by Adam Knight
Cathy’s face turned sympathetic. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I really don’t.” Pushed the cake plate aside, suddenly full. “In fact I don’t want to talk at all.”
“Why not?”
I sighed.
“ ‘Cause there’s nothing to say, Cathy.” My knuckles cracked as I locked my fingers together, leaning forward on the table as well. “I get why you’re here. It’s good to see you. So good that I don’t even mind you using our college friendship to try and score an exclusive with the idiot bouncer who got shot by a street gang member.”
“I’m not trying to …”
“It’s okay, I’m really not mad. Hell, you did me a solid helping me sneak outta the hospital. Odds are the media’s having a field day right now trying to get quotes from hospital officials about how they let a patient in their care slip away unnoticed.”
Cathy’s dimples accompanied a wry smile. “I have gotten a few texts from the boss about that now that you mention it.”
I smiled ruefully. “Today’s media. Finding a story out of nothing.”
Cathy shrugged. “Sometimes yes, but not in this case.”
“Yes, in this case,” I laughed softly. “As soon as hovkey season ends there’s suddenly room in the news for human interest pieces.” I cued up my Radio Announcer Voice. “City officials going to raise school taxes. Does Googling yourself mean that you’re egotistical? Legal aged girls who can make their own decisions in life go missing without a word. Police vow to crackdown on street gang violence after dipshit bouncer tries to eat bullets as a party trick. All this and more at eleven o’clock, right after Seinfeld.”
Cathy scoffed at me. Really, she did. Just like an old Jewish rabbi.
Or I suppose, like Seinfeld.
“Joe, you can’t just sit there and shrug this away. Your story is a big deal.”
My arms moved outwards of their own volition, palms up to the sky as I stared back at her. “Why? Why is everyone interested in me? I can’t be the first mid-thirties failure at life who got shot while working a menial job, can I?”
“Joe …”
“For real, Cathy!” I slapped my palms down on the table, louder than I’d intended but my blood was up. It was just too much for me. I was frustrated and embarrassed about this entire ordeal and now here in front of me was a beautiful reminder of everything I’d wanted in my life before it all went to shit. Yeah, that makes me sounds pitiful. I know it. But dammit that’s how it felt and I was determined to avoid letting everyone in town hear about my sob story and pity me.
I may have been dealt a shit hand, but many people had it worse. And I wasn’t going to humiliate myself or my mother any more than I already had with this bullshit.
So I brought my hands down to the table. Slapping my palms loudly off the old, polished wood. A small thrill started in the back of my head, similar to an adrenaline spike. Like one I would feel staring down a troublemaker in the club. The feeling raced down my neck and along my arms, raising gooseflesh the whole way.
The sound clapped loudly in the sparsely packed diner. Echoing.
Two lightbulbs burned out.
A third one exploded.
The jukebox speaker squawked loudly and then died. Smoke curled out from the back panel.
No one said a word.
The waitress stood over at the till, covering her head with her serving tray to protect herself from more lightbulb shards. A short scream hid behind her tightly pressed lips. The cook in the kitchen stared out into the dining room. So were the other patrons’.
Staring.
At me.
My face went red, I could feel it in the oh-so-grade-school-puberty-induced-acne-humiliating way creeping up my face.
Cathy stared at me too. Then around the diner. “What the hell?”
My fingers tingled. I pried my gaze away from the room and stared at my greasy fingers.
I waggled them all individually.
They tingled. Like the after effect of pins and needles.
“Well,” I said loudly, intentionally breaking the silence. “That was weird, wasn’t it guys?”
Chapter 10
“So,” I drawled. “You were saying something?”
Cathy muttered something unintelligible, still staring at the scene.
The waitress was busy. Bustling from table to table and apologizing for the freak power surge, refilling coffees and smiling widely. Her manager had apparently agreed to complimentary desserts for everyone’s inconvenience. Using a broom and dustpan, the cook was out from the kitchen sweeping up glass shards from the combusted forty watt bulb and complaining loudly about “shoddy wiring” and “ancient building not being up to code.”
“Cathy.” I prodded. Her gaze came back to me. I smiled weakly, trying to ignore the smell of smoked jukebox in the air.
“Hmmm?”
“You were saying something?”
“I was?”
“Yeah. About you media types. About my … er … incident?”
Cathy blinked a few times. Then stopped with her eyes closed, collecting her thoughts.
“That was really weird, Joe.”
“I know, right?” The tingling in my fingers had gone away but I could still feel the chill at the base of my skull, almost right behind my eyes as I scanned the diner. I chuckled lamely. “What are the odds, eh?”
She laughed softly. “Real long, that’s for sure.” Cathy opened her eyes and took a deep breath. She reached for her notepad again, flipping through it while absently adjusting a stray lock of her hair and tucking it behind one ear. It was a familiar gesture. One that had been burned in my mind for a dozen years since the first time I’d seen her do it in journalism class.
Apparently it’s possible to be turned on and weirded out at the same time.
Who knew?
“Let’s start with the facts,” Cathy began scanning one finger down the page in front of her, finding her place.
I gently removed my palms from the table where they had stayed since that weird moment where I looked like a complete freak. My fingers were trembling slightly. I laced them together firmly and rested them down in my lap.
“Fact,” Cathy continued glancing up at me. “Nine nights ago members of the street gang known as the Native Posse attempted to gain entry into Cowboy Shotz nightclub. A confrontation occurred with nightclub security, during which a staff member was shot.”
I nodded fractionally, keeping my poker face intact despite her clinical assessment of my near death experience.
Cathy turned back to her notes. We both ignored the line cook as he passed by with a wide push broom leading the way in front of him. I most certainly ignored the pointed stare he gave me.
“Fact,” Cathy continued clinically. “Keimac Cleghorn, twenty-one years old, was arrested by off duty officers on scene. Charges of public intimidation, uttering threats, possession of an unlicensed firearm, violating terms of his probation and finally attempted murder.”
My fingers tightened. That cold tingle right at the base of my neck swelled slightly. I cleared my throat and adjusted in my seat, trying to calm my breathing down.
“Fact; five other members of the criminal organization referring to themselves as the Native Posse were also arrested by police. Charges of assault and battery, violating terms of probation and carrying concealed weapons.”
That gave me a shudder I couldn’t hide. What if the others had drawn guns? How many people could’ve been hurt? Killed? That could have gone very, very badly.
I kept my breathing slow and deep, trying to keep my heart from picking up speed again. That tingle stayed right where it was just out of sight. A trickle of sweat was beading up in my hairline as I tried to push it aside.
“Fact; paramedics arrived on scene at eleven forty seven according to their logs. Upon arrival off duty police officers Parise and Mackie were relieved of their duties for providing the victim CPR.”
It was so bizarre a feeling. Tangib
le yet erratic. It felt like I should be able to see something just at the periphery. Right out of sight. I stared straight ahead at Cathy and tried to appear focused on her.
I forced a chuckle. “I feel for those guys. Think I forgot to brush before work.”
Cathy smiled politely, though looked a little green as she continued. For the first time I caught her trying to avoid looking at me, specifically at where I had been shot. It was a subtle thing and one that she tried very hard to hide. Until just then I hadn’t considered how witnesses on the scene might have been traumatized by what they had seen. Or how upsetting it would be to people who knew me.
Shit.
Tamara.
The tingling sensation swelled fractionally.
Breathe. Deep breaths. Keep cool.
“Fact; paramedics were unable to ascertain a sustainable heartbeat. Blood loss was excessive. The victim was loaded into the ambulance within minutes and en route to St. Boniface Hospital.”
My breathing technique seemed to be working. As we sat there the tingle in the back of my head faded and eventually disappeared. It left behind a chill sensation that I could only compare to when your leg falls asleep.
“Fact; paramedics activated the portable Automatic Electronic Defibrillator when CPR was shown to be ineffective.”
“Guess I was in for a shock,” I muttered sourly.
Cathy stared at me. Clearly not appreciating my gallows humor.
She was really upset.
I felt like a dick.
“Sorry,” I muttered glancing away as my face flooded with shame. “I’m just trying … fuck it. I’m sorry.”
Cathy stayed quiet another moment longer, her dimples reappearing as the lips pursed again. “Fact; paramedics applied defibrillators. The equipment suffered a catastrophic malfunction.” I blinked at that, meeting her gaze once again. “Reports since the incident blamed the failure on faulty battery and equipment maintenance. The Fire and Paramedics Union has filed a grievance against the hospital for slander, providing regular logs of equipment maintenance. When interviewed the driver of the ambulance described the incident as the ‘craziest thing he’d ever seen in thirteen years on the job’. Reporting sparks burst out of panels and the entire ambulance stalled momentarily, nearly causing a crash.”
I stared at her. Still with pins and needles. My fingers clenched tighter.
Cathy’s eyes rarely wavered from my face. She was barely reading from her notes anymore, trying to glean my expression. Searching for something.
Images raced through my mind’s eye. Flashes of faces. Some remembered. Some unfamiliar. Pain. Light. The tingle behind my eyes wanted to swell up again. I clenched my jaw and gritted my teeth until it went away.
“Fact; doctors on scene rushed the victim into the prepared emergency room as one paramedic re-applied CPR, finding a faint pulse after the defibrillation attempt.” Cathy put down her notepad and leaned in, her voice dropping until she was almost whispering. “Doctors applied defibrillators to the victim. Lights and equipment died inexplicably. The entire north wing of the hospital lost power for thirty seconds until backup generators came to life. Manitoba Hydro reported sporadic brown outs within a two block radius.”
I couldn’t break her stare. Her pointed, inquisitive stare.
“Holy shit,” I mumbled.
Cathy leaned back, breaking the intensity of the moment. It was like a wash of cold winter air when you first open the door on a February morning.
“Fact;” Cathy smiled softly. “Victim responded to doctors ministrations and has begun the process to a full recovery.”
Silence.
The waitress came over then, breaking what was left of the tension between us. She cleared away my half eaten cake, reclaimed my coffee carafe and asked about the bill. Cathy signaled for it. Which of course earned me a filthy look from the frazzled young waitress when Cathy turned away to fish in her purse.
Hey. I’d have thought I was a freeloading jerk too.
Actually, I kinda am a freeloading jerk.
Moving on.
“Okay,” I breathed out heavily as the waitress disappeared with Cathy’s credit card. I finally unclenched my now white knuckled fingers and brought them up onto the tabletop again. Gently this time. No smacking. No weird coincidences. “I guess – objectively speaking – I can understand there being some media interest in me.”
Cathy smirked, raising one eyebrow in a perfect Leonard Nimoy imitation.
I shrugged. “That’s a lot of weird at one time. No doubts.”
“You think?”
“As infrequently as possible.”
Some retorts are automatic. That’s the trouble with being a smart ass, more often than not the quips fly faster than wisdom.
“You have to know this isn’t funny, Joe.”
“Actually it kinda is.”
“Seriously?” Cathy picked up her notepad again flipping through further pages of scribbling. “The level of incompetence and double talk going on within all levels of government - civic and provincial - that has come to light over this one case is nothing short of astounding.”
I blinked.
Hadn’t seen that one coming.
“Uh …. What?”
She leafed through her notes, frantically comparing pages as she spoke. “It is outrageous, Joe. The level to which these bureaucrats are sinking to in order to obfuscate the issue surrounding what happened with you.”
“Uh … “ I gave my small smile to the waitress as she came back to drop off Cathy’s credit card. She blatantly ignored me and walked away.
“Like this, listen to this.” Cathy cleared her throat, lost in her train of thought. I just stared at her. It was like college all over again. Cathy loved her political cover-ups like a kid loves candy. Obsessively. “When asked about the discrepancy between the paramedics equipment maintenance logs and the hospitals’ reaction to it, the Winnipeg Regional Health Authority Chairman replied at present time we are conducting an internal investigation into the matter and have nothing further to add to our previous statements.” She looked up definitively, like a lawyer to a jury. “Can you believe that?”
“Well … An investigation into malfunctions sorta makes sense … “
“And this, how about this.” More paper shuffling, more hair tucked behind one ear. “When asked about the double speak coming out of the mouths of the WRHA brass the Provincial Minister of Health Timothy Oswald replied we have the utmost confidence in the efficacy of the audit to be provided by the WRHA and look forward to releasing their findings.” Cathy actually flicked at the quotation with her fingers, disgustedly accenting her point.
“I don’t know, Cathy. What do you expect the Minister to say about a crew of people he helped hire for the job?”
“It is just so mental!” Her eyes were ablaze. Cathy had a full blown political scandal in her hands and wasn’t ready to let it go. “How many horrible accidents does it take in one incident to show how incredibly corrupt the hospital and the WRHA is?”
“Uhm … “
