Dying for a Fix

by G. K. Parks

  Twisting and tugging, I couldn’t get my leg out. I was wedged in from just above my knee. Using my other leg, I tried to push off the dumpster, but the wet snow and patches of ice didn’t provide much traction, and I slipped and slid. Think, Parker. I couldn’t call for help, and I couldn’t move the dumpster. If I were a fox, I’d gnaw my own leg off, but that didn’t seem practical.

  Something moved at the other end of the narrow street, but I couldn’t see over the dumpster. So I became more frantic, pushing off and twisting with all my might. If I could just get my leg free, I’d be safe. Sweat collected on my brow from the exertion, but I was shivering from the cold. Zipping the tattered remains of my parka closed and pulling the sleeves down over my arms and hands, I twisted again, squeezing my other leg between the wall and dumpster in order to push it outward, and just as the metal trash bin moved a fraction of an inch, I lost my balance, wrenching my stuck leg.

  White hot pain shot through my hip, and I screamed. Taking a few deep breaths, I tried to shift again, but the pain got worse. There was no way to get free. I’d just have to hope my call went through, and 911 dispatch was sending someone to check on the situation.

  Bunching up as best as I could, I buried my face inside my collar and pulled my arms out of the sleeves and into the main compartment of my jacket, so I could wrap them around my torso to conserve heat. The snow was still falling, and everything was already covered in a layer of white. My teeth began to chatter, and the constant shivering made my hip throb worse. If I made it out of this mess, Francisco was going to pay.

  My throat ached from breathing in the frigid air, and I was starting to fade. How long had I been out here? With no other option, I screamed for help. A bullet to the head would be faster than dying of hypothermia. Eventually, I stopped calling for help. I was too tired and too cold to keep it up.

  Nineteen

  “This one’s alive,” someone said, and I opened my eyes to flashing lights, four police cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance. The female EMT hovering next to me was the one who spoke, and another EMT joined her. “But she’s pinned.”

  In a matter of moments, a few firemen yanked the dumpster forward, and I let out a sharp exhale. The two EMTs assessed my injuries, grabbed a gurney, and lifted me onto it after immobilizing my leg. Was it broken? Dislocated? Would it be amputated?

  One of the cops stepped in and began to speak, but I wasn’t coherent enough to answer his questions. Soon, I was in the back of the rig, my parka was off, along with my soaking wet clothes, and the female EMT was speaking again. She had a needle and a vial.

  “No drugs,” I managed, coming out of the haze now that I was underneath one of those shiny aluminum foil blankets. What were they called? I couldn’t remember. The shivering was worse, and I felt colder now than I did outside, probably on account of my body defrosting. Now I knew what it was like to be a Thanksgiving turkey. “I don’t want anything.”

  “It’ll make you more comfortable. Your leg–”

  “No drugs,” I repeated. And she replaced the vial in the cabinet and discarded the syringe, pulling out tubing to start an I.V. “What’s that?”

  “Warmed saline. It’ll get your body temp up faster.” She folded the blanket away from my arm, seeing the defensive wounds and the airbrushed bruises and punctures. “Oh.” She paused. “I get it. If you tell me what you took, I can find a painkiller that won’t interact.”

  “I’m not on anything. I’m,” I was about to say a federal agent but got distracted by my missing parka, “missing my coat.” She inserted the I.V. with a pinch, and as soon as the bag began to drip, the warmth spread.

  “The police have it,” she said, and I remembered an officer taking my belongings and asking if there was any chance I could escape while we were en route to the hospital. She began filling out the paperwork, and I realized I had two options. Divulge my cover and sacrifice whatever might be left of the operation or keep my mouth shut until someone with authority could get to me. “What happened back there? Four guys were killed, and you are the only survivor.” I shrugged and shut my eyes. “What’s your name?” Still, I kept quiet. “Are you allergic to any medicines?”

  She continued to ask questions, and I pretended to be mute. When we arrived at the hospital, a few police officers were waiting to ask more questions, but medical professionals got the first crack. After an x-ray, it was determined there was no break. One of my tendons had a slight tear, and a ligament had moved over my hipbone in what was sometimes referred to as a partial dislocation. After an excruciating half a second, the shooting pain turned into a dull throb. And given that I was only exhibiting the first stages of hypothermia and somehow managed to stave off frostbite, there wasn’t any reason for the hospital to keep me for too much longer which meant the cops could take me into custody.

  “I want to make a phone call,” I said. After refusing to give any of the hospital staff my name or information, they seemed anxious to find some way of determining who I was. After all, how else would they know where to send the bill for the ER visit and ambulance ride? “C’mon, it’s not that big of a deal. Just one call. I’ll make it quick.”

  “You can use the phone once we move you into a room,” an orderly said, pushing the bed out of the ER and toward the trauma wing.

  For the few minutes that I was alone, I dialed Jablonsky’s burner, but he didn’t answer. It was six a.m. So I tried his house phone. Still no answer. Dammit, Mark, where the hell are you? Before I could dial his normal cell, which was an OIO number that could be recognized and potentially compromise the mission, a police officer entered the room.

  “Miss,” the officer began, “I need some information.”

  I rolled onto my side and stared at him. Sell it, Parker. “Please,” I let out a gasp, wincing, “can you find the nurse?”

  He studied me, determining if I was going to make a break for it. With the icepack bandaged around my hip, it didn’t seem too probable. Although, I would have been willing to give it a shot if I didn’t think they’d stop me at the door. Unfortunately, hospital gowns weren’t conducive to stealth escapes. If the cops didn’t stop me, the hospital staff would.

  “Fine, do you remember her name since you can’t seem to recall your own?” His glare hardened, but I ignored it.

  “Nurse Jen. Jenny-O, like the turkey.” I didn’t even know if Jen O’Connell would be working this early, but she was my best chance of getting out of here.

  “Damn tweakers,” he muttered under his breath, disappearing out the door.

  I sat up, hoping to find something of use inside the room. My cell phone would have been nice, but my jacket would have been the next best thing. Unfortunately, my personal belongings were no longer in my possession. And if Jen wasn’t working this morning, there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d get out of this with my cover intact. Asking to speak to one of the major crimes detectives or insisting on someone phoning SSA Mark Jablonsky would blow the mission. That is, if it wasn’t already blown. I didn’t know. Going to ground was the only thing I could do until I made contact and found out what was happening.

  Fifteen minutes later, Jen stepped inside the room. Thankfully, the officer remained outside, but he warned her that I was potentially dangerous and to holler if she needed something. She did a double-take, surprised to see me like this. I shook my head and pressed a finger to my lips, hoping she wouldn’t say anything. She looked back at the door and then stepped closer to the bed.

  “Jesus Christ,” her eyes roamed over the parts of me she could see, “what the hell happened?” Her eyes stopped on the numerous defensive wounds and track marks running down the length of my arms. “Alex, what is going on?”

  “Is Nick at work?” I asked, desperate for the answer to be yes.

  “His shift starts at seven.” She grabbed the chart at the end of the bed and flipped through the pages. Most of the information was blank since I fought my damnedest to keep them from running any tests or shooting me up with anythin
g. “Why didn’t they give you something for the pain?”

  “Jen,” I focused on the door, hoping the officer wouldn’t come inside, “I need you to call Nick. No one can know who I am or why I’m here. Just get Nick. Please.” The urgency in my voice set her in motion, and she nodded, heading for the door.

  The officer stepped back inside the room, and I slumped back on the bed, covering my eyes with my arm. He asked a dozen questions, but I remained silent, hoping he’d think I passed out. He was now threatening to charge me with multiple homicides if I didn’t start talking. Luckily, Jen came back inside the room, throwing him out with the skill of any medical professional worth her salt. Once I heard the door click closed, I slowly moved my arm away from my eyes.

  “He’s on his way.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled. “And thanks for kicking out the hound dog.”

  “Are you sure I can’t get you something?” She glanced at the heart rate monitor that I couldn’t disconnect or else they’d think I flatlined. “Your BP’s through the roof, and I’m guessing it’s because you’re in pain.”

  “I’m fine.”

  She shook her head. “You’re far from it.”

  With nothing else to say, I shut down, not speaking or acknowledging her. She didn’t need to get involved. The less she knew, the better. It was bad enough I had to call Nick for a favor, but I didn’t know how to safely get a hold of Mark under these circumstances.

  Twenty minutes later, I heard voices in the hallway. The officer from earlier was explaining the situation to the detective who was attempting to take over. Apparently it looked like a drug deal gone wrong. Four men were shot and killed in an alley, and one crack whore, that’d be me, was refusing to answer any questions.

  “I’ll take it from here,” Detective O’Connell said, stepping inside the room. “Can I have a word alone with the patient, nurse?”

  I sat up, and Jen tossed a worrisome glance my way before brushing past her husband, whispering something I couldn’t make out before disappearing into the hallway. Once the door shut, Nick flipped the blinds closed and let out an exasperated sigh.

  “You have to get me out of here,” I began.

  “Is it true?”

  “That I’m a crack whore? No. That four men were killed in an alley and I’m the only one still breathing? Yes.” He reached for one of my arms and assessed the airbrushed track marks. “They’re not real.” I jerked my head toward the alcohol swabs on the counter. “Hand me one of those.” He did as I asked, and I rubbed off the semi-permanent makeup, hissing when the alcohol came into contact with one of the deeper scrapes. His brow furrowed. “I’m undercover.”

  “For who?”

  “The OIO. My credentials are inside the lining of my jacket, and I need them back now. I don’t know if I’ve been compromised, but if I haven’t yet, I will be once your people start poking around where they don’t belong.”

  “What do we know so far?”

  “Nothing. I refused to give them any information. Unfortunately, they ordered a blood test, and it will come back negative for drugs. I’m running out of time. I needed someone with some pull in the department to get my medical files and belongings before they can be processed or taken into evidence.”

  “Where’s your support team?”

  “I lost them. Nothing like this was supposed to happen last night. It was a surprise ambush. I can’t get a hold of Mark. I had to dump my phone, and the burner for the op was confiscated. I’ve been at this too long to let everything go to shit. I need your help.”

  “All right. I’ll see what I can do. Stay put.”

  A few minutes later, Jen reappeared, pushing one of the medication carts. She came into the room and shut the door. Then she pulled an extra pair of scrubs and her winter coat from the bottom shelf.

  “You can’t traipse out of the hospital in one of the gowns that opens in the back,” she teased.

  “Thanks.” She unhooked the monitors, and I dressed while she guarded the door. “I hope I don’t get you in trouble.”

  “No, Nick’s handling it. The doctor didn’t give you any crutches since you’re prohibited from leaving. And I can’t figure out how to sneak them in here.”

  “I’m okay. Everything’s back in alignment, and the doc said the tear should heal on its own. It’s not like my leg’s gonna pop off like a Barbie doll, so I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  Nick knocked, and when the door opened, I noticed that the officer was gone. “Thanks, honey.” He gave Jen a quick kiss. “I’ll see you tonight. Just remember, the detective in charge stole your patient.”

  “She was never mine, and I know nothing.” Jen left the room, leaving us to devise the perfect escape plan.

  O’Connell took my parka out of the evidence bag and handed it to me. Reaching into the tear in the lining, I felt around until I found the chain on my credentials and pulled them free.

  “Did you want to see my badge?” I asked.

  “Not particularly. Is that the most damning thing against you?” He put my parka back inside the bag and sealed it, leaving it on the bed for the officer to collect after our departure.

  “My burner phone has a lot of numbers that most crack whores don’t possess. Hell, I should have put your number in there under favorite detective,” I joked, knowing I had Steele’s number and Mark’s burner listed, but that was about it.

  “Don’t worry about it. It was soaked, so it’ll take time before IT can process it. Plus, it’s already been sent back to the lab as evidence. I phoned Heathcliff and told him to grab everything that comes in on the multiple homicides but to maintain chain of custody. I assume one of your guys will take lead.”

  “Probably,” I admitted. “How am I getting out of here?”

  “Lucky for you, I said they pinched my CI, and it’s in everyone’s best interest if I get you out of here quickly and quietly.” He glanced at the door. “So we need to go before that officer checks my story with the actual detective in charge.”

  Carefully, I slid off the bed. Pain shot through my hip, and I gritted my teeth. It was manageable. O’Connell slid underneath my arm and helped support my weight as we made it out of the hospital and to his cruiser. Once we were inside and on the road, he handed me his phone.

  Dialing Mark’s office number, I hoped the incident in the alley wasn’t the result of another security breach. After all, I had no earthly idea who could have been inside the SUV. It didn’t seem likely it was the KXDs or whatever gang One Eye and the three other dead men represented. Frankly, the OIO couldn’t afford our operation to be compromised. They were already running low on agents.

  When Mark answered, I gave him the briefest synopsis possible and disclosed O’Connell and Heathcliff’s awareness and assistance in the matter.

  “Fuck.” His desk drawer slammed. “I’ll tap into the DOT grid for surveillance footage. We’ll start an investigation and figure out if you were compromised. If there’s even a chance, I’m pulling you.” I sputtered, attempting to voice a protest, but he continued on. “We don’t know yet. So go to ground. Don’t go home, just in case, and don’t show up here or at the precinct until I sort this out. It’s bad enough you have a police escort, but it sounds like O’Connell executed your escape quickly and with minimal fallout, so you should be safe.”

  “Martin?” I asked. This was the precise reason Jablonsky had been renamed my emergency contact. “If this is the result of a security breach, does anything trace back to him?” I couldn’t remember.

  “No. You were careful. We were careful.”

  “What if it was Vito?” I pondered the ramifications that the most powerful mob boss in the city might have a stake in the matter. After all, wasn’t Bard encroaching on his racket? O’Connell turned at my words, concern etched his face.

  “I haven’t heard any chatter from OCU, but get your ass out of sight and make sure Marty’s okay. As soon as I get this straightened out, I’ll meet you at his place. And I’ll call Bruiser and
have him be extra vigilant,” Mark promised.

  “Thanks.” I disconnected and passed the phone back to Nick.

  “So how long have you been back on the job?” he asked, hoping to alleviate the tension.

  “A month. Martin doesn’t know. No one does. The FBI had a security breach, and quite a few inactive agents were called to fill in. I couldn’t tell anyone. Hell, I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but I didn’t know how else to salvage the situation.”

  “Well, congrats, I guess.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, unless I blew it somehow.”

  When we arrived, I gave him the security code, and he drove his car inside the garage. In the event there was a second breach and anyone determined my connection to Martin, the unmarked police cruiser wouldn’t be able to add insult to injury. O’Connell killed the engine and opened his door. Before I could step out, he came around to my side of the vehicle and leaned down, lifting me out of the car.

  “You don’t have to carry me. I can manage,” I insisted.

  “It’s not a big deal.” We went up the stairs to the main level. “I’m just thankful I don’t have to carry you up the six flights in your apartment building.” He put me down on the couch and glanced around the room. “What’s going on?”

  “I can’t tell you.” I shook my head

  “Parker, everything I’ve done in the last hour could jeopardize my career. Derek’s too. So fill me in.”

  Twenty

  Nick shook his head and blew out a breath. Now he knew everything, and whenever word of this got back to Jablonsky, I’d be royally screwed. Then again, I’d been through hell in the last five hours, so nothing Mark could dish out seemed that bad.

  Nick kept muttering curses, contemplating his next course of action and mine. “Why didn’t anyone inform us about a federal investigation into the KXDs? We have a gangs unit at the precinct. Shit, Heathcliff just came back from helping narcotics identify a supplier. We have resources. We have our own ongoing undercover operations.” He growled and stalked the walkway in front of the couch. “Why didn’t you tell me?”