by Mary McBride
One of the Hammer’s goons jumped up from his seat near the door. “Hey, buddy, you can’t come in here.”
“I’ve got an appointment with the Hammer,” Sam said, knowing it wasn’t an outlandish statement. Art Hammerman was an insomniac who did most of his personal business at night. When Sam had worked for him, if they hadn’t met in his office in the dead of night, it had been for breakfast at dawn.
“Give him a buzz,” Sam said, pointing to a phone on a desk. “Tell him Sam Zachary’s here.”
The man’s gaze slid from Sam’s face to his shoulder holster, then continued down to his blood-soaked shirt. “Hey, how do I know you’re on the level?”
“I guess the only way you’re going to find out is by calling upstairs to the boss, Sherlock. Or do you want me to call and tell him there was nobody on the door when I came in?”
The goon’s mouth flattened and his face turned a pale shade of mauve. Obviously fearing his employer’s wrath far more than Sam’s, he picked up the phone and a second later said, “There’s a Sam Zachary here to see you, Mr. Hammerman.”
He hung up the phone, glared at Sam, then angled his head toward the elevator. “The boss says to come on up.”
On the fifth floor, Sam knocked on the carved double doors, but didn’t wait for a reply to open them. The Hammer rose from the huge leather chair behind his desk and stuck out his hairy paw.
“Sam, good to see you. So, you thought about my offer and decided to come to work for me. That’s good. That’s great.”
“I’m here about your son,” Sam said, dispensing with the pleasantries. He didn’t have the time or the inclination.
Art Hammerman rubbed his chest while the expression on his face turned from pleasure to disgust and then to something resembling horror as he noticed the blood on Sam’s shirt. “Aw, damn,” he muttered as he sank back into his big leather chair. “What’d the kid do now? Take a shot at you or something?”
“He abducted a woman against her will.”
One of the Hammer’s dark brows shot up. “What woman?”
“Laura McNeal, your tenant in the building on Russell Boulevard.”
“That cute little blonde he was so crazy about?” He waved a hand dismissively. “He won’t hurt her. The kid just kinda goes overboard where women are concerned. He’s just fooling around.”
Sam planted a fist on the desktop. “Well, this time he’s fooling around with the woman I’m going to marry.”
“Ah.” He leaned back. “That’s different, then. Have a seat, Sam.”
“I’m kind of messed up,” Sam said, glancing down at his side. “I wouldn’t want to get…”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a woman works for me who can get any kinda stain out of anything. Sit.”
Sam sat. Heavily. Wearily.
“Sheesh.” The Hammer let out a breath. “I gotta say, Sam, I’m pretty relieved it wasn’t my Artie who hit you, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah.” It went without saying that if Artie had shot him, Sam would be looking to put the kid behind bars, and Big Daddy would have to do everything in his power to prevent that from happening.
“So, who did?” the Hammer asked.
“It was an accident. There was a hostage situation…”
“Oh yeah. I caught some of that on TV. That was you, huh?”
Sam nodded. “This woman. She came to me for help last week after Artie gave her a black eye. He saw her on TV tonight and took her away against her will. Any idea where they might be?”
“His apartment probably. He just got it done over.” Art Hammerman rolled his eyes. “He likes to show it off to the girls.”
“Where do I find it?”
Before the Hammer could answer, the phone on his desk gave a soft but insistent chirp. He picked it up and uttered a gravelly “Yeah? Who is it?”, then listened for a moment while a grin worked its way across his lips.
“Hang on a minute, will you?” He handed the receiver to Sam, saying, “It’s your cute little blonde. Smart little cookie, too.”
Waiting for Sam was interminable. Laura ate three bowls of Chocolate Ripple ice cream, allowing each one to melt to the consistency of cream soup, before asking Artie for another.
“How do you stay so skinny?” he’d asked in undisguised awe when he handed her the third helping along with several napkins to spare the white sofa and carpet.
She told him she had a fast metabolism, but wasn’t sure he even heard because he was already pointing out another facet of the room’s decor, droning on at length about the genuine Chinese silk drapes and the number of silk worms who gave up their lives in the process, and of course not failing to mention their staggering cost.
If he weren’t such a creep, Laura might almost have felt sorry for him. Artie wasn’t a thug at heart. He was just a lonely guy in search of somebody to share his bizarre existence, and, having learned at his father’s knee, the only way he knew to do it was by force.
On the phone Sam had told her to stay right here and to pretend that everything was all right, that he’d be here in less than half an hour. He had assured her over and over again that he was okay, but she didn’t know whether to believe him or not. And now she was worried about what would happen when Sam arrived. Artie undoubtedly had a gun somewhere, and Leo the Gorilla always wore his in a little hand-tooled holster on his belt.
“All done with that?” Artie reached out for her bowl of Chocolate Ripple soup.
“Not quite.” Laura was slurping up another spoonful just as the doorbell chimed the first six notes of “Some Enchanted Evening.” She swallowed the ice cream then held her breath.
Leo appeared out of nowhere, a big blob of color in the stark white room. “I’ll check it out, Artie,” he mumbled on his way to the door.
Now, in addition to holding her breath, Laura closed her eyes. Be careful, Sam. The doorbell chimed again. Please be careful, Sam.
“Hey! How’re you doing, boss?” Leo said.
“Great.” There was no mistaking the Hammer’s Godfather voice. “Take a hike, Leo.”
Laura opened her eyes in time to see Leo shamble out and Art Hammerman stride in. Where was Sam? The question was almost to her lips when Artie exclaimed a startled, “Hey, Pop! What’re you doing here?”
“I came to see the place,” the Hammer said, easing into the room.
“It’s after three in the morning, Pop.”
“Yeah, well, you know, I figured it was about time, kid. You’ve been asking me to stop by and I was always too busy with this or that. So, now I’m not busy. Here I am.” He looked around. “This is it, huh? This is your place?”
“This is it.” The smile on rotten Artie’s face was so full of pride and pleasure and filial adoration that Laura stopped hating him for two or three seconds. “Come on, Pop,” Artie said. “Lemme show you around.”
“Sure. That’d be great, kid.” The Hammer was standing close to Laura’s seat on the couch. He leaned a bit closer to her and lowered his voice to a rough whisper. “Sam’s waiting for you downstairs, Blondie. You go on, now. And listen, you probably oughta take him straight to a hospital.”
Laura was on her feet in an instant. She glanced in Artie’s direction, uncertain of his reaction, but he didn’t even seem aware of her presence now that his father had arrived. She started toward the door, but Art Hammerman delayed her with a hand on her arm.
“Don’t worry about the kid here anymore, okay? You go on and have a happy life. You and Sam. And tell him I said that job offer still stands.”
Laura couldn’t help herself. She threw hers arms around the Hammer’s neck and gave him a great big kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Then she made a beeline for the door. On her way out, she could hear Artie’s excited voice.
“So, what do you think, Pop? Jeez, I’m glad you’re here. You like it?”
“Yeah. It’s nice, kid. It’s real nice,” the Hammer murmured. “It’s ver
y…well…white.”
Chapter 14
Down on the street, Sam checked his watch and decided he’d give the Hammer five more minutes to bring this off before going in himself. The bodybuilder, presumably Artie’s muscle, had already come out, pitched Sam a dark and suspicious glare, then shrugged and walked down the street. It was Laura’s turn now. Where the hell was she?
He looked up at the lights on the penthouse floor, back at his watch, then fixed his gaze on the apartment building’s door, practically willing it to open. Never in his life had he been unable to draw on a deep reservoir of patience. Waiting came naturally to him. Waiting for Jenny to say yes. Waiting for stray husbands to sneak out of hotels or for missing people to pick up mail at a post office box.
This was different, though. He felt as if he were dead, and he was waiting for his life to resume again. With Laura.
He’d had ample time on his drive to the Hammerman Building to consider some of the things that Janey had said about Jenny.
You went around with your head stuck in the sand for years, Sam. How could you have been such a fool? She was only using you. Good old strong dependable Sam.
At some level, he’d probably been aware of that, especially in their final years. But he’d made a commitment to Jenny. And, all in all, it wasn’t such a terrible way to be used.
She was married to her music. She never wanted a home or a husband or kids.
He probably knew that, too. It just wasn’t in his nature to let go.
Do you know what she used to call you behind your back? The Rube. Jenny’s favorite name for you was Reuben Strongheart.
Even though Janey had been teetering on the edge of psychosis tonight, Sam believed every word she said. In his heart, he’d always known that about Jenny. But from kindergarten on, he just hadn’t known how to let go.
The apartment building’s door swung open, and Laura stepped out onto the sidewalk looking like an angel, momentarily confused by earth. She looked up the street, then back in his direction. Her feet hardly touched the pavement as she came flying into his arms.
“Oh, Sam. Are you all right? They said on the news…”
“Shh. I’m fine. What about you? If that guy so much as touched you…”
“No. He didn’t. He didn’t even try.”
“That’s good because I really wasn’t looking forward to rearranging his face.”
Laura stepped back, her worried gaze searching his face. “The Hammer said something about getting you to a hospital.”
He turned slightly, gesturing to his side. “It’s just a scratch, but…”
“A scratch!” Her eyes got huge. “Memorial Hospital isn’t too far from here. Get in the truck, mister. Now.”
“Whoa. Wait a minute. Memorial Hospital is where they took Janey. There’s probably still half a dozen reporters lurking there, and I’m really not in the mood for the press right now. Why don’t we just stop at the ER at Summit County on our way home?”
“You sure you’ll be all right driving that far? It looks like you’ve lost a gallon of blood, Sam.”
“Not quite, but if it’ll make you feel better, you can drive. How’s that?” He dug in his pocket for the keys and handed them over.
“Well, okay.” She managed a little grin. “Do I get to speed and pick up a police escort along the way?”
Sam laughed. “I sincerely hope not.”
“You’re no fun,” she said, climbing behind the wheel.
Sam’s head was canted back against the seat and his eyes were closed, but he still had an uncanny ability to tell Laura which way to turn at each intersection. Thank heavens, she thought, otherwise she would have been driving in circles for the past half hour while Sam bled to death in the passenger seat.
“Take a left at the next light,” he said. “The hospital’s about two miles down the road.”
“Okay.” She flipped on the directional signal, determined to press the accelerator to the floor those next few miles because of the worry she detected in his voice. Waiting for the green light, she glanced to her right to find her Superman looking more grim than he had only moments before. There was a fine sheen of perspiration on his forehead. “Hang on, tough guy. We’re almost there.”
“Great.”
From the note of doom in his voice, it suddenly dawned on Laura that Sam wasn’t half as concerned about the loss of blood or the bullet wound as he was about what undoubtedly awaited him in one of those little curtained-off cubicles in the ER. A needle! Surely any bullet wound, no matter how superficial, would require a tetanus shot.
She almost laughed. Her hero, the man who had taken on the Devil’s Own, a crazed woman with a gun, and the major players in the city’s underworld in the past few days, was a quivering wreck at the mere thought of a hypodermic needle. She didn’t know whether to tease him or offer sympathy or ignore his plight altogether. All she really knew was that she adored him.
“Nervous?” she asked, testing the waters.
“Who, me?” He sat up a little straighter. “Nah.”
“That’s good.” She turned the Blazer into the hospital parking lot, found a spot close to the door, and pulled in. “Well, we’re here.”
“Yeah. Okay.” He reached for the door handle, then drew back his hand. “You know, why waste their time? This really isn’t anything more than a scratch. It doesn’t even hurt anymore. Honest to God. Let’s just go home and slap a Band-Aid on.”
Laura bit her lip to keep from grinning. “I don’t think so, Sam. Let’s go.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
He wrenched the door open. Laura grabbed the keys and sprinted around the Blazer to help him ease out.
“Can you walk okay?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah. Sure.” He took a hesitant step toward the brightly lit entrance to the ER, then reached out his hand to take hers. A rueful little curse broke from his lips. “This is so damned humiliating.”
“I know, sweetheart.” Laura squeezed his clammy hand. “But this time it’s going to be a piece of cake.”
“How do you know that?”
She smiled mysteriously. “Because I have a plan.”
Sam’s smile was a little wobbly. “Let me guess. You’re going to give me a blindfold, right?”
“Nope. Something much better. Trust me.”
When they walked through the doors of the ER, Sam was greeted with a quick burst of applause that brought forth a muted curse only Laura could hear. Luther, the aide, sauntered up, his hand raised in a high five.
“Yo, Sam. My man.”
Sam returned the gesture without enthusiasm.
“We watched your little party on the tube in the lounge, man. Had a little action going over who’d prevail, the new sheriff with his fancy SWAT team or ol’ Cool Hand Sammy.”
“Who’d you put your money on?” Sam asked.
Luther grinned as he produced a wad of bills from the pocket of his green scrubs. “You’re my main man, man. What can I say?” His gaze cut to Sam’s side and his expression sobered. “Sorry about that. We’ll have you out of here in no time.”
“They need you in the OR, Luther,” Norma Jefferson snapped, whirling the young man by his shoulders and giving him a shove down the corridor before she turned her cool, efficient gaze back to Sam. “You should have come in sooner, Sam.”
“Well, I’m here now, Norma,” he said.
“Room Number Two.” She jabbed her ballpoint pen toward the curtained-off cubicle. “Janey’s friend can take a seat in the waiting room.”
“I’d rather not,” Laura said, linking her arm through Sam’s, taking the full brunt of the charge nurse’s glare.
“I’m sorry, but you’ll…”
“She’s my friend, Norma,” Sam snapped, then softened his tone considerably when he added, “Gimme a break here, will you? I need all the moral support I can get.”
The woman rolled her eyes and sighed. “All right. Go in there and take off your jeans. Not your shirt, though. I’m
going to cut that off around the wound, then we’ll see what needs to be done. Give a yell when you’re ready.”
Sam gave Laura’s arm a squeeze before he disappeared through the curtains.
“This isn’t a good time to slap Sam with a big I-told-you-so about Janey Sayles,” the woman said quietly, pausing just long enough to give a brisk cluck of her tongue, “so I’ll let you have it, instead. Why the hell didn’t somebody do something before she went over the edge?”
“I told him so, too,” Laura said. “I think Sam’s just too kind-hearted to say no or goodbye. He didn’t want to hurt her.”
“Well, at least she’ll be getting some help now.”
“Norma,” Sam called. “Let’s get this over with.”
The nurse held the curtain back for Laura, clucked her tongue again, and said, “After you.”
Sam shifted onto his side on the narrow examining table, and cocked his arm to brace his head.
“I feel like a slab of meat,” he said, trying his best to sound cavalier while his shirt was being scissored away, failing dismally because neither Laura nor Norma laughed in response. “What’s the verdict, Norma?”
“She got you pretty good. My God, Sam. Janey must’ve been standing only a couple inches away when she pulled the trigger. I’m going to have to clean the gunpowder and bits of fabric out of here, then I’ll debride the wound so it’ll heal properly, without a lot of ragged edges.”
“Okay,” he said. “Go ahead.”
He fashioned a tough-guy grin for Laura who was perched on a metal stool directly in front of him. Her black eye was almost gone, but now there were dark smudges of exhaustion beneath both eyes. He’d put her through a hell of a wringer tonight, that was for sure. All he wanted to do now was take her home and tuck her safely, warmly in bed beside him.
“Tired?” he asked softly.
Her pretty face brightened for his benefit, and she shook her head.
“We’ll be out of here in no time,” he said.
“I don’t want to be the one to spoil your plans, Sam,” Norma said from behind him, “but this is going to take more than a few minutes.” Then she raised her voice. “Cindy, I want to run an antibiotic IV. One gram of Ancef. Will you bring it in Two, please?”