by Joan Wolf
Garfield swore.
“And,” Michael continued evenly, “I have lodged all of this information with my lawyer, with instructions that it be delivered to the IRS.”
“I don’t believe you,” Garfield said. “You didn’t have time. You only got back from St. Louis last night.”
Michael stood very still. “I did it this morning.”
Frank let loose with a long string of obscenities. Michael ignored him and continued to look at Garfield with narrowed eyes. “If anything should happen to either Patricia Clark or myself,” he continued calmly, “you’ll be charged with murder.”
There was a long silence fraught with tension. Then Garfield said, “Get the papers back from your lawyer.”
“No,” Michael said.
Joe’s gun moved from Michael to Patsy. She sat up straight, her back not touching the sofa, and said bravely, “Don’t be an ass. If you shoot me, he’ll never get you those papers.” She looked from Joe to Michael and found a faint, approving smile in his eyes. Unaccountably, she felt much better.
Garfield gestured and the gun swung back to Michael. “We’re not going to shoot you, Miss Clark. Frank has a very different idea about what to do with you. Would you like to watch, Melville?”
Michael stared at Garfield, and Patsy found herself recoiling from what she read in Michael’s eyes. “I’ll call him,” he said flatly. He looked at Frank, and Patsy began to shiver convulsively. Michael walked over to the telephone and picked up the receiver.
“Stan?” he said when he had gotten through. “You know that package I had delivered to you this morning? Well, I need it. Yes, right now. Can you send someone to my house with it? No, it can’t wait. Yes, I’m at home now. All right. I’ll be waiting. Yes. Thanks.” He rang off and looked at Garfield. “He’s sending someone over with it.”
Patsy looked at Michael’s bleak face and swallowed hard. They’re going to kill us, she thought incredulously. They’ll have to. Oh, my God.
“On the sofa, Melville,” Garfield instructed. “We’ll wait.”
Michael crossed the room and sat next to Patsy. Wordlessly he put out an arm and pulled her close. Patsy pressed against him, taking comfort from his nearness, his warmth, his calm. His calm. With a start she realized that the heartbeat she could feel so reassuringly against her shoulder was steady and unhurried. The breath that stirred the fine hair above her ear was even and slow. He wasn’t afraid, she thought in astonishment. He wasn’t afraid at all.
They sat like that, in perfect silence, for what seemed like an eternity. In reality, it was about five minutes. Then there was the sound of a loudspeaker outside the house.
“This is the police. Come out with your hands up.”
Frank swore and looked at Michael. So did the other two.
“The police have all the documents, Garfield,” Michael said calmly and coldly. “And they have the house surrounded.” He had moved so that Patsy was now behind him on the sofa. “Give up.”
“The house is surrounded,” came the loudspeaker in eerie echo of Michael’s words. “Surrender with your hands up.”
Frank ran into the kitchen and looked out the window. “Jesus, they’re all over the place.”
“You bastard.” Garfield swore. “You goddamn bastard!” His voice vibrated with hate, and Michael stood up and moved away from Patsy. Shaking with fury, Garfield reached out and grabbed the gun from Joe. “I’m gonna fix you, I’m gonna fix you good,” he muttered, and raised the muzzle.
“Michael!” Patsy screamed in pure terror, and a fraction of a second later, Michael dived to his left as the gun went off. Then the front door was smashed in, and the room was full of police. Patsy ran to Michael, who was lying on the ground, his blue pin-striped trouser leg stained with a spreading tide of red.
Chapter Thirteen
When Michael saw her kneeling beside him, he tried to sit up.
“Stay right where you are,” she said sharply. “Your leg is bleeding badly. He might have hit an artery.” A policeman appeared at her shoulder and she asked, “Do you have a first-aid kit?” The man ran for the door, and Patsy said to Michael, “Don’t move, darling,” and began searching in her purse for her manicure scissors.
“Sorry I let you in for such a lousy time, Red,” he said breathlessly as she cut his trouser leg to get at the wound in his thigh. There was a great deal of blood.
“I’d better put on a tourniquet,” said the policeman returning with the first-aid kit, and Patsy knelt next to Michael’s shoulder as the officer competently went to work. Behind them Garfield and friends were being handcuffed and removed to waiting patrol cars.
“There was another man,” Patsy said suddenly. “A man in a gray car.”
“Don’t worry, ma’am. We got him.” Another officer came to stand over them. “An ambulance is on the way,” he said.
Michael lifted heavy eyelids and looked up. “Thanks. You were right on schedule.”
“He shot you after we arrived.”
“Yes.” A ghost of a smile flickered across Michael’s white face. “Vengeance, I’m afraid. I hadn’t thought of that.” His eyes were black with pain as they moved from the policeman to Patsy. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine, darling.” She grasped his hand and kissed the long, slender fingers. “And you will be, too. Just hold on a little longer—the ambulance will be here soon.”
He nodded. “Will you call Steve, Patsy? Tell him what happened?”
Of course. Steve, the orthopedic surgeon. “I’ll call him right now. Perhaps he can meet us at the hospital.” Patsy leaned down and touched her lips lightly to his temple, as if she were afraid a harder touch would hurt him, then she stood and went to the telephone.
Fortunately Steve was just out of surgery and she was able to get him after a five-minute wait. While she was on the phone, the ambulance arrived, and after she had hung up, she went over to where they were putting Michael on a stretcher. He was still conscious but very pale.
“Can’t you give him something for the pain?” she asked a medic urgently.
“We’ll be at the hospital in five minutes, miss,” he answered reassuringly. “The doctors there will probably give him something. Are you coming in the ambulance?”
“Yes, I am.” Patsy ran to get her purse and then followed the stretcher out to the waiting ambulance.
They were racing through the streets, siren blaring, when Michael opened his eyes and looked at her. “You warned me,” he said. “Smart girl.”
“I didn’t know if you would understand me.” She thought talking might help to take his mind off the pain and so she continued. “And when you turned up alone, I was afraid you hadn’t.”
“It took me a while to convince the police of the urgency of the situation. Then I had to call Stan Kavan and explain what I would be doing.” His voice was low but clear.
“You mean you hadn’t left the papers with him?”
A faint smile flickered in his clouded eyes. “No. The phone call was a signal that it was okay for the police to move in.”
She smiled back.
“Sorry to put you through such a bad time.” He put a hand up to her face. “The bastard,” he said.
“I got off lighter than you. I was more scared than hurt.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“Darling, it was my mess to begin with. I’m the one who should be apologizing.”
“No.” His brow was furrowed with pain. “It was my goddamn arrogance. I should have turned this whole mess over to the IRS last week. It’s only luck that you weren’t badly hurt.” His shadowed eyes searched her face. “That swine Frank didn’t try anything with you, did he?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Except for pushing my face into his chest to keep me quiet, he didn’t touch me.”
Michael’s eyes closed. “Thank God.”
Patsy spoke to the medic riding with them. “When are we going to get to the hospital?”
“We’re coming in now,
miss,” he told her, and she looked out the window and saw the sign EMERGENCY and an arrow. In thirty seconds they were at the emergency-room door, and the medics were lifting Michael out.
They wouldn’t let her go past the reception area, and she got stuck answering a lot of questions for the woman at the admissions desk. They brought her Michael’s wallet and she got out his Blue Cross card. Then she sat on a curved plastic seat and stared at the poster on the opposite wall describing the Heimlich maneuver.
She was still there thirty minutes later when Steve arrived. She heard someone say her name, and looked up to see him striding toward her.
“Steve! Thank God you’re here. I don’t know what they’re doing to Michael.”
“They’re prepping him for surgery. I’m going to take the bullet out. Jesus God, Patsy, what happened?” He sat next to her.
She was very pale, her eyes huge and dark and frightened, but she spoke calmly. She was not, he was extremely gratified to see, going to have hysterics. “It was my taxes, Steve. Michael discovered Fred was using me to launder illegal drug money. Fred’s boss found out and came after Michael.”
“Jesus God,” Steve repeated.
Patsy drew a deep, uneven breath. “Yes. Is he going to be all right?”
“His life’s not in danger, but it’s a damn good thing someone got a tourniquet on him.”
“And his leg?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to see. Will you call Sally? She doesn’t know what’s happened yet.”
“Of course I will.”
“Good girl.”
He turned to leave, and Patsy put out a hand to detain him. “Steve, you’ll come and tell me when you’ve finished?”
His long-fingered, sensitive, surgeon’s hand covered hers for a brief moment. “I’ll come as soon as I can.”
“Thanks.” She managed a smile. “I’ll call Sally now.”
His hand tightened over hers for a second, and then he was gone.
* * * *
“Patsy!”
She turned from her mesmerized perusal of the Heimlich maneuver to see Sally coming across the waiting room toward her. The other people in the room watched with interest as the gorgeous redhead in the jogging suit rose and embraced the worried-looking, dark-haired woman who had just entered. Then the two of them sat down side by side and began to talk in low-pitched, urgent voices.
“Is he still in the operating room?” Sally asked.
“He must be. Steve said he’d come down as soon as he could.”
“Steve’s a very good surgeon,” Sally said. “He won’t let anything happen to Michael.”
There was a short silence, then Patsy asked, “Who has the kids?”
“Jane Nagle came over and got them. She’ll keep them until we get back.”
“Oh. That was nice of her.”
“Yes. She was almost as upset about Michael as I was, I think.”
Silence fell between them again and lasted until Steve appeared in the waiting room twenty minutes later. He was still in green operating-room garb and he smiled, immediately and reassuringly, as he saw his wife. “He’s going to be fine, Sally. He won’t be too comfortable for a while, but I don’t think there’s been any permanent damage done.”
Patsy felt suddenly dizzy with relief. “Thank God,” she breathed, and then Steve’s arm was around her shoulders.
“Here,” he said imperatively, “sit down and put your head between your knees. I don’t want you fainting on me now.” He guided Patsy to a chair and said over his shoulder to his wife, “Ask the nurse at the desk inside for smelling salts.”
Patsy sat and obediently hung her head, and in a minute Steve held something to her nostrils that made her eyes water. “Whew!” she said.
“Better?”
“Yes.” Her head felt quite clear now and cautiously she raised it. Steve and Sally were both looking at her in concern. “I’m so sorry,” she said contritely. “That was stupid of me.”
“Not at all,” Steve said. “You’ve had one hell of a day. You’re entitled.” He had his hand on her wrist, feeling her pulse.
She smiled a little and some of the color began to return to her face. “I’m okay, really.”
He released her wrist and nodded. “Just sit quietly for a few minutes, please.”
“Can I see him?” Sally asked.
“He’s still under the anesthetic, Sally. They’ll keep him in the recovery room for a few more hours at least.” Steve looked at his watch. “Wait until tomorrow morning. He’s not going to feel much like visitors before then.” He looked at his wife. “You didn’t have to come. Where are the kids?”
“At Jane Nagle’s. And I just couldn’t sit quietly at home.”
He smiled. “I know. Well, how many cars do we have here now?”
“Mine is still at Michael’s house,” Patsy said.
“Leave it there for now. You’re in no condition to drive, Patsy. Why don’t you take Patsy, babe, and go collect the kids. I’ll be home in another couple of hours. I have to change and see a few people—the hospital was very accommodating in letting me operate, since I’m not affiliated here. And I want to engage a private duty nurse for Mike.”
“Okay.” Under the interested eyes of the watching waiting room, Sally fervently kissed the tall, lean doctor and was kissed back quite as heartily.
“He’s going to be fine,” Steve reassured her.
“I know.” She smiled at him. “Doctor Maxwell.” Sally turned to Patsy. “Come on, Patsy. I’m going to take you home, fill you with alcohol, and you’re going to tell me everything.”
“Wait until I get there,” Steve said. “This is one story I don’t want to miss.”
* * * *
Sally and Patsy stopped by Jane Nagle’s house and picked up the children. Jane did indeed seem very upset; there was the unmistakable sheen of tears in her eyes when Sally told her Michael was going to be all right.
“What’s Jane’s husband like?” Patsy asked Sally as they drove the two miles between the Nagle and Maxwell houses.
“He’s a very pleasant fellow. Works down on Wall Street for a brokerage firm.” There was silence and then Sally added, “He’s not a patch on Michael, though. And that is not just sisterly prejudice, either.”
Patsy smiled painfully. “I’m sure it isn’t.”
When they reached Sally’s, Patsy cleaned up in the bathroom and then helped to feed Matthew and Steven. She had eaten nothing herself since breakfast, but she wasn’t hungry. She did drink a cup of hot tea and then volunteered to give Steven his bath. She was just getting the little boy into his pajamas when Steve came home.
They put the children to bed and then sat in the living room, with stiff drinks and a huge plate of cheese and crackers to nibble on.
“All right, Patsy,” Sally said. “I’ve been a model of patience. Tell. What on earth happened that my brother ended up in the hospital with a bullet in his leg?”
Patsy took a drink of Scotch, ate a cheese cracker, and started her story. “We got back to New York last night,” she was saying four cheese crackers later, “and Michael drove me home. It was very late so he stayed at my apartment.” She pretended not to notice the look Sally and Steve exchanged. “He left for work this morning and, naturally, he took my car. Garfield and Frank saw him go.”
“If they wanted Michael, and if they were watching you, why did they let him go to work?” Sally asked.
“I don’t imagine they could get to him,” Steve answered. “Patsy’s building is like a Norman fortress, and he drove right out of the garage onto a busy New York street.”
“I’m sure that was it,” Patsy agreed. “And so they decided to wait for me.”
She proceeded to tell them all about her kidnapping and the ride to Michael’s house.
“Patsy!” Sally looked appalled. “You must have been terrified.”
“Terrified isn’t the half of it.” Patsy’s look was eloquent. “Well, once we got to the house they
made me call Michael.” Her lips tightened. “I didn’t want to, but they were waving a very unfriendly-looking gun.”
“God Almighty,” Sally gasped.
“I knew I had to warn Michael. I couldn’t just let him walk in blindly, but Garfield was standing right next to me and listening to every word we both said.”
“You did warn him,” Steve said suddenly. “You must have. He brought the police with him.”
“What did you do?” Sally asked.
“I called him Mike. I’ve never once called him Mike in my entire life, but I called him Mike on the phone constantly. It was all I could think of. And, when he called me Pat back, I thought he’d understood. But then he marched in all alone, and I thought they were going to kill us both.”
“Have another drink,” Steve said.
“And you think I’m smart.” Sally’s voice rang with admiration. “How clever of you, Patsy. However did you think of that?”
“I read it in a mystery novel once,” Patsy answered with simple truth, and took the glass Steve held out to her.
He grinned. “You’re a great girl, Patsy.”
She smiled back. “Thank you, Doctor. It was Michael who thought to call you, though. He was lying there, bleeding all over the floor, and he looked up and said, quite calmly, “Call Steve and tell him what’s happened.’’
“What I want to know,” Steve said, “is why Michael felt he had to play detective himself. Why the hell didn’t he just tell the Justice Department all he knew? Christ, he used to work there. He has friends.”
“Michael had the goods on Garfield once before,” Patsy explained, “and from what I gather, someone botched up the case. He wanted to make sure it didn’t happen again.”
“If that isn’t just like him,” Sally said with the faintest trace of bitterness. “My brother the crusader.”
“He is, you know.” Patsy spoke very softly. “He’s not trying to be heroic or anything, he just can’t bear the thought of people like Garfield going around destroying people like your father.”
“I know.” The bitterness had left Sally’s voice. “It doesn’t just go back to Daddy, either. Michael was always like that. Even when he was a little kid, he always stuck up for the underdog.”
