Hi, Angie, it's Vivienne.”
“Vivienne? Uh, sorry, I don't remember a Vivienne...”
“Alicia. Remember, I bumped into you at the bar the other night? I told you, I've changed my name to Vivienne.”
“Oh, right! Sorry, guess I had a brain fart, totally forgot about that. How are you? What are you up to on this awesome Friday evening?”
“Not much, Angie, not much. Actually, I've just been stood up.”
“Oh no! You poor thing. That's just the worst. What sort of jerk would stand a girl like you up?”
“I don't know, Angie, I really don't know. I'm all dressed up, and now I have nowhere to go as the saying goes.”
“Well, hey, why don't you come out with me? I was thinking of heading out to a cocktail bar and having a few drinks. You wanna go with me? Have a drink or two, see where the night takes us... and forget about the idiot who just stood you up?”
I smiled.
“Yeah... that would be great, Angie, that would be really great. I need to get out of the house. I can't just sit here like this, all dressed up and made up, and think about how miserable I am that this guy did this to me.”
“No, you certainly can't. Well, can you give me say an hour to get ready? I also need to get my makeup on and do my hair and all that. Then I'll come by your place in a taxi and pick you up. How does that sound?”
“That sounds just great. Perfect, actually!”
I gave her my address and made plans to meet in around an hour, and when I cut off the call, I was smiling.
“There you go, Everett James,” I said. “I don't need you to have a good time on a Friday night. And I hope you know I don't give second chances, so you better know that you blew it tonight with me; you blew it tonight...”
Chapter Eight
Everett
A blast of frustration and anger shot through me as I realized I'd left my phone at home. This was great – this was just great. Two minutes before our date, and I had no way of telling Vivienne that I would be late.
Still, if things went well here, I could catch this Mr. Mask scumbag, throw him in the back of my truck in cuffs – I had a pair in there – and be back in half an hour. With enough apologizing, perhaps Vivienne would forgive me for being half an hour late.
But the lack of a phone also meant that there were other issues I had to deal with. I didn't know if Panetti had also sent a message to Ben, so I had no idea if he was going to be showing up. I knew I might be here all alone, without any backup. It wouldn’t be the first time I had found myself in circumstances like this, and I was confident about my ability to handle things due to what I had been in my past – and I sure as hell might need those skills right now.
I suddenly wished that I'd brought my shotgun with me, but as things stood, I had been in too much of a rush to even think of grabbing it. My instincts in that regard were somewhat rusty. I hoped that other instincts in that skillset were still sharp, as my life might very well depend on them.
Also, not having a phone meant that if things went badly and I got in over my head, I wouldn't be able to call for help.
A part of me briefly considered leaving quietly. I'd be able to get back to Vivienne's place just 10 or 15 minutes late, which wouldn't be great, but it'd still be acceptable, and we could have the awesome evening together I'd been envisioning and looking forward to.
No. A much bigger part of me shoved that thought right out of my head. That wasn't the kind of man I was. This bastard who was about to arrive here was destroying the lives of way too many kids, kids whose lives I had been hired to change. I had the opportunity to get him after he managed to slip through my fingers before, there wasn't any way I was going to let him get away again.
“You're on your own out here, pal,” I muttered to myself under my breath. “Just do like you were trained to do, and you'll be able to handle it.”
I breathed in deeply and got out of the truck, and then walked briskly but quietly into the alley and took cover behind a dumpster near the door where I would be hidden from view, but would be able to hear everything the dealers were saying with clarity.
Damn it! That's something else I could have used my phone for: I would have been able to record their conversation, which could then be used as evidence against them in court. I shook my head – how had I been so damn careless? I was getting rusty.
I didn't have time to stew on my regrets much longer because a black Mercedes with dark tinted windows pulled up outside the building. I crouched down lower behind the dumpster, making sure that I really was hidden and couldn't be seen.
I peeped out from the side where I could see the back door of the building through a crack between the dumpster and the wall, and saw the same drug dealer Ben and I had seen from up on the fire escape come out of the back door and walked across the alley to the car. He had a briefcase in his hand. I saw him lean over by the car, and the passenger side window rolled down – and there he was, wearing this creepy clown mask that covered his whole head: Mr. Mask.
The dealer opened the briefcase for him, and I saw a flash of money – stacks of hundred dollar bills, it looked like. Mr. Mask stared at the money for a while, adding up the total in his head, I guessed, and then he took the briefcase from the dealer. In return, he handed the dealer a backpack which was bulging with something – a whole bunch of Rocket, I assumed.
Why the hell hadn't I brought my phone? Damn it! This was essentially a job for the police, but with no way to contact them, it was either intervene now or let them walk. There was no doubt they’d be armed, but hopefully they weren't actually proficient at using their weapons. Even if both of them had knives they wouldn’t be difficult to handle, but if both of them had guns — and the odds were they would — that might be a bit more challenging.
The bottom line, though, was that a lot of kids' lives and futures were on the line, and I had to act. I had to act quickly before the bastards took off.
I removed my nine-millimeter from its concealed holster beneath my shirt hem and eased out from behind the dumpster.
“Hands in the air!” I shouted. “You with the mask, hands where I c
an see them. Slowly, get out of the car. You with the bag, get down on the ground, face down! Hands flat!”
The drug dealer turned and stared at me with surprise, and he dropped the bag of drugs. He started to comply with my orders, thinking I was a cop, but then Mr. Mask spoke.
“Don't listen to that chump, Wilson – that's no cop, that's the dumbass principal of JFK!”
The drug dealer, evidently named Wilson, froze in mid movement, unsure of what to do. I had no choice but to stay the course.
“It doesn't matter that I'm not a cop! This is a citizen's arrest! You two are dealing in narcotics! Now get out of the car and get on the ground!”
“Or what?” sneered Mr. Mask. “What are you going to do, cowboy?”
"If you don't comply, I'm gonna be forced to use this.”
“I wonder how fast you are, cowboy,” Mr. Mask chidded. “Because mine's already in my hand.”
Then, before I could even move, he whipped his hand up and took a shot at me with a pistol he had been concealing behind the car door. The shot took me in the left shoulder and the force of it punched me rapidly off my feet; one minute I was looking at Mr. Mask and Wilson, the next I was laid out on the concrete, flat on my back and gasping for breath.
“Get the hell outta here!” I heard Wilson shout.
The Mercedes screeched its tires as it took off fast, and I heard footsteps bolting down the alley as Wilson fled on foot.
“Shit,” I groaned, reaching up for my left shoulder with my right hand.
I felt the wound, and it wasn't good. Blood was oozing out and was quickly soaking through my shirt. So much for being all dressed up for the evening. Now what was I gonna do? I didn't want to go to a hospital if I could help it – that would bring on way too much publicity, and set me up for a lot of questions that I didn't want to have to answer, because that would mean my cover would be totally blown.
But I sure as hell couldn't just shrug off a gunshot wound. I had to do something. Now I really, really wished I had brought my phone with me. Wishing, however, wasn't going to achieve a damn thing, though. I had to do something, and I had to do it now.
I scrambled up onto my feet, swaying and feeling groggy. Maybe there was a cheap clinic here that could help me. I had to at least try before giving up and calling an ambulance. I staggered out of the alley, looking up and down the street, hoping and praying for the slim chance that there'd be somewhere nearby where I could go.
And that's when I saw it – a sign for a veterinarian. But not just any vet – Jimmy M. Knight, veterinarian. I stumbled across the road, and hope blazed through me as I saw that a light was still on inside the vet's practice; someone was still there at this hour. I staggered over to the door and bashed on it.
“We're closed!” shouted a familiar voice, a voice I hadn't heard for years.
“Even for old Navy SEAL buddies?” I shouted back, hoping it was indeed the Jimmy I thought it to be.
“No way... no freakin' way!” the voice shouted back. “Everett James? Is that you?”
“Yeah, it's me, now get your ass out here and open up!”
A short but powerfully-built man with thinning brown hair and a bushy goatee came shuffling out of the back, with a bunch of keys dangling from his meaty paw.
He saw me through the glass door, and his eyes lit up.
“It is you, Everett! Damn, bro, what on earth are you doing here?”
He opened the door and then saw my shoulder.
“Oh man, Everett, what the hell happened?”
“Gunshot. Nine millimeter, I think.”
“Oh crap. We need to get you to a hospital.”
“Can't. I need... I need you to do it.”
He nodded.
“I don't know how, Everett, but you're damn lucky this happened to you right outside my doorstep. Damn, I heard a bang a few minutes ago, but thought it might be kids letting off cherry bombs or something.”
“No, no... that was me... getting shot,” I said as I staggered in.
“Alright, alright, get into the back room there,” he said. “I'll lock up here and be with you in a sec. Get your shirt off in the meanwhile.”
I stumbled into the back, pulled my shirt off and hopped up onto the stainless-steel table where Jimmy treated dogs and cats.
He hurried in and closed the door behind him, and then put on a pair of thick glasses that he pushed up his nose.
“As you know, this is gonna sting,” he said as he poured some disinfectant onto some dressing cloth and used it to wipe clean the wound. I winced as the disinfectant burned my open wound, but it wasn't as if I hadn't felt this before.
Jimmy shuffled around behind me and looked at the back of my shoulder.
“Oh man,” he said.
“What's the matter? Give it to me straight, old buddy.”
“Good news first or bad news?”
“Good.”
“The bullet went straight through. Doesn’t appear there are any broken bones, so no bone shards. Entry wound and exit wound. So, clean through. Guess they were using full metal jacket rounds or something.”
“They were amateurs,” I grunted. “Likely didn’t know what the hell they were using. I’m guessing that was the good news. Now what's the bad news?”
“You've lost a lot of blood man, a lot of blood. The entry wound ain't too bad, but the exit wound, it ain't pretty.”
“Can you fix it?”
“If I can stitch it up quickly enough and keep the wound closed, you shouldn’t need a blood transfusion.”
“Do it then man, do it.”
“I'll do my best, Everett; I'll do my best.”
“I'm glad you still remember some of your combat medical training now that you're a vet,” I said with a grin as he gathered some things together. “How'd that happen, anyway? You were a great field medic.”
“Well, how come you’re not a SEAL anymore?”
I shrugged.
“Just needed a big change in my life.”
“See? That's why I'm a vet. I just couldn't treat any more soldiers with bullet wounds, shrapnel, limbs blown off, skin burned off... It just got to be too much. Now I'm happy, living a relaxed life, making sure dogs and cats are okay. Way less stress, way less – until you waltzed in here, bleeding out from a gunshot wound!”
“I know, man, I know. Sorry to wreck your Friday evening.”
“Jeez, Ev, don't apologize,” he said as he started to get to work. “It ain't your fault you got shot... or wait, was it?”
“Uh, yeah, it kinda was.”
“What just happened then, man? How did my old buddy end up getting capped right outside my veterinary practice on a summer evening?”
“Well, I'm the principal of JFK High now.”
“No kidding?”
“Yeah, I just started this week.”
“Sheesh, and what a way to start! You must have some rough kids there if they're shooting the principal. In our day, we shot spitballs at our teachers, not freakin' nine mil rounds!”
I had to chuckle.
“Yeah, Jimmy, only thing is, it wasn't a kid who shot me.”
“Well, who was it then?”
“Drug dealer.”
“Everett, you're a high school principal, what the heck are you doing getting involved with drug dealers? Tell it to me straight, man, are you on something? You taking something to help with flashbacks? You can be honest with me, and I can help you to get off whatever it is.”
“No, no, nothing like that. See, at JFK High, and a number of other schools in this town, there's an epidemic with this new, nasty drug called Rocket.”
“Oh yeah, I've heard of that stuff,” he said. “Bad, bad stuff. And the kids love it, huh?”
“Yeah, unfortunately, they do. And that's who these dealers are targeting – kids.”
“Ugh. Scumbags!”
“You're telling me.”
“So you're out there like Batman, trying to shut 'em down, huh?”
“Ye
ah. I got word earlier that one of the kingpins was gonna be here. I raced out, witnessed a drug deal – and it turned out that I'd been in such a rush to get there that I hadn't brought either my phone so I couldn’t call the police to handle it.”
“Oh, man,” he exclaimed with a chuckle. “You're the worst Batman ever!”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well, there we go,” he said. “You're all stitched up. The wounds should stay closed as long as you get a lot of rest and don't make any sudden movements. It'd be best for you if you slept right now, actually. And I'm gonna put you on a drip; you need it.”
“I... I'm supposed to be going out on a date tonight.”
He laughed.
“That ain't gonna happen, Everett, that ain't gonna happen. Vet's orders. You need to get a drip hooked up to you, stat, and then you need to get into bed and try sleep.”
“But—”
“Call her and tell her what happened when you get home. I'll drive you there right now, set up the drip, and get you into bed. Come on, man, you've just been shot! I know it ain't the first time, but you know as well as I do that it ain't no scratch you can simply brush off. Rest, now. That's an order.”
“Alright, alright.”
“Come on. My car's out back,” he said, and he helped me off the table and supported me as I limped out through the back door. We then got into his car, and he drove me home.
“Nice place,” he said as we pulled up to the house.
“Yeah, I just moved in. And just moved to Irvine two weeks ago.”
“No kidding? Well, I guess that's why you hadn’t called me yet.”
“Yeah.”
“Come on, let's get you inside,” he insisted.
He helped me inside and took me to my bedroom.
“Can you get my phone, man it's—”
“Not yet. I'll get you into bed and get the drip set up, and then I'll bring it to you.”
“I need to pick up my daughter—”
“You have a kid?”
“Yeah, she's at the babysitter's. I was supposed to pick her up between eleven and midnight.”
“I'll do that for you, and I'll bring her back here and get her into bed. You'll be sleeping by then and I’ll hang around just for good measure. Just write down the address, call the babysitter quick, and tell her I'm coming so that she doesn't think that I'm some sort of kidnapper or something when I show up.”