by Anna Burke
The eerie voice repeated the warning in the same unemotional, detached tone.
“ICU, do you think it’s Libby?” Jessica asked. “I don’t mean Libby, but you know, someone trying to get to her?”
“I was down there earlier today, Jessica. There was one other patient in the ICU, an older man who had suffered a serious heart attack. So, yes, my guess is this has something to do with Libby and the mess she’s mixed up in.” Laura spoke softly as she sat on the foot of Jessica’s bed.
“The mess we’re all mixed up in, don’t you mean?” Jessica asked, her stomach souring from stress, or from eating so fast, or some combination of the two. Her heart pounded.
“It can’t be too bad or they would have issued an evacuation order. Most likely we’re not talking about multiple intruders or a bomb. They said stay put, so that’s what we’ll do.” Peter spoke resolutely as he went back to eating his lunch. A gun had appeared from somewhere in response to the alarm. It now sat within easy reach as he faced the door, standing no more than a step or two from Jessica. Jessica rested her head on the pillow and tried to calm down.
He thinks someone might be coming for me, she thought. She kept the words to herself. Speaking them aloud would make things worse, adding to the suspense they already felt.
“No bomb? Okay, that’s cool,” Brien said as he moved back into high speed eating.
“Cool isn’t the word I would have chosen, Brien. It sounds like we have no choice but to wait this out. We’re not in any immediate danger. No one’s pounding on the door, or trying to get in.” That was the most words Kim had uttered since walking into the room. During the brief whirlwind of activity from Laura and Peter she had sat, frozen like a statue, taking it all in. When Peter went back to eating, she did too.
They sat in silence for several minutes, waiting for an update. The minutes passed like hours. At the sound of a little ping they all startled. Even Peter tensed up. It was Laura’s phone. She read the text message aloud:
Lone gunman. Shots fired. No injuries. Gunman’s location, unknown. Continue to shelter in place.
Before anyone could comment or react a sudden flurry of commotion began outside the door to Jessica’s room. Peter grabbed the gun and moved closer to Jessica. “You know how to unhook this stuff, Laura?” he asked in a low voice, nodding toward the IV connected to Jessica.
“Sure, Peter. No problem.”
“Get her unhooked and help her into the bathroom. Brien, Kim you get in there, too, with Laura and Jessica.” As he spoke, someone jiggled the door handle. “Move it, you guys. Stand off to the side, not in the direct line of the doorway, got that?”
“Got it,” Laura said as she freed up the pole on which the IV bag hung so it could move with Jessica.
Brien did not hesitate. Not even long enough to take the last of his food with him. Neither did Kim, who also headed toward the bathroom. She paused for a moment to help untangle a cord that Laura was trying to free.
Without the use of her left arm, and her right hand connected to the IV, Jessica's exit from the bed was awkward. She had on one of the muumuus Bernadette had brought to the hospital, so she didn’t have to worry about an exposed backside. Laura slid the rails all the way down on the side of the bed nearest the bathroom. She and Kim helped Jessica scoot to the edge of the bed and then waited as, with their support, she eased her way to the floor. Jessica winced as her ribs protested.
The door handle jiggled again and someone was pounding on the door now. Jessica and the rest of the crew hustled inside the bathroom, crammed into the tiny space. Brien stepped into the shower stall to make more room for the others. They heard another ping on Laura’s phone as they shut and locked the door.
“Damn,” she said. She had left the phone on the foot of the bed where she had put it down to assist Jessica. From inside the bathroom they could hear more pinging, ringing, and pounding. It sounded like it was a long way off. Deceptive, since danger wasn't more than a few yards away.
10 Car Chase
Eric was about to have a stroke. He could not believe what he was watching on television. Reporters filmed a man running at top speed from the hospital. Chasing not far behind him were hospital security and a uniformed police officer. First responders flocked to the scene along with reporters from the local news outlets in the Palm Springs area. A police helicopter followed the man as he hijacked a car that had been waiting with the engine running in the patient pickup area. He yanked the driver out of the car, threw him on the ground and then, fired two shots toward the officers chasing him on foot. Bystanders fled for cover. The officers he shot at ducked, giving him time to get into the car and take off. As he sped away, he turned onto the main street in front of the hospital complex and headed toward the I-10 freeway. A nearby police patrol car was after him in a split second. Not long after, two others joined the pursuit.
“Shades of OJ Simpson,” Eric said as he slammed his fist on the desk. “Damn it when I get my hands on that son-of-a-bitch I will give him the OJ treatment. Oh hell, let him clean up his own messes.” He pulled the burner phone from his pocket and called Kirk, who answered on the first ring. Eric did not need to introduce himself.
“This is unbelievable. What is going on? You were supposed to keep this simple. A quiet operation is what I asked for. What the hell happened?”
“Jack says there was a cop at the hospital—some yokel with the County Sheriff’s department. He busted in on him, even with our distraction scenario in play. Jack had no choice but to get out of there. I’m not sure if he took care of the girl, or not, before that hero got into the act.”
“I don’t get it. Your guys can’t pick out a cop?”
“He wasn’t in uniform and didn’t look like a cop. He wasn’t even wearing one of those crappy detective suits. Besides that he had some old guy with him. Jack thought they were family members paying the girl a visit. He waited for them to leave the room before he ran down the steps, lit the fire in the basement, threw the alarm and sprinted back up there. It was all working just fine. Jack’s mic was on, so I heard the whole thing. When Jack slipped back into that room, I could hear people yelling for everyone to exit the building. Not two minutes after they left the girl’s room, the two guys came back. When one identified himself as a cop I told Jack to get the hell out of there. What kind of idiot heads back into the room when everybody’s telling him to leave? He, and the old man with him, had Jack cornered. Jack had no choice but to wave a gun around. In fact Jack was damn lucky to get out of there at all. It was smart thinking and quick action that allowed him to do that, Eric.”
“I don’t want to hear anymore. This is a disaster and I want it stopped! Now! Where are you?”
“I’m in my SUV, on a route to intercept Jack. I know what I have to do. It makes me sick to lose a guy like that, but I’m on it.”
“You better be. Clean this up or I’ll give you something to feel sorry about.” Eric ended the call. What was up with the Van Der Woert woman? Had that loser, Jack, finished that part of the job, at least, before creating such a stink? He hoped so. With luck, Jack wasn’t about to die for nothing.
He continued to watch, fascinated as the helicopter feed of the car chase in the desert was broadcast live on L.A. networks. Californians loved their car chases. The stolen car was moving at high speed on a road heading toward the I-10 freeway on ramp.
“What an idiot,” Eric muttered. Even if he could get to the freeway, where was he going to go? West would take him toward L.A. and massive traffic jams in no time. East led to nothing but a lot of highway and desert before reaching Blythe and the border with Arizona. Maybe that’s what he was trying to do. No way would it work. Even if the car he stole had enough gas the cops would be waiting at the state line. East or West the police would have roadblocks up in no time. The good guys had him in the crosshairs, but so did his team leader.
Police vehicles were in hot pursuit, sirens blaring. Other vehicles on the road tried like mad to get out of the wa
y as the convoy hurtled down the thoroughfare. The car had to be traveling at close to 100 miles per hour, according to newscasters. As the car neared the last major intersection before reaching the freeway ramp, a tire blew. The car spun out of control. In the next instant it hit a curb, flew up into the air and then flipped over and over. After skidding a hundred yards the car came to rest, still upside down. Then the wrecked vehicle burst into flames.
“Sorry, Jack, you poor bastard, whoever you are. That’s what you get when you don’t do your job right.” He picked up his cell phone and redialed the number, breathing easier than when he had made the previous call.
“Good job. Lucky for you.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it, Eric. Now what?”
“What do you mean, ‘now what’? You finish the job, that’s what. Find out what’s up with the Van Der Woert girl, ASAP. If Jack didn’t get it done, you do it.”
“There’s no way I'm getting another crack at her today.”
“Okay, so lie low for now, until we get a report on Van Der Woert’s status and things settle down. Keep tabs on that Huntington woman. She won't be in the hospital much longer. I want to know where she is until my business is concluded. Got that? The countdown is on, dammit. Shut up Libby Van Der Woert and don't let Jessica Huntington out of your sight. Do you think you can handle that?”
“Sure thing, Eric.” The tone in Kirk’s voice was irritating.
“Don’t get snippy with me. In fact, if you don’t want trouble from me, you get your butt back over to the hospital now. You’re a pro, Kirk, so don’t tell me you can’t at least figure out whether you have to clean up after Jack or not. If Libby Van Der Woert is still alive, I want to hear that from you. One more thing, if I find out that nut job is talking, I promise I will take matters into my own hands. That won’t do your reputation any good, now will it, Kierkegaard?” Eric knew he disliked being called that. So what? If this screw up got in Eric Conroy’s way, Kirk wouldn’t need to worry about his reputation, being called Kierkegaard, or anything else for that matter. Eric would bring in another company to fix this mess and Kierkegaard Kunzel would be one of the loose ends that got tied up. Eric wished he could slam the phone down, like he used to do with a real phone.
As the media replayed the whole chase scene, Eric stood there and watched. Rather than feeling horror or sadness when that car burst into flames, Eric felt relieved, once again. The coverage went back, live, to the crash site. Not just the police, but fire and rescue had converged on the location. Dark black smoke billowed. He had the sound turned down low, but could hear the excited babble of talking heads doing voice overs to go with the scenes being broadcast.
“Their ratings just went through the roof as I get a kick in the pants. This can’t go on.” All he needed was a few more days with the IPO scheduled to launch on the 20th. The board would meet this Friday to hear from the joint book runners. He presumed the boys at “Golden Slacks” and the other major investment firms honchoing the IPO would have good news to report. That assumption was based on snippets of info coming in about the road show that was underway.
Eric didn’t expect he’d have much to do to keep all his ducks in a row, no matter what happened, but he did not like surprises and was taking no chances. Getting the votes to support the IPO had taken some doing. Even the CEO had required more convincing than Eric imagined it would take. No matter. Their fearless leader was on board, now. The CEO was doing fine, too, as that dog and pony show made the rounds. If he were the CEO and Chairman of the Board, as he should have been, those meetings would be smoking. Pinnacle needed him at the helm—well, had needed him, but it was too late for that now.
“Too little, too late,” Eric muttered in anger. “A few more days and it’ll be clear what too little too late gets you, too. You should have put me in charge and the future of Pinnacle might have gone in a different direction.” Eric spoke those words as if the board members were sitting in front of him. Then he sat down and started a countdown in his head as he marked off the days on a desk calendar: 10, 9, 8,... In a matter of days now, Pinnacle would rise, attaining great heights, before crashing back to earth like a misguided missile. By then he and a quarter of a billion dollars, or more, would be long gone.
11 The Shooter
The phone in Jessica’s hospital room rang. Laura's cell phone was ringing too. The pounding on the door continued and Jessica thought she heard someone shouting her name.
“Somebody’s calling my name, Peter. What is going on?” Jessica asked. “No bad guy would shout at me like that, right?”
“Jessica, they haven’t given us the ‘all clear’ yet over the loudspeakers,” Laura responded. “We should stay put until that call goes out.”
“You guys do that. I’ll go check the phones,” Peter said. He had been fiddling with his own phone from the moment they entered the bathroom. “I can’t get a signal in here or I’d call somebody and ask. Lock the door behind me,” Peter said as he opened the bathroom door and stepped back into hospital room.
The pounding and shouting stopped a minute or two later. Peter returned and instructed them to unlock the door to the bathroom. When Jessica stepped from the bathroom back into the hospital room, it was full of people. Nurse Andrews was standing there with her arms folded across her chest. Behind her stood Jessica’s doctor, another nurse, and a man in a suit who must have been a hospital administrator since he did not have that surly cop look on his face. Next to them stood Frank Fontana, with Detective Hernandez on one side of him and Uncle Don on the other. Two men in hospital security uniforms stood nearby, too. Eyes widened when Jessica stepped out of the bathroom, followed by Laura, then Kim and last but not least, Brien.
“It’s like one of those little clown cars at the circus,” Detective Hernandez said shaking his head. “Why am I not surprised?” he commented to everyone in the room.
“I take it everyone’s okay,” Don Fontana commented with a note of sarcasm in his voice. “Hope we didn’t disturb you.”
“No problema, Man. We were just sheltering in place. A small place, but hey, that’s cool!” Brien said, before he turned around and went back into the bathroom. “Excuse me, uh, I gotta go,” he said as he closed the door, peeking around the edge until he closed it.
“Yes, we’re fine. So kind of you to ask,” Jessica sniffed. She did not like the way this was going. Wisecracks from Detective Hernandez signaled trouble, as did snide comments from Uncle Don. Nurse Andrews had donned a nasty “Nurse Ratched” look as she moved to help Jessica get back into bed. The nurse stopped to remove the container that had held Jessica’s French fries, which had turned upside down, scattering fries and crumbs.
“One moment, Ms. Huntington,” she said, a coldness in her voice, as she cleaned up the scraps and brushed crumbs from the bed. Jessica glanced around the room. In their hurry to respond to the alarm, they had left uneaten food and wrappers scattered about.
So it’s back to Ms. Huntington, is it? Jessica thought as the nurse guided her back into bed. Aloud she asked, “Are you all going to just stand there and gawk, or is somebody going to tell us what all this ruckus is about? Don’t you dare try to pin anything on me, Detective Hernandez! I was lying here, minding my own business, having lunch with my friends, okay?”
Before anyone could say another word, Tommy and Jerry bounded into the room from the hallway. Tommy stopped, coming up quick to avoid bumping into his Cousin Frank and Uncle Don. That caused Jerry to careen into him, shoving Tommy into Frank anyway. It was like a row of dominoes as Tommy jostled Frank who nudged Detective Hernandez, who bumped into Uncle Don. Don stepped on the toes of one of the security guards, who knocked into a bedside tray sending items flying in several directions. The nurses in the room scurried to clean up the new mess.
“How did you two get up here? Carter, Carter!” the gentleman in the suit bellowed, donning a surly look now, too. He was a hospital administrator with authority over the security guys, judging by the commanding to
ne he used and the way the men in security outfits flinched.
“Yes sir?” asked another member of the uniformed security team who stepped into the room in response to that command.
“I thought we had this whole floor sealed off, including the elevator and stairs.”
“Yes, Sir, it was until we got the all clear minutes ago on our cell phones.” Before he could say another word the same disembodied voice that had sent out the code silver announced the all clear.
The supervisor pulled his cell phone out and took a look. “He’s right. Someone went ahead and sent out the all clear without contacting me first. Must have come from higher ups.” He sounded chagrined as he spoke to the group in the room.
Jessica was about to speak again when there was more commotion outside the door. Bernadette dashed into the room, stunned for a moment because there were now about twenty people in the small hospital room. Jessica’s parents stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene.
“Talk about your tiny clown cars,” Jessica mumbled. The door to the bathroom opened and Brien stepped out to rejoin the throng.
“Hey, Mrs. B! Yo, dudes, ’sup?” Brien said as if it was the most natural thing in the world to find them all there.
“Mom, Dad, squeeze on in. Some kind of gathering is being held in my honor, although no one has told me what we’re celebrating.”
“Jessica, we heard a gunman was on the loose, and that they had shut the whole place down. We got here as fast as we could—we were so afraid...” Alexis said as she pushed her way through the crowd to reach her daughter’s bedside.
“Yeah, we got here as soon as we could, too, Jessica,” Tommy said. “We sat in traffic for a while because they had closed streets and then we had to wait to get into the lot once the streets opened up again.”
“I’m hungry,” Brien said, out of the blue. A wave of puzzled looks sped around the room as they made a stab at processing that non sequitur.