more plan in mind than that, he grabbed another hamper, feigned pulling it in front of him, and instead drove it forward as hard as he could, catching the surprised gunman just below the waist. Nunes lurched backward, colliding with another hamper and very nearly going down.
Jared moved as quickly as he could, but the advantage he had gained with surprise was lost in the breathtaking pain of trying to push off his left foot. The killer, his expression one of placid amusement, parried the lunge with one hand, and with the other, brought the barrel of the revolver slicing across Jared's head, opening a gash just above his temple. Jared staggered backward a step, then came on again, this time leading with a kick which connected, though not powerfully, with the man's groin. Again Nunes lashed out with the gun, landing a solid blow to Jaredss forearm and then another to the back of his neck. Jared dropped to one knee. As he did, Nunes stepped behind him and locked one arm expertly beneath his chin. 'Sorry, pal, ' he said, tightening his grip. Jared flailed with his arms and shoulders and tried to stand, but the man's leverage was far too good. The pressure against his larynx was excruciating His chest throbbed with the futile effort of trying to breathe. Blood pounded in his head and the killer's grunting breaths grew louder in his ear. Then the sound began to fade. Jared knew he was dying. Every ounce of his strength vanished, and he felt the warmth of his bladder letting go. I'm sorry, Kate. I'm sorry. The words tumbled over and over in his mind. I'm sorry. Through closed eyes, he sensed, more than saw, a bright, blue-white light. From far, far away, he heard a muffled explosion. Then another. Suddenly the pressure against his neck diminished. The killer's forearm shook uncontrollably and then slid away. Jared fell to one side, but looked up in time to see the man totter and then, in grotesque slow motion, topple over into a hamper.
Jared struggled to sort out what was happening. The first thing he saw clearly was that the overhead lights had been turned on, the second thing was the stubbled, slightly jowled face of Martin Finn 'I was halfway back to the station when I decided there was no way you would have chanced popping me like you did unless the situation was really desperate, ' Finn said. 'How bad are you hurt?'
Jared coughed twice and wasn't sure he was able to speak until he heard his own voice. 'I've been shot twice, ' he rasped, 'once just above my butt and once in my thigh. My legs are all cut up from broken glass.
That lunatic beat the shit out of me with his gun.'
'The emergency people are on their way, ' Finn said, kneeling down. 'It may be a few minutes. As you might guess, there's a lot of commotion going on around here right now. Is Zimmermann dead?'
Jared nodded. Then he remembered Macfarlane. 'Finn, ' he said urgently,
'there's a man, Macfarlane, a night watchman. He was-' ',You mean him?
' The detective motioned to his left. Walter Macfarlane, one eye swollen shut and the side of his face a mass of dried and oozing blood, stood braced against a hamper. 'Thank God, ' Jared whispered. 'We would never have known what direction to go in without him,' inn explained. At that moment a team of nurses and residents arrived with two stretchers They helped Macfarlane onto one and then gingerly hoisted her onto the other.
'As soon as these people get you fixed up, Counselor, you're going to have a little explaining to do. You know that, don't you?'
'I know. I'll tell you as much as I can. And Finn… I appreciate your coming back.'
'I think I might owe you an apology, but I'll save it until someone explains to me what the fuck has been going on around here.'
'Okay, ' one of the residents announced. 'We're all set.'
'Wait. Please, ' Jared said. 'Finn, there's a notebook around here somewhere. A black, looseleaf notebook.'
The detective searched for a few moments and then brought it over.
'Yours? ' he asked. 'Actually, no.' Jared tucked the notebook beneath his arm. Then he smiled. 'It belongs to my wife.'
Jared brought his left hand up and gingerly touched the area about his left eye.
Saturday 22 December
'Mr. Samuels, I m here to take you up to your room.
Mr. Samuels?'
Jared's eyes opened from a dreamless sleep. He was on a litter, staring at the chipped, flaking ceiling of the emergency ward where a team of surgical residents had worked on his wounds. His last clear memory was of one of the doctors, a baby-faced woman with rheumy eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses, announcing that she was about to give him a 'little something' so that his wounds could be explored, cleaned, and repaired.
'I'm Cary Dunleavy, one of the nurses from Berenson Six, ' the man's voice said from somewhere at the head of the litter. Jared tried to crane his neck toward the nurse, but was prevented by a thick felt cervical collar and a broad leather restraining belt across his chest.
He ached in a dozen different places, and he sensed that he was seeing little or nothing through his left eye. Dunleavy took several seconds to appreciate his patient's predicament. Then he muttered an apology and moved to a spot by Jared's right hand. 'Welcome to the land of the living, ' he said. His voice was | kind, but his eyes were sunken and tired. 'You've been out for quite a while. Apparently they overestimated how much analgesia to give you. 'ii 'It's swollen shut, ' the nurse announced. 'You look like you've been kicked by a mule. Jared felt his senses begin to focus, and he struggled to reconstruct the hazy events following the explosion in the Omnicenter. His first clear image was of William Zimmermann spinning wildly about, his clothes ablaze, the skin on one side of his face hideously scorched. That one was for you, Katey, he thought savagely. An I'm-sorry-for-not believing-you present from your husband. 'What time is it? ' he asked. 'Almost four.'
'In the morning?'
The nurse nodded. 'According to the report I got from the ER nurses, you've been out for about three hours since they finished working on you. We've been too busy on the floor for anyone to come and get you until now. Sorry.'
'I need to get out of here, ' Jared said, fumbling at the restraining strap with his left hand. His right hand, with an intravenous line taped in place, was secured to the railing of the litter. 'Hey, partner, ' the nurse said, setting a hand on his shoulder. 'Easy does it.'
'I've got to see my wife. I've-' Suddenly, he remembered the notebook.
'My things. Where are my things?'
'We've got em, Mr. Samuels. They're put away safe awaiting the moment when we read a legitimate order from your doctor discharging you. Rounds are usually at seven. Until then, if you go, you go in a Johnny.'
Jared glared at the man. I'm a lawyer, he wanted to shout. I can sue you and this whole hospital for violating my civil rights, and win. Instead, he assessed his situation. In just three hours or so his physicians would make rounds and he could explain to them his need to leave. Three hours. Almost certainly, Kate would be sleeping through them anyhow, under the effects of her anesthesia. He sank back on the litter. 'You win, ' he said. The nurse said silent thanks with a skyward look and started maneuvering the litter out of the small examining room. 'Just one thing, ' Jared said. The man stopped short and again walked around to make eye contact. 'I'll listen, but no promises.' His tired voice was less good-natured than he intended. 'I had a notebook. A black, looseleaf notebook. It should be in with my things. Get me that, and I promise to be a model patient.'
Cary Dunleavy hesitated, but then withdrew the notebook from the patient's belongings bag, which was stashed on the litter beneath Jared.
I m taking you at your word, Mr. Samuels. Model patient. I'm nearing the end of a double. That's over sixteen straight hours of nursing on a floor that would fit right in at the Franklin Zoo. It's been one hell of a long night, and my usual overabundance of the milk of human kindness is just about dried up. So don't cross me.'
Jared smiled, made a feeble peace sign with his bandaged left hand, and tucked the notebook between his arm and his side. The exhausted nurse returned to the head of the litter and resumed the slow trek through the tunnels to the Berenson Building. The doors to one of the Berenson elevators opened as they approached, and a patient was wheeled out by two nurses. Jared saw the two bags of blood draining into two separate IVS, and a woman's tousled black hair, but little else, as Cary Dunleavy stopped and spoke to the nurses. 'What gives? ' Dunleavy asked. 'GI bleeding. Getting worse. She's going to the OR for gastroscopy. The team's already up there waiting.'
