The man stepped into the darkened doorway and waited. He knew his prey would come this way and, like any successful predator, he was patient. He settled back against the cold metal of the door and pulled his coat tighter about him so that no glimmer of a reflection would give away his hiding place.
Cameron Poe shoved a hand into his pocket of his woolen coat, just to check one more time, to wrap his hands around the cool, steel assurance of his gun. He’d use it if he had to, but it was more important that he convince his prey to cooperate. He had to stay calm this time, keep his temper in check. His brother’s life depended on it. So he waited, and watched, listening to his own heart beating loudly in his ears, feeling the adrenalin quickly coursing through his system, making him light-headed, volatile, ready to explode. He felt another one of those weird, jack-hammer headaches creeping up on him. He took a deep breath to steady himself.
And then he saw his prey, coming out of the all-night convenience store, with a small bag in hand. He almost didn’t recognize him - he wasn’t wearing his signature blue county uniform, the one he had worn when first they met. But Cameron remembered his face. He’d spent fifteen minutes lying on the cold hard ground looking into that very face.
Cameron felt his chest tighten, and he couldn’t breathe for a moment, so nervous was he. He had to move now. His prey was almost to his Land Rover. If he got in, he may have time to start it and leave before he could get to him. So Cameron stepped into the light of the parking lot and approached his prey, his hand clamped around the gun, but kept hidden in his pocket. For now.
"Excuse me!"
John Gage turned around, startled, not expecting to run into anyone so late. He had just finished a shift - a long, exhausting one crammed with more activity than he’d seen in a long time. Six freeway collisions, one of which was fatal, numerous freak accidents and two heart attacks, among other more routine situations. It was fast approaching three a.m., and all he wanted was to fall into bed and spend at least twelve hours blissfully unconscious.
"John Gage, right?"
"Do I know you?" John asked suspiciously.
"Kinda sorta," Cameron said, smiling, wanting to keep it light. "You saved my life about two years ago. Remember?"
Johnny gave the man a hard look. There was something familiar about him. Something about his eyes, something cold and off-setting. Something almost frightening. It made him shiver despite the warm air.
"I’m sorry," said Johnny, "I see a lot of people everyday."
"’Hang on’, you kept saying. I did. Because of you. Thank you."
"Just doing my job," Johnny said. He wanted to be inside his car and on his way. Something wasn’t right. The man was wearing a heavy overcoat with deep pockets, despite the fact that it was at least seventy degrees. His sweaty face was a testament to the true temperature. And he hadn’t taken his hands out of his pockets the entire time he’d been there.
"I gotta get going," Johnny said, a little more nervously than he had intended. "I just put in thirty-six hours and I’m dead on my feet."
"I understand," he said. "But I need your help, man."
"Are you sick?" That would help explain his paleness, and his slightly tremulous manner.
"It’s not me. It’s my brother. He had an accident."
Johnny took a look around. There was no traffic on the street, no one for as far as the night would allow him to see. No cars, no wreckage, nothing to indicate an accident.
"Will you help him, like you helped me?"
"You should call 911, man."
"Are you saying no?" The uneasy smile was gone, replaced by a nasty glare that made Johnny’s stomach flip. He realized this man was a little left of sane.
"No, just that you may want to call an ambulance, get him to a hospital."
"I can’t. No hospital. Gunshot wounds, they call the police."
Johnny felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck, as if the air was charging up for a lightning strike.
Cameron pulled out the gun.
"Whoa," said Johnny, "hey, don’t -" He dropped the bag, his groceries forgotten.
"We can take your car. Get in."
Johnny did as he was told, climbing in behind the wheel. He could barely insert the key into the ignition, the way his hands were shaking.
"Easy, Mr. Gage," he said, massaging his temple with his free hand, "I’ll only shoot you if you refuse to cooperate. So far, you doing okay."
~~~~
"Turn right here."
They’d driven in silence, with the gunman breaking it only to give curt directions. He seemed calm now, satisfied that he’d gotten his way and that Johnny was cooperating. Johnny would do whatever he could to keep it that way, but he dreaded what he would find when they reached their destination.
"So, what’s the deal here?" Johnny asked.
"I’ll tell you when we get there. Just drive for now."
Johnny kept his eyes on the road, determined to show no fear. He’d run a half dozen scenarios through his mind, all ways he could escape, but none of them seemed smart or feasible, not with a gun held so closely to his ribs. One shot could completely incapacitate him. Or kill him.
"You really don’t remember me?" the gunman asked. He actually seemed hurt.
"You look familiar."
"There was a car accident about two years ago, on Sepulveda. Three vehicles. I was in a green VW bus. Busted my head wide open on the steering wheel."
"Yeah," Johnny said, remembering. But it was no ordinary accident. The victims in the VW bus were fleeing a crime scene. A crime this gunman, along with a man who fled on foot and managed to allude the cops, had committed. Convenience store robbery. They’d found bags of stolen items inside the overturned bus, along with weapons, cash and stolen credit cards from other heists.
"Yeah, I remember you," Johnny confessed. "If you don’t mind my asking, how’d you get out of jail so soon?"
"You won’t believe this man," the gunman said with a proud smile. "I practically walked out. They ain’t built a jail yet that could hold me. Well, there was one guard who did try and stop me. Let’s just say he won’t be ‘round for Christmas this year."
Johnny took a deep breath to steady himself as he remembered hearing fragments of a radio report about a jail break, and a violent inmate who had escaped....
"Poe," Johnny said.
"That’s right. Cameron Poe."
"Where are we going, Cameron?"
"Take the next left, pull into the garage on the corner."
~~~
"Close the garage door," Cameron ordered. Johnny complied, using the moment to look around the dark neighborhood. There were no lights on in any of the houses, and most of the street lamps were blown out. Or, more accurately by the glass along the sidewalk, they’d been shot out.
"Won’t do you any good, Gage," Cameron said. "This neighborhood‘s abandoned. All the houses are coming down for a parking lot. Nobody around for as far as you can see. I put some thought into this."
"Yeah," Johnny said, slamming the door shut. "You sure did."
~~~~
They entered the condemned house through a broken door. John felt nauseous as he was hit with the combined odors of mildew, urine, and sickness. Infection. Somebody was really sick in the room just beyond the door.
Kerosene lanterns and candles burned, casting a dull yellow glow on the dingy old room. The windows were boarded up, and electrical and plumbing fixtures hung precariously from the ceiling. Johnny had to duck to make his way through the room without bashing his head.
The floors were worse. He tripped over a loose floorboard that shifted, revealing a gaping hole that could have caused a nasty injury. Despite the current condition of the house, Johnny thought that, not very long ago, this must have been a pretty decent single family home.
And then he saw four dingy mattresses on the floor, along with cigarette filled ash trays, gallon bottles of distilled water, most of them empty, fast food containers and wrappers, dirty clothes and shoes. He shuddered at the sight of a bent, blackened spoon, and a used syringe next to a burnt down white candle.
On one of the mattresses lay a man under a ratty blanket. He was moaning, his head turning from side to side.
"My brother, Robby," Cameron said, "Help him."
John went into paramedic mode. He instantly knelt, grabbing one of the kerosene lanterns and holding it near the man on the mattress. "What happened to him?"
"It was accident," Cameron insisted. "He got himself shot."
"Robby? My name’s Johnny. I’m gonna try and help you if I can."
The suffering man looked five or six years older than Cameron, and the family resemblance was strong. John pulled back the blanket. Robby winced. So did Johnny, when he saw the damage. Robby’s torso had been haphazardly wrapped in bandages and gauze, soaked with blood. He felt for a pulse and found a weak one, then bent down to put his ear to the man’s chest. His heart beat was irregular, his respiration labored.
"I need more light!" Johnny demanded. Cameron instantly grabbed another lantern and brought it closer.
"Anything brighter?"
"That’s all we got."
"This’ll have to do, then," he said with a sigh. Johnny pulled the bandages away to get a look at the stomach wound. A grossly swollen, angry red and gaping bullet hole was still oozing blood.
"Is there an exit wound?"
"Huh?"
Johnny didn’t bother to explain, but turned Robby over on his side. Robby cried out.
"Don’t hurt him!" Cameron demanded.
"I have to see!"
There was no exit wound.
"What?" Cameron asked nervously.
"No exit wound means the bullet’s still inside him. It’s got to come out."
"Why do you think I brought you here, Gage? Take it out."
Johnny stood, hands up. "I can’t. I’m not a doctor."
"You know what to do, don’t you?"
"Listen carefully to me, Cameron. I am not qualified to operate on him. Your brother needs to be in a hospital. He needs a doctor. He’s lost a lot of blood. He’s in shock. Infection’s already set in. No matter what I do, I can’t fight the infection without antibiotics! And even if I could, I’m not qualified to administer any kind of medication without -"
Cameron hauled back and swung out with the fisted gun and bashed Johnny across the mouth. The paramedic’s knees buckled and he fell hard to the floor. He felt his lip split and his teeth bite into his own tongue. Johnny was dizzy from the blow, disoriented for a few seconds, as he spat blood onto the filthy floor.
"Without what?"
"Permission from a doctor," Johnny said with difficulty.
"You can’t get a doctor’s permission. I told you, gunshot wound, they call the cops. You call the cops, I go back to jail, and so does Robby. I promised him I wouldn’t let that happen again. I ain‘t going back on my promise."
Cameron lifted the gun, aiming for Johnny’s head. "From now on, the only permission you need is mine. Save my brother. If he dies, you die. Understand?"
Johnny nodded. He moved back to Robby and took another look at the wound. He put a hand on his exposed skin, then on the man’s forehead. He was burning up. ‘Do what you know,‘ Johnny told himself. ‘Speak rationally to Cameron, act rationally, save this man’s life.‘ And his own, he hoped.
He began check Robby’s vitals. Pulse and respiration were about all he could monitor. He felt lost without his drug box, without his biophone, without the tools of his trade. Without Roy. But he was glad the gunman had remembered his face and not his partners. He imagined the phone call Joanne and the kids would have received by now if it had been Roy instead of him.
Beyond Roy, who would even notice or care that he was missing?
There was only so much he could do for Robby; he was too far gone. The only hope of saving him rested in getting him to a hospital. Perhaps if he could distract Cameron for a moment, he thought, get the gun-happy hothead to focus on something else, some task to keep his attention. Johnny would have a moment to focus on an escape plan.
"I need some things," Johnny said. "Clean water, clean towels. Fresh bandages. And a hot plate."
"A hot plate?"
"Yeah, to boil the water."
"Where the heck am I supposed to get a hot plate?"
"Then, peroxide, alcohol, something to clean the wound. And more light. Flashlights, lamps, anything."
"I don’t, I don’t have that stuff."
"You want me to help your brother? Then you’d better find a way to get it."
"Lemme see, lemme see. Lemme think. Think! THINK!"
Cameron began walking around, running his fingers through his hair, practically ripping it out. Johnny watched as the tortured man began banging himself in the head with his own gun.
"STUPID STUPID STUPID!"
John felt a chill go through him. Cameron, he realized, was a more than a little left of sane; he was a full blown psychopath. A dangerous psychopath with a gun. His chances of surviving this were dwindling by the minute.
There was a noise from where they had earlier entered the room. Johnny prayed it would be the police. Maybe they saw his car traversing the deserted neighborhood and were suspicious? Maybe it was Vince - maybe he had recognized Johnny’s car.
Cameron leveled the gun in the direction of the sound. Another man entered, taller and broader than Cameron, but with the same striking family resemblance. He had a young blonde woman, with a serious case of the shakes, in tow. They carried Kentucky Fried Chicken bags and cups. Both seemed startled to see Johnny on the floor by Robby.
Cameron relaxed his aim.
"That’s my other brother, Alvin."
"Al!" he corrected.
"And that’s his old lady, Brigit."
"We got all dark meat this time," Brigit said vacantly. There was something odd about her, the way she spoke and the jerky way she moved. Johnny instantly realized what her deal was. The girl was coming down from a high, and she was just beginning to hurt. The "fixin’s" on the floor were undoubtedly hers.
"H’ya doing?" she said to John, flirting despite her bourgeoning withdrawal symptoms. Johnny felt sorry for her, and worse when Al gave her an abusive, territorial shove that nearly knocked her off her feet.
"This the doc?" Al asked.
"I’m not a doctor," Johnny quickly corrected.
"Yeah," said Cameron, ignoring Johnny. "Look, we need some stuff. I’m gonna go see what I can find. You two stay and watch the doc. Don’t let him out of your sight, y’hear?"
"Yeah, yeah," Al said, sitting against a wall and biting into a chicken leg. He pulled a large, nasty looking gun from behind his belt and sat it in his lap. Johnny looked away. The sight of it made him nervous.
Cameron left, but Johnny only felt slightly relieved by his departure.
"Can you save him?" Al asked between bites.
"I can make him comfortable. But unless we get him to a hospital -"
"No way, man. Forget it," said Al as he tossed the sucked clean bone away and reached for another piece. "You ain’t going nowhere."
Brigit held a lighter under the bowl of her spoon, cooking he next fix. "You’re going nowhere," she chanted, "He’s going nowhere. I’m going nowhere, we’re going nowhere...."
"Shut up, ya stupid junkie!" Al shouted.
~~~~
There was little Johnny could do for Robby but watch him. Cameron had been gone over an hour. Al was watching Johnny like a hawk while Brigit nodded off in a corner. Al occasionally kicked her and she‘d begin to mumble. He seemed to get a great deal of enjoyment out of this.
A noise came from the back of the room. Al stood and aimed his weapon. It was only Cameron, who entered in a rush carrying a box as if returning from a exciting scavenger hunt. He was quite proud of himself as he laid everything out on the floor in front of Johnny and waited for the Paramedic’s approval. Johnny just looked it over, knowing that none of this was going to do any good, and even if he did managed to get Robby to a hospital now, it may already be too late. Robby was going to die.
And so, consequently, would Johnny.
He wished he’d gone straight home from the station.
~~~~
Cameron was like a kid, wanting to see everything. So as Johnny "operated" - that is, cleaned the wound and prepared it for dressing, Cameron held a heavy duty flashlight and watched. He was not bothered that this was his brother Johnny was working on, or that his brother was in that much pain. He was far too fascinated by what Johnny was doing to care.
"Keep still!" Johnny admonished several times. But Cameron would get so excited by what he was watching that he would inadvertently move the light while trying to get a better look for himself.
"Hand me the peroxide."
"Which one‘s that?"
"The one in the brown bottle."
Cameron grabbed the bottle and slapped it into Johnny with enthusiasm.
"Let me guess," said Johnny. "You always wanted to be a doctor."
"Yeah. How’d you know?"
"I’m psychic."
"No you’re not. You would have seen me coming if you were. So, when do you take the bullet out?"
Johnny swallowed hard. "I’m sorry, Cameron, but I can’t remove the bullet."
"Don’t say that."
"I’ve done about all I can for him. Listen, Cameron. This is serious. The bullet is far too deep. I’d be doing him more harm than good if I attempted to do it myself. I‘d probably nick a vital organ, and that could kill him."
"He’s already dying! So what do ya got to lose?"
"I’m NOT a surgeon. I’m not trained to operate. I’ve never operated on anyone ever. I can’t take that chance."
"You’re a medic!"
"I’m a paramedic! There’s a big difference."
Cameron swung out angrily with the heavy duty flashlight, hitting Johnny just above his left ear. He fell to the floor, holding his head, feeling the warm stickiness of his blood seeping out to cover his fingers.
"YOU THINK I’M STUPID, DON’T YOU!"
"Cameron!" Al yelled as he stood, gun at his side, but not aiming. "Easy on the doc, huh?
"He’s not a doctor," Cameron growled, pacing anxiously. "Waste of time. I could kill you, Gage."
Johnny closed his eyes, silently praying to finally get through to Cameron, make him see the logic in his argument. Get him the heck out of this situation and save a life at the same time. His voice was calm and low, as he spoke.
"Your brother needs a hospital. He needs medicines and equipment I don’t have access to. Without it, he’s going to die. The only thing keeping him from getting help is you. Look, here’s what I can do. . . I can take him to Rampart General Emergency, drop him off. Nobody has to even know about you."
"But then the police will have him, they‘ll lock him away."
"At least he’ll still be alive."
"HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN PRISON?"
"No."
"Then SHUT UP! You have NO IDEA what you’re talking about! They treat you like animals in there. And I’m not going back! I let you take him to the hospital and next thing you’ll be telling the police everything you know about ME, about AL! They’ll send us up the river, and you’ll walk away a hero. Is that what you want?"
"Even if I did tell the police, you could be long gone by the time they got here. I swear, I won’t tell them anything."
"Liar! Your job is to help people. You call this helping people? You’re worthless. You’re NOTHING! GET UP!"
Johnny pulled himself up to his knees.
"All the way!" Cameron screamed, pulling his gun and aiming it at Johnny.
"Cam," Al said, "What’re you doing?"
"Shut up, Al! This is between me and Gage."
Johnny stood on shaky legs, slowly raising his hands.
"I can still help your brother, Cameron."
"How can you help him with a bullet in you?"
Cameron fired.
Even as he heard the report, felt the hot slug slam into his
left shoulder, even as he
staggered back from impact, Johnny refused to believe he had been shot. But
only for a second. The pain was suddenly overwhelming. Excruciating, searing,
unbearable. Johnny let out a strangled cry, the sound of which even scared him.
The rush of his blood instantly soaked through his shirt, warming his shaking
hand, quickly turning cold. He hit the floor hard, banging his head in the fall.
Nausea quickly overtook him, and he began to feel panic sweep over him along
with the urge to black out.
This is it, Johnny thought. This is how it all ends.
"This is too heavy, this is too heavy," Brigit began to chant, rocking back and forth. "I can’t handle this, I can’t handle this, this is too heavy..."
"QUIET!" Cameron screamed. "I don’t need you freaking out on me."
Brigit covered her face in terrified submission.
Cameron stood over him, looking down at him, the gun aimed at Johnny’s head. Johnny closed his eyes, waiting for the final shot.
"Here’s the situation," Cameron said, reaching down and grabbing a handful of Johnny‘s hair, and yanking him up to look into the Paramedic‘s pain-etched face. "My brother lives, you live. He dies, you die. He‘s suffering. So should you. Al, drag him over to the corner."
Al complied, reaching down to grab Johnny under his arms. As soon as he pulled, Johnny bit back a scream and shivered in the big man‘s hold.
"Get outta the way!" Al yelled to Brigit, who gave up her mattress, scurrying across the floor on her knees to make way for Johnny. Al unceremoniously dropped Johnny onto the mattress. Pain shot through him, making him curl up in a ball. He grit his teeth and felt tears stinging in his eyes.
"Stick a bandage on him, Al, since that’s all he saw fit to do for our brother. My head hurts again. I’m seeing stars. I’m gonna take a walk. Keep an eye on him. If he looks like he’s gonna die, come get me. I want to watch."
Cameron stuck his gun in his belt and left the room.
~~~~
Johnny knew he wasn’t doing well. He knew he was slipping into shock. He knew by the way he shook, by how cold he felt in spite of how hot the room was, by the way he had continued to bleed, that he wouldn’t make it very long in this condition. He need to get to a hospital fast. He wished Roy was here.
He felt something soft poke his cheek under his left eye. Once, twice. He opened his eyes and found Brigit on her knees by the mattress, pulling her finger away from his face, staring at him.
"Hey," she said, smiling through her drug induced haze. "How you feeling, doc?"
"Like I’m gonna die," Johnny said, hoping to illicit some sympathy, "unless I get out of here."
"Yeah," she said. "Ain’t we all. I could help you out, if you want. You’ll be flying so high you won’t even care, man."
"What?"
She held up a hypodermic needle. There was a tiny bit of heroine in it. "Cooked this up special just for you, doc. You want?"
"No, I don‘t want!" Johnny said. He would have slapped the hypo out of her hand if he’d had the strength. "Get that thing out of my face."
"Don’t freak out, man. I was just trying to help." She pointed to Johnny’s shoulder, almost touching it, making Johnny flinch. "That hurt?"
"Yeah," he said nodding slightly, and regretting the movement.
"Bummer."
He tried to swallow, but his throat protested. "I could use some water," he said.
Brigit crawled across the floor, grabbed a gallon pitcher and shook it. It was empty. She found a soft drink cup with a bit of Coke still in it and brought it to Johnny. She put the straw between his dried lips and he pulled, taking in the warm, sweet beverage. It burned, causing him to cough harshly. She pulled the straw away and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of her own peasant shirt.
"Thank you," said Johnny, out of breath, feeling another spasm of pain overtaking him. He grit his teeth and brought his knees together, gasping, trying to breathe through it. It didn‘t help.
"Man, you are really strung out."
"You can help me, Brigit," he said between clenched teeth.
"How?"
Brigit took a sip of the warm Coke herself, then pointed the straw back to Johnny’s lips. He pulled away.
"Where are they. . . Cameron and Al?"
"Out."
"Out where?"
"Out there. Walking the perimeter, they call it, on account of Al spent a year in ’Nam and that‘s what it‘s called over there. He got wounded so they sent him home. You want to know how we met?"
"Brigit, there isn’t time."
"You think we’re trash, don’t you? I wasn’t always strung out, you know. I wasn’t always no junkie. I was valedictorian at Woodson High. I came out here to pursue my acting career. I almost got famous, too. Till I got high. Al didn‘t care that I was junkie until Cameron started turning him against me."
"Brigit, I don’t want you to think I don’t care about you, but I have to get to a hospital. So does Robby. We’re both gonna die unless we get medical attention soon. Help us, please. Help us get out of here."
"Whoa, man, I can’t do that! Cameron would have a fit."
"If we die, that’ll make you an accomplice. You’ll be looking at two murder raps. You could get life, or worse."
"No way, man! I didn’t pull the trigger."
"The Judge won’t see it that way. How long do you think you’ll last in the joint with that monkey on your back?"
Brigit seemed to take this to heart. "What do you want me to do?"
Johnny fought to sit up, forcing himself to breathe through the pain. He tried to move his arm, testing his mobility, but was rewarded only with agony.
"Can you get me to my car?" he pleaded.
"I suppose."
"You’ll have to drive it. I don’t think I can. Then you’ll have to help Robby into the car, and we can go straight to Rampart General."
"I’ll get busted!"
"Maybe, but I’ll bet you can cut a deal with the District Attorney for helping us out. I’ll testify on your behalf. Please, Brigit."
"You know, I always get into trouble when men tell me to do stuff and I do it."
"Not this time, Brigit. You’ll be saving three lives. Mine, Robby’s and your own."
They heard the sounds of Cameron and Al returning. Brigit raced across the floor to her corner and wedged herself into the angle of the walls as tightly as she could as if she could long longer be seen.
"What‘s going on here?" Cameron demanded as he entered.
She jumped, trembling.
‘Easy, Brigit’ Johnny thought, ‘don’t give it away.’
"What’s with you, ya stupid junkie?" said Al. "You look like the cat that ate the canary."
"I didn’t say nothing, I swear! He asked me but I said no! Honest, Cameron!"
Cameron raced across the floor, grabbed Brigit by her arms and pulled her to her feet.
"What did he say to you!" he demanded. "WHAT DI D HE SAY TO YOU?"
Brigit’s knees buckled and she began to wail. Cameron threw her to the floor and went for Johnny. He tried to move away, but it hurt too much to move. Cameron grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him from the floor.
"WHAT DI D YOU SAY TO HER! YOU TRIED TO RUN, DIDN’T YOU! DIDN’T YOU!"
Johnny struck out with his good arm, his fist connecting hard with Cameron‘s jaw. Cameron played dirty. He hit Johnny’s injured shoulder.
Johnny saw stars. The pain was more than he could bare. He blacked out.
~~~~
He was entering a smoke-filled house, crouching down low just under the thick dark cloud that was quickly overcoming the house. All he could hear was the sound of his own breathing through the air mask. Roy was right behind him. He could see the victims, cowering in a corner, waiting to be saved. He could not tell whether they were male or female, children or adults. Just two people. Suddenly it was four, then five, then six. Their number kept increasing.
"Roy!" he called out. He turned and Roy was no longer there. It was just Johnny, and all these people reaching out for him to save them.
"It’s too many!" he cried. "I can’t save you all!"
And then the fiery roof collapsed, falling down upon him, trapping him. He lay amongst the burning rubble alone, broken, bleeding. No one was there, to be saved, or to save him. John Gage was going to die alone.
"Roy," he said in a weak whisper, "where are you? I can’t do this alone. I need your help. I need your help."
Johnny heard a voice cry out and woke up. He realized the voice he heard was his own. His mouth was dry and tasted foul. His eyes felt as if they had been stapled shut, and could not open without being pried apart. His stomach was roiling. He was burning with fever. And his left shoulder and arm were on fire.
"Aaahh! Gah!" He wanted to reach for his shoulder, but something was holding him back, restraining him. Johnny tried to move again, but was only met with another dose of pain delivered via freight train. And then he realized the problem - his hands were tied behind his back. He tried to calm himself, will himself to relax, but he could not.
Brigit crawled close to Johnny, but stayed in the shadows, out of reach. Johnny tried to smile, but could manage nothing more than a pained grimace.
"Brigit," he whispered. "Untie me, please."
"I can’t."
"I want to check my shoulder." He looked down at himself as best he could, sucking air through clenched teeth when he saw how soaked with blood the bandage had become.
"I need to change the bandage."
"I’ll do it."
Brigit crawled closer, and Johnny saw the fresh bruise around her mouth and her swollen right eye.
"What happened? Cameron?"
"Al," she said.
Brigit pulled a fresh pressure bandage from the box Cameron had brought in earlier and ripped the paper from it. The bandage fell to the floor. Johnny imagined the once sterile dressing now collecting several year’s worth of infectious organisms in mere seconds. Brigit picked it up and shook it out, as if that would help.
She gently peeled away the old, blood-soaked bandage. Even with such a light touch, Johnny felt as if a hammer were banging down upon his wounded shoulder while at the same time a hot poker was stabbing him. He peeked down at the wound, and his head began to throb.
What he saw made him cringe. The wound was swollen, still seeping blood, turning an angry red and purple. If he didn’t die of blood loss, the infection would surely claim him. The no longer sterile bandage certainly wasn’t going to make a difference now.
He held his breath and steeled himself while Brigit applied the new bandage.
"Why don’t you leave him?" he asked weakly.
"Al? Where would I go?" Then, indicating his shoulder, "What else?"
"Now the back," Johnny said shakily. "Gotta do the exit wound."
Johnny fought to stay conscious as he lifted himself up and bent forward. He trembled uncontrollably while Brigit replaced the second bandage.
"How’s it look?" he croaked.
"Kinda like yucky hamburger," she said. "There, all better."
She helped him ease back against the wall, but she didn’t retreat to her corner as she had earlier.
"How’s Robby doing?" Johnny asked after he‘d calmed a bit.
"Not so good. He was talking out of his head earlier, but now he’s just laying there. I think he’s kicking it, man. He’s kinda pale. Only his lips and ‘round his eyes are all blue."
Johnny felt a sense of panic quickly rise within him. "He’s cyanotic!"
"What?"
"He’s not getting enough oxygen! You have to untie me!"
A single tear slid down Brigit’s cheek. "You‘ll run."
"I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Please."
She didn’t move.
"Brigit! Brigit! Listen to me. Robby’s having trouble breathing. I can’t help him breathe unless you help me."
She chewed on a fingernail as she considered. She looked to the back of the room.
"What if they come back?"
"What if they come back, and find Robby dead?"
Brigit rose and went to Johnny, and quickly untied his wrists.
"Easy! Easy! AAAH!"
"Hurry," she pleaded as she pulled the knots from the brown electrical cord that bound him and tossed it aside.
"Can you help me over to him?"
She pulled Johnny’s good arm over her shoulder and tried to lift him.
He screamed.
Brigit dropped him and retreated the nearest corner to cover her ears.
"It’s okay!" Johnny lied, panting. "I’m okay. You just caught me off guard, that’s all."
She eased back to him and draped his arm over her shoulder again.
"On three, gently," Johnny said. "One, two, three."
She pulled. Johnny gritted his teeth, hearing the unnerving sound of them scraping together, biting back the urge to cry out again. Once in a sitting position, he leaned against her, gathering strength, allowing the wave of pain to rise and waiting for it to submerge enough so that he could think again.
"That’s good," Johnny said. He could see Robby well from his vantage point. Brigit was right, he was "kicking it." He could not discern the rise and fall of Robby’s chest.
"Help me to him."
Brigit, getting the hang of how to help him, let Johnny lean on her. She held him firmly around his waist and guided him to Robby’s side.
"Okay," Johnny panted, winded from the physical exertion, "help me down."
Brigit knelt, bringing the Paramedic down with her. He felt as if he was about to keel over. His body shuddered, his head swam. It felt as if the world had suddenly tilted to the left.
Brigit held onto him fast.
"You okay?" she asked nervously.
"Yeah," he lied. He checked Robby‘s pulse. He felt nothing. He leaned down and put an ear to Robby’s chest. Panic rose again.
"He’s stopped breathing!"
Johnny instantly tilted Robby’s head back, pulled his lips apart, checked for obstructions, then began rescue breathing into his mouth.
"What are you doing to him!" Brigit demanded.
Johnny didn’t answer. He was determined to get the man breathing again.
"If Cameron catches us -" she began, not needing to finish it.
Johnny listened for Robby’s heartbeat, for some indication that he was breathing. He heard nothing.
"Come here!" he demanded. "Put your hands here, palms down, like this," he instructed Brigit, showing her where to place her hands.
"What for?"
"I can’t massage his heart. You’ll have to do it. Push down, put your body into, when I say so."
They worked together, Johnny breathing, Brigit massaging, trying to keep Robby alive.
"It’s not working," Brigit lamented. "He’s dead, isn’t he?"
"Don’t give up!"
"It’s too late. He shouldn’t have pushed him. Cameron hates to be pushed."
"What are you talking about?"
"That’s why Cameron shot Robby."
Johnny stopped, only for a second, and felt himself shudder. Here all this time he’d imagine some police shoot out or botched robbery attempt. But nothing like that had happened. Cameron had shot his own brother, dumped him in this rat trap on a dirty naked mattress and left him for dead. This was the "accident" to which Cameron had referred. He’d shot his own brother.
"Robby wanted to split," she said as she pushed down upon his chest, "take his cut of the money and get the heck out of LA for keeps before the Pigs could catch up with them. Cameron wanted to do one more job, then go to Vegas. They started to fight, and Robby pushed him. Cameron doesn‘t like to be pushed. So he shot him."
"And I’m supposed to fix it all for him. What about Al? Isn’t he afraid Cameron’ll go psycho on him and shoot him, too? Why’s he still hanging on?"
"He wants his cut of the money."
"And you?"
"I just want out of this nightmare."
"So do I. Keep massaging."
"WHAT’S GOING ON?"
Brigit nearly jumped out of her skin. She retreated to a corner, whimpering. Johnny kept breathing into Robby, making himself dizzy, fear creeping over him, threatening to squash his determination.
"Get away from my brother!"
"Why?" Johnny asked, barely able to catch his own breath. "So you can shoot him again?"
Cameron dropped the Winchell’s donut bag he carried and aimed his gun at Johnny’s head.
"No, Cameron!" Brigit screamed. "He’s trying to save Robby. He stopped breathing! You gotta believe me!"
"Is he breathing now?"
"No," Johnny said, eyes closed, exhausted, "Robby’s dead."
Cameron knelt down to check for himself. He covered his face with his hands and wept.
Al put a hand on Cameron’s shoulder to comfort him, to console him, but Cameron angrily shook him off.
"My brother’s dead," he said. "It wasn’t supposed to happen this way." He looked up at Johnny with red, wet, accusing eyes. "See what you did?"
"I didn’t shoot him," Johnny said with a sneer.
"You were supposed to help him," he said as he rose and stood over Johnny. He kicked him, hard in the thigh.
Johnny instantly pulled himself into a fetal position to protect himself, to protect his wounded shoulder.
"You ruined EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING!"
He cocked his pistol and pointed it at Johnny’s head again. He shook his head as if something had crawled inside through his ears and latched onto his brain.
"Cameron," Al called, "Lemme do it."
"I can do this!"
"Yeah, but, Robby was my brother, too. Let me do the doc."
"No, I wanna do him. I’ll do him first, then I’ll do Brigit -"
"Why me!" she screamed. "I done everything you told me!"
Cameron continued. "And then we can take the money and head for Vegas."
Cameron’s headache, worse than ever, made his knees go weak. Al caught him before he could hit the floor.
"What’s wrong with him?" Johnny asked.
"None of your business," Cameron snapped.
Brigit was wailing now. "I done everything you told me!"
"Quit whining, you gold-digging little junkie!" Cameron shot, back on his feet again., "If you knew where I’d hidden the money, you would have shot me and Al dead and taken it and split long ago."
"That’s not true!"
"Cool it, baby," said Al. "Nothing personal here. Just business."
Cameron turned his attention back to Johnny. His voice was suddenly weakened to a whisper, as his eyes filled with tears.
"You see how you’ve torn my family apart? If it wasn’t for you, if you’d done what I asked you to do, when I asked you to do it, everything would have been all right!"
His hand was shaking uncontrollably; he could hardly keep his aim.
"Cameron!" Al shouted, grabbing his brother by the shoulder.
"My hands won’t stop shaking," he whimpered. "My head. . ."
"I told you, let me do it."
"Yeah. Okay. I gotta get some air. I just get so mad my head feels like it’s gonna explode. That’s why I shot Robby. It wasn’t my fault."
"Yeah, I know. It wasn’t your fault. Tell you what. You go dump the doc’s car. I’ll take care of them for you."
"You’d do that for me?"
"Right on. First, tell me where the money is."
"Where it’s always been," he said as if in a daze. "Under the busted floorboard."
Cameron wiped his sweating face with the sleeve of his shirt and stumbled out of the room.
Al pulled his gun, gave it a look, then aimed it at Johnny’s head.
"Listen to me, Al," he said, unnerved by the sound of his own weakening voice. "I didn’t kill your brother. Cameron did. I did what I could and I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. I doesn’t have to go down this way. At least let Brigit go."
"What about you?"
"Just let her go. We can decide about me later."
Al’s aim didn’t waiver. He fired.
Johnny jumped, felt his head slam against the wall. But other than the pain he was already suffering, and the bump to the back of the head, he realized he was fine. Al had missed. He looked up to see the smoking hole in the wall just above his head. He began to trembled from the sudden rush of adrenaline.
He fired a second shot in Brigit’s direction. He missed again. She fell to her knees, crying.
Al went to the broken board Johnny had tripped over earlier, and ripped it completely from the floor. He reached down, low, deep, searching, and pulled out a plastic bag. He opened it, reached in and pulled out a handful of cash.
"Far out," Brigit said, her tears suddenly forgotten.
"I‘m letting you go. Wait here a few minutes, give him time to get out of the neighborhood. Walk east about six blocks and you’ll find Moorpark. There’s gas station."
"Thank you," Johnny whispered.
Al threw the bag over his shoulder. "Later," he said, and left.
Brigit stood, looking at Johnny, then after Al.
"I belong with him," she said. "I guess I’ll never learn." She raced out behind him.
Johnny, relieved for the first time since the ordeal had begun, and still riding high on adrenaline from the last scare, pulled himself to his knees and crawled over to Robby. He reached out and touched Robby’s head. He skin had gone cold, and dry. He turned Robby over, and check for a pulse, just to be sure.
Nothing.
Johnny hung his head. Could he have tried harder to save him? Was there more he could have done for him? Should he have attempted to remove the bullet? Was it worth risking his career, his own life, to save another’s life? These questions, he knew, would plague him for a long time to come. All he wanted to do now was find his way out of this hell and back to normal. Back to Roy, Cap, Chet, Squad 51, Dixie, Brackett, Morton, Early.... He tried to remember the names of everyone he could, from co-workers to pretty nurses recently met to even the first names of the last few victims he and Roy had rescued, concentrating on them to take his mind off of the way his body was protesting, as he forced himself from the floor to stand on shaky legs.
Johnny listened carefully for signs of Cameron. Certain that he was alone, and for the first time in several hours, safe, he made his way for the back door and garage.
He could only take a few steps before having to stop, breath and gather enough strength to move again. His shoulder was merely a dull ache now, and his arm and hand were numb and heavy. This was not a good sign. He imagined the horror of losing the arm, but pushed the thought away and willed his legs to keep moving.
As he reached the garage, he heard tired screaming. Was there someone on the street? Could he get outside quick enough to flag the driver down before Cameron returned?
Another burst of determination and adrenaline, and Johnny pulled himself toward the opened garage door. He was breathing hard, panting, his chest constricting, but all he could focus on was getting outside. Sunlight was bright, blinding him after hours of being in darkness. He raised a hand to protect his eyes.
And then there was a scream, the screech of tires, and solid/wet thump of impact. The sickening sound of human bodies being slammed, thrown and broken. He’d seen it happen many times before, had been on hand moments after the violence and had helped in some small way to mend some of those broken bodies. But this was to remain with him for a long time. Johnny lowered his hand and saw his own vehicle screaming down the street, and what lay wasted on the ground.
Al and Brigit.
Cameron, behind the wheel of Johnny’s Land Rover, had run the two of them down as they attempted to escape.
Johnny’s legs wanted to give out, but he pump and pushed until his body moved forward, slumped over from pain both physical and emotional. He could tell it was bad as he got closer. Al and Brigit’s blood pooled and mingled on the asphalt; their body’s were twisted and misshapen, and both had ceased to move. He could tell from experience that there would be little life if any left in either of them. Once he reached them, he immediately checked for vitals. Before he could determine whether he felt anything or not, he heard his car tires screaming in the distance again.
Johnny looked up to see his Land Rover do a U-turn and head back toward him at high speed. He knew he had maybe five seconds to clear the street, but that was not going to happen in his current condition. Johnny looked down and saw Al’s gun laying close by, near Al’s open, bloody hand. He went for it.
Johnny stood up straight and aimed the gun directly at the windshield of his own car. Something inside him told him this was wrong. Angry ask he was, even justified by the opinion of others, he knew it was wrong to take a life, when he was entrusted with the duty of saving lives. But did that include saving his own life? Guilt, or duty, made him lower his aim, going for one of his tires.
Cameron was coming closer. Closer.
Johnny fired.
The tire exploded. The vehicle swerved, missing Johnny by a foot, remaining tires squealing, and flipped over once, twice, three times. The car came slamming down to settle on the lawn of one of the many condemned houses on the street.
Johnny dropped the gun and half ran, half walked to the vehicle. He dropped to his knees, reached in and checked Cameron for signs of life. He saw blood on Cameron’s head, and felt guilt wash through him. He also had the strongest sense of deja vu, then realized that in a way this had happened before. The first time he had met Cameron, was pulling him out of a broken vehicle, his head bleeding from a gash from impacting with the steering wheel. Johnny heard Cameron moan, and knew the man would live. He was both disgusted and relieved.
Johnny struggled to pulled Cameron from the vehicle, screaming the entire time, tears streaming down his cheeks, and dragged him to a lawn of dried, overgrown grass and lay him on his back. That was the most Johnny could do for him now.
And then Johnny finally, thankfully, passed out.
~~~~~
"I think he’s coming around."
Johnny blinked. His eyes were dry and scratchy. His throat hurt. His body felt as if it was buried under boulders. He was also a little hungry.
"Wha...? Roy?"
"It’s about time you woke up."
"Roy?"
"Yeah, it’s me."
Dixie appeared over him as well.
"The prodigal son returns."
Johnny smiled. "Hey. "
"How are you feeling?" Roy asked.
"Sleepy," he answered, his speech a little slurred.
Dixie smiled. "Then go to sleep. The police can talk to you later."
~~~~~
"Rise and shine, Junior."
"What time is it?"
"You mean, what day is it?"
"How long. . .have I been out?"
"It’s Thursday."
"You were wearing the same shirt the last time I saw you."
"I haven‘t been home yet. Sort of camped out wait for you to come around."
"What about Joanne?"
"She insisted."
"Tell her I love her."
"You can tell her yourself when you’re feeling better."
~~~~~
On the fifth day of Johnny’s hospitalization, the entire crew of Station 51 managed to visit him. Even Captain Stanley came, along with Chet, whose barbs and zingers brought a weak smile to Johnny, and a longing to return to work and normalcy. By the middle of the fifth day, they’d lowered the dosage of pain medication and he was able to think and speak more coherently, enjoying the time spent with Roy, and relaying his ordeal to him and to the police.
"All I want to know is that Cameron Poe is locked away for a good long time, long enough to forget about me."
Roy looked away sheepishly.
"What? Roy, what is it?"
"He’s not in jail. Not yet."
"What do you mean?"
"He’s been in a coma since they found him. He’s under police guard, but - "
"Where is he?"
"One floor up."
Johnny turned pale, shifted uncomfortably in the hospital bed.
"There’s nothing to worry about. He’s no threat to you or to anyone else. You said he had these fits of irrational behavior and headaches. Cameron was a sick man. X-rays taken to determine the extent of his injuries revealed a tumor. It’s inoperable. His doctor thinks that‘s responsible for his coma, and for the fits of rage."
"So what are you saying, that he wasn’t responsible for what he did to me? To his brothers?"
"No. Just that he won’t be hurting anyone else. He’s still in a deep coma."
"People come out of comas."
"Yeah. Sometimes. Maybe he won’t."
"Maybe."
"Try to get some rest, Johnny."
~~~~~
Johnny’s seventh day at the hospital found him stronger and moving about. Dr. Brackett recommended that he take short walks throughout the day to continue building his strength. He took a walk up to the next floor, and found himself approaching a Police Officer standing outside a hospital door.
"Hey, I know you!" the Officer said. "You’re John Gage. You saved a buddy of mine a couple of months ago, hit and run victim."
He stuck out a hand to shake. Johnny took it, gasping as the officer pumped a little too enthusiastically.
"Sorry."
"Don’t worry about it, man. The guy in there, Cameron Poe -"
"Sorry, no visitors. Why would you wanna see him anyway?"
"I dunno. Curiosity, I guess."
"Thirty seconds, okay?"
"Thanks."
~~~~~
Johnny entered the room. The sound of life support equipment and monitors, and the harsh sound of the respirator sent chills through Johnny.
Cameron Poe looked so small under the ice blue blanket. The man who had terrorized Johnny and his own family was now diminished to a thing barely kept alive by machines. No more life in him, no more anger, no more fear, no more pain. Johnny, angry with him before, could only feel pity for him now. So many things he’d wanted to say. Words seem inadequate now, and unnecessary. He shook his head and left.
~~~~~
Cameron Poe floated in the darkness of this strange, empty place and waited.
He knew his prey would come, his curiosity peaked. Closer, he bade him, come closer so that I can smell you, he wanted to say, and to laugh. Like any successful predator, he was patient. He could not apprehend his prey right now, but his prey would always be out there, waiting again for another chance to dance with death. And he would have him. He settled back against the cold nothingness of near-death and wait for his hour to come.
End