Bishop punched up the directory on the Kale.net cell phone. “Hey,” he said over his shoulder. “You’re number four on my new speed dial. We’ll stay in touch.”
- 33 -
The hospital was a quick cab trip. Bishop found Sister Mary Catherine in the ER waiting room. She began to fill Bishop in before he’d had a chance to say hello.
The kid’s name was Jip Gustov. He was fifteen and he’d put on twenty pounds of muscle since Sister Cate had seen him last. He’d been incoherent when he showed up; sweating, shaking, yelling at anybody who came too close.
Sister Catherine had gotten him into her car by reciting the rosary with him over and over until he calmed down. The ER doctor had sedated him. He was going to be admitted. Cate had no idea what was wrong with him. They were running some tests at the moment and then she’d be allowed back in the cubicle to sit with him. She wasn’t family but she was a nun with attitude and her determination had been so fierce the docs had given in.
“He just showed up on my doorstep,” she said. “He couldn’t tell me how he got there. It’s like somebody dropped him off. He was really fucked up. Scared, then angry, then scared again. Wouldn’t let anyone touch him. I’m worried that while I’m here more of my kids will show up at the shelter. Maybe they’re letting them all go. What if they show up and I’m not there?”
“You can call in and check, Cate. Let’s worry about this kid right now.”
“They don’t allow cell phones in the ER, Frank. I need you to go by the shelter and make sure everything’s all right. I left Tony in charge. He has my list. He’ll let them in if they show up after hours.”
“How about I step outside and call Tony? Then I can stay with you and you won’t have to worry.”
“I’d really appreciate that.”
The entrance to the ER was lit up like a used car lot. Ambulances were coming and going, distraught looking people were rushing in, or limping out. Bishop used his own phone to call the shelter. Tony told him nobody else had shown up and everything was under control from his point of view. Bishop gave him his cell number. He’d leave his phone on and if it went off they could throw him out while he answered it. Doctors got pages all the time in hospitals. He sincerely doubted his cell phone conversation would crash some patient’s pacemaker.
Then he thought about what Cassius had said about alkalosis being really dangerous. He’d been out of the Deeps twenty minutes and already he was pushing number three on his secret spy phone’s speed dial.
Cassius answered on the second ring.
“I think we have a couple more problems, C.T.” Bishop said.
Cassius listened to what Bishop had just learned about Jennifer Corbin, then Jip Gustov’s sudden appearance at the shelter and what Bishop knew of his symptoms.
“I have a couple of contacts at Memorial,” Cassius told him briskly. “When a doctor named Jason Bender shows up to take over the case, follow his lead. And get back in there and make sure that kid isn’t taking oxygen.”
The line went dead.
Bishop, trotted back through the automatic doors and into the waiting room. Sister Catherine was no longer sitting where he’d left her. In fact she was no longer in the waiting room.
Bishop walked up to the triage desk and flashed his PI identification open and closed under the nose of a harried looking aid.
“Detective Bishop,” he said. “I understand a Jipper Gustov, fifteen, was brought in here within the last hour. The kid’s been missing and feared kidnapped for the last three months. The Shelter Director who brought him in called us. What’s his room number?”
The Aid looked at Bishop. Her lips parted and Bishop just knew she was going to refuse to tell him, or ask to see his ID again. But she was too busy, and too tired to care. “Room eight,” she said, consulting a list and motioning to a set of double doors with her clip board. “Bed three. The lady he was with just went back there.”
Bishop hustled down the hall.
Sister Cate was sitting in the visitor chair at the side of the bed. There was barely room for Bishop to crowd in between the curtain separating Jip’s bed from the one next to him. The kid had wild black hair and an unhealthy pallor. His entire body was in the throes of a continuous series of jerks, tics and tremors, and underneath closed lids, the kid’s eyes were rolling in their sockets as if he was terrified by a bad dream. His mouth and nose were covered by an oxygen mask.
“They let me back here,” Sister Cate said. “They don’t know what’s wrong with him. They gave him an anti-seizure drug but it doesn’t seem to be helping so they tied his hands and feet to the bed. I don’t know what to do, Frank except pray for him.”
“I called a friend. He’s sending over a specialist. We need to take off the oxygen.”
“They said he needs it.”
“It’s the first thing they give everybody who comes in here whether they need it or not. It’s standard CYA. My friend says his problem might be too much oxygen in his system. More could be really dangerous for him.”
“What if he’s wrong?”
Bishop knew that if they turned off the oxygen on C.T. Kale’s say so, he was trusting the word of an eccentric genius he hardly knew over the entire medical establishment. In turn, Sister Catherine would be trusting him, someone who had no medical training whatsoever.
“What if he’s right?” He said.
Sister Catherine looked at the boy for a moment. He was obviously suffering and so far no one had helped him stop. Without a glance back at Bishop she stood up, leaned over the bed and turned the oxygen valve on the wall to off.
The boys muscles started to relax, if only slightly and his eye movements slowed to a less frantic pace.
“We’ll leave the mask on,” She said. “That way these idiots won’t notice we’ve turned it off.”
Not more than ten minutes later there was a commotion at the door. A man wearing a white coat over a three piece suit gave the curtain a vigorous push so that it rattled in its track as it slid back almost to the wall. He was followed by two orderlies pushing a gurney.
“Dr. Bender,” he announced. “I’m taking over this young man’s case. We need to move him to another floor.” The boy was untied and transferred onto the rolling cart.
Sister Cate stood up. “What . . .?”
“It’s okay,” Bishop said. “This is the specialist.”
The orderlies rolled the cart out of the room and down the hall in the opposite direction from the ER waiting room so fast Bishop and Sister Cate had to jog to keep up. They passed through two double doors and out an emergency exit into the parking lot where an ambulance waited with its engine going and its back door open.
Sister Cate jumped into the back of the ambulance with Jip and the doctor before they could stop her. She tossed her car keys to Bishop as the doors closed.
“Blue Toyota in the front lot. Follow us!”
The ambulance pulled out, lights and siren blazing. Bishop ran for the front of the building and into the rows of parked cars. He pushed the auto unlock button until a car blinked its lights at him, then jumped in and started the engine. As he burned rubber out of the lot he realized he had no idea which way the ambulance had gone.
Then a terrible thought hit him. What if he’d just given a sick, unconscious kid and Sister Mary Catherine to the wrong guys?
- 34 -
After being underground, Ariel desperately wanted to fly; let her wings out; feel the air in her face as she climbed and rolled and dove into its currents high above the lake. But it was still light out, so she’d have to settle for a run. Maybe after dark she’d be able to get her flight.
She changed into sweats, making sure the jacket had a hood. She hoped to prevent being identified from the air if there were any gargoyles hanging around the neighborhood.
Still, she made sure she had something up her sleeves in case they did come after her. All she wanted to do was 5K, just enough to take the edge off, let her think.
The
fact that she hadn’t gotten any orders lately disturbed her. Was the Guardian holding back, embroiled in his own devious strategy? Or was he waiting for exactly the right moment to strike? Maybe he’d just lost confidence in her?
There was nothing wrong with her skills, but despite following her instructions to the letter Tesslovich had survived. She wondered if the Guardian had any idea what was about to happen. She was tempted to go tell him, but that hadn’t worked out so well the last time.
When it became obvious she’d stuck out on her own, there’d be hell to pay. Being ‘fired’ as Raptor of the City was going to be the least of it. She told herself she was past caring, but only just.
The run took longer than she expected. When Ariel rounded the corner toward her building, long shadows had already begun to form on the sidewalk. Shortly, it would be dark.
Dingo was waiting for her on the porch. He was in his mid-twenties and still had some adolescent shyness about him. It didn’t matter. She felt baby sat and her pissiness was starting to rise. It was going to be all she could do not to tell him off.
“Just wanted to let you know,” Dingo said as she climbed the steps. “We did a few things to your apartment.”
She stopped.
Dingo could feel the vibe coming off her. “Not much,” he said, backing up. “Just a bar for the doors and, um, a panic button in case of another ‘goyle attack. If you think you need backup that is.”
Ariel took a deep breath. The Dogs had helped her out the other night when she needed it. They were just trying to help now. Don’t alienate your friends, she thought, especially when they’re a lot like you.
“Thank you. I probably won’t need it but thanks.”
When she opened her door she decided maybe she’d said ‘thank you’ too soon. The wooden door into the apartment now had a steel bar on the inside that dropped down into two brackets. That only helped if she was home. The door onto the roof top had the same arrangement, a less impressive security feature considering the door, in fact practically the whole wall the door was in, was glass.
There were two unattractive red panic buttons. One just inside the glass door, and one by her bed. The Dogs had also loaded two of her crossbows, added a supply of quarrels and left them by the roof door ‘just in case’.
“Great!” Ariel said out loud. “I’m all set to go to the mattresses.”
It was almost full dark now and she was hungry, but first she wanted a shower. She ran water into her biggest sauce pan, threw in a handful of spaghetti and lit the flame underneath. By the time she got out of the bathroom the noodles would be done.
She had just started to pull her sweatshirt over her head when there was a huge thump out on the roof and the sound of breaking glass.
“Shit!” She tugged the shirt down and ran for the roof door, hitting the outside light switch as she passed it.
Something large with wings had hit the glass wall and rebounded onto the roof. The creature was still rolling with the impact.
Through the broken panes Ariel could hear the shrill cries of hunting gargoyles. Without stopping she scooped one of the crossbows up in one hand and swung the iron bar out of its braces with the other.
The thing on the roof tried to get to its feet.
Ariel could see it better now. Although it was at the periphery of the circle of light from the outside lamps her enhanced vision made it out clearly. The man was a study in black on black with one damaged ebony wing that was getting in the way of it trying to rise.
He was somehow familiar. Tomas!
Ariel hit the panic button, grabbed the other cross bow and kicked open the door. She didn’t know what she’d expected, a siren, bells—nothing happened. She ran to Tomas’ crumpled figure. The gargoyles were big ones and they were coming in fast.
“Tomas! Get inside!”
“Can’t,” the Raptor gasped. “Give me a bow.” He had one hand clutched to his side and his face was covered in blood.
Ariel handed him the second bow, her eyes never leaving the ‘goyles in the sky.
“What happened?” She yelled over the noisy cries of gargoyles and the leathery flapping sound of their wings.
“Trap,” Tomas said. “Hurt.”
She gave him one, quick glance. There was a cross bow quarrel in his leg and one in his arm. A dark stain was spreading across his stomach although it was hard to see on the black t-shirt.
“I’ve got the leader,” Tomas told her. “You take the next one.”
Tomas lay almost flat on his back, wings and legs askew. He was holding the cross bow with one hand, its butt propped against the flat surface of the roof. He’d clamped it between his upper arm and ribcage so he could move it in an arc.
He raised his head, waiting until the lead gargoyle was almost right over him and pulled the trigger. The bolt hit the ‘goyle dead center.
The beast screamed and clawed at the shaft, trying to rise away from Tomas’ line of fire, but collapsed onto the wounded Raptor instead. Still alive it clawed at Tomas’ body and spit acid at his face. Raising a clawed hand, it was about to rip into the downed Raptor’s throat when it was hit by the body of a large dog and dragged squealing across the roof.
Ariel fired at the second ‘goyle, hitting him with two quarrels in quick succession. Behind her, a large caliber pistol fired and another ‘goyle went down.
Ham jumped in front of her holding a heavy metal pole in his hands. He swung at one of the ‘goyles like Babe Ruth aiming for the fence. The ‘goyle made a wet, burst melon kind of sound and disappeared over the edge of the roof.
Ariel ripped off her sweatshirt, leaving only her sports bra and the gravity knives strapped to the inside of her wrists in place. Wings unfurled from the dark shadows along the inside of her shoulder blades. With one beat she was in the air.
The combat was too close for comfort. She didn’t want to block someone else’s shot or get herself nailed in the confusion. Instead of trying to get close enough to use her knives or claws she barreled straight into one of the bigger ‘goyles.
The surprise of it and their combined body weight took the goyle off to the side. Before it could use its claws she buried a knife in its stomach and ripped upward, spilling ropes of acid coated ‘goyle guts onto the tar paper.
Spinning quickly she grabbed a double fistful of ‘goyle wings and smashed the creature two or three times against the brick chimney of the building’s heating system. Its green blood left a large, gooey starburst on the brick.
As she turned back toward Tomas, another gargoyle went down. She saw Juke standing, pistol extended like Doc Holiday at the OK Corral picking off the last of the Clantons.
The dog, which at second glance turned out to be a wolf, tossed a dead goyle over its shoulder. The ‘goyle’s disjointed appearance implied it had several broken bones, including its neck.
Ham was checking out an unconscious Tomas. He motioned the wolf over.
A few seconds later a naked Dingo was grabbing Tomas’ feet, helping Juke and Ham maneuver him through the doorway back into the apartment. The Raptor’s unfurled wings proved to be a bit of a problem.
Ariel surveyed the roof. Five, no six gargoyles lay in various positions of death. A seventh was still twitching. It hissed at Ariel when she leaned in to finish it off.
That was a large hunting party for one Raptor, she thought. And what was Tomas doing on her turf? She already knew the answer, but she was going to make him tell her anyway.
A quavery voice called up from a window below. “What’s going on up there? Should I call the police?”
Ariel pulled in her wings and leaned over the roof wall. Mrs. Avery’s untidy grey head stuck out of her third floor window.
“Raccoons on the roof, Mrs. Avery,” she said. “Big ones. We had to chase them off, but everything’s okay now. We’re going back inside. You can go back to your programs.”
Mrs. Avery was practically deaf and had her television on at full volume most of the time. If she’d heard th
e noise, Ariel couldn’t imagine what the rest of the tenants in the building thought was going on.
When she went back inside Juke had already gone down to the lower floors to spin whatever story he’d come up with to anybody who wanted to hear it. The building housed a pretty weird collection of renters. Things happened here all the time, like Ralph-the-Inventor’s exploding soap incident. Or the Pockart’s famously creative weekly fight-nights in 2B. People usually blew noisy events like that off and went on with whatever they were doing, unless there were sirens and flames.
Tomas was lying on one of Ariel’s mats. Ham had straightened his wings so he could lay him flat and get to the hole in his side. Tomas moaned when Ham pulled the Raptor’s hand away from the wound. He was only half conscious.
“Nice one, boy,” Ham told him. “Deep and nasty. That and these two bolts sticking out of you make you a regular candidate for sainthood. Nice acid burn on your face too.”
“Is he going to be okay?”
“Don’t know yet. Dingo run downstairs for a pair of pants and my medical kit. When I get my stuff we’ll see, you Raptors don’t die easy.”
“You’re a doctor?”
“Naw, Army medic. Saw a lot of combat. I’m real good with wounds.”
“What about his wing?’ Tomas had a hole in one wing and the spines of the nearby feathers were bent and broken at odd angles.
“Don’t know squat about feathers. Wish he could pack those things up so I could work on him better.”
“He can’t pull in a broken wing. It will just do more damage. It’s better to let it heal outside the body.”
“You know this guy?”
“He was my combat instructor when I was in training. He lives in a different city. I don’t know why he’s here.”
“Well he landed on your roof with one bad wing and multiple bogies on his tail. I’d say he was looking for help.”
An instant later a shrill siren broke the relative silence of the apartment.
Raptor: Urban Fantasy Noir Page 24
