care if they were sympathetic or scathing. He’d witnessed her powerlessness. And that really made her mad.
“Oooo, what I wouldn’t like to do…”
“Easy now,” he said.
She shot him a damning look, slammed her palm against the door and went inside John’s room.
“Ben!” she screamed as she noticed the cloudy nature of John’s IV. “Come quick!”
Ben was at the door in a single stride. “What’s wrong?”
“His IV!” she shouted, already yanking the tube out of John’s wrist. “Someone’s tried to poison him!” She hit the emergency alarm, then depressed the call button to the nurse’s station.
“I need a pervasive antidote, stat! Get Scanlon, stat.”
John’s chest heaved as he struggled to breathe.
“Damn!” Ben raced down the hall. “Hey, you! Come back here!” He pulled his gun. “Stop!”
The Hispanic orderly turned, saw the gun and shot down the hall. Abandoning the respirator, he dashed down the stairwell.
The blond orderly depressed the elevator button. “What the…?”
Chelsea stopped dead in her tracks on hearing Ben’s shouts and backed up against the wall to give him room. “What happened?”
“Help Shannon! Poison!”
“What?”
Two nurses raced behind Dr. Scanlon. The tails of his lab coat were flying and he shouted orders as he ran. “Grab that respirator,” he said to one of the nurses, who instantly did as she was ordered.
While the medical crew raced to save John Doe’s life one more time, Ben pounded down the stairwell to the parking garage where the orderly ran toward the opening onto the street.
His lungs burned, but he kept running.
The orderly wasn’t even twenty years old yet. And he was in better shape than Ben, who smoked too many cigarettes and hadn’t seen his early twenties for a decade.
The city streets were crammed with morning delivery trucks, semis unloading office furniture and clusters of pedestrians. The orderly rushed down the alley, darted between cars and disappeared in the bright southern sun.
Ben searched the street to the right and left. He inspected the shop fronts in the area and looked into office-building lobbies, but found no trace of the suspect.
Giving up, he turned back toward the hospital entrance, cursing himself for not having seen this coming.
“Damn! I know better!”
Ben was plagued with questions about this extraordinary case. None of the facts gelled, and he was sure Jimmy Joe was lying about something. And Ben didn’t believe for a moment there was no trace anywhere of John Doe’s fingerprints. Yet, when he’d telephoned his own sources, the answers were the same—no trace of this man.
Ben wondered if John was with the mob. But which one?
He wouldn’t know until he got back to the hospital if the attempt today, though bungled, was successful. One thing Ben did know. He wouldn’t give up until he knew the answers. All of them.
6
Arriving home, Shannon shook the icy rain from the army-green raincoat she’d bought at the Barksdale PX. It, and most of the little Christmas gifts she’d wrapped for the mailman, the apartment super and the high-school boy at the corner newsstand were deals she’d bought with the help of her next-door neighbour.
Elliot’s father was a colonel at the air force base, which allowed him privileges at the PX.
Plucking a message from Elliot off her door, she smiled at his attempt at British humor.
I’m home. Knock me up when you get in.
Normally Shannon ignored the messages Elliot left, unless, on very rare occasions he specifically asked her to accompany him to a movie or to go dancing at a honky-tonk in Bossier. Because she knew he had few friends, she would accept, though she preferred spending her time alone.
Nevertheless, Elliot continued putting notes on her door, deriving what she thought was sick pleasure out of seeing the notes disappear every day. Because Shannon left for work before Elliot got home, they seldom saw each other.
The note today was similar to most of Elliot missives, but since he was still at home, when he’d usually already left for the garage in Bossier City, where he worked, she decided his request was genuine.
Rapping on his door, she held the note to his face when he appeared. “It’s ‘ring me up,’ silly,” she said to the short, dark-haired younger man who held his grease-blackened finger under his nose as if he was about to sneeze, and did.
“Bless you,” she said.
“You’re wrong, Shannon,” he said, shaking his head. “If you watched Benny Hill as much as I do, you’d know…”
“That what you really need is two thousand milligrams of vitamin C, ten glasses of water daily and a hell of a lot of sleep instead of staying up all night watching reruns.”
“Too boring,” he groaned, shoving his arms through his heavy sheepskin-lined leather jacket.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she gave him a scolding look. “Maybe so, but you wouldn’t be sick.”
“Oh, hell, there’s been no heat in the garage for the past three days. And every car in Shreveport and Bossier City decided to break down. I’ve got work for the next forty years. I had no idea so many people went out of town around the holidays.”
“Imagine that,” she teased.
“Holidays are gimmicks to…”
“…boost the retail industry,” she added in unison with him. “Yeah, you’ve said that before.”
“Well, I’m right.”
She smiled, knowing he made such claims because he didn’t have any family except for his father who was perpetually overseas. At least Elliot had a father. She didn’t have anybody. Trouble was, Shannon did believe in holidays, which made them even lonelier. There were times she wished she could turn off her heart, like Elliot, and rationalize that her life was neat, orderly and uncomplicated, just as he did. But she couldn’t.
Shannon and Elliot had made a pact never to pry into each other’s business. They’d never broken the pact.
He was staring at her expectantly.
Shannon shrugged her shoulders. “Yes, Elliot. I have some vitamin C. Open your mouth.”
“What?”
“How can I tell if you have an infection if I don’t look
