The alarm went off, then the overhead speaker blared with Mallory’s voice. “All rescue units needed, Mills and Colonial. Active shooter on scene at Bananas restaurant, building at capacity, SWAT has been assembled.”
“No, that’s Ringo.”
I turned to face Everly, one of the paramedics along with me. “Come on; fill me in on the way.” I grabbed her hand and pulled her into the truck with me.
The thing I loved most about Florida fire departments was that they were kickass. They did it all. We had six battalions and each battalion was made up of six to eight fire stations. We handled everything from fires to medical emergencies, and each battalion had a marine squad for the vast lakes of Central Florida. If someone called 9-1-1, they needed the police or us—that was it.
Every firefighter had basic medical and a few on each shift were paramedics. That was me, I was a paramedic. Sure, I loved being a fireman but I had discovered early on that there were things firemen could do to continue their education and increase their paycheck such as becoming certified in the handling of hazardous material, working with wildland fires, or my choice becoming a paramedic, it gave me more job security.
Before closing the back door, I hollered to the other rescue truck, “Everly is with me for the ride over!”
“Got it, see you there.” They closed their truck and headed out, lights and sirens blaring.
Fortunately, Kevin, who usually rode in back with me hadn’t shown up for work today, he was one of those . . . well . . . Kevin was a firm believer in the idea that, on the second day, God created Smith & Wesson to hunt deer and the ho-mo-sex-u-als.
With Mac driving and Darren in the passenger seat, With Everly here, I wasn’t stressed, it was amazing how much of a difference I felt without Kevin in back with me.
Everly pulled her phone from her pocket and scrolled through her screen as tears ran down her face.
“Something else happen?” I leaned toward her to make sure she could hear me.
“My friends—I have friends who are there. Lieutenant Christakos, Orange County Sheriff . . . his wife and some of his family are there.”
“I guess we should expect the cavalry in full force,” I stated.
“I’d think so!” Everly shouted back. “Sergeant Lang’s wife is there too. There will be sheriffs everywhere.”
“Everly, I hate to do this to you, but since you have personal connections to people at the scene, I’m going to ask that you stay outside and run triage while I go in and assess the situation. I’ll radio you if we need more help.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
The rescue trucks pulled up along the curb, and we stayed in back, waiting for word that the building was secure.
“Clear,” someone called out via the radios. We opened our back doors, and I grabbed my medic pack and ran for the building.
The smell of sweet maple syrup was cloying, and there were several people huddled over one person so I hurried that way.
“Move, I’ve got it,” I said to the woman kneeling next to him and drag queens surrounding him. There were several others standing back watching and crying. “Hi, I’m Dash,” I said to the man with the gorgeous skin who was lying on the floor. “I’m attaching an EKG to you, okay?” I couldn’t help but notice his smooth and flawless skin as I ran my hands over his body attaching the sticky back monitors.
“Yeahhh.”
“Can you tell me your name?”
“Alex Derring.” His words were slurred.
“How old are you, Alex?”
“Thir…four.”
“Thirty-four?” I asked and he slightly nodded.
Once the monitors were attached and the machine was on, his heart was all over the place, the rhythm erratic. “Your heart is picking up speed, I need you to try and slow it down, so I can try to stop the bleeding. I’m going to secure your wound and get you on a backboard, okay?”
“Yeah.” He was panting hard.
“Good, listen to my voice, I need you to try and slow your breathing, okay? You’re doing great.”
When our eyes locked, I froze for the briefest second and a strange warmth rustled over my skin, a feeling of home. This man was special, I felt it to my very core, but his safety and saving his life moved front and center in my mind.
Grabbing an alcohol pad, I swiped over the inside of his elbow before inserting the IV.
“Oww,” he winced as the needle broke the skin.
“I know, it’s like field dressing a soldier, but you’re fierce.”
“Hell, not fierce.”
I glanced around at the men and women with tears in their eyes crying for this man, and I wondered for the briefest second who would cry if something ever happened to me. My mom and my sister? Maybe, I guess. “You must be really popular here.” So many people were calling his name.
“I own the place.”
I grabbed my scissors and cut the neck of his choir robe then ripped it down to have a clear visual of his chest. “Tell me, what do you all know about him?” I asked, to no one in particular just hoping someone would fill in the blanks so this gorgeous man didn’t have to exert himself more than needed, as I continued to work. I glanced up at Darren who had a report form going.
“He is single,” a man dressed as a woman called out. “His birthday is the end of July, but I can’t remember the exact day. He always reminds me.”
His heart rate increased, and so did his short, quick breaths.
“Calm down, I’m going to try to stop the bleeding, okay?”
His head slightly moved but he didn’t answer me, he was growing weaker and I needed to move faster.
I peered at his lips, but they were painted, so I pulled the lower one back and checked his gums. They were white . . . too white. We needed to go. I wasn’t allowed to give a diagnosis, but based on that horrid rattling sound I would bet a million to one that this man had a collapsed lung.
Opening a FoxSeal, I threw one occlusive bandage on the front right side of his chest where the bullet had entered and then rolled him toward me, hoping to find an exit wound. To my relief, there was one. “We’re going to slide a backboard under you.” While he was facing me, two EMTs, Luke and Trent, slid the backboard against Alex. Then I gingerly rolled him back so he was on the board. I stuck one more bandage on the wound and then we strapped him to the board.
“On the count of three,” I called out. “One. Two. Three.” Two firemen along with Darren and Mac moved in to lift him while I continued working as we hurried toward the door.
“Ringo, I love you.”
“We’ll be up there soon.”
“Ringo, stay strong.”
I figured that Ringo must be his stage name since people were shouting words of encouragement as we maneuvered him out of the restaurant and toward the truck. The military called this the golden-hour, where you had one hour from point of contact to get them into surgery for life-saving situations, that golden-hour began the moment the bullet made contact. It seemed like the initial treatment took forever but we had only been on scene about five minutes.
“Hold on for me, we are going to lift you into the back of the truck.”
His hand reached out faster than I could have imagined and grabbed hold of mine.
Before loading him in, I quickly scanned for Everly, but she must have made her way inside because I didn’t see her.
“Don’t leave me.” I could tell he was trying to find anchor, assurance, and not sure why and knowing that I would have to think about this later, I squeezed his hand.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be with you.” I was about to tell one of the EMTs to ride with me to assist, but when I jumped into the truck and found Kevin already waiting on me my moments of relief were over. “You look like hell,” I told him immediately, it was the truth. He was sweaty and had traces of dirt on his shirt. I figured that whatever was going on with him, he’d tell me eventually.
I continued working while still keeping an eye on Kevin. I began hollering off stats
to the asshole so he could continue the chart the EMT had started earlier.
In emergency cases like this, our only goal was to get the victim to the ER stat. While the truck moved at high speed, we worked.
“Did you enjoy that place?” Kevin asked. “A bunch of gay dudes is right up your alley, isn’t it, Dash?” He chuckled as if this was some joke between us. It wasn’t.
“I need to clip this on your finger.” I attached the pulse oximeter. “Will someone contact your family for you?”
“I don’t have any. Just me.”
“I’m sorry.” His words hurt. All of those people who had been worried about him and he thought that he didn’t have family. “IV, I used a sixteen gauge,” I stated, hoping Kevin was at least doing his job and taking down stats. “Blood pressure is fifty-two over thirty-four, pulse ox is down to sixty-nine. Ringo, stay awake for me. “Some of the people called you Ringo is that your name or is it Alex?”
“Alex . . . Alex Derring.” I could hear the rattle building in his chest as he spoke.
“Alex. We’re almost there.”
“Okay.”
I opened a prefilled needle and slid the medicine into his IV. “I just added .3 Etomidate. Relax, Alex.” I placed one hand on his shoulder so he could feel me. “Breathe through your nose. Relax.”
I was completely focused on Alex, as his chest as it continued to swell. “Suspected pneumothorax,” I called out. I needed to relieve the pressure. I pulled the white foil sheets off Alex that we had wrapped around him to keep him warm.
I quickly glanced over at Kevin, expecting him to say something. Alex’s wig had fallen off, but his makeup and eyelashes were still in place. He also had some . . . I wasn’t sure how to explain them . . . some shoes. They were heels and covered in glitter all over them. If I wore them, I would break my neck.
“A freak show,” Kevin muttered. “Freaks are out, and it is only the beginning of June.”
God, I wanted to punch him. He was one of the main reasons I kept my orientation to myself. Always had, always will.
I grabbed another needle, sliding my fingers down from his clavicle, I felt for the spot between his first and second rib and then pressed the needle into his chest. I pulled the plunger back to relieve pressure from his chest cavity and aspirated the air and some fluid that was making it hard for him to breathe.
Before I knew it, the truck was slowing, and we were pulling into the emergency entrance. Kevin and I unlatched Alex’s bed, and when the back doors opened, we lowered Alex out of the back and rushed him toward the entrance.
The receptionist at the front pushed the button and opened the doors to the trauma wing.
Stella, one of the emergency room nurses, raced over to me. “What do we have?”
“Thirty-four-year-old black male—”
“Ringo,” she said, nudging me out of the way so she could drop a kiss to his forehead. “Oh, sweetie, I’m here, I’ve got you. What’s going on?” She turned her gaze back to me.
“Gunshot wound to the chest, possible collapsed lung, needle aspiration, suspected pneumothorax.”
“Follow me.” Stella led the way and talked to other nurses at the same time. “Call Dr. Winchell and get him here ASAP, might want to alert whoever is on call for thoracic trauma surgery.”
Stella led us into a bright room. I grabbed the report that Kevin had taken and cringed at the comments he wrote in the notes section before I handed it over to Stella.
“Did you fucking write this?” she snapped.
“No. I was busy actually administering treatment,” I defended myself.
The two others from the front of the truck caught up to us and together the four of us moved Alex from our paramedic gurney into a hospital bed. We were just rolling it out when a squad of nurses came rushing to us and grabbed Alex. Stella held up one hand to us.
“Doctor is waiting in OR three,” a nurse told her.
“Thank you.” Stella’s words were clipped; she looked as if she was fighting not to say something but she stood there and waited as Alex was wheeled away.
We stepped aside and I was torn, I needed to stay here and handle Kevin, but at the same time I wanted to follow this man I had just met.
Stella cleared her throat. “Which one of you idiots wrote this report?” She waved it in the air.
Kevin stepped forward and got in Stella’s face. “I only added a little bit, one of the EMTs started the report. Why?” Kevin chuckled.
“How stupid are you? He’s a drag queen, not transgender. Your other comments are just as ignorant as you are. And if you don’t get out of my face, you will learn real quick what I’m capable of.” Stella was seething, but Kevin stepped in even closer to her. Great, I was going to have to fight to protect her.
“Move. Homophobe.” Stella shoved him out of her way.
“That’s assault!” Kevin hollered.
“Oh, the little boy got pushed by the real woman. When you report it, make sure to ask for my brother Sergeant Lang or my brother-in-law Lieutenant Christakos, okay?” She strode off, saying nothing else.
“Did you see what she just did?” Kevin looked down at his chest as if we were going to see two blaring handprints.
“You were trying to intimidate her. You got what you deserved in my opinion. I think you better hope that she doesn’t report you,” Mac, one of the older men on our four man team, said. “What did you write on the report?”
“Nothing that’s a big deal.” Kevin brushed it off.
“You better hope not since Captain will see it.” Mac paused, looking as if he wanted to say more, but didn’t.
“He wrote: ‘Transgender, check for parts’ next to the sex line. Then in the notes he put, ‘Girly boy was shot by a man’s man,’” I explained as I tried to figure out how to get an update on Alex before leaving. “Hey, why don’t you all go on out to the truck and get Kevin out of here. I’m going to go find Stella and make sure everything is smoothed over, okay?”
“Sounds good,” Mac agreed.
“Let her cry, she’s probably on her period anyway,” Kevin retorted.
“Shut up, asshole,” Darren said. “My wife is four foot eleven and she could kick your ass for saying that.”
They headed out and I went to find Stella, she was leaning against a wall outside operating room three. “Hey, I’m sorry for the way our resident asshole behaved. Unfortunately, that was probably one of his better sides.”
Stella gave me a half-hearted smile. “Dash, I love you but I’m going to have to teach you some more original names for people like him. Unfortunately my brain isn’t working on all cylinders right now.” She paused for a second. “As far as bullies go, I’m used to guys who are no more appealing than ball cheese. Don’t apologize for him, we’re good.”
“Thanks, Stella.” I turned to head back, then halted. “Ummm…”
“Yes?” She lifted one brow.
“If I call up here later, can I ask for you and find out how he’s fairing?”
“Of course. There’s something about him, isn’t there?”
“Yeah.” Really, what else could I say? I headed out to the truck to return to the station.
Ringo
I heard a light whirling sound that was almost like a cog turning. “You look like Samantha, you know, from Bewitched,” Stella said.
I cracked open one eye as I continued to try to twitch my nose to rid it of the itch.
“Here, let me help you.” She gently rubbed my nose for me.
In my peripheral I watched the IV pump and once again heard the light whirling sound echo from it as it released another drop of fluid. “What time is it?” I tried to turn my head in search of a clock, but the simple movement had me forgetting the clock and instead wondering where the two-ton invisible elephant that was sitting on my sternum came from.
“Don’t move. You were seriously injured and have been out for hours.”
“How long?”
“It’s pushing close to midnig
ht.”
I smacked my lips to try to create moisture, but it was of no use until she brought a Styrofoam cup and straw toward my mouth.
“Small sips or you will just vomit it back up, and I guarantee you that will hurt your chest.” She held the cup steady for me.
“What happened to me?” I asked.
“Well, you got all dressed up in these adorable Superman tights and ran around calling yourself the Man of Steel and begging Piper to shoot you. It didn’t go as you imagined.”
I laughed at the thought of our friend and fellow deputy Piper shooting me and then realized that was a huge mistake. “Oww, motherfucker, my chest is being ripped apart.”
“Yeah, you might want to avoid laughing or breathing too deeply or sneezing for a while. Ripping stitches is no joke.”
I locked eyes with her. “Are you serious?”
Stella nodded.
“Truthfully, though, you had a close call, buddy. You had surgery, and they repaired your lung. Be glad that Gun-happy-homophobe-never-been-loved only had a nine millimeter with good ammunition.”
“Gun-happy, what? Good ammunition? I’m confused.” I leaned forward and took another sip.
“Yeah, Gun-happy-homophobe-never-been-loved, that’s the official name of the guy who shot you. I put it on the medical incident form.”
I started to laugh but caught myself and grasped one of Stella’s hands instead.
“I’m telling you about the gun and ammunition because, had he used a rifle, shotgun, hollow point bullets, or cheap ammunition, your fate would have been different.” Stella’s voice quivered a bit, but it was the only sign she gave of being upset. God, I loved my friends.
“You want another sip?”
I leaned forward and took several more small sips before laying my head back, and she settled into the chair next to me.
“How long have you been sitting there?”
“Since I got off shift at six this evening. I took care of you in the ER and then kept tabs on you during surgery.”
“How bad was it?”
“Your right lung collapsed, and the bullet ruptured your middle lobe pulmonary artery, so the blood was filling your lungs. I know that sounds bad, but you were actually kind of lucky. A few inches to the left and you wouldn’t have made it.”
Ringo, Slippery Banana: A Beautiful Love Story (Iron Orchids Book 7) Page 2