10-33 Assist PC

by Desmond P. Ryan

  The room exploded in objections.

  “We have one officer dead,” Janelle persisted. “What about this officer? Is he likely to survive?”

  “I cannot comment at this time. Now, if you’ll please—”

  The doctor was again shouted down.

  “What the fuck?”

  “I heard he was DOA.”

  “I heard he shot his partner by accident.”

  “Come on, doc. Give us somethin’!”

  “I heard they were both shot but only one of ‘em was brought here.”

  I heard… I heard… I heard…

  “Can you verify that his condition is grave?” Janelle Austin’s voice cut through the hum of speculations.

  “Perhaps I can assist you. All of you,” an attractive young female officer in a pressed uniform called out from across the room in an attempt to prevent a riot from erupting. “We will be conducting a press conference in the foyer of the hospital in fifteen minutes.”

  “It’s about fucking time, darlin’!” a male officer yelled out.

  “I realize that we’ve been slower than usual but—” she began, looking up from the papers she had in her hand.

  “Fuck that! How’s O’Shea?” another officer interrupted her with a shout.

  The grey-haired doctor took this momentary distraction to quickly climb down from the counter and disappear past the crowds into the bowels of the hospital.

  “I will be reading a prepared statement at that time,” she continued, looking back down at the paper in front of her, deciding that the instruction she had been given to keep to the script was likely the most prudent course to follow, “and will answer any and all of your questions to the best of my ability.”

  “How’s Mikey?” a louder voice called out.

  “Until that time,” the media relations officer pushed on, “I would ask you, for the sake of the injured officer and the other patients here at St. Michael’s Hospital, to kindly leave the emergency department and wait elsewhere.”

  “Amen to that,” an old man pushing an IV pole with a urine bag dangling from one hook and an IV bag from another mumbled as he made his way towards the exit sign, the back of his hospital gown doing nothing to cover his hairy ass.

  *****

  “This doesn’t look like emerg. How long am I going to be here?” Mike asked the short, slightly built intern.

  “Very good,” the young doctor replied, looking up from Mike’s chart. “You are, in fact, on the seventeenth floor of St. Mike’s because, thanks to you, our emerg is a bit of a dog-and-pony show right now. You don’t appear to be physically injured but we still need to give you a quick once-over, so the decision was made to whisk you up here. So in answer to your question: not long.”

  “What does ‘not long’ mean to you, doc?”

  “A couple of hours, maybe a few more.”

  “A couple of hours? Why? You just said there’s nothing wrong with me.”

  The intern stopped reading the chart and looked at his patient for a moment. “Look at yourself,” he began.

  “What?” Mike asked, obediently looking down at the soft blue hospital gown that covered his upper body while failing miserably to cover anything below the waist.

  “You aren’t so bad now, but you were covered in brain tissue, blood, and bone fragments when you came in. Your blood pressure was exceedingly high, and you were incoherent. Given the circumstances, of course, that was to be expected. It’s all a part of critical incident stress. I’m sure you’ve heard about it.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. But I’m feeling fine now and I just want to go home,” Mike replied. He had never actually heard about critical incident stress and was not particularly interested in hearing about it now.

  “I’m sorry, but you will have to stay here at least until the doctor comes in to see you,” the intern said, again focusing on Mike’s chart

  “Aren’t you a doctor?”

  “Yes, but the doctor who will see you is from Psych.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Mike laughed.

  “No. It’s not every day you see your partner get shot right in front of you, is it?” Without waiting for an answer, the intern continued, “I don’t think so. And it’s not every day that you have exceedingly high blood pressure and cannot recall your own phone number, is it? No. I don’t think so. As such, we have a responsibility to ensure that you are fit to leave this hospital before we can discharge you.”

  “Are you telling me that I’m here involuntarily?” Mike’s eyes narrowed, noticing for the first time that he was in a private cubicle, complete with drawn curtains and a panic button that was closer to the intern than to Mike’s bed.

  “Did you drive yourself in?” the intern asked.

  “No.”

  “Did you ask to come here?”

  “Not really. No. I was told—”

  “Then you are here involuntarily,” the intern said with a smile.

  Mike did not smile back.

  “I’m joking,” the intern said hastily. “It was a play on words, see?”

  “Great. Yeah. Sure. But do I have to stay?” Mike asked again.

  “That is not up to me,” the intern advised.

  “Who is it up to?” Mike sighed.

  “You. You can leave any time you want, of course, but I would strongly recommend that you stay to speak to—”

  “What the fuck happened out there, Mike?” Robby asked, pushing his way past the intern. “Sorry, bud!”

  “I—” Mike began.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but you cannot be in here,” the intern said, quickly moving in front of Robby to stop him, even though his tiny frame no match for Robby’s robust physique.

  “Go fuck yourself. This is my officer. The other one is waiting for a cold bed at the morgue. Mike—”

  “I’m going to call Security,” the intern warned in a sing-song voice.

  “It’s okay, doc. This is my boss,” Mike reassured the young man.

  “I don’t care if this is your father, your brother, or your lover. No one can see you right now,” the intern snapped, poking his head out the door. “Security?”

  “Goddammit, Mike,” Robby began. “I told you not to go. I told you we didn’t have any intel on the place. I told you—”

  “I don’t think this line of communication is helpful for your colleague,” the intern interrupted, albeit somewhat hesitantly, as he looked anxiously over his shoulder for someone from hospital Security.

  “You trying to fuck me around isn’t helpful to me, doc!” Robby yelled at the now-cowering intern. “And don’t bother looking for Security. I told the kid at the desk not to come in if you called.”

  “I just want to go home,” Mike told Robby as the intern practically sprinted out of the room.

  “As fucking pissed as I am with you right now, Mike, I know you and Sal were trying to do the right thing for the right reason. I don’t know how or where you got your intel, and it doesn’t matter at this moment. Sometimes, shit just happens. I get that. And I’m sorry… I’m just so fucking sorry that I didn’t try harder to stop you.”

  “I think we’re all going to be sorry for a long time,” Mike mumbled, looking around the room for his clothes. “But that’s not going to help Sal. I need to get out of here so that I can—”

  “Forget it, Mike. You’re not coming back for a while.” Robby’s voice softened, tipping Mike to the fact that he would now be treated like a broken toy. Except that he still had to stand tall for the media frenzy. And the trail once the killer was arrested.

  “Fuck you!”

  “Take advantage of all the programs they offer you here, okay, Mikey?” Robby said, not buying his own words but knowing that he had a legal obligation to advise his subordinate.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Mike coughed. “You are fucking kidding me, aren’t you?”

  “Listen. We’ll catch that fucking lowl
ife bastard who shot Sal. And as far as everything else goes, I’ll do my best to hold on to you. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try to keep you in the unit. There’ll be another project waiting for you if—no, make that when you get back. I promise. Okay? Just take whatever time you need and—”

  “You mean they haven’t caught the shooter?”

  “No. Not yet. But don’t worry. We will. The whole city—Christ, the whole goddamned country—is looking for him. We even got cops from south of the border keeping an eye out. It won’t be long. In the meantime—”

  “But I got a partial plate right then and there. How far could they have gone?”

  “The plate didn’t come back to anything, Mikey,” Robby said, looking down at his shoes.

  “Bullshit!” Mike yelled.

  “Sorry, Mike. You must have seen it wrong, or—”

  “What about the shooter? He had a scar. Like that Malcolm guy the girl was talking about.”

  “No, Mike,” Robby shook his head, looking sadly at his wounded officer, “the shooter didn’t have a scar.”

  “How the fuck do you know?” Mike began, his body starting to shake with anger.

  “They pulled the security video right away and got some stills of the guy. He didn’t have any marks on his face. You probably just got all confused with—”

  “No, dammit. I’m telling you, Robby. The fucking guy had a big fucking scar on the right side of his fucking face,” Mike yelled, pointing to the right side of his own face. “Right here. Maybe the cameras only got the left side.”

  The door to the room opened wide.

  “Excuse me, sir, but you are going to have to leave,” advised the young, pimply-faced security officer who entered, the intern close on his heels.

  “Go fuck yourself. I slipped you a C-note—” Robby spat back.

  “I don’t care whether you paid this guard off or not,” the intern said, pushing himself past the blushing young man. “My patient’s blood pressure is becoming dangerously high again. I’m going to have to ask you to leave or I will have you—”

  “For chrissake, I’m out of here.” Robby gave the intern a shove as he made his way through the door. Then he stopped and turned back to Mike. “Remember what I said, Mike. Take care of yourself. Do whatever they tell you. Don’t rush to get back to work. I’ll be in touch.”

  Mike’s teeth were clenched so tightly that they felt as if they were close to cracking, and his shoulders were up around his ears. He appeared so angry to the intern and the security guard that they both beat a hasty retreat out of the room, closing the door behind them.

  “I think a strong sedative would be a wise option now,” the intern muttered to himself as he walked down the hall towards the meds cabinet.

  *****

  “Where are you going?” the afternoon nurse challenged, poking his shaved head up over the computer screen at the nursing station.

  “Out for a smoke,” Mike lied. He had exchanged his hospital gown for scrubs and some booties that he had found in a linen closet outside his room.

  “You’re that cop, aren’t you?” the nurse asked, looking Mike up and down.

  “Yeah.”

  “Just up on this floor to keep you away from the press, I guess, eh?”

  “Yeah,” Mike nodded, looking down the hall past the nurse for the intern.

  “Fair enough. I’m supposed to ask everyone who leaves this floor—you know it’s Psych, right?—whether or not they need anyone to come with them if they’re not here involuntarily, but I guess I don’t have to ask you, eh?”

  “No, I’m good, thanks.” Mike smiled, then turned to check the floor indicator numbers on the elevator just beyond the nurses’ station, absently noting the news loop playing on the flat screen mounted on the wall. “And besides, it’s cold out. No need for both of us to freeze our nuts off.”

  “True that, my friend,” the nurse nodded before returning to his paperwork. “True that.”

  “Turn the volume up!” Mike suddenly demanded.

  “Wha—?” Puzzled, the nurse looked up.

  “On the TV. Turn it up. It’s the wrong plate!”

  “What are you—?”

  “The fucking licence plate. It’s the wrong one. I said ‘C’, not ‘B’. They’re looking for the wrong car! Give me your phone,” Mike demanded again as he grabbed at the nurse.

  “Hang on a minute, buddy,” the man said, preparing himself for a fight.

  “I need to make a phone call.”

  “You need to chill the fuck out!”

  “You need to give me the fucking phone. Right now, the entire city is looking for a licence plate that doesn’t exist, while the cop killer is driving his merry little ass around right under their noses.”

  “I realize that you’re a cop, but—” The nurse flexed his muscles under his tight shirt.

  “But nothing. Listen, you gotta help a brother out here,” Mike pleaded, forcing himself to calm down. “We’re both in the business of saving lives, right?”

  “Sure,” the man nodded, his muscles relaxing a bit.

  “And we both know how fucked up it can get, right?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “There’s a dead cop lying in the morgue right now, and the guy who shot him in cold blood is out there somewhere. You can help me find him. Are you in?”

  “Let me call Security.” The nurse reached for the phone, not taking his eyes off Mike.

  “Fuck Security, bro. It’s you and me time. That guy who was just in to see me and just left. Where is he now?”

  “How should I know?” the nurse answered, phone receiver at his head, his fingers pressing the phone keys.

  “You got a wall of cameras right in front of you there. Who do you see?”

  “A wall of people. The cameras aren’t for—”

  “Never mind. How about the phone?”

  Mike locked eyes with the nurse. The nurse put the receiver back in its cradle.

  “It’s not an outside line. This is Psych. The only calls we need to make are internal.”

  “Shit!”

  “Listen, detective, I get it,” the nurse began. “You’ve got a shitty job, and you must feel—”

  “Is there an intercom on that phone?” Mike persisted.

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Page Police Constable Ron Roberts. Tell him there’s an urgent call for him in the police office.”

  “What?”

  “Just do it. And don’t tell anyone I’ve gone for a smoke, okay? I told my wife I was quitting.”

  The psych nurse nodded as Mike walked towards the elevator and pressed the button. Mike smiled at the older woman standing beside her cart and broom as the doors to the elevator closed behind him. He hoped to hell that Ron Roberts was, in fact, at the hospital and would respond to the page.

  *****

  “I’d go out the side door if I were you, doctor,” suggested the orderly who got on the elevator a couple of floors up from the Psych floor. He pointed to their right as the elevator door opened into the main lobby. “It’s a zoo down there.”

  Mike smiled and nodded his thanks as he walked out of the elevator. He kept his head down and his pace steady, hoping as he passed numerous cops talking to reporters who were trying to look engaged as they waited for some piece of info they could actually use that none of his colleagues would recognize him. As he got closer to the closet that had been converted into the police office, he couldn’t help shuddering as he considered what the next few days would probably look like.

  “Fancy seeing you here,” a voice that Mike had never thought he’d be so glad to hear greeted him.

  “Ron! You gotta help me,” Mike said.

  “Apparently, there’s an urgent phone call for me, but I can’t seem to—”

  “That was me. I need you to run a plate.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Never mind. Where are you parked? We gotta ge
t out of here.”

  “I’m just around the corner. Parked on a side street. Didn’t want to get blocked in—”

  “Forever the traffic cop, eh?” Mike couldn’t help himself.

  “Yes,” Ron replied with grave sincerity.

  “Lead on!” Mike grabbed Ron and hustled him down the hall, looking over his shoulder a couple of times to make sure that Security had not been notified.

  *****

  “What the hell are you doing, Ron?”

  “I’m letting the dispatcher know—”

  “No!” Mike almost yelled, grabbing the mic from Ron’s hand. “Dispatcher, this is D/C Michael O’Shea, badge 32833, JPTF. The vehicle used by the suspect who shot my partner is a four-door blue Audi SUV. Licence plate has four letters and three numbers. The first letter is C-Charlie, not B-Bravo. First number is 6.”

  “Please repeat, officer relaying updated homicide vehicle plate info,” the dispatcher said.

  As Mike repeated the information, Ron turned on the ignition.

  “Update for all units: homicide vehicle licence plate has four letters and three numbers. First letter is C-Charlie. Repeat: first letter is C-Charlie. Please use extreme caution. when approaching the suspect vehicle,” said the dispatcher.

  Then Mike heard something that he had been afraid of. “This is Duty Inspector Rowe, dispatcher. What unit do you have Detective Constable Michael O’Shea signed on to?”

  “I don’t have that officer signed on, Inspector, but that transmission came from scout car 6703, presently located just outside of St. Mike’s Hospital.”

  “Fucking GPS,” Mike muttered under his breath.

  “Duty Inspector Rowe to the officer signed on to scout car 6703. Please remain at your present location until I arrive.”

  Ron blinked twice.

  “We don’t have time to dick around, Ron. Drive me home,” Mike demanded.

  Ron did not move.

  “Look, Ron, either drive me home or get out and you can wait here alone.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. We don’t have time to wait for some white shirt to check in on us. How long do you think it’ll take them to figure out the rest of the plate and get a return on it?”