Desperate Times

by Tom Andry

  She nodded, "Will do." The intercom buzzed from the front office, "Dammit! There it goes again."

  I sighed, "Just...go with it. This is the way these things go."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Ted has obviously decided that I need to be better protected. If he had any one person do the entire installation, they'd have a complete schematic. He wouldn't want that. So there will be a chain of installers coming through. That way, no one company has enough information to compromise the security measures."

  "Makes sense, I suppose."

  "Just," I hesitated, "keep your eyes open."

  She stopped at my door, the intercom buzzing insistently, "For what?"

  "Just...anything."

  "I've been trying, but I don't really know what to look for."

  I sighed again, "You don't really know Ted and honestly, I don't either. Sure, he's helped me out a lot in the past, but this is pretty big. Just make sure he isn't installing cameras in the bathroom or anything that looks like a bomb."

  Her eyebrow raised, "He'd do that?"

  "No...well, probably not." I paused, thinking, "Maybe. Just keep your eyes open."

  "Bob, you've got some strange friends."

  "Tell me about it."

  # # #

  Chapter 7

  For the most part, I kept to myself for the rest of the day. Workers would occasionally need access to my office and I'd watch them closely, but there was very little to see. Most of the devices were enclosed in cases and required little more than wires connected to them. I saw more than one worker scratching his head in confusion. A larger group installed new doors in all of the rooms, other groups installed powered opening and closing mechanisms, and each door got a lock from a different installer. It was quite the circus, and every time I exited my office, I felt like I might get trampled. There were workers on ladders, workers in ceilings, and workers on the floor with their pants begrudgingly clinging to their hips. In the midst of it all, Nissa stood with a clipboard, looking over shoulders, examining credentials, and issuing orders.

  Once, I walked out to get a cup of coffee just as a short, stocky man with a large nose was jabbing a finger into Nissa's shoulder. Nissa's feet were planted and the clipboard was at her side. Her mohawk shimmered with every jab. Behind the man, two bored colleagues waited.

  "Now you listen here, missy," the man jabbed again, "I've got a job to do, and I mean to do it, now!"

  "You'll sit and wait your turn, like everyone else," Nissa responded coolly.

  Behind her, on the couch, were three more workers, all in different uniforms, looking glum. "It's no use, Mac," said one of them, "might as well do as the lady says."

  The irate man spied me watching and tried to get around Nissa. She blocked his every move, "Hey you! You in charge here?"

  I pointed at myself and shook my head. "I'm just here to get the coffee. Ms. Nissa, you ready for another cup?"

  Without turning she responded, "Tea for me. Hurry back."

  I suppressed a giggle and turned as the man's gaze danced between the two of us, trying to determine if we were lying. I walked down the hall toward the kitchen, past a guy on a ladder with his head in the ceiling, and another on the ground, running wires behind the molding near the floor. The place was in shambles with holes in walls, drywall dust everywhere, and empty containers littering the floor. The kitchen was no better with power outlets hanging free, appliances moved away from walls, and three guys in three different uniforms stepping all over each other trying to get their jobs done.

  "Screw it."

  I turned and retreated to my office. If there were any coffee in the kitchen, it was sure to be cold. Or full of dust. No point.

  Nissa was finishing up with the irate man, "…then, and only then, can you start. So, to recap, find your part or parts downstairs, bring them up if possible, tell me where you're going to work, and I'll put you on the list. Just about every room is full of workers, so you might as well take a seat. I'll get you in as soon as possible."

  I entered my office, but Nissa followed shortly after, collapsing into the guest seat.

  "Ouch. This seat isn't very comfortable," she complained.

  "It's not meant to be. It's meant to stay right..." the phone rang.

  Nissa looked at it in confusion. She'd never heard this ring before. While I had three lines, Nissa was only familiar with two. The third, I reserved for emergencies. It had a special ring and only a select few had the number. When this phone rang, trouble wasn't far behind. Considering the events of the last twenty-four hours, I supposed I shouldn't have been surprised.

  "That's not good."

  "Bob, what's that? I've never..."

  "Give me a moment."

  Nissa unfolded herself from the chair and left, glancing back over her shoulder. She closed the door quietly as I picked up the receiver.

  "Hello?"

  "Mr. Moore?" An official sounding voice. Female. Lots of background noise. "This is City General."

  "City General...the hospital?"

  "Yes, sir. You're listed as the emergency contact for one Liz Novac?"

  I bolted from my chair, "Liz! Is she okay?"

  "Mr. Moore, I'm sorry to say, no. There's been an accident. As you are the only person on her contact list that is answering, we'd like you to come down as soon as you can to fill out some forms."

  She spoke the last two words to the sound of me slamming the phone down on the base. I grabbed my jacket, my overcoat, and my hat off the rack in the corner, and sprinted from the room. I dodged two workers enjoying coffee in paper cups from the shop around the corner, but pulled up short at the door.

  "Where's the goddamn handle?"

  "Bob, what's..." Nissa's voice trailed off as I glared at her. "It slides now. The guy's working on the motor...he thinks."

  I banged on it, "Open this thing!"

  From the other side, fingers reached around and pulled the door open. As soon as it was ajar enough, I pushed my way past. I could hear Nissa behind me calling out for details, but I didn't have time to answer. I had to leave. I had to get to the hospital as soon as possible. First Khan, now Liz. She had to be okay. She had to be.

  Just as I slammed the car door closed and jammed the key into the ignition, Nissa came running out from the stairwell, "Bob!"

  "No time, Nissa."

  "Just tell me where you're going!"

  "Hospital. Liz," was all I could manage before I turned the key, engine roaring to life. I slammed the car into reverse and smoked the tires. Nissa watched with a hand on her forehead as I sped away, weaving between the various installer vans parked all over the underground garage and making a beeline for the exit rather than following the set route.

  "Not Liz too..." I muttered through clenched teeth.

  * * *

  "Liz Novac," I replied breathlessly.

  I had run from the parking lot all the way to the emergency room. There, I had been directed to the burn ward. After another sprint, I was at the desk of an overweight, but kind-looking nurse. The knot in my stomach was making me nauseated.

  The burn ward nurse glanced down at her clipboard, following her finger as she scanned the names. She finally found her and traced her finger to the right, reading the details. She clicked her tongue, "Ah... I'll go get the doctor. If you'll just..."

  "Just tell me, is she okay?"

  The nurse managed a small smile, "Sir, you're in the burn ward."

  I swallowed hard, "Right, stupid question. Just, is she going to be okay?"

  The woman patted my hand, "I really couldn't say. Just let me get the doctor. There are chairs, coffee. Try to relax."

  Relax. Right.

  I paced the waiting room like a caged animal. Floating through my mind were images too horrible to describe. Dismembered Liz. Charcoal Liz. Dead Liz. Or worse, living the rest of her life disfigured and in agonizing pain Liz. That one was too much to bear. I had to know what was going on. I spun and started to march back to the desk
when a side door opened and a young doctor emerged. His eyes were trained on the clipboard in his hand. I stopped in front of him. He almost ran into me.

  "Oh, Mr. Moore?"

  His face was young and smooth. His voice too high. Did this kid even shave?

  I nodded, afraid to speak.

  "Thanks for coming on such short notice. Is Ms. Novac your...sister?"

  "Friend," my voice cracked. I cleared my throat, "What happened?"

  "Maybe we should sit," he took a deep breath. "Ms. Novac has been badly burned."

  I nodded - numb. Why should that news surprise me so? What was I expecting? 'We were all out of beds in the totally healthy wing so we had to put her here?'

  "I'll spare you the technical terms. She's been burned over just about every part of her body."

  I swallowed hard.

  "Most of it isn't that bad, first degree mostly, but her back and part of her face were burned very badly, second degree. It's the most painful injury you can have. She's on strong painkillers right now. There really isn't much more we can do for her."

  I blinked slowly, trying not to envision what he was describing, "But she'll live?"

  He nodded, "It looks good. It was touch and go for a while. We're still not sure about her lungs. But she seems to have stabilized. We won't know for sure..."

  He continued, but I wasn't listening. She would live. I exhaled a shaky breath. "What happened?" I interrupted.

  He shook his head, "When people come in with Ms. Novac's injuries, we don't ask many questions. I believe there was talk of an explosion."

  An explosion? That didn't make any sense.

  "The thing is, Mr. Moore, if this had happened last week, I'd have much better news for you. We had a resident super on staff that specialized in burns. Could have healed her right up. But we haven't heard from her since...the incident. So, until we can find another healer..."

  I rocked in my seat slowly. "Can I see her?"

  He shook his head, "I wouldn't advise it. She's heavily medicated right now and, honestly, you don't want to see her like this, Mr. Moore. I can see how it is affecting you." He put a hand on my shoulder. "She asked for you. When she first arrived early this morning, she was calling for you. When she comes to, I'll let her know you were here. It'll help."

  I looked at his hand, then at that boyish face, "Thanks, Doc. Thanks. And call. No matter the time."

  "I will." He pulled a paper off the top of the clipboard and handed the clipboard to me. "For now, fill this out as best you can. We have pretty complete records on Ms. Novac, but it would help if you look over it and see if you have anything to add."

  I nodded and grabbed the clipboard with the pen tied to the top by a short string. I scanned the document. It had Liz's health information on it. Allergies, medical history, the works. I didn't have anything to add. How could I not have anything to add? Was our relationship so superficial? Oh, she knew intimately my financial details and there was more than one night after Gale had left me that I'd spent hours pouring out my anger and pain to her as she poured scotch into me, but, now that I was faced with this piece of paper, I couldn't say that we were close.

  That wasn't true; I wasn't close.

  I thought back to all the times we'd talked. She'd asked me about Gale; she'd ask me about Khan; she'd ask me about all manner of things. And how had I responded? 'How's business, Liz.' I hung my head. What kind of friend was I? Was I so self-absorbed? I pushed the pen into the clip at the top. It slid out. I tried again. Again it slid free. I opened the clip and closed it onto the bottom of the pen. It cracked and ink started running down the page.

  "Dammit!" I yelled.

  The nurse looked up from her desk, confused. I rushed over and slammed the clipboard on the ledge in front of her desk.

  "Do you have a napkin or something?"

  She stood and looked down at the now ruined page. She smiled, "It's okay, hon. We've got copies. Let me get you another."

  "No," I growled. "I didn't have anything to add." I turned and marched down the hall. I needed to do something and sitting here wasn't it.

  * * *

  I sat in the driver's seat of my car in the emergency parking lot. Next to me, my hat and overcoat had slid from the seat onto the floorboards. My right hand was on the key, which was in the ignition, while my left held the flask I had been drinking from. I felt like I had told my hand to start the car a number of times. Each time, I seemed to hear, "Not until you know where you're going."

  Where am I going? What am I going to do?

  I took another swig from the flask. It was almost empty already. I could see the setting sun in my rear view mirror. Water spots and dirt on the mirror distorting the image, giving it a blocky look.

  Like confetti in the sky.

  I closed my eyes and forced my hand from the key, consciously putting my hand in my lap and not on the cushion next to me where the pink car seat had been in the dream.

  Take a breath, Bob. Think.

  I pictured Liz as I'd seen her last. She'd cut her straight brown hair a bit shorter than I liked, an inch or so lower than her ears in a style that left the back a bit shorter than the front. It wasn't an unattractive look, but I'd always been partial to longer hair, especially on Liz. I could see the tight-lipped smile on her triangular face as she reached out to embrace me in a friendly hug at the restaurant we were meeting at for lunch. I remembered her hair kept falling in her eyes and she had to continually push it over her ear. She'd laughed a lot that day. We'd been trading stories of supers. Of some supers her organization had sued for damages, some of the pictures and jobs I'd taken.

  That was months ago. Months, Bob.

  I violently opened the door and sprang from the car. I threw the rest of the scotch down my throat and replaced the top of the flask. I started pacing in front of my car. There had to be something I could do. Had to be...

  The cops. I gritted my teeth. But I couldn't go there empty-handed and, frankly, I couldn't think of anything I could trade. Was there another way? There had to be. I frowned, mulling over the possibilities. Maybe I didn't have to go begging; I had my own sources of information. I headed back into the hospital to make a few calls.

  * * *

  "Bastard!" I yelled into the dial tone. I slammed the payphone handset back on its receiver. I dug in my pocket for more change, but came up with nothing but lint. "Shit," I cursed to myself.

  Maybe it hadn't been as "to myself" as I'd thought. Heads turned away from me as I stood and scanned the main waiting room of the hospital looking for the front desk. I walked hurriedly to the desk, avoiding direct eye contact with those in the waiting room.

  I'd called everyone I knew. Well, I'd started with Nissa to get the few numbers I didn't have memorized, but then I'd started a marathon of calls that had drained every bit of my pocket change and everything from the ashtray in the car. All those street punks and gutter trash I'd overpaid to watch over a super's house. All the politicians I'd helped get into office or out of trouble. All the cops I could think of, which, unfortunately, numbered only one. Officer Kent owed me for letting him take news to The Bulwark during a big case, essentially bumping his social status up three or four steps. But either he wasn't taking my calls or he really was as busy as they'd said.

  The thing about politicians is that, even after they retire, they never stop lying. The bastards. I talked to three people I helped get elected, two of whom were still in office. Well, I actually talked to their assistants. I knew they were there. But they wouldn't come to the phone. The third guy, retired, just deflected all my questions. He may not have known anything, and I didn't expect him to, but he certainly wasn't going to look into it. He said he would, but he wouldn't. I could tell.

  My street "friends" had been even less help, but at least they answered the phone. They knew what had happened. Sometime this morning, there had been an explosion at the TOP office. But I could tell they knew more. If nothing else, they would have their suspicions. I could tel
l by their pauses, their hesitations, by how they covered up the phone to talk to each other with muffled voices before answering. But none of them would talk. None of my threats or bribes worked. Whatever they knew, it wasn't going to come out over the phone.

  "Can I get some change?" I said to the nurse at the front desk as I pulled out my wallet.

  "No."

  I stopped and looked up. The nurse held my gaze ruthlessly. "Um...please?"

  "No. This is a hospital, not a bar."

  "What?"

  "There are people in here. Sick people. Worried people waiting for news of sick loved ones. The last thing they need is some Neanderthal yelling obscenities into a phone."

  "No, you don't understand. I've got a friend in there. I'm just trying to find out..."

  "No, you don't understand. I don't care. You can make your calls elsewhere."

  "But..."

  She lowered her head in a way that let me know I didn't have a chance.

  "Fine." I turned and stomped out. I probably had more change in the car anyhow...

  Not a bar.

  I stopped at my door, an idea forming. Was this really what I wanted to do? It would mean a very embarrassing walk in front of a lot of people who really didn't want to see me. One in particular. Was it worth it?

  It was Liz. Anything was worth it.

  I jumped in the car and slammed the key into the ignition. The tires squealed as I was pushed forward by the backward motion of the car. I shifted into first and shot out of the parking lot. I squinted at the setting sun, planning my route. My destination was a rough part of town in the best of times. After recent events, I had no idea what to expect. The wind roared past me as I entered the highway. Usually I'd take surface streets to the docks, but I didn't want to take any chances. There was an exit ramp from the highway to the wharf, but that was a tourist destination. If I were to run into mobs, violent or otherwise, it would be there. No, better to get off an exit early and give myself options. Plus, the bar I was going to wasn't exactly on the main strip.