“Why?” The word barked out.
“Well, you look like you could use some sleep.”
“Don’t we all?”
Ben smirked. “Just doing my duty. You’re the one who assigned me to medic, so I’m being medical. To be honest, you look like death in a slop bucket. Maybe you should come to the clinic for a checkup.” He raised his hands in front of him, palms out, to fend off the burning scowl. “I know, just doing my duty. I’m going, I’m going.” He gave a sort of salute, one more narrow-eyed look, and shut the door behind him.
Jenny greeted him at the reception area. “You look better than I have seen you in a long time.”
“Thank you for your concern.” He let a hint of sarcasm creep in. No sense letting her feel like she was always right. Besides he didn’t owe her just one debt of gratitude but a whole dump-truck-load.
“How’s our baby?”
Funny how Dawn had become the darling of not only the station but the clinic and probably part of the town. “She smiled at me.” Get a grip, James. No extra blinking allowed. “When I fed her this morning.”
“Our miracle baby.”
One thought had awakened him early. What if Esther decided today was the day to put his baby into the social services system? No, that wasn’t possible. There was no way to get her to Grand Forks and the offices. “In more ways than you know.”
“Oh, I see a walkin’, talkin’ miracle right in front of me.”
“Jenny, knock it off.” He heard the hoarseness creep into his voice. If all the others were as close to the line as he, they were in bad shape. He glanced over his shoulder and leaned closer, dropping his voice. “Is he as bad off as he looks?”
“Chief? In a word, yes! But he won’t listen to me, you, or anyone else, so put on your prayer armor that he can get through this.” She shook her head. “Life with him was so much easier when his wife was still alive.”
Ben nodded. He used to have a wife, too. He used to have prayer armor. Was it all rusted beyond use? Wasn’t it enough that he’d quit drinking? Of course, how would she know that? Or any of them? Himself included. Esther had certainly put the fear of God into him if he wanted to keep that baby. The memory of that toothless smile, those crinkly dark eyes…no drinking allowed, no how, not anymore, no matter how much stress.
“I’m outta here before he comes out here and rips me into shreds. Thanks, Jenny.”
“For what?”
But he was out the door. He paused under the roof of the entryway and just watched for a minute as Mother Nature girded herself to throw yet another fit. The wind was already swaying what trees and portions of trees they had left, occasionally ripping off leaves, and while the rain was still fairly light, the cold of it and the wind drove right into his bones. The black monster off to the west would fill the sky from about two o’clock on; the real storm. And its arrival was not far off.
He parked near the rear entrance of the clinic and flipped the hood of his rain jacket over his head. His vehicle seemed empty without his furry black buddy. He entered the building to find quiet. He hung up his wet jacket and went in search of Esther.
“She’s in two with a patient.” Barbara did not seem particularly cheerful today.
“And good morning to you, too.” Ben smiled at the dark-haired woman. “So it has begun again?”
“We’ve had two patients in ten minutes. If she doesn’t need you yet, how about moving that box of distilled water for me? It needs to be in the storage room rather than the kitchen break room.”
“Of course. Anything else?”
“Start a pot of coffee.”
“Sure.” For this I am here? But he knew better than to say anything. He tapped on the door to two and stuck his head in. “Need me?”
“Not yet.” Esther sent him a questioning look, then turned back to her patient, an elderly man.
“Hey there, Mr. Rustvold. How you doing?”
The older man had been a math teacher when Ben was in high school, retired a few years ago. To Ben, he had seemed ancient when he was still teaching. And despite the fellow’s retirement, Ben could not bring himself to address Mr. Rustvold by his first name. He was Mister.
“Not too bad. Ran out of my prescription and they wouldn’t renew it without I check in here. So here I am.”
“Glad it’s nothing more than that. Say hi to your wife for me.” She’d been his history and US government teacher. The school lost some fine teachers when these two had retired. He shut the door and went on to the break room to perform his mundane, non-law-enforcement tasks.
One of their two ambulances wailed a few streets away. The other was still parked at the south end of the lot, mutely awaiting a call.
He stowed the distilled water in the closet and returned to the break room. His baby had spent hours here, surviving. He reached for the coffee filters. He should go ask for a report, but the need for a cup of coffee drove him to finish this task first. The other would come to him. He filled the coffeemaker well as he heard the door swoosh open. He headed for the ambulance entrance. “What do we have?”
“Cardiac.”
“Room three.” He looked down at the man on the gurney. “Mr. Aptos.” A spidery hand reached for him and Ben clasped the cold hand between his warm ones. He glanced at Dennis, who was pushing. Dennis shrugged. They all knew the old gentleman who had been Ben’s grandfather’s best friend. The two had played dominoes every day down at the Drop In Café and bingo every Thursday at the veterans’ hall. They had both walked in the parade on Veterans Day every year since he could remember. Dennis wheeled him into the examining room and they lifted him onto the table. He almost weighed less than the box of water. Ben wished they had a more comfortable bed for him.
He met Esther in the hall. “Mr. Aptos in three. Cardiac.”
“Is he stabilized?”
“Appears so.” He opened the door for her to enter.
“Hello, Mr. Aptos, not feeling too well right now, eh?” She automatically checked the monitor. Dennis had shifted to the clinic monitors. “No, please don’t try to sit up. Let me see what is going on here.” She patted his hand and put her stethoscope to his chest.
Dennis and Yvette stepped back and pulled their gurney out of the way. “We need to get back.”
“I know. Have they shut down traffic on the streets yet?”
“No, but there aren’t many cars out.”
She checked the saline drip. “What have you given him?”
“Besides oxygen, Activase.”
“Heparin?”
“Not yet. His heart rate seems to be settling down some. He wasn’t fibrillating—we put the machine on him, of course—but he was having a hard time breathing.”
“Was he unconscious?”
“Almost, mighty weak. Sitting in his chair in front of the dark TV.” Dennis kept his voice low.
“I think he’d slept there, too. Blankets on the floor,” Yvette added.
The old man shrugged. “No power. Had some cheese, slice of bread.” His words were strung out, barely hanging together.
“Mr. Aptos, when did you eat last? Today, yesterday?”
“I-I’m not sure.”
“Can you chew and swallow?”
“Can’t find my teeth.”
“I see.” Esther looked to Dennis. “Was there power to his house?”
“No lights on, but I didn’t check switches.”
“Mr. Aptos, I’m going to give you some nutrition via the IV but I want you to eat something now, something soft you can masticate with your tongue. Can you sit up if we crank the bed up?”
“I-I think so.”
“How about heating him some soup in the microwave?”
Ben nodded and patted the man’s shoulder. “We’ll get you ready to play dominoes again real soon.”
“Thank you, son.”
Soup. Ben fumbled around in the little cabinet where the staff kept emergency rations for when they were too busy to break away and eat. Chicken no
odle. No, chunks. Cream of celery. Ben hated celery and wouldn’t do that to anyone else. Cream of potato. That would do. He dumped it into a bowl and poked numbers on the microwave. Anything else? He looked in the refrigerator. Cheese. American cheese squares in wrappers. Could you handle that stuff without teeth? Sure.
He dug a spoon out of the junk drawer, rinsed it off to make sure, and headed back to three with his tray of delectable delights.
Esther met him on the way. “I think he’s mostly dehydrated and weak from not eating and drinking. We can’t keep him here, and he can’t be left alone. What do we do?”
“According to Dennis, when in need call his mother. Is the Lutheran church taking in refugees again?” Ben felt like he’d been out of things for a week rather than a couple of days. “Or maybe someone in town will take the old man in for a few days.”
“I’ll ask Dennis.” She headed to room one to check on her patients there.
Mr. Rustvold was leaving two as Ben entered three. “Mr. Aptos?” Ben set the tray on the counter and watched for a response.
The faded blue eyes struggled open, and the old man turned his head to see who was talking. “Ah, Ben. You take after your father, you know.”
“Really? I brought soup, do you need help eating?” While he was talking, he cranked the head of the bed up. “That better?” But when he saw how the old hand shook, he dragged over a chair. “How about if I help you?”
“Do you by any chance have any coffee?”
“We do. Let’s get through the soup and the cheese I brought, then I’ll get you coffee.” He waited for a nod. Had he ever fed someone like this before? Surely Barbara or someone could do better than he. He should be out chasing bad guys, not force-feeding an old man. The first spoonful dribbled down the man’s chin. Ben mopped him with a tissue and tried again. “Sorry, my fault.” After a few spoonfuls they got the rhythm and the soup disappeared. Ben unwrapped the square of cheese and handed it to his patient. “Can you manage that?”
Mr. Aptos nodded and with a shaky hand took a bite. “Coffee?”
“Coming right up.” He left the room, trying to figure out how he could bring coffee that wouldn’t spill. Barbara might know.
“Check the cupboard above the sink,” Barbara said.
“Good, thanks.”
At the same moment they heard the ambulance siren.
“Here we go again.” Barbara answered the phone and waved him off with the other hand.
Sure enough, in the cupboard he found those travel mugs with accordion-pleated straws sticking out of the lid. Perfect. Ben pulled the first one his fingers reached, a turquoise job with a Hasty-Stop logo, poured the coffee, and added the sugar that for some odd reason he remembered from days with his father and his friend.
He carried it in to the old man. “I hope you still take sugar.”
“I do. How did you ever remember that?” He took the cup with steadier hands.
“Is there anyone we might call who could stay with you for a few days?”
Mr. Aptos shook his head. “Just Harry. But his house was damaged, and they’re going to live with his daughter. They came and told me they were leaving.”
“Okay, we’ll find someone.”
“I don’t want to be a bother, you know.”
“I understand, but you can’t live alone until we get your strength pumped back up. Enjoy your coffee.”
He heard Esther say, “Okay, room two.” So he headed for two. But wait. Someone was shouting out in the waiting room. He paused, sighed heavily. “Be right back.”
Chapter Twelve
Sir, I told you, you’ll have to wait—” Barbara’s voice was firm and loud enough for Ben to hear down the hall.
The man’s reply was louder. “I don’t have to—I need something. Show me your drugs. Now!”
The voice, blaring, shaky, desperate sounding, stopped Ben from slamming open the door and charging into the waiting room. He opened the door a crack. While he couldn’t see the man, he could hear Barbara stammering a reply.
“I-I-I don’t know. I’m just the receptionist.”
From somewhere in the middle of the waiting area, a woman screamed. “Don’t hurt my baby! Please! Not Robbie! Please!”
A man swore. A child somewhere close was screaming.
Ben opened the door a bit farther; how much could he see? Not much. A clean-cut man in an orange T-shirt, probably the child’s father, was helping a sobbing, distraught woman to her feet out among the chairs. Barbara, terrified, was riveting her attention on a very ratty-looking fellow standing unsteadily, his feet braced wide, between Ben and her desk. Ben could smell him from here.
Good luck bit number one: His back was turned. Ben slipped into the room and shook his head when Barbara saw him. Her eyes continued past him. Still, the smelly guy shifted to the side to glance around the room. One arm clamped a shrieking little boy to his chest, while the other hand held a knife point to the boy’s throat. He turned enough to catch a glimpse of Ben, who was silently moving closer. “Take another step and you’ll see blood all over!” Grizzled stubble on his chin, oily hair straggling down to his collar, and clothes that hadn’t felt the caress of laundry detergent for years. And he reeked penetratingly.
“Hold still, Robbie! Don’t move!” the orange-shirted fellow pleaded, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders.
Ben stood still, raised both hands palms out. “Easy, fella. We’ll get you what you want. Don’t hurt the child. No drugs are worth injury to a child.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone coming up to the front entry door.
“Barbara, lock the door.”
She half rose. “What? Don’t you…?”
“There are people about to come in. We don’t need…” Ben fought to keep his voice calm and even. “…them. Not right now.”
“No!” Smelly guy was, if anything, growing wilder. “I mean it! She don’t leave! Take me to where you keep your drugs, bitch.”
An old man Ben had not even noticed at the back of the room hopped up and waddled to the door. He opened it a little and said something. The people outside ran away. The old man ran out the door, slammed it behind him.
It was obvious that life was moving faster than the smelly guy could handle it. Panicky, he looked all around, his eyes wide, their whites so bloodshot they were pink. Maybe if he was so addled he didn’t know what to do, Ben could suggest something to do; maybe the guy would even do it.
Good luck bit number two: Ben had a stethoscope looped around his shoulders. “I am a doctor. Dr. Jones. I operate this clinic.” He dipped his head toward Barbara. “Miss Funkmeyer, the prescription drugs. Please bring them.”
“I will. Don’t hurt the boy. I’m going to stand up now.” Barbara pushed herself to her feet. “We’ll help you.”
Ben stepped back, his hands still clear. Scabs on the man’s arms, the shaking. Crank, meth. What? He started to move forward. “Why don’t we…?”
“I said, don’t move!” The fellow jerked, and the point of the knife pierced the boy’s skin. A trickle of blood sent the mother into a screaming, crying frenzy; her husband was wrapped around her tightly, doing all he could to comfort her.
“Now look what you did!” the smelly guy screamed. “I warned you! Don’t anyone move, or my knife might slip again. What the…” A dark wet spot was spreading down his clothes. In his fear, the child had wet his pants. “I should just…” He inched his way to the door. It was closed. “You, open the door.”
Ben nodded again. “Miss Funkmeyer, give him everything in the cabinet. As soon as he has our drugs, he will release the child.”
Barbara nodded and moved to do as she was told, following “doctor’s” orders.
No way could he get across the room in time to take him down in here. He glanced toward the couple. The man kept his arms clamped around his wife.
As Barbara led their smelly drug addict into the hall, Ben slid back out through the side door. The mother wailed. He distinctly hear
d Barbara’s, “Don’t anyone come out of the exam rooms. Stay where you are!”
Hearing a horrendous crash and glass shattering, Ben surmised that Barbara had just opened the locked cabinet. Vials and bottles rattled. Sounds told him they were dumping everything into a bag.
Ben slipped into the storage area, lit eerily green by the EXIT sign. He paused beside a steel shelving unit, squeezed back against the wall, waited. Hardest thing in the world, just waiting. He’d burned up a third of his life on surveillance, sitting, watching, and waiting, but this was different. A child could die here.
His ears told him some of what was going on, but he dared not peek.
Barbara’s voice: “…an exit over there that will take you out the back way. See it?”
Footsteps approached, staggering steps. He could clearly smell the guy. The little boy was crying. Getting louder. He kept his mind on task by rehearsing his next move.
The stench intensified, and now the fellow loomed into sight immediately in front of him, Robbie still pressed against his chest. Now!
Ben put his years of football training into use, combined with a bit of judo from the academy. His hands shot out; he seized the wrist with the knife, yanked it away from the child, kept moving, slammed the hand against the wall, and tackled the guy with a full body slam. The three of them crashed to the floor, but grabbing Smelly’s wrist had twisted all three of them aside and they landed on Ben’s left arm. All three of them. A white plastic kitchen bag fell open and spewed bottles and vials out across the floor. The clatter seemed magnified in this narrow passage. So did the stink.
Ben wrenched the man’s arm behind his back—the hand no longer held the knife—and surged to his feet. But the fellow’s other arm still wrapped firmly around Robbie. This worn old derelict, who seemed so compromised, turned out to be amazingly strong. Ben was in shape, and he was struggling.
Wake the Dawn Page 11