The driver nodded. He obviously enjoyed the challenge.
The limo turned west to Sixth Avenue and then headed north. The taxi stayed a good hundred feet or more behind it. When the limo reached Central Park, it made a left and then turned north on Broadway. At one point the taxi driver almost lost them because of a sudden red light he was unable to run. The limo drove nearly six blocks ahead of them before the light turned green. The cab driver stepped on it to make up for the lost ground by speeding through three yellow lights.
“You’re doing great,” Suzanne told the driver.
The limo eventually reached the area around Columbia University. At the corner of Broadway and 114th Street, it pulled to the curb and stopped.
“Pull over,” Suzanne ordered her driver. “Don’t let them see you.” The driver complied and moved into a loading zone four car lengths behind the limo. For a few moments nothing happened. No one got out of the limo.
Then, out of nowhere, Joshua Duncan appeared on the sidewalk. He looked into the passenger side of the limo, spoke a few words, and then got into the back. Then the limo moved into traffic and turned east.
“Follow them!” Suzanne commanded.
Jumping jackrabbits, she thought. Joshua Duncan, Al Patton, and Ron Black together in one place. How could these three diverse people be friendly with each other? It was true that Joshua was going to be the owner of Flame’s business. Perhaps Patton was courting him? Some kind of major deal was taking place? But why was Ron Black involved? Was he merely a chauffeur? But that didn’t make any sense because he worked for the Messengers now. Didn’t he? And why couldn’t Joshua and Patton meet in Patton’s office?
The limo entered Central Park. The taxi driver did his best to follow them along the winding roads without alerting Black that the limo was being followed. When the limo backtracked and began retracing its route, Suzanne realized that Black was aimlessly roving through the park, making circles. The men inside were having a meeting and they were doing it in private.
At one point the limo sped under an overpass just as a flock of bicycles soared across the road in front of the taxi. The driver was forced to stop as the cyclists waved in gratitude. But the damage was done. When the cab finally slipped under the overpass and saw the three-pronged fork in the road and no limousine, Suzanne knew they had lost it.
“Damn,” she said.
“I am sorry, madam,” the driver said. “Maybe they went that way?” He pointed to one of the forks and Suzanne replied, “No, forget it. Just take me back to the spot on Sixth Avenue where the limo picked up the first man. Okay?”
The driver nodded and made his way out of the park.
Twenty minutes later, the cab sat across from Patton’s building as Suzanne kept one eye on the street and one on the meter. This was going to be an expensive surveillance. Suzanne decided to cut it off when the meter reached $350.
She was gathering her purse and preparing to pay the driver when the limousine suddenly appeared on the avenue. Suzanne had the driver stop the meter—she paid him the fare, a tip, and the promised twenty-dollar bonus. “Wait just a second, would you?” she asked.
“No problem.”
Suzanne watched as Al Patton got out of the limo. She caught a glimpse of Ron Black at the wheel for the brief second the passenger door was open. His head was turned in her direction. Patton closed the door and went inside his building, and then the limo drove away.
Had Ron Black snarled at her? Surely it was her imagination, since the limo was really too far away for her to adequately see his expression. That photo at the office had shaken her. What was it about Ron Black that set off alarms in her head? Think, Suzanne, think! She closed her eyes and let the images flow.
That snarl.
The bald head.
A jail cell came into view.
A frightened teenage girl sat on a bench.
Oh my God!
The memory burst through the wall in Suzanne’s mind as her heart rate increased dramatically.
She quickly got out of the cab. Getting back to the office was a priority but she was flat broke. She needed to find and access an ATM for more cab fare—or even bus fare. Suzanne remembered that a branch of her bank was up at 50th Street and Madison Avenue, so she walked a block east and headed north. As she moved purposefully across 42nd Street, she punched the speed dial number on her cell phone and put the instrument to her ear.
Melanie Starkey answered. “Rockin’ Security.”
“Ringo, it’s me.”
“Hi, Suzanne. Spike called, says he’s on the way home.”
“Great. Listen, I’ve just completed a surveillance of Ron Black, the limo driver. I have some very interesting news. Is Tommy Briggs around?”
“No, he’s out. You have his cell number?”
“Yeah. I’ll call him. In the meantime, if Spike calls again, tell him I may have a break in the case.”
“Wow, can you tell me?”
“Not now. I have to put some things together first. In my head.”
“Oh, well in that case, I’ll start a good novel like War and Peace or something.”
“Very funny. I’ll be there soon.”
“Bye!”
Suzanne was nearing 43rd Street. She began to look up Tommy Briggs’ number in her phone’s address book when a dark shape moved into her peripheral vision.
She gasped when she saw that the black limousine was cruising slowly beside her. The driver’s window was down and Ron Black stared at her.
“Miss Prescott,” he said. Suzanne stopped walking and the limo halted as well. She was too shocked to react. By the time it registered in Suzanne’s brain that Black was pointing a handgun at her, the weapon had already fired.
26
Doctor Rock
(performed by Motörhead)
The Air Jamaica flight landed at JFK Airport mid-afternoon. Berenger was glad to be back but he was more interested in turning on his cell phone and checking his messages, and then grabbing a bite to eat. He had neglected to have a good breakfast and of course there was nothing served on the plane. As soon as the flight attendant announced that portable electronic devices and cell phones could be used again, Berenger whipped out his Motorola and powered it up. He quickly punched the speed dial number to access his voice mail and found two very disturbing messages.
“Mister Berenger, this is Betty Samuels at Franklin Village. Please give me a call as soon as you can. I’ve tried to reach you at home as well. Your mother has suffered a mild stroke. Don’t be alarmed, she’s going to be fine. She’s at Franklin Hospital Medical Center in Valley Stream undergoing some tests.” The woman left her office and cell phone numbers.
When he heard the message, Berenger experienced that tingly sensation produced by a combination of fear, adrenaline release, and worry. Suddenly he wasn’t hungry anymore.
The second message was worse. The shaky timbre of his assistant’s voice immediately sent up the red flags. “Spike, it’s Mel. Call me as soon as you can. Something’s happened. It’s Suzanne. She’s… she’s been shot, Spike. They’ve taken her to New York Hospital and she’s in surgery. Oh, God, Spike, we don’t know if she’s going to make it. It’s pretty bad. Call me as soon as you get this.”
As the plane pulled up to the gate and the passengers leaped to retrieve their things from the overhead compartments, Berenger remained in his seat, completely stunned. For several minutes he was unable to move.
How could this have happened? What the hell was going on? Suzanne? Shot? By whom? And his mom? A stroke? My God!
When he realized that he was one of the few remaining passengers on the plane, he stood, grabbed his overnight bag, and ran into the terminal. As he walked toward the airport exit he quickly dialed Betty Samuels’ number. He got her voice mail and left a message that he was coming to Long Island and would go straight to the hospital. Berenger then called Mel.
“Rockin’ Security.”
“Mel!”
“Oh, Spi
ke.” She sounded very upset. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“Me too. How is she?”
“Not good. She’s in surgery right now. We’re not going to know anything until later. Probably not until tonight.”
“What happened? Who did this?”
“No one knows. She was on Madison Avenue, mid-town, walking on the street. There weren’t any witnesses but several people heard the shots. A pedestrian called 911 as soon as it happened. She was lucky, the ambulance got there really fast.”
“Aw, man.” Berenger rubbed his eyes. “Do you know where she was hit?”
“In the chest, Spike. Twice.”
“All right. Listen. My mom has had a stroke.”
“Jesus, Spike!”
“Yeah. I’m gonna run out to Long Island and check on her. Since we’re not gonna know anything about Suzanne until later, I’ll take care of my mom first. Is anyone at the hospital with Suzanne?”
“Rudy went over there. The doctor told him it would probably be hours, so he got Rudy’s cell phone number and told him he could leave if he wanted to. He’s back here now and we’re waiting for a call.”
“I see. All right, I’ll speak to you soon.”
“What should we do, Spike?”
“Pray, I guess.”
Berenger retrieved his Altima from the long-term parking lot and drove out of Queens to Long Island. Traffic was moderately heavy, typical for mid-day. Berenger drove like a demon, though, zipping in and out of the lanes to bypass the slower vehicles. He didn’t care if a patrolman stopped him. He didn’t care much about anything except reaching the hospital and seeing his mother.
The hospital wasn’t far from Franklin Village. Valley Stream was a small community that resembled all the other municipalities that blended together in Long Island. Berenger knew that the medical center was a good one, although it was over-crowded and understaffed like every other hospital in the country. As he pulled into the parking lot, his cell phone rang. It was Betty Samuels, returning his call. She was there, at the hospital, checking on Ann Berkowitz’s progress. Berenger told the woman that he’d meet her in ICU, where his mother was residing.
He took the elevator to the appropriate floor and found Mrs. Samuels in the ICU waiting area speaking to a middle-aged woman wearing a white coat.
“Hello, Mister Berenger. This is Doctor Stephenson. She’s taking care of your mother.”
Berenger shook hands with the woman. “How’s my mom?” he asked.
“She’s stable,” the doctor said. “We’re moving her out of ICU in a little bit. You can go in and see her. It was a mild stroke. There was no damage to any brain functions that we can see, so far anyway. I think we might need to do some more cardiovascular testing in the coming weeks after she’s fully recovered.”
Berenger sighed. “Well, it’s good she’s okay. She can talk and everything?”
“She’s a little groggy from the sedative we gave her, but yes, she’s lucid. The Alzheimer’s isn’t helping but I think you’ll find there’s very little change from when you last saw her.”
Berenger nodded. “Okay.”
“One other thing,” the doctor said. “I was just talking to Mrs. Samuels about this. Your mother will need some extended care at Franklin Village. You’re going to have to think about hiring a part-time nurse to be with your mom from now on.”
Mrs. Samuels spoke. “We just don’t have the staffing for full-time care, Mister Berenger. A lot of our residents have personal nurses that come in. We work with a very reputable agency that can provide someone if you don’t know of any.”
“I guess that can get expensive, huh?” Berenger said.
“It can, I’m sorry to say.”
He shrugged. “Well, we gotta do what we gotta do. Whatever’s best for my mom. Can I see her now?”
“Sure.”
He went through the ICU ward doors with the doctor and walked down the corridor that was lined with small individual rooms, each containing a patient hooked up to monitors, tubes, and machines. Every intensive care patient was closely watched from the central operations area, located in the middle of the ward. The doctor led Berenger into Ann Berkowitz’s room and whispered, “I’ll leave you alone for a few minutes. Try not to get her too excited. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.”
The doctor left and Berenger approached the bed. His mother’s eyes were closed. A heart monitor beeped rhythmically next to the bed.
“Mom?”
The woman opened her eyes and focused on him. “Abe? Is that you?”
“It’s Spike, mom. Your son.”
“Oh, Spike. For a minute I thought you were Abe. Where is Abe?”
“Abe’s dead, mom. Remember?”
She didn’t answer. Instead she said, “Spike, how are you?”
“How are you, mom? You doing all right?”
“I think so. Something strange happened to me.”
“Yes, but it’s nothing to worry about. They’re doing some tests and stuff. You’ll go back to Franklin Village pretty soon.”
“Go back where?”
“You know, where you live.”
“Oh. Yes. I’d like to go home.”
“You will. Listen, I want you to get some rest. I’m gonna call Carl and tell him what’s going on, okay?”
“How is Carl?” she asked.
“I’m sure Carl’s fine. I’m gonna call him.”
“Okay.” She closed her eyes.
“You sleep now, mom.” He patted her hand and quietly walked out of the room.
“Carl?”
“Spike?” His brother was three years younger but they had always been close. It was hard on both of them when Carl had moved from Texas to New York with their mother when she remarried. Berenger had stayed behind to live with his father and finish high school.
“Yeah, it’s me. Listen, mom had a small stroke.”
“Jesus!”
“It’s okay, don’t get excited. She’s fine. No damage that they can see. They’re doing some tests, you know, and pretty soon she’ll be going back to Franklin Village.”
“When did this happen?”
“Last night or this morning. I’m not really too sure.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve been busy on a case and I also just learned one of my people—well, you remember Suzanne, don’t you?”
“Sure. The good-looking brunette?”
“Yeah. Well, she got shot today.”
“Oh my God! Spike!”
“I’ve got to rush over to see her now. Two in one day. Sheesh.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Well, actually, yeah. They say mom’s gonna need some extra help at Franklin Village. You know, a hired nurse to work part-time. It might be expensive.”
“You know I’ll help with the cost, Spike.”
“I know. I’m just telling you. The thing is, I’m really busy on this case and with Suzanne in the hospital and all—”
“I’ll hop on a plane and be out there tomorrow.”
“Can you? It would really be a big help if you were here with mom.”
“No problem. I don’t have anything on my plate that can’t wait.” Carl Berenger was an entertainment lawyer who had done pretty well for himself.
“You sure?”
“Hey, I handle movie stars and their agents. I can always put them off!”
“What about Sarah and the kids?”
“They’ll be fine with it. Let me make the arrangements and I’ll call you back in a jiffy to let you know when I’m coming.”
“Thanks, Carl. You’re a pal.”
“Pal, shmal, Spike, I’m your brother.”
It was nearing sundown when Berenger drove into Manhattan. He went straight to the Upper East Side and found a street parking space a block away from New York Hospital. As he walked toward the massive structure, he phoned Mel at the office to get an update. He was told that the five-hour surgery was a success. She gave
him the name of the surgeon and said he was still in the ICU. Berenger made his way into the building, up to Intensive Care, and found the surgeon.
“I’m Doctor Chang,” the man said. He was Chinese, obviously, and appeared to be ten to fifteen years younger than Berenger.
“Spike Berenger. I’m Miss Prescott’s employer and friend.”
“Yes, your office called. I’ve been expecting you.”
“This is the second ICU I’ve been to today,” Berenger said.
“I’m sorry?”
“Never mind. How’s Suzanne?”
Chang nodded. “Doing very good, all things considered. She was very lucky.”
“How can being shot be lucky?”
“I meant she was lucky that the bullets didn’t hit her heart or the larger portion of the lung, which might have resulted in massive hemorrhaging.”
“Bullets? Plural?”
“Two. Both in the chest.”
“So she’s gonna make it?”
“Yes, I think so. But she’s going to be out of action for at least a couple of months, maybe more. We had to repair one lung and remove the bullet. The other bullet entered just below her left collarbone and exited out her back.”
“So you retrieved one of the bullets?”
“Yes. The police already have it. I can give you the detective’s name and number. He gave me his card.”
“Thanks. Can I see her?”
“I’m afraid not. She’s still under and will be for some time. Maybe tomorrow for a brief time. We have to keep her very still and very calm. You understand.”
“Of course. Just one other thing—was she able to talk at all? Did she say who did this to her?”
“No. She was unconscious when she was brought into the ER. I imagine she won’t be able to have a conversation of any kind until tomorrow.”
Berenger shook the man’s hand. “You rock, doctor. Thank you. You saved her life.”
“Like I said,” Chang said. “She was lucky.”
27
Higher Ground
(performed by The Red Hot Chili Peppers)
The Rock 'n Roll Detective's Greatest Hits - A Spike Berenger Anthology Page 22
