“This your fault?” Alan said.
“They’re here. You were right. Shit, Terry got after me.”
Alan turned to him. “Got after you? Like chased?”
Norm shrugged, bobbed his head, front window, back window. “He was pissed, I tell you. Lancaster’s in recovery. You messed his arm up good.”
Alan wanted to punch the guy. All he was supposed to do was find out if they were here and where. That’s all. Another glance into the swelling crowd, patients in wheelchairs and robes, young interns in scrubs, doctors, a tiny nurse in a white dress, the kind he had seen in old movies. She looked out of place. Alan remembered what Terry had been wearing in the woods. Trying to find that shirt, or the ball cap—the right ball cap. Get them in the car and put an end to this.
A glimpse, guy helping another guy on the sidewalk. One in a hospital gown. Alan craned his neck as the car passed. Right there, it had to be them.
“Jesus, Alan!”
He snapped back to the road in front of him, neon green and silver filling the windshield. A fire-truck coming straight at the car fast. Where were the sirens? The flashing lights? They were too close. Alan braked hard, bouncing Norm’s forehead off the dash. The truck kept coming, kept coming, didn’t stop.
It crunched the front of the Kia like tin foil, a loud pop followed by the windshield exploding and the car sliding backwards while Alan twisted the steering wheel.
Then, crazy noise in Alan’s ears—sirens and yelling and fuck all people outside tapping on the driver’s window asking if he was all right. Norm was holding his face, yelling his throat raw. Alan turned but faces were in his way, the whole car surrounded by firemen and doctors, no sign of Terry and Lancaster. Alan beat the steering wheel with his palm and began to cry. Heaving crying, vacuum breaths, nothing left inside but sheer fucking hate.
SIXTEEN
“I’m in a hospital gown, barely able to walk, and nobody in that crowd noticed?” Lancaster said as Terry helped him into the minivan.
“The alarm distracted them, and then the fire truck hit a car.”
Lancaster slowly pulled his knees up and inside. Terry eased the seat into a deep recline. Lancaster sucked air as he leaned back.
“Where to?” Terry said.
“We need a few days. I need some clothes, lot of dope, cable TV. We got enough for a casino hotel or something?”
“The hospital was bad enough. I’m thinking we go someplace with not so many security cameras. Then we should bolt. Ever been to Michigan?”
Lancaster winced. “Jesus, that’s cold.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Cold.”
“We’ll talk it out on the way to the Coast. Grab something at Holiday Inn, Motel 6, one of those.”
“What about that girl, man? The nurse?”
“You’re hallucinating.”
“No, she touched me. Before I was doped.”
Terry closed the door gently, wondered if the poor guy meant that little nurse in the white dress. Things turning all Twilight Zone. Lancaster was on the verge of sleep anyway. No more hedging, Terry thought. They really needed to get out of town, out of state. A little hip college town somewhere, maybe get real jobs until the cash flow was established enough for them to start small with con games, then return to the car business. Terry smiled and flipped the keys around the ring as he walked behind the van and started towards the driver’s door. One more glance towards the commotion, and he noticed a big wall of man stomping towards him. Alan Crabtree, blood on his face and hands, concentrated single-minded on Terry, fast steps.
Terry fumbled the keys and leapt for the door. He got inside and hit the lock button, turned the ignition and pumped the gas just as Crabtree’s face and hands thumped into the window and smudged blood and spit. He pounded a palm on the window. Terry couldn’t take his eyes off him, froze in mid-shift. The man had red eyes, puffy cheeks. Crying? What the hell?
A couple of firemen and an intern followed, grabbing Crabtree’s shoulders and easing him off the van. A fireman mouthed I’m sorry to Terry, who waved and nodded. The men patted Crabtree’s back as he seemed to lose even more composure. They walked him towards the hospital without giving the van another look.
Terry sat for another minute, the engine idling, hand on the gearshift. Lancaster was asleep and hadn’t stirred at all when Crabtree slobbered on the window. The smears were drying, clouding up the view. Terry shifted into drive and made his way out of the parking lot.
*
When Alan was away for too long, Lydia called her neighbor for help with little things. This time she needed water because her throat was dry. The neighbor was glad to help, but she stayed too long chattering away about her family and her job at a casino hotel. Here was a woman in her mid-thirties, same as Lydia, who looked so much older, her hair already with wisps of gray surrounding a hard face. She wore faded jeans, tight sandals, and a Bugs Bunny T-shirt. So far out of Lydia’s league, a wasted life of ordinary. After all Lydia went through, she swore to never settle for less than she thought she deserved.
Lydia hoped Alan would call soon. She was getting worried—both for her guys and the possibility they might lead the police to her. She was the mastermind. The dirty work boys always got reduced sentences.
As the neighbor babbled about her son’s problems with his girlfriend, Lydia thought, Fuck the police. What worse punishment can they give me than this? They kill her, all the trouble would go away. They stick her in jail, the scenery might be lacking. She would miss her curtains, miss the sex, miss the thrill she got when these men followed her orders and pampered her.
“I think she’s cheating on him,” the neighbor said.
It jerked Lydia back to the real world. “What?”
“My son’s girlfriend is probably cheating. You can just tell. At that age, you’d think his world is ending.”
“Women hold all the power. It’s like a fuse blows in them when we hold out.”
The neighbor stared and crossed her arms. “Are you all right?”
“You want to do your son some good? Teach him right up front that we will decide the rest of his life for him, and the best he can do is beat out the other males for the prize.”
The neighbor glanced at the curtains, always billowing, and the front door. “I’ve got to go. Please, if you need anything, call me. Not this afternoon, though, I can’t.”
The phone rang. Lydia said, “I’ll see you later. I’ve been expecting this one.”
When the woman opened the front door, Lydia spoke into her headset mike and waited for the click.
“Hello?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” Norm said.
“Are you okay? Is Alan all right?”
“We bruised pretty badly. A fire-truck hit us. I’ll explain later.”
“Can Alan talk?”
“They’ve got him restrained right now.” Norm lowered his voice. “He’s crazy, I’m telling you. Crying and thrashing and shit.”
Lydia closed her eyes. “Tell me everything.”
As Norm spoke, Lydia imagined life in a jail cell, bright walls and a small window too high for her to see through. No motorized wheelchair, only a regular one, a guard constantly watching. No one to do whatever she asked, even if she said “Please.” And plenty of people to do whatever they wanted to her.
“There’s one thing, and I don’t know what’s going to happen,” Norm said.
“And what is that?”
“We didn’t get our, um, package out of the trunk yet.”
*
The doctors told Norm to hold ice on his nose. The Kia was totaled. Someone called the rental company and the tow truck. After calling Lydia, Norm walked back to Alan’s bedside and listened to the big man’s breaths. They sounded like growling. A nurse in an old-fashioned white dress came near the foot of the bed and stared sadly for a moment. She hugged herself and wandered away.
Norm leaned over and whispered, “We should leave very quickly.”
> Alan yanked at the leather restraints on his wrists. “Can you get these off before anyone notices?”
“Not yet.”
“Then shut up.”
Norm flinched. “You know, the stuff in our trunk—”
Another yank. “It’s too late now. And you know what? The goddamn car is rented in Lydia’s husband’s name. So everybody’s ass is hanging out in the wind now.”
The big man relaxed onto the bed. The doctors had split his sleeves from cuff to shoulder, which reminded Norm of the old Incredible Hulk show. Norm’s injuries were worse, but Alan looked more beat up—cuts on his face from the glass and bruises from the steering wheel leaving marks that would be there for a while. It made hiding hard to do.
“They should be towing the car soon,” Norm said. “Is there anything in it we need?”
Alan shook his head. “Other than the body and my gun, no.” He laughed. “Small things.”
Norm clapped his hands one time and held up a finger. Even patients looked. He waited until everyone went back to what they were doing before he mumbled to Alan, “I got the gun.”
“You kidding?”
“You dropped it, I picked it up.”
“How’d you get it in here? Aren’t there metal detectors and shit?”
Norm shrugged. “They got us inside so quickly, rushing and shit, I don’t think they noticed if there was an alarm or not, especially when the fire alarm stuff happened.”
“That was your fault. Just wait. One look at the tapes from the hall cameras, man—”
“So let’s bolt.”
“And then what? You know how to steal a car?” Alan turned his head away from Norm. “I’m giving up. I was fooling myself anyway.”
Norm circled the bed and crouched so he could make eye contact with Alan. “Look at me. Lydia told me to tell you she wants us home now. I don’t care how we get there. We need to help her out, you know, especially if they trace the car.”
Alan’s face was stone.
“You love her, man. You haven’t screwed that up yet, so let’s get out of here,” Norm said. He had unfastened Alan’s wrist while talking, almost a sleight of hand thing. “Leave it there a second.”
He crept back around the bed and unfastened the other restraints on the ankles and left wrist. Then he stuck his head around the divider, looked both ways, then said, “We should walk straight out, fast as we can. Anyone says anything, we walk faster. They try to stop us, we fight them off. As for a ride, why not take an ambulance?”
Alan thought it was silly, impossible, and their only option. He sat up.
“Let’s go.”
SEVENTEEN
Only Megan took notice of the two men, one huge and one skinny, her arms wrapped around a chart as she watched until they slipped through the doors into the waiting room. She had given up the dope search the moment she saw Lancaster. If these two guys were going after him, then she needed to follow. She ran to the doors as they swung shut. The two men fast-stepped it to the main doors and were gone.
She quick-stepped through the waiting room, the sliding glass doors. The two men were climbing into an ambulance outside the ER. Then she saw the larger of the two patients pull a guy from the passenger seat and drop him on the ground. He was moving, definitely not dead. Not very conscious either.
As the men climbed into the cab the brake lights flashed and the smaller man gunned the engine. The doors closed. Before the ambulance started forward, the nurse sprinted and hopped onto the back bumper. She tried the door. It opened, and she fought the motion and gravity of the van turning right into traffic enough to swing inside and fall over an empty stretcher. The fat man turned and stared.
“Give me the gun,” he told the driver.
“I can’t let you do that—”
The fat man reached for the driver’s back, came out holding a pistol that had been shoved in his waistband. He held it steady on the nurse.
“Get out,” he said.
She pushed herself into a crouch, knees to her chin and hands over her head. “I want to go with you.”
“No. Jump out. We’ll stop.”
The driver said, “We can’t stop, Alan. Jesus, come on, she’s fine for now.”
The fat man, Alan, loosened his grip on the pistol. She took a closer look at him. The face was scratched, but it was like a mask. The lines around his eyes were melancholy, not the look of a hardcore killer. A kindred soul, she thought.
“Alan?” she said.
He nodded, waved the gun at her like a finger. “You?”
“Megan.”
“Why’d you jump in with us?”
She shrugged. “You’re after those other two guys? The one that was shot?”
Norm whistled low. “We’ve got us a spy. She knows too much.”
“Shut up, asshole.” Alan rapped the guy’s knuckle with the gun. The ambulance swerved when Norm jerked his hand off the wheel and shook it.
Alan said, “You saw the two guys?”
“The cops were here earlier asking questions. They didn’t really believe his story, like an accidental shooting while they were in the woods. Some gay thing.”
“So what did the cops do?”
“Not much. They were going to check out the story, go to the woods. Then a little while ago the fire alarm went off, so we had to get out of there for a while. I saw those guys heading for a van, then the truck hit your car, and you went after that van before anyone could stop you.”
She spoke low and calm, kept her hands still. The big man took in her body, her face, but didn’t seem turned on. Megan wondered about that.
He said, “Why so interested in us?”
She hummed in her throat before answering carefully, “Something about the guy who was shot. I want to see him again.”
Alan was quiet for so long after that. What was he thinking? Her story sounded crazy even to her, so what would the sad man with the gun and this skittish driver think of it? Not long after, Alan nodded at her, no expression on his face, and turned around in his seat.
“Norm, the siren, man. Turn on the siren.”
*
Lydia wasn’t happy to see them after all.
“A stolen ambulance and some little whore nurse?”
“She’s a hostage. We didn’t have a choice,” Norm said.
“Didn’t you have a gun?” Lydia examined Megan while speaking, an unblinking burn at this flat-chested kid, barrettes in her hair, who never flashed one emotion the entire five minutes she’d been standing there. Quiet, too.
Alan stepped over to Lydia’s side and ran his fingers through her hair. She didn’t smile, but it calmed her. She was glad to be touched.
He said, “We can’t have a killing spree. We’re in enough trouble already. She can stick around until time for us to leave, which is very soon.”
Lydia couldn’t keep the whine out of her words. “I can’t blame you for the truck hitting you, but did you have to leave that stuff in the trunk? Why didn’t you take care of that first?”
“Time and effort. We prioritized. If Norm hadn’t set off the alarm, I’ll bet this would be a different conversation. So, the car traces back to you. The cops are looking for an ambulance, the one parked down the street. How about we get in my car and go, right?”
Megan strolled easily around the den, touching the paintings, the curtains, the furniture. Lydia could tell this girl was a sponge, acting indifferent and distant, probably soaking in every word they spoke, every detail of the room, so much evidence to use against them later. Lydia wanted her gone, out of the way for good. A message to her boys about whom deserved the most attention. Alan seemed okay, still stroking her hair. Norm tripped back and forth—trying so hard to keep his peep show on Megan private, but he wasn’t fast or smart enough. When the time was right, Lydia knew all she had to do was nod at Alan, and the girl would die.
“If we take the car, how can you bring my chair?”
Alan said, “We can’t. We bring the manual
chair, and I take care of you. That’s the only way right now.
A flash of her prison nightmare. A flash of helplessness. A flash of her husband fucking the floozy, Norm fucking Megan, and all Lydia could do was watch, wishing her phantom limbs could do more than itch. Touch her own breasts, touch herself down there. Slap the shit out of Norm, too. Claw the little nurse.
“I need my chair, sweetie,” she said.
He knelt beside her. “No. There’s no room to debate this. I say we’ve got less than ten minutes.”
Lydia wasted another minute quietly trying to think of a better way. She finally spoke trembling commands into her headset mike. She said to Alan, “The safes. We’ll need the money. My old chair is in the guest room.”
Alan stood and walked off towards the guest room. Norm plopped onto the couch and crossed his feet on the coffee table. Megan had circled the room and now circled Lydia’s chair. Her nurse’s uniform was so old fashioned, Lydia wondered if Megan was even a nurse at all. Another con, like everyone else in the house. Rented a nice costume and faked her way into a hospital coincidentally on the day Lancaster showed up with a bullet in him.
“You’ve kept your legs in such nice shape for a quad,” the girl said.
“Thank you. How sweet.”
“They’re fake legs,” Norm said. “She lost all her limbs and had these made.”
Megan took a step back, almost with a grin on her face. “Really?”
“Norm, that’s enough,” Lydia said. To the nurse, she said, “Yes, arms and legs are all prosthetic.”
“If he hadn’t said that—”
“Please, I understand. I don’t like to talk about it.”
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