by L. T. Ryan
"That good enough?"
Frank's face turned a deep shade of red. Veins stood out. He clenched his fists. "Bastard! What did he or his mother do to you?"
The man said nothing.
"Hasn't he been through enough?" Frank said.
The man said nothing.
"Why don't you meet me in front of the hospital," Frank said. "You're obviously tough enough to take on a little kid. Why not take me on?"
"I don't know who is speaking, but you can tell him that I'm not listening. Fifteen minutes, Mr. Noble. Don't waste any more time."
The screen lit up, the timer froze, the words call ended flashed in bold letters. I flipped the phone shut and stuffed it back into my pocket. He'd given us fifteen minutes to travel twenty. We had to get moving.
"What the hell is this?" Frank said. "Kidnapping and attempted vehicular homicide. Maybe we should turn this over, Jack."
I stared at him in disbelief. A minute ago, he was ready to take on an army if necessary to get to the man on the other end of the phone. Now he'd flipped? Besides, the guy on the phone was serious as a stone. We couldn't risk the boy's life until we knew more, nor had some kind of leverage.
"Frank," I said, "they're sending a team to kill the boy's mother."
"He said that, yeah. But maybe they're really coming for you, Jack." He shook his head. "This guy has it in for you. Any idea why? Or who he is?"
The sixty-four thousand dollar question. There were plenty of people who I'd pissed off in the last ten years. From military officers to CIA agents to Special Forces guys. I could probably rattle off a list of names that would rival those on the Declaration of Independence. But none of that would explain why someone would come after me by kidnapping a little boy and trying to kill his mother. The kind of men I pissed off had a spine and would confront me head on.
"No," I said. "I assume it's someone I know, though. Why else disguise the voice?"
Frank placed his hands on his hips and tilted his head back. His breath mixed with the cold air and a stream of wispy smoke rose into the sky, melting with the full moon hovering behind him. "We need to coordinate with the feds, at the very least."
"You willing to risk her life? That little boy's life?"
Frank lowered his chin to his chest. His eyes focused on a spot somewhere between my feet. He ran a hand through his brown hair, then looked me in the eye. "Just be ready for anything." He glanced in Sarah's direction. "You too."
Sarah nodded in response to Frank.
I'd forgotten she was there. Every second she spent listening to us talk meant additional hours she'd have to spend with us. I shook my head at the thought of the size of the document she was going to have to sign stating she'd never mention a word of this.
"Where's that cab?" I said. "We're running out of time and we've got a lot of ground to cover."
Frank hiked his shoulders an inch and said nothing.
I walked to the end of the building and saw Frank's car in the parking lot. "Give me your keys."
Frank grabbed Sarah by the elbow and guided her in my direction. "You sure you're all right to drive?"
I nodded. He tossed the keys. They glided through the air in an arc, glinting in the moonlight. I tracked them until they were a foot in front of me, then reached out and snagged them. We hustled to the car and got in. Sarah sat in back and Frank in the passenger seat. He fiddled with the built in GPS unit and set a course to the hospital. Perfect for me. Now I didn't have to drive using the map in my head. Don't think, drive. I repeated the mantra in my head as the robotic voice of a woman tossed out directions. I drove as fast as I could manage. It was a perfect union of logic and speed.
We had twelve minutes remaining when we hit the street. Twelve minutes to drive what would normally take twenty at forty miles per hour. The simple solution was to average eighty. We'd get there with two minutes to spare.
Frank's car didn't look like much, but it was a beast mechanically. It had a police interceptor engine, tweaked to get a little more out of it than the cops did, and a beefed up suspension. The result was that even though I drove over eighty miles per hour through the deserted nighttime streets of D.C., it felt like we were cruising along on a Sunday drive. I even flipped the radio on and found an old-time jazz station. The soothing tones of a tenor sax poured through the speakers like velvet, relaxing me.
Five minutes in and we were halfway there, mostly because I'd skipped through half a dozen red lights. I checked the rearview the first time and saw Sarah's eyes grow wide as she took a deep breath and held it. I had decided not to look back again. Seeing her in a panicked state like that ruined the ambiance the music created.
The GPS display continually updated the time remaining statistic for our route. It said eight minutes, which I knew meant we had six or fewer. We were making good time and were on track to arrive at the hospital with one or two precious minute to spare.
I glanced over at Frank, prepared to share the good news. He sat pressed back into the seat. Face tight. Knuckles white. Hands locked in a death grip on the center console and the armrest on the door. I suspected that if the drive went on much longer, he'd end up ripping one of them off, if not both.
We approached another red light. I didn't slow down. Frank hammered his right leg into the ground, pumping his imaginary brakes.
A tiny smile formed on my lips. Of everyone I knew there were two I considered to be fearless. Bear was one of those people. Frank was the other. I'd finally found his weakness. He wouldn't blink while staring down a gun, would walk into a hornets' nest if it meant completing the job, and wouldn't hesitate to rescue someone in a burning building. But being thrashed and slammed and crushed in a car accident had him looking like he stared down a path that led right to death's door.
I glanced at the clock, seven minutes in. I glanced at the GPS, four and half minutes to go. Roughly translated it meant I was still on time to arrive within ten minutes, leaving two to spare.
I don't know if I saw the flashing lights or heard the whoop of the siren first. My brain mashed the two together. I then realized we had a new problem to face.
"Friggin' cops," Frank muttered.
"Jack, are you gonna pull over?" Sarah asked.
I said nothing, choosing to gun the engine in response instead. I needed to keep the cops on my ass, instead of up it. We had less than three minutes to travel. I had to reach the hospital before they forced me to stop. The hospital entrance was the only acceptable place for the car to come to rest. Short of hitting me in the head with a bullet, they weren't keeping us from making it on time. Frank could deal with the fall out. That was his strong suit.
"Jack!" Sarah said.
"He's not stopping," Frank said. "We don't have time."
"This does add a new dimension to the task," I said. "He said no cops. We're bringing the cops with us."
"It's not the same," Frank said.
"Think he'll buy that?" I said.
Frank laughed. He had relaxed. Thinking tactically took his mind off of the danger presented every time I blew through a red light, like I was about to do at that moment.
I sped up as I approached the light. The faint glow of headlights approaching from the cross street started to light up the recesses of the intersection, like the sun coming up over a mountain. You stand below, in the shadows, watching the light fill up every corner but the one you stand on. Until it finally stares you down and bathes you with its radiance. I pushed the car faster, glancing at the speedometer and noting that it read one-ten. The cop car lagged behind, as I hoped it would.
We hit the intersection, dipped and bounced. I turned my head slightly to the left and saw the headlights, up close and personal. It looked like a collision was unavoidable. The other car's horn blared. Tires squealed. I watched in the side mirror. Time slowed down and I saw the event unfold in stills instead of fluidly. The other car, possibly a big old Buick, skidded toward us, narrowly missing the rear quarter panel, spun then stopped in the middl
e of the intersection. I pushed the gas harder. One-fifteen. Another set of tires produced another squealing sound as a result of the friction between rubber and asphalt. I looked into the rearview mirror. Blue light silhouetted the big old Buick. I anticipated a crash, but didn't hear one. I didn't bother to check the rearview mirror again. At least, not until the blue lights began their second approach.
CHAPTER 14
By my estimation, we were less than two minutes from the hospital. The cop car had fallen behind. There were only a couple intersections with lights remaining, no turns, open highway to the front doors of the ER, practically. I pushed the car even harder. The engine gurgled at first, then roared with a burst, and finally settled back into a steady hum.
Under a minute remained. The streetlights flew by in a blur. The hospital approached, small, like a scale building on a model railroad track, rising and growing as we approached. I began to slow down and the blue lights began to close in. No worries, though. They'd have to slow down the same as us.
The entrance to the hospital parking lot came up quick. I yanked the wheel to the right and hit the brakes and the car turned and skidded into the lot, narrowly missing a parked car. Forty had been too fast for the turn and I made a mental note of it. I slowed down, found the entrance to the emergency room, slammed on the brakes in front of the automatic double doors. Before the car came to a complete stop, I threw it into park, causing it to jerk and shudder. Sarah went face first into Frank's seat and then slammed back into her own. I didn't wait around to make sure she was OK. Strobing blue lights reflected off surrounding buildings and the sound of the cruiser's sirens were deafeningly close.
I flung my door open and raced around the front of our car. The smell emanating from the vehicle was a mixture of a gas station and a tire factory. I wondered if it would be in good enough shape to leave in. I left the car behind and headed for the covered entrance. The automatic glass doors couldn't part fast enough. I managed to slam my right shoulder into one of them, knocking it off track with a loud rattling sound.
"Hey," a woman at the receiving desk next to the doors said to me. "What the hell?"
I ignored her and ran to the nurses' station.
"Help you?" a plump nurse with red cheeks said. Too many late night shifts, I figured, as well as too many dinners from a vending machine.
"Tammy Nockowitz," I said through heavy breaths. I hadn't run far, but I'd sprinted, and possibly winded myself when I slammed into the door. It was then that I noticed a burning sensation on my right side, below my chest.
"She's about to go into surgery. No one can see her."
"I…I'm her husband," I lied.
She eyed me up and down. "Got ID?"
"I left it in the cab. He's probably gone."
She craned her head and tried to look past me. I mirrored her movements and blocked her view. I worried that the blue lights flashing close to the door would draw her eye. They didn't. I then realized that working in an ER would have made her immune to such things. It was nothing more than business as usual, judging by her casual tone and reaction.
"I'm gonna have to make a call on this," she said.
I sighed my disapproval as she stepped away and picked up a phone. Her chubby finger hit a single button. I heard the word security muttered. I placed both palms on the counter and pushed myself up so that I leaned over the top. Saw a clipboard and grabbed it. My feet hit the ground again and I turned and started walking, pushing past a door with red signs and white letters that I didn't bother to let form into words in my head. My eyes scanned the patient list until I saw Tammy's name and room number.
The nurse might have called after me. Then again, maybe not. I didn't pay attention. I lifted my eyes until they peered over the plastic clipboard. It took a second or two for my eyes to adjust from near to far, and the blur faded. The wide hallway was full of the sounds of machines pumping and beeping, drowning out the moans and groans and cries of people in pain. I wondered who they were. Had they been in car accidents like Tammy? Had some been shot or stabbed or fallen down stairs? Or perhaps pushed? Maybe a homeless guy or two who didn't reach the shelter in time and found themselves needing a warm place to rest their head, needles and tubes and machines be damned.
The hall doglegged to the right. My eyes scanned open doorways, counting ahead. Tammy's room was halfway down the hall, by my estimation. Two men appeared from around a corner and approached from the other end of the corridor. They moved with purpose. They were carbon copies of one another. Carbon copies of the type of men I'd seen working private security in every corner of the world. Both men had close cut hair and wore dark pants and dark shirts, slightly baggy in order to conceal their holstered weapons. They were closer to Tammy's room than I was. I started to move faster than them. They broke out into a jog. I started to run. They reached the door first.
I reached behind and pulled my weapon. "Get the hell away from that door, or I'll blow your goddamn heads off."
Both men stopped and lifted their hands above their heads and took a few steps back.
Heads poked out from dark empty doorways, looking one way, then the other. They saw the men with their hands in the air and inevitably settled their stares on me, the crazy person in the hospital with a gun.
"Get back in your rooms," I said.
Most of them did. A few didn't. It didn't matter and I didn't bother to look behind me or past the men outside Tammy's room.
"Turn around," I said.
The men didn't. They did continue to back up, though. I figured they were trying to reach the hall that they entered through, and there they'd turn and make a run for it.
"Get the hell out of here," I said.
They made it a quarter of the way down the hall, looked at each other, and turned and ran, bypassing their exit. They slammed into the emergency exit and fell over themselves to get out of my aim. Turns out, they did me a favor. With the alarm blaring, security bolted past Tammy's room, ignoring the guy who a minute ago wielded a gun and threatened half the floor. To them, I was a visitor. They had bigger concerns at that time.
I stepped into Tammy's room. She lay on the bed, unconscious. Circles of blue and purple ringed her eyes. Two rows of stitches crossed her head. Bandages littered her body, covering smaller cuts and scrapes. I figured there were more bruises and cuts under her gown.
My cell phone vibrated against my leg. I pulled it out, flipped it open and answered it.
"I said no cops," the familiar robotic voice said. "Did you not believe me when I said the boy will pay for your idiocy and failure to comply?"
"What did you want me to do? I didn't bring them, they followed me. You gave me fifteen minutes to drive twenty. I had to speed. They clocked me going a hundred in a thirty-five."
The man started laughing. Short, chunky, clunky. The sounds of his cackles stopped, and he said, "Congratulations, Mr. Noble. You passed the test. I'll be in touch soon with further instructions. Playtime is over."
"What? Wait-"
"And please, say hello to Ms. Nockowitz for me."
The line went silent. The call had ended. I held the phone loosely in my left hand, half hoping it would ring again. It didn't.
Tammy started to stir. Her eyes fluttered open. She looked at me, fear spread across her face until she placed me, and then it turned into one of the most pained expressions I'd ever seen in my life. The same expression my mother made when the doctors told her my sister didn't make it.
"They took him," she said.
I sat on the edge of the bed. The tears streamed down her cheeks and rolled off her narrow chin. I placed my hand on her shoulder. She winced in pain at my touch.
"They took him again," she said.
I nodded. "I know. I'm going to do everything I can to get him back for you. I did it once, I can do it again."
"He might be dead already." Tears continued to snake down her cheeks in predetermined paths.
Already?
"I heard him on the phone, Ta
mmy. He's alive. He sounded scared, but he's alive."
She said something else, but the words were lost in between her sobs, and as quickly as she had woken up, she passed out again.
I sat next to her, gun in one hand, the other gently caressing her arm. The alarm blared in the background and two more men streamed past the door. I got up and stuck my head through the opening. The four guys dressed in security uniforms stood at the emergency exit and worked to pull the doors shut. I didn't understand why something so seemingly simple appeared to be so difficult. Eventually, they were successful with their task. The doors closed, and the alarm stopped, and they turned their attention to Tammy's room.
I sat down in a short backed vinyl chair, waited, thought about how I would handle the situation. I could play it cool, like a super-agent in a movie. Sit in the chair, right leg crossed over my left, gun aimed at the doorway, smile on my face. I'd make a joke about how they could bring me a mint julep or some other fancy drink I wouldn't be caught dead drinking.
I decided that the best thing was to wait for them and let them know I wasn't a threat. I got up from the chair and sat back down on the bed. I had to intimidate them, so I aimed my pistol at the open doorway. Two men entered the room, anger spread across their faces. They looked me up and down. Both stopped at the sight of my gun.
"I'm not going to shoot," I said.
One man nodded. The other was motionless.
"I'm one of the good guys," I said.
One man nodded, again. The other remained motionless.
"I'm a federal agent and I helped save this woman's son and I'm going to do so again."
Before the one man could nod again while the other did nothing, Frank stepped into the room behind them. Two uniformed police officers followed him inside.
"I hope they're not here for me," I said.
Frank smiled. "How is she?"
I looked past him. The cops explained the situation to the security officers, or at least some variation of it that Frank had fed them. All four men left the room, leaving me, Frank and an unconscious Tammy alone.