“Hold on, pal.”
“But I gotta see-”
“There’s nothing to see,” Jim broke in, striding up to Mark.
Mark craned his neck, wincing as the lights hit his eyes. “What about the other gates?”
“It’s all good. The other teams apprehended four more terrorists without a single shot being fired.” He pointed at Mark. “You, my friend, were the only one injured.” It sounded like an accusation, but the corners of his eyes crinkled.
Sinking back, Mark rested his injured arm atop his bent knees and allowed the medic to take the other one to check a pulse. “Jessie?”
“She’s fine.” Jim glanced to his left, towards the gate. “Speak of the devil…”
Jessie rushed around the corner and stopped in her tracks, her mouth dropping open. “Are you okay, Mark?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned to Jim. “What the hell happened to him?”
She squatted beside Mark and glanced at his arm before running her fingertips over his cheek. He winced and recalled the blow from the elbow. “It’s nothing.” The paramedic wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his uninjured bicep, and Mark watched the needle bounce up on the dial as the cuff tightened.
Eyebrow raised in disbelief, Jessie gently grasped his chin and angled his face to see the spot where the butt of the weapon had connected. His head pounded and his stomach churned, but he couldn’t admit it in front of her.
“He’s fine.” Jim shrugged. “He can take a lot more than that.”
Mark lifted his head at the tone of voice. Jim met his gaze, a hint of a smile playing around his mouth as his eyes lit with respect.
After a moment, Jim gave a short nod. “I have to get going. I have a ton of paperwork to do.” Despite his words, he made no move to leave.
“Sure.” Mark would have said more, but the paramedic shone a light in his eyes. The wave of nausea rose to tsunami level, and he put his good arm down as he pivoted to face away from everyone. He lost his lunch and dinner, and almost his consciousness. He focused on Jessie telling him it was okay while the medic told him to take deep breaths.
He spat the bitterness out of his mouth. Someone pressed a wet cloth into his hand.
“Here. You can wipe your mouth with this.” It was the paramedic.
“Thanks.” Mark blew out a shaky breath and slowly turned back.
Fans still exited, but now it was down to the stragglers-the hard core fans who stayed to celebrate until ushers urged them out. Their whooping and hollering sliced into his brain.
“Dude!” A trio of fans who appeared to be just old enough to drink legally, stopped beside Jim and stared at Mark. “Whoa. Looks like you had real good time!” The guy who spoke appeared to have had a great time himself. His friends laughed.
The speaker raised a plastic cup with an inch of beer left in it. His companions raised empty cups. “ To the home team! We won!” He downed the drink, bumped a fist against his chest, and…burped.
Jim threw a glance at Mark and grinned. “Yeah, we did.” Then he put an arm out, rounding up the trio. “Time to move along, fellas.”
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Document ID: fbd-df845e-153b-7f4d-66b4-ca3b-993f-e9c7f5
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 12.06.2011
Created using: Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software
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No good deed mt-1 Page 28
