by Lori Avocato
She started to touch the shower curtain, but I held her hand and whispered. “Not yet. They’ll still be outside the door taking off their isolation garb.”
She nodded.
After what seemed like a safe passing of time, we stepped out, looked cautiously around and then went to Pansy’s bedside.
“I wonder if she heard all of that. Or any of that.”
Pansy’s eyelids fluttered. Her hands seemed clenched tighter than before-almost as if she were angry.
“She looks different,” Lilla said.
I nodded. “Um. I wonder if that was too much confusing stimuli for her.”
“Ah, yes. True.”
“We should go,” I said, and took one look at Pansy. Her lips started to twitch. Suddenly I wondered if she were about to seize. A grand mal seizure would bring a gang of staff in if her heart rate soared on the monitor. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” We locked arms as if that would make us invisible. When I said goodbye to Pansy, reminding her who we were, Lilla added, “Too damn bad we didn’t find out whom she used that chair with. Her lover chair.”
I opened the door, Lilla walked out first with me directly behind and still holding it open.
And Pansy mumbled, “Sky.”
Sixteen
Once Lilla and I had made it safely out of Pansy’s room, we hurried to the elevator and hopped in. Simultaneously we said, “Was Pansy in love with Sky?” Only it sounded more interesting with Lilla’s wonderful French-Canadian accent then my Connecticut no accent.
But I still repeated over and over. “Sky. Sky. Sky?” as the doors shut. Thank goodness we were alone. “Sky and Pansy. Eeeeeeyew.” We looked at each other and made disgusting faces. Then I wondered if some lovers’ spat had him trying to kill her. But why would he have killed Payne?
Mistaken identity?
I told myself that was not a very Christian attitude to have.
“Pansy certainly does not appear to be the pilot’s taste,” Lilla said.
I shook my head. “I know. Interesting though. Maybe he wanted a raise?” I chuckled, but Lilla just looked at me. Sometimes I forgot that foreigners did not get some Americans’ sense of humor. Okay, make that my sense of humor, as evidenced by Lilla right now and many of the foreign doctors that I used to work with there.
“What does ‘wanted a raise’ mean, chéri?”
I explained that maybe Sky slept with Pansy so she’d treat him better than the other employees. Maybe he was using her. Maybe, though, they had a spat. “But what did Pansy get out of it other than…” My face burned. “Okay. He is one hot tamale. Guess they both had their agendas.”
When the elevator stopped on the Central Supply floor, we hustled out and hurried to the exit.
“Pauline? Pauline Sokol?” I heard someone say so I grabbed Lilla by the arm and yelled, “Nope!” to Janet-who used to be my boss.
I dropped Lilla off at TLC, noticed Jagger’s SUV was not in the parking lot-so he wasn’t on a run with ER Dano-and decided I needed a powwow with none other than him, so I called his cell and said, “Meet me at the office,” on his voice mail, which he never answered, but I knew he’d show up.
While I drove toward the old building that housed Scarpello and Tonelli Insurance Agency, a thought flitted through my brain. Was Jagger’s last name really Tonelli, and did he really have any ownership in this…oh…my…God.
Airbrush Lady drove out of the parking lot in a hot pink Mercedes-obviously special ordered, as I’m sure the folks at Mercedes-Benz had never made that color before. Didn’t seem to fit in with the original classy German style.
She didn’t notice me-or maybe ignored me, was more like it-but I turned in and, fuming for no reason, pulled into a space near Goldie’s yellow Camaro. I needed a good dose of Goldie right about now.
A real big dose, since Jagger’s SUV sat at the end of the parking lot.
I got out, went inside and had a quick chat with Adele, who said Jagger had stepped out for a few minutes (probably after seeing Airbrush Lady). Adele was thrilled to pieces with my praise of her daughter, Lilla, and then I slunk down the hallway to Gold’s office in order not to run into Fabio.
When I opened the door, I groaned.
“Hey, doll, when the hell is that case going to crack?” Fabio asked, standing next to Goldie’s glass-top desk.
Gold rolled his eyes at me and I nodded.
“Oh, Fabio. I’m so glad you are here. It is coming along so well that I will be done in…a very short time.”
Goldie stood and took Fabio by the arm. “Isn’t she just a peach?”
“Yeah, fucking peach,” he mumbled while Goldie ushered him toward the door.
“You feel free to start assigning her the next case, since she’s so close to cracking this one, boss,” Goldie said in such a flamboyant manner, he had me choking back a laugh.
Mesmerized by Goldie, Fabio seemed speechless. Finally he muttered, “Um. Yeah. Next case. Working on it.”
I wanted to shout, “What? I will have a next case? What is it?” but held my words. I wanted Fabio to leave more than I wanted to find out the case info.
Before I confessed to him that I really had nothing.
Yikes.
Once Fabio was safely out the door, Goldie shut it with more force than needed and leaned against it, looking very much like a tortured Marilyn Monroe in his blonde curly wig, gold brocade dress with a flared bottom and his arm pressed against his forehead. “Why did his old man have to die and leave him here?”
I laughed. “I heard the father didn’t make much money though.”
Goldie left his post at the door, got a peach vodka on the rocks from his wet bar, handed me a diet Coke and draped himself over the leopard couch. “True. But he was a sweetie. A real human being. Fabio sucks.”
I held up my drink to a toast and said, “Hey, listen to this,” and told Goldie everything about Pansy, Sky and how Lilla and I were so successful.
Goldie screeched a few times (appropriately) and toasted again. As he held his glass up, a knock sounded on the door.
“Enter!” Goldie yelled and looked at me, “Hope to hell it’s not Bosshole again.”
“Would he knock?” I asked, causing Goldie to spit out a sip of his drink.
I kept laughing, until Goldie’s face grew serious as he looked behind me. I swung around.
“Goldie. Sherlock,” Jagger said, looking oh-so delicious, I took a sip of my diet Coke and thought it was jam-packed with sugar.
Thankful that I didn’t spill my drink, I said, “Hey.” Jagger helped himself to the beer Goldie offered and then sat opposite me on a stool resembling an elephant leg.
“Where’d you go?” he asked.
None of your business sat on the tip of my tongue, but then I remembered we were working a case.
Together.
Go figure.
“Well,” I hesitated, knowing I’d have to face the fallout of Jagger’s possible wrath when I said Lilla and I had sneaked into the hospital to see Pansy. Oh, well, I decided to go for it, and what could Jagger do to me anyway?
Once I finished my story, I found out. At first he took a very long, slow sip of his beer. Occasionally he looked from Goldie to me and back.
Poor Goldie looked as if he’d seen a spider-and everyone knew that gay guys couldn’t really handle spiders very well, as evidenced by Miles and Goldie found up on a chair in the kitchen when one ventured in when Spanky stepped out last summer.
I could take Jagger, but it wasn’t fair to upset Goldie, so I said, “Come on. Get it over with. Give me your two cents’ lecture so we can move on.”
Goldie gasped. I think he wanted to jump up to protect me, but this was Goldie. Poor guy didn’t do too well with brute force or anything that might break a nail.
Still in no hurry, Jagger sipped even more slowly.
“Stop that before Goldie has a stroke!”
Jagger smiled at Goldie. “Why would he?”
I set my glass down
on the desktop with a thump and a splash. “Because you are going to chastise me, and he’s my friend and you nearly have him suffering apoplexy!”
Goldie said, “Apo-”
“Spitting mad, Gold. Give it up, Jagger. You’ve held us in suspense all along. What about my investigating without you?”
He set his beer down next to mine without a sound or a splash. “Excellent.”
My jaw did its “amazed at Jagger” routine, landing wide open and nearly at chest level. Excellent? Was there really such a word in Jagger’s vocabulary? I was ready to say, “Says you, Jag.” Then I’d follow it with, “And I think I did a great job,” but I no longer needed those words, and I didn’t have any backup ones ready.
Goldie and I exchanged glances and smiled.
Since Jagger and I needed to get back to TLC and explain our “absence,” we drove from the office parking lot to TLC in record time. When I parked, I noticed Buzz Lightyear walking toward the building.
His shift wasn’t over yet, so I wondered what he was doing there. I followed him to the entrance, and had to bite my tongue when I was tempted to say, “Didn’t Pansy look pale?”
Instead I shifted my thoughts. “Hey, Jeremy, have you heard any news about how Pansy is doing?”
His hand tightened on the door handle. Poor kid. He’d had a rough day and I was making him relive it.
“I hear she’s still in a coma,” he said and walked briskly into the building.
You heard? You saw, Buzz. You saw her today and why would you keep that a secret?
I shook my head. I likened him to one of my younger brothers. If he told me about being there with three women, and him being the one who looked even paler than the patient, he’d look bad in front of a girl. I smiled to myself. Yeah, poor kid.
As I was headed into the lounge to see who was there, I was paged over the intercom. “Pauline Sokol, to the helipad.”
Oh, great. Another dizzying helicopter ride to make my day.
Proud of myself for not getting nauseous and for stabilizing an unstable patient midair, I sat next to Sky on the ride back to Hope Valley, mentally patting myself on the back.
Only thing was, it was damn difficult not to ask about him and Pansy.
I managed to make small talk and learned Sky was an only child who had grown up in an orphanage. How sad, yet he seemed to think it was an okay upbringing.
“Well, look where it got you,” I said. “Great job and a great guy.”
He chuckled in the earphones of my helmet and asked me to tell him more about myself. Yikes. I had to give him the edited version, leaving out that I was an investigator.
Trust no one, I could hear Jagger whisper in my ear. Okay, due to the noise of this flying tin can, it was more a shout than a whisper.
But it was in Jagger’s voice and helped to keep me calm.
“How’d you come to work for TLC?” Sky asked.
Whoops. Hadn’t ever planned out a lie for that one. Never really expected someone would ask. I paused for a few seconds and looked out the window.
The TLC helipad was in view. If I bought myself time I wouldn’t have to lie, since I sucked at that. So, I looked around as if I hadn’t heard Sky’s question.
“Hey, Pauline. I asked how you came to work at TLC. Someone recommend it to you?”
Hmm. That would have been a good answer unless he asked me who had. I pretended to be interested in the terrain below.
I was contemplating why Sky would ask me that question. Small talk? Or trying to find out who knew about him being a possible suspect?
Sky leaned toward me and tapped my helmet. “You hear me?”
“What?”
“Your system out?”
“If you are talking to me, I think my system is out.” Damn. I should have used another term, but he didn’t seem suspicious as he gently set the helicopter down.
“Nice landing,” I said as I took off my helmet and got out before, Mario, who’d been riding with us and taking a nap like Nicky had, stepped out. I handed him the helmet.
“Have the system on that thing checked out, Mar,” Sky said.
Whoops. Oh well, if need be, I could say I had wax in my ears.
Back in the lounge, while several of the other staff busied themselves I poured milk into my cup of hot tea and started to plan out my evening. Evening? Geez. It seemed ages since I’d come on duty here today. This job was as demanding as most nursing positions were. Proud of my accomplishments on my two helicopter runs, I took a sip of tea and decided I needed the down time.
“Four five six, possible Eighty-four at 333 Oak Street, third floor,” came over the intercom.
Buzz flew from his seat. “Let’s go, Pauline!”
“Pauline?” I said, tea sloshing around in my mug as I set it down on the table.
“Yeah, didn’t you hear your name called? ER Dano is already in the ambulance. Let’s go!” Buzz adjusted his crisp white shirt as if that would make him look more professional to a patient suffering an Eighty-four, whatever that was.
In my relaxed mood I hadn’t, in fact, heard my name being called, but I trusted Buzz (and decided he was more a Buzz than a Jeremy since disturbing my down time) so I rushed out behind him.
ER Dano was at the wheel. “Shotgun for you this time, Sparkie. Sokol, you got the back.”
The experienced paramedics-well ER Dano anyway-called the overeager EMTs who always wanted to drive “Sparkie.”
Neither Buzz nor I argued, since a person’s life might be on the line-even though I hated riding in the back. Jagger wasn’t on this call; he must have been used on another run where a paramedic was needed.
I sat in the back while ER zoomed the ambulance out of the driveway with the lights and sirens going.
Adrenaline was a powerful hormone, I thought as it surged throughout me, waking me up so I’d be ready for anything.
But when we reached 333 Oak Street, I really wasn’t ready.
We flew out of the ambulance, Dano cursing a few times. He ordered Buzz Lightyear to get the bag-which pleased Buzz to no end. I could tell he felt very important carrying all the equipment. Almost as important as ER felt, amused that he didn’t have to carry it.
We got to the rickety front porch of the green, white and dirty brown three-story house. The door was left open so ER Dano led the way, mumbling, “The damn fat lady always lives on the third floor.”
I figured he wasn’t talking to anyone, but the poor ambulance crews really did have a physically demanding job-and hopefully, this patient would not be too heavy to carry down these stairs. They wound around corners with triangle steps at each curve and because of the narrowness of the stairway, I wondered how anyone got any furniture up there.
“Hurry up!” sounded a young voice. I couldn’t tell if it was female or male, but it was frantic.
Then we reached the top floor and I saw a girl. Really just a girl. Maybe seventeen or close to it. Dressed all in black and with bright yellow hair, she stood there waving her hands and yelling, “He needs help! He needs help! Don’t let Slick die!”
Buzz stiffened in what I think he thought was a very professional manner. “We are here, ma’am. No need to panic. We’ll do our best-”
ER Dano pushed Buzz to the side. “Get the hell out of the way. Where is he?” he asked the girl.
She pointed to the open door at the end of the hallway.
I stopped short at the bedroom where the girl, who said her name was Chloe, had pointed.
Sitting in an old, ripped Hunter green stuffed chair was Slick-whose face was a metallic shade of silver. The Tin Man came to mind, only Slick wasn’t in the best of health.
“Shit,” ER Dano said. “He been huffing?” he asked Chloe, who nodded as if to say, “Of course, what else?”
Buzz opened the bag and started to take out equipment. I helped with whatever Dano told us to do while he called into Saint Greg’s ER.
Slick’s eyes were red, with a dazed look in the darkness. He started
to mumble but sounded very drunk, although I’m sure the inhaling of metallic paint was the cause, as Dano found the can next to Slick’s leg and shoved it into the ambulance bag.
Chloe stood very still to the side of Slick, and I thought I saw a tear sneak out. She tried to remain stoic, but then she started to lose it. When she broke down, Slick’s eyes flickered and his arm swung out, landing smack-dab in ER Dano’s face-and then Slick kept punching.
ER fell backward with a curse and then a smash when his head hit the leg of an end table-and he remained motionless on the torn, stained braided rug.
“No!” I shouted as Buzz tried to hold Slick back. Apparently huffers could become very violent, as evidenced by his flailing arms, cuffed fists and smacks and jabs at everyone.
Slick hit me in the back of the head when I bent to check out ER Dano. “Ouch!” I yelled, and when I turned around to say something I swear Stella Sokol’s voice came out of my mouth: “Do that again, and I’ll clock you. Stop it, NOW!” Not the exact words she’d use, but my tone was right on the money.
Despite the inhalant causing Slick to act out, he slowed, settled back and remained still-but only for a few seconds.
Suddenly he was up and swinging again. Chloe was bobbing and weaving (looking very used to having to do that) and before I knew it, Buzz had tackled Slick to the ground.
I’m not sure what shocked me more: Slick being out of control, or Buzz Lightyear’s strength! The quiet, accident-prone EMT slammed a fist into Slick’s shoulder, which made him scream out in pain. It worked, as Buzz was able to restrain him long enough for me to call the police on Dano’s radio.
Before they got there, Slick calmed down enough for Buzz’s weight to hold him still.
“Stick an IV in his arm,” I ordered Buzz while I bent down to ER Dano’s shoulder and called dispatch on his radio.
Since Slick looked more annoyed than about to kick the bucket, I turned my full attention to ER Dano, who had barely stirred. First I checked my ABCs and when I tilted his forehead back, I found his airway patent (open). Then I held my hand over his nose to feel the warm breaths, to make sure he was breathing all right, and last, I noted his color-a bit pale but not cyanotic, and he wasn’t coughing.
