“You’ll be all right,” I said, not knowing if the promise was true. “We’re taking you to the hospital.”
“No…,” she whispered, but I ignored her. I didn’t care if she couldn’t pay for it. I was convinced that getting help was the only way to keep her alive.
I finally made it to the bottom of the stairs. My breath was coming in gasps, and my back ached. The woman’s grip on my neck was loosening. She was losing consciousness again.
Laura had left a trail of heel prints that went from the stairs to the front door. She had propped the door open, and through it, her long slender body bent at the waist as she tried to arrange the back seat for the woman in my arms.
I ran through the front door, across the porch, and down the sidewalk. I was wheezing. Even though I was in good physical condition, I wasn’t used to carrying someone in such an awkward position.
Laura heard me coming and stepped aside. She bit her lower lip as she watched, her eyes wide.
I eased the woman into the car, propping her head against the back seat and tucking the rest of her inside.
“You’d better ride with her,” I said, but Laura was already crawling in.
I pulled off my top coat. Then I took the keys out of Laura’s hand. She had turned away from me, trying to make the woman comfortable, and keeping one hand on the ruined towels.
“The towels are saturated,” I said, handing Laura my coat. “You might have to use this.”
She tossed the towels behind the driver’s seat, and bundled up my coat with an efficiency that surprised me. I closed the door, and loped toward the driver’s side, finding the ignition key as I moved, then got into the car, stuck the keys in the ignition, and flicked on the lights all in the same motion.
We sped toward the hospital. The nearest was only a few blocks away, but even that seemed too far. The woman moaned, and I was grateful to hear it. Somehow I felt that if we got her there while she was still somewhat conscious, she had a chance.
I swerved to avoid a blue Volkswagen Beetle in an intersection. He honked, but by the time he’d taken his hand off the horn, we were another block away.
Laura murmured to the woman, using comfort words that meant nothing, and I tried to concentrate on the road. But all I heard were those thumps upstairs, the click-slam of a wooden door.
The woman had heard us come into the building, heard our laughter and our joking, and tried to call out to us. She had fallen—or perhaps she was already down and trying to get up—and she managed to get the door partially open before falling again.
We were lucky to hear her. If we had been any louder, if we hadn’t been paying attention, if I had truly shrugged off the sounds as part of apartment living, we would never have found her in time.
I yanked the wheel and spun around the corner, but the car’s back wheels didn’t even slide. The Mercedes moved like a dream. It was fast and responsive—the perfect car for this moment.
Then the hospital loomed before us, an entire city block of institutional brick surrounded by a parking lot. Lights were on in some of the windows, probably the corridors, and a yellow lighted sign with the hospital’s name glowed above the main doors. A smaller sign, almost invisible in the darkness, pointed the way to the emergency entrance.
I had to make a 130-degree turn to follow the arrow on that sign, and took the narrow access road that led to a brick overhang someone had built above the emergency doors. Thin fluorescent lights illuminated the concrete beneath the brick overhang, and the two glass doors, with the words EMERGENCY ENTRANCE ONLY emblazoned in red.
I pulled the car haphazardly onto the ambulance parking ramp, thankful no ambulance was there ahead of me. Even before I stopped, Laura was out of the car. She ran across the concrete, her blond hair flowing behind her, her arms windmilling, and skidded to a stop in front of the doors. She grabbed them as if they weighed more than she did, yanked them open, and ran through them, shouting for help.
I left the keys in the ignition, and got out. By the time I got to the passenger side, two white male attendants, wearing green scrubs, hurried out of the hospital, pulling a mobile bed between them.
They stopped at the door Laura had left open.
The first man was already leaning inside the car, but the second peered at me. He was in his twenties, and he looked like he hadn’t even started to shave yet.
“What’ve we got?” he asked me in a no-nonsense voice.
“I have no idea,” I said. “She’s bleeding badly, though. Be careful with her.”
He nodded, and gently moved me aside as he went to help the other attendant. The other attendant had already pushed the seats forward so he could crawl into the back seat without hurting the woman.
I went around to the other side, and pulled open the passenger door there as the attendant who had spoken to me grabbed the woman’s legs.
“Has she hurt her head or her back?” the attendant closest to me asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think so.”
“Then grab her head. Don’t let it drop.”
“All right.” I took her head between my hands. Her hair was silky soft, and her skull so small that I could’ve held it with my palm if I had wanted to.
Her eyes opened. They met mine, and I could see the fear in them.
“You’ll be all right,” I said, wondering how I could keep promising that when I had no idea whether she would be or not. But I had to say something.
The attendants eased her out of the back seat, and I climbed into the car as they did, crawling across the bloody seat on my knees. The second attendant kept pace with me, holding her back steady. Somehow he managed to get out of the car without bouncing her or hitting his head.
The first attendant had lowered the mobile bed so that we could ease her on it. I leaned forward, from inside the car, relinquishing my grip only when the attendant’s hands met mine under her skull.
The woman’s gaze stayed on my face, almost as if I were her lifeline. I gave her a weak smile, meant to be reassuring. Then they put one strap over her middle to hold her on the bed, and wheeled her away from me.
Laura hovered beside them, her hands twisting in front of her. She was running sideways, something I had thought impossible in high heels.
I was still kneeling inside the wreck of the Mercedes’ back seat. Blood coated the leather. My topcoat was crumpled on the floor, and the front seats were pushed forward.
I doubted Laura’s insurance covered something like this.
Then I got out, closed the back doors, and climbed into the driver’s seat. I had to move the Mercedes away from the entrance—it was supposedly for ambulances only—but it felt awkward doing so. I should have been inside, helping Laura and the woman, making sure everything was all right.
I had left the car running, and hadn’t even realized it. Fortunately, I also had had enough sense to put the car in park and hit the emergency brake—even though I didn’t remember doing that, either. All I remembered was my decision to leave the keys in the ignition while I went to the back to help the woman.
The hospital parking lot was dark. No one had thought to put lighting throughout the maze of parking spaces. Most of them were empty, although the ones closest to the emergency room were reserved for various doctors.
The streetlights guided me, and I finally parked the car at the street end of the parking lot, under a sign, hoping that the streetlights would deter anyone from trying to break in. This neighborhood was worse than mine, and there had been a lot of theft from this parking lot. It had become a joke—park here, gain your health, and lose your radio.
I got out of the car, made sure it was locked, and stuffed the keys in the pocket of my suit coat. Then I loped toward the emergency entrance.
As I reached the glass doors, I realized that Laura, the attendants, and the bed were still in the corridor. My stomach clenched. We had been too late. Even though the woman had been conscious, she hadn’t made it any farther. I had misju
dged just how serious her wounds were.
I hurried inside. Another person stood near the attendants—a short man in doctor’s whites. He was younger than I was—early thirties, perhaps—and he had messy black hair over very pale skin. A white woman, wearing a nurse’s uniform, clutched a clipboard to her chest. Her starched white cap was nestled in a bed of red hair, obviously being held up by an entire can of hair spray.
Laura’s hair had tumbled around her face. Her pantsuit was black with blood, and yet somehow she managed to maintain an expensive elegance.
As I drew closer, I realized that the elegance came from her stance. Laura always stood tallest when she was angry.
“You will not take a confession from her.” Laura’s voice was low, but menacing. “You won’t even know if she had an abortion or a miscarriage until you do a full examination.”
I slowed down to a walk, and looked at Laura in stunned surprise. How did she know what was happening when I hadn’t figured it out?
“Miss.” The doctor stood across the mobile bed from Laura, and had to look up slightly to see her face. “We’re only doing what the law requires.”
Laura peered down her nose at him. I’d had her do that to me, and it was very intimidating.
“I don’t give a good goddamn what the law requires,” she snapped. “You have no right to withhold treatment from this woman.”
The doctor, however, didn’t seem intimidated at all. Instead he took a step away from the bed, as if he were going to leave the hallway altogether.
“I have every right to withhold treatment,” he said, “and am required to do so until she tells us what happened.”
I finally reached the bed. The woman was awake, her face shiny in the fluorescent light. I couldn’t tell if the liquid on her cheeks was sweat or tears.
“If you don’t treat her now,” I said, “she probably won’t survive.”
The doctor whirled toward me. I had six inches on him and at least a hundred pounds, but he didn’t seem intimidated by me. In fact, he looked relieved to be facing me instead of Laura.
He said to me, “We could lose our license if we don’t do this.”
Laura leaned across the bed, just as the woman raised her hand. Her thin fingers caught the lapel of the doctor’s label coat. He looked down at her in surprise.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please help me.”
He pulled away from her, making her lose her grip. Her hand fell against the metal bedrail, the clang echoing in the corridor.
Laura winced.
I had had enough. “Are you the only doctor on duty?”
“Yes, and if you people would stop interfering, I could take care of this patient.” The doctor pulled his coat closed. The woman’s fingers had left a small bloodstain on his lapel.
Laura’s spine straightened. She brushed the hair out of her face and raised her chin.
“Do you have any idea who I am?” she asked the doctor.
He didn’t even look at her. Instead, he was reaching for the chart still clutched in the nurse’s hands.
“No, Miss,” he said. “I don’t know who you are. And frankly, I don’t care. Your friend here is in trouble, and I can’t help her unless she tells me what happened.”
He took the chart and the pen someone had slipped under the metal clip, and started writing.
“Dammit,” I said, but Laura held up a hand, stopping me.
The doctor looked up at the sound of my voice. “It’s pretty clear,” he said to me, “that a crime has been committed here. If you just tell me who this woman conspired with, then you’ll minimize your own liability in this matter, and we can start treating her.”
“Excuse me,” Laura said. Her voice had an extra crispness to it. Her blue eyes flashed with anger. “You were initially talking to me, not him. And I was about to tell you why it would be a mistake to ignore me.”
“I don’t have time for this,” the doctor said, bending over the chart again.
The woman’s hand fluttered against the blanket, as if she were trying to reach for him, and couldn’t.
Laura’s gaze flickered down to the woman for only a moment before she raised her chin even higher.
“My name is Laura Hathaway,” Laura said in her most aristocratic tone. “My father, Earl Hathaway, was a close friend of Mayor Daley’s.”
That was lie, but not much of one. Earl Hathaway had ties to the Daley machine—ties that Laura hadn’t pursued in the nine years since Earl Hathaway’s death, ties which she was now actively repudiating. But the doctor didn’t need to know any of that.
“If you refuse to treat this woman,” Laura said, “I will personally sic the mayor’s office on you. Everyone in this corridor will lose their jobs and you, sir, will never be able to practice medicine again. Am I being clear?”
The doctor sighed and shoved the chart at the nurse. She gave him a frightened glance. Another nurse appeared in a nearby doorway, watching the proceedings.
The attendants slipped down the hall, apparently not wanting any part of this.
The doctor faced Laura. Even though he was small, he had the same don’t-fuck-with-me bearing that she did.
“Miss,” he said, “abortion is a serious crime, and the law states that I need to get a confession first before—”
“I know the law, too,” Laura said, “and what you want is called a deathbed confession by prosecutors. You’re doing your goddamndest to make sure this is her deathbed.”
The woman’s hand clutched the blanket. I reached over the metal railing and smoothed her hair, hoping to give her some measure of comfort.
“I will have you up on charges of negligent homicide, Doctor—” Laura peered at his badge. “—Rothstein.”
The doctor’s face turned red, but his spine remained straight. He looked at me. “Are you the husband?”
“I never saw this woman before tonight,” I said.
The doctor shook his head. “Then I can’t—”
“Did you hear me, Dr. Rothstein?” Laura snapped. “Because if you don’t take care of her right now, I will push this bed through the halls of the hospital, screaming for help until someone does something.”
The doctor gaped at her. He seemed stunned that she had defied him. Laura grabbed the bed’s back railing and the side railing, and bent over, trying to shove the bed forward.
Her hair swung over her eyes, and her cheeks turned red with effort. The woman put her hand on Laura’s. I grabbed the railing, too, and started to push.
The doctor wrapped his hand around the railing, holding the bed in place. “You’ll all be brought up on charges, you know that? Participating in an illegal operation is a felony.”
“So is negligent homicide,” Laura said, still trying to push.
I leaned into the bed, making it impossible for the doctor to hold it.
The doctor glared at me. His jaw clenched, then he looked at the woman.
Her skin was even grayer, but her hand was firm over Laura’s. The woman’s eyes were open and sunken into her thin face.
The doctor’s shoulders drooped. “Let’s get her into one of the exam rooms.”
“You’ll do more than that.” Laura maintained her grip on the railing. “You’ll stop this bleeding. I’m going with you, and I’m going to make sure you follow your goddamn Hippocratic oath.”
“You have a hell of a mouth on you, lady,” the doctor said, but he started to push the bed down the corridor toward the exam rooms.
“My mouth’ll be the least of your problems if this woman dies.” Laura kept pace with him. So did I.
The red-haired nurse grabbed the railing beside the doctor, and the four of us pushed the bed forward.
The woman closed her eyes. She seemed to retreat inside herself.
The doctor looked over his shoulder at me.
“If you just met this woman tonight,” he said, “you have no right to be here.”
I had opened my mouth to argue when Laura said, “Go to the waiti
ng area, Smokey. I’ll join you when I can.”
I let go of the railing and they pushed the bed away from me, Laura gripping its side as if she were the one in charge. The group went down the wide corridor with its bright lights, and turned right, into another corridor.
I stood alone, adrenaline humming through me. My breath was coming in short gasps, and I felt the beginnings of a headache. The world had changed in an instant. One moment, Laura and I were anticipating a quiet evening together, the next we were working in tandem to prevent a woman from dying.
“Excuse me?” a woman’s voice said from behind me.
I turned. The young nurse who had been watching from the doorway had followed us down the hall. Her uniform was whiter than the other nurse’s, suggesting newness, and the nursing cap tilted forward on top of her head. She wore large black fake eyelashes that made her green eyes seem too small. Her brown hair fell loosely about her face, as if the pins holding it in place had worked their way out during her shift.
In her left hand, she held a clipboard. It wasn’t the same one that the other nurse had held.
“You can’t stay here,” she said. “Let me take you out front to fill out your wife’s paperwork.”
“She’s not my wife,” I said, disliking the misunderstanding more than usual. Perhaps it was because I had been anticipating a night with Laura, or perhaps it was because the assumption was based not on the way we were all dressed, but because our skin colors matched.
“Your girlfriend, then,” the nurse said, coming toward me. She shoved the clipboard under one arm and reached out with the other as if she were going to take my elbow.
I moved away so that she couldn’t touch me. “She’s not my girlfriend, either. I don’t know who she is. Laura and I found her.”
The woman blinked, as if my words didn’t quite register. “You have no idea who she is?”
I shook my head. “I’ve never seen her before.”
But as I said that, a memory touched my mind, and then fled so fast I couldn’t hold it. The woman had seemed familiar—something in those eyes. I felt like I had seen them somewhere before.
“Well, then,” the nurse said, apparently not noticing my distraction. “You’re free to go. If you leave your name at the front desk, we’ll be able to contact you about her.”
Stone Cribs: A Smokey Dalton Novel Page 3
