by Robena Grant
Henry eased up beside him, unable to hold back another second. The old man yelled that they needed help, and climbed halfway out of the grave. Michael had to duck to miss his flailing skinny legs. Then he saw Mantis slip behind the cabin, and disappear into the trees.
“Thanks,” he whispered, in farewell to Mantis.
“I’m not leaving you,” Henry said, looking down at Michael. “Medic. Medic.”
No use explaining. The effort and stress of the shootout had almost been too much for him, and Michael felt woozy. He patted the old man’s ankle. “I know. Thanks…for everything.”
“You too. We make a good team.”
“Good work,” Michael murmured, and then the paramedics arrived.
Inside the ambulance, an intravenous was started. Michael insisted that they also bring Henry into the hospital, and he began to explain the elderly man’s last couple of weeks where he’d been the victim of abuse and deprivation. Stanton had already wrapped Henry in a blanket, and he agreed.
“It’ll only take a second,” Stanton called out to the paramedic. He helped Henry stand, and walked him carefully toward the ambulance. Then he left, and rejoined the group huddled around the cabin.
“In the back,” Henry said. He indicated he’d be happy to sit next to Michael.
Michael smiled from behind his oxygen mask. He pulled it down for a minute.
“Hope they don’t need to do any surgery,” he said, and winked at Henry, and then looked up at the paramedic. “My man and I had a fruit juice and a granola bar, about an hour ago.”
The paramedic grinned. “Probably saved you from passing out.”
“Chocolate,” Henry said.
“I think a good clean up, and some stitches, and you’ll be back on the job in no time.” The paramedic looked over at Henry. “You, on the other hand, could use a good meal or two.”
Henry laughed. “Tell me about it.”
“Where’s my phone?” Michael asked, and then tried to sit up.
“Don’t worry about anything right now, just rest.” The paramedic said, easing him back onto the stretcher. “Everything will be taken care of.”
“I need to give Stanton some information,” Michael said, removing the mask from his face again. “We had help from someone on the hill. Don’t want them to be mistaken for gang members, plus, whoever it was could have been hurt.”
“Stop stressing,” the paramedic said sharply.
Michael blinked hard, and then clamped down on his jaw.
“And keep that mask in place,” the paramedic said, softening his tone of voice. “Better still, I’m exchanging it for a nasal cannula.”
“He’s right,” Henry said to the paramedic. “Better do that. Call Stanton. Have to make sure every good guy gets out of here unharmed, or—”
“Fair enough.” The paramedic spoke tersely, but he stood and peered out the back of the ambulance. After a few moments, he yelled, and beckoned. “Hey, Stanton, you’re needed over here.”
He then drew up a shot of something from a small vial. Michael hoped for morphine, but not to be given yet. No medications, not until he could give Stanton a couple of important details.
Stanton ran over. “What’s up?”
Michael told him his story. Stanton beckoned someone else over and barked out several orders.
“SWAT guys say they’ll check it out,” Stanton said, leaning inside the back of the ambulance. “You get that arm taken care of.” He slapped the back door jamb. “Get my men out of here.”
The paramedic who was the driver nodded. The second one sat between the two patients.
“Call Rachel,” Michael yelled to Stanton, as the driver closed the back doors.
“We’re on our way,” the second paramedic said, lifting the intravenous line and injecting something into it.
The driver ran around, and jumped into the ambulance, and Michael settled back as the sound of the siren blurted out a farewell to the carnage around the cabin. Stanton had heard him, hadn’t he? He looked over at Henry. He’d fallen asleep. No sense in waking him so that he could find his cell phone. He knew it would be somewhere, in one or the other of their pockets. Everything started to go fuzzy around the edges, and he smiled up at the attendant. He felt his entire body go weightless. Maybe it was in his pants? He tried to reach with his good hand and realized the paramedic had restrained him.
His eyelids got heavy. Have to call Rachel. Will, soon as I get to the hospital. His job was done. The Kingpin was dead, Henry was found, and Jack was safe. And Mantis had come back to help out. It was all good. He closed his eyes again, and let sleep overtake him.
****
Rachel and Manuel lowered themselves, for a few moments, behind the large foliage at the base of a couple of tall Ocotillo plants. The sun was up now.
They’d have to make a run for the car soon. But she wasn’t concerned, there were no bad gang members left standing. And while she didn’t relish the thought of killing, and she certainly couldn’t celebrate that they were dead and would no longer cause harm to anyone, she did feel relieved. The loss of life still bothered her though. What odd feelings.
A mile or so to the west, and across the river, was the motor home park. The ambulance transporting the injured parties had long gone. She felt like a criminal, hiding out from the cops. Behind them they could see the helicopters had taken off over the ridge, heading back toward Indio, or maybe to take a coastal route to San Diego. She glanced around with a frown. Maybe this was part of San Diego County? She couldn’t remember. Panic gripped her.
Were the emergency vehicles out of San Diego? Would they take Michael, if it had been Michael on that stretcher, to a hospital there, or to one in Brawley? How would she find him?
“All clear,” Manuel said. “Let’s make a run for it. Let’s get the hell away from here.”
Rachel nodded and they ran, using whatever plants they could as cover, dodging in and around them. Arriving at the car, they hurled their bodies inside, and panting looked at each other without a word. They were safe. Manuel did a u-turn and took off.
Rachel leaned forward, catching her breath, and thanking the universe for their good luck. The cops hadn’t had time to put a boot on the car, preventing them from driving it away. She raised her head, about to congratulate Manuel on their good fortune, and gasped.
Manuel’s face had turned from its usual deep olive to the color of cappuccino foam. His hands gripped the steering wheel, each knuckle sharply pronounced. Up ahead was a police roadblock. A cop stood in front of it and flagged them down.
Manuel slowed their speed. “Gun,” he said.
About to say he couldn’t shoot a cop, she finally understood what he meant. She nodded and lowered herself into the seat, and took the gun from the glove compartment. She shoved it far back, beneath her seat, and prayed the cop would not search their vehicle.
****
Michael didn’t recall much about arriving at the hospital, or going into surgery. They must have given him a light anesthetic. He looked around. The gurneys and dividing curtains told him it was a recovery room. Wonder where Henry is?
He stretched his eyelids wide, and saw the worried frown on the chief’s ruddy face. “What are you doing here?” he asked, trying to work his drug addled brain, and get some moisture into his dry mouth.
“Not supposed to be in here,” the chief said quietly. “But I insisted.” He grinned down at him. “Good job, Delaney. Excellent job.”
“What about Younger Brother?”
The chief frowned. “Who?”
Michael smacked his lips. “The younger Suarez brother…the decoy…ah…Pedro.”
The chief grinned wider. “Here, try some ice chips.” He shoveled a spoonful into Michael’s mouth. “We got him. He’ll provide us with even more information on the cartels. How they work. How they control the overland drug smuggling routes from Central America. Who works for whom, and—”
“Good.” Michael nodded, glad they’d captured
one of them. “More ice, please.”
After another spoonful he glanced around the room. “Is Rachel here?” He tried to raise his head.
The chief frowned.
“Ah, hell,” Michael said, and sat up. His alarm monitor beeped. “Do I have to do everything? Did nobody tell her where I am?”
The chief raised his hands and his eyebrows.
“Shit. She’ll be going nuts by now,” Michael said, ignoring the shrill monitor. “How long have I been here? Where the hell is Stanton?”
“Steady on there.” The chief put a hand on his chest, and pushed him back onto the gurney.
The nurse re-attached the monitor lead that had ripped from his chest when he’d tried to get up, and then she fussed around checking everything else in sight. “I thought you said you wouldn’t disturb him,” she said to the chief. “I’m going to have to insist that you leave.”
“Not his fault,” Michael said, and winced at the tugging pain in his left arm.
The chief nodded his agreement, but wisely kept his mouth shut.
“Can we have five minutes?” Michael asked. “Please?”
The nurse grimaced. “Two minutes, and that’s it.” She turned toward the chief. “Then I’m giving him another pain killer. So, you’d better ask whatever it is that’s so important, and then leave the poor man to rest.”
She smiled at Michael. “Morphine will keep you quiet.”
Michael looked down, and saw his left arm was in a sling. He had a cannula in his right hand and red intravenous tubing was attached. He looked up, and saw the slow, steady drip of a blood transfusion.
“Tell me everything you need to,” the chief said, and leaned against the bed rail. “But go slow, take your time, and most important things first. There’s nothing worth getting yourself agitated about. There’ll be time for a full report later. You’ve got some healing to do.”
The nurse shot them both another warning glance, and moved on to check on the next patient. Michael brought the chief up to speed. He skirted around the extent of his feelings for Rachel, but he’d noticed the rise and fall of the chief’s eyebrows. Fortunately the chief didn’t put pressure on him for further information. It seemed he understood that he and Rachel had formed a partnership of sorts.
The chief said Henry was fine, but the doctor wanted to keep him in the hospital for a couple of days. He had a few nasty scratches and sores that needed attention, and he appeared malnourished.
“Has he been in contact with Rachel? Has anybody?” Michael tried hard to keep calm, especially when he discovered it was now after two in the afternoon.
“I’m not sure.” The chief looked contrite.
“She’s staying with Fred, in Desert Scapes. I can get you the number.”
“I’ll call Stanton.”
Michael nodded. Good idea. “Anyone update Jack?”
“Yeah,” the chief said. And then he raised a hand in farewell and moved away as the nurse advanced. “Get some sleep.”
Update Jack? Wait a minute, he’d been there too. Or had he dreamed that? The nurse checked his vital signs, and gave him some intravenous pain relief. And Stanton, he remembered talking to him. He hadn’t contacted Rachel like he’d asked. He had asked him, hadn’t he?
Chapter Twenty
Michael was moved from the Recovery Room. Even with his arm in the sling, and an intravenous cannula attached to an IV bag that dripped electrolytes into a vein in his right hand, he moved easily from the gurney to the bed in the main surgical wing. The blood transfusion had been completed. He hadn’t needed much replacement, thanks to the quick thinking of Mantis and Henry. He wasn’t feeling too much pain, either.
His strength returned with every passing hour. He’d slept a lot. The nurse had told him the intravenous cannula would be removed soon, and then he could make phone calls. And she’d also said, much to his surprise, that he’d be able to check out in the morning. He could be patient. He could wait that long. Surely. Where had the day gone? He’d still learned nothing about Rachel. Although the Recovery Room nurse had said Stanton had been by to visit.
He must have been asleep.
It seemed every time he woke up, they zapped him back to fuzzy land. Unable to wait for the IV to be removed, he reached for the phone, awkwardly lifting the handset, and asked for directory assistance. He propped the handset against his ear with one shoulder, ignoring the sudden jolt of pain, and scratched the number onto the front of a golfing magazine the nurse had left. Who the hell had time for golf?
He took in a few calming breaths, making sure to release them slowly, and when the pain eased, he pressed in the numbers of the bar in Desert Scapes and waited. Fred answered.
“Can I speak to Rachel, Fred? This is Michael Delaney.”
“She’s not here,” Fred said, his voice gruff.
“Ah, do you know where she is?”
“She took off in the middle of the damn night, took the dog, too. But she left all of her stuff.”
“What?” Michael jerked his body up, and winced at the pain that shot through his arm. He had to stop doing that. He breathed through the pain for a moment or two, panting like a dog. Where could she have gone? Henry’s cabin had been destroyed. Her house was in shambles. Did she still have the spare key to his apartment? He had given her one, hadn’t he?
“Do you know where she went?”
“No. Didn’t leave a note.”
“But she had no vehicle.”
“Yeah,” Fred said. “I know.”
“Did you report her missing?”
“No. Like I said, she left her stuff. Wasn’t sure what you’d want me to do.”
“Okay. Do you have any ideas?”
“I figured she’d gone for a walk…or something,” Fred said, sounding contrite.
“I understand,” Michael said, impatient for information. His damn wound throbbed like hell. He needed to rest.
“I caught the news this morning, so I didn’t worry. I guessed she was with you. I heard all about the strife down there in Ocotillo Flats. You’re some kind of hero—it’s been playing on the telly all morning. Heard you were in surgery at JFK Hospital. You sound good.”
“Yes. I’m fine now. I’ll be out of here soon.” Michael pulled in a deep breath, and tried to stifle his disappointment. If the news was out, then Rachel would know what had happened, and to where he’d been transported. So, why hadn’t she visited? He pressed his lips tight. She’d been angry about not being included in the take down, but surely, she wouldn’t hold that against him. Would she?
“You want me to call anyone?” Fred asked.
“No. I’ll do that.” Michael hung up the handset, and thought it all through. Where could she have gone? He dialed Stanton.
****
Michael finished the last spoonful of Jell-O and then he scraped the little container with the teaspoon to see if he’d missed any. He was starving, but he knew a steak, or a burger, was out of the question. Maybe tonight he’d get more food.
Even though, now the anesthetic had worn off a bit, the damn arm throbbed like someone jabbed a hot poker into it. He’d have to take another dose of morphine soon. And while he knew not to do the whole macho bullshit thing and tough out the pain, he hated taking the drug because then he slept, and he always woke up again feeling mildly nauseous.
So, all in all, it was a good thing the nurse had held back on the solid food. He didn’t want to add upchucking to his condition. He put the Jell-O container down, and looked up to see Stanton standing in the doorway. He’d arrived in record time, having said over the phone that he didn’t know where Rachel had gone, but that he’d make some enquiries while driving over.
“Come on in,” Michael said, beckoning him with the teaspoon. “Any news on Rachel?”
Stanton scratched at his neck. “Yeah, ah…it’s the darndest thing.” He pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed. “It seems like she didn’t trust you to get the job done.”
“What?” Michael frow
ned, and his arm throbbed, causing his head to pound in competition with it. He glanced at the clock. It was after three, and Rachel had been missing since the middle of the night. And Stanton grinned like a fool. What the hell is wrong with these people? Don’t they get the seriousness of the situation? He shifted his arm, gently easing the sling so that it didn’t rub against his neck.
“She’s being held in Brawley PD.”
“What the hell,” Michael said, jolting his upper body forward. “What happened?”
Stanton grinned even wider, and he ran a hand over his buzz cut.
“My understanding is, she and Manuel, and Jack Fischer, followed us to Ocotillo Flats. They saw the car parked at the edge of the highway, and figured we’d cut across the Ocotillo fields. They followed us.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“Afraid not. Now I haven’t spoken with her myself. This is all secondhand information.”
“From whom?”
“Jack, but that’s another story. It seems Manuel shot at the gang members. You know the guys up on the rise, the ones who were giving us backup?”
“That was them?”
“Yeah. Cops are interrogating them at the moment. Seems they were escaping the crime scene, and met up with a roadblock. Manuel has a minor rap against him.”
“But what about Rachel? Why won’t they release her?”
“They’re getting to that,” Stanton said.
“Does she even know Henry is alive, and in the hospital?”
Stanton looked perplexed. “I forgot about that. You know what? I’m not sure.”
“Well, you should damn well find out—”
“Hold it,” Stanton said, and raised a hand. “It’s not my department, not yours either. Brawley’s in a whole damn other county,” he said, and scoffed. “It’s like a whole other country down there.” He looked away for a moment, and then dug into his pocket. “Here’s your cell phone. Maybe you can get your chief to make a call. They could be detained there all day.”
“I need to get the hell out of here,” Michael said, his anger rising. “This must be straightened out.” He pressed the buzzer for the nurse. “Even if I have to go to Brawley.”