down and leaned on the horn.
We swung onto the bridge at full volume. My horn screaming, the deputy’s bullhorn blaring, the Blazer’s engine bellowing like a wounded animal.
“Come on, man . . . Come on . . .” Keith chanted as he compressed the old man’s chest, over and over and over. “Twenty-one, twenty-two . . . twenty-three . . .”
When I swung right onto Eighth Street, mid-morning traffic was thick and lazy. I had to weave through startled motorists, swerving left and right, passing people on both sides, with Deputy Moon stuck to my tail like flypaper.
Half a dozen blue-clad medical personnel trotted a gurney out the emergency room door at the precise moment I slid the Blazer to a stop. I hurried around the back of the car to help, but they were all over it. Practiced hands slid him out onto the gurney and hooked him up to a swinging bag of something as they sprinted back inside, with Sarah Jane hurrying along behind.
When I turned back toward the car, Deputy Rockland Moon was pointing his automatic at my head. I don’t know what possessed me, but the sight of that moron pissed me off to no end. “Fuck off,” I said. “The man had a heart attack.”
It was like he didn’t hear me. “On the ground,” he screamed.
I started to open my mouth. From inside the car, Keith said, “Don’t, Leo.”
Something told me Keith was right. This crazy bastard just might blow my brains out, right here in the hospital parking lot.
What saved the day was the arrival of a Lewiston Police car.
“On the ground, goddammit,” Moon shouted at me again.
A pair of Lewiston cops stepped out of the car, careful not to walk in front of the gun. “Easy now,” one of them cautioned Moon, who hesitated and then slowly lowered the automatic to his side, still holding it with both hands.
The other looked at me. “What’s goin on?” he asked.
“Guy named Olley Hardvigsen had a heart attack,” I said.
He looked over at Keith, who nodded that it was true.
“Where’s Sarah Jane?” he asked me.
“Inside with Olley,” I said.
“They come down Bridge Street at ninety-five miles an hour,” Deputy Moon said defensively. “Coulda killed somebody.”
One Lewiston cop headed into the emergency room. The other turned toward Rockland Moon with a thinly disguised look of contempt on his face.
“Kind of an emergency, don’t you think, Deputy?”
Moon didn’t say anything. Didn’t take either hand off the automatic either.
“Bit out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you, Rockland?” the cop asked.
“Expecting a little interagency cooperation here,” Moon muttered.
“This side of the river, we don’t usually shoot people over traffic violations,” the cop said.
The first cop came back outside. “Heart attack,” he confirmed.
Everybody stood still and waited for Moon to get the message.
Another tense moment passed before Moon holstered his weapon. “I’ll be filing a report with your chief,” he promised.
“Look forward to reading it,” one of the cops said.
After he’d sauntered back to his car, and fiddled with his seat belt and radio knobs a bit, Moon gunned it out of the emergency room driveway and peeled off down the street.
The nearest cop looked over at Keith and me. He wasn’t about to say anything detrimental about another police officer, no matter what kind of idiot the guy might be, but each of us knew what the others were thinking. Keith slid out of the cargo space and stood next to me on the concrete.
“Sarah Jane looks like she could use some company,” the nearest cop said.
I threw my overnight bag onto the bed and sat down beside it. Keith had the TV on, watching the local news, when a knock rattled the motel room door.
Everybody’d agreed. The Holiday Inn out on Nez Perce Drive was the place to stay in Lewiston, so we collected our thanks, said our goodbyes, and headed that way.
We’d been in residence less than five minutes when the knock came, so I figured
We swung onto the bridge at full volume. My horn screaming, the deputy’s bullhorn blaring, the Blazer’s engine bellowing like a wounded animal.
“Come on, man . . . Come on . . .” Keith chanted as he compressed the old man’s chest, over and over and over. “Twenty-one, twenty-two . . . twenty-three . . .”
When I swung right onto Eighth Street, mid-morning traffic was thick and lazy. I had to weave through startled motorists, swerving left and right, passing people on both sides, with Deputy Moon stuck to my tail like flypaper.
Half a dozen blue-clad medical personnel trotted a gurney out the emergency room door at the precise moment I slid the Blazer to a stop. I hurried around the back of the car to help, but they were all over it. Practiced hands slid him out onto the gurney and hooked him up to a swinging bag of something as they sprinted back inside, with Sarah Jane hurrying along behind.
When I turned back toward the car, Deputy Rockland Moon was pointing his automatic at my head. I don’t know what possessed me, but the sight of that moron pissed me off to no end. “Fuck off,” I said. “The man had a heart attack.”
It was like he didn’t hear me. “On the ground,” he screamed.
I started to open my mouth. From inside the car, Keith said, “Don’t, Leo.”
Something told me Keith was right. This crazy bastard just might blow my brains out, right here in the hospital parking lot.
What saved the day was the arrival of a Lewiston Police car.
“On the ground, goddammit,” Moon shouted at me again.
A pair of Lewiston cops stepped out of the car, careful not to walk in front of the gun. “Easy now,” one of them cautioned Moon, who hesitated and then slowly lowered the automatic to his side, still holding it with both hands.
The other looked at me. “What’s goin on?” he asked.
“Guy named Olley Hardvigsen had a heart attack,” I said.
He looked over at Keith, who nodded that it was true.
“Where’s Sarah Jane?” he asked me.
“Inside with Olley,” I said.
“They come down Bridge Street at ninety-five miles an hour,” Deputy Moon said defensively. “Coulda killed somebody.”
One Lewiston cop headed into the emergency room. The other turned toward Rockland Moon with a thinly disguised look of contempt on his face.
“Kind of an emergency, don’t you think, Deputy?”
Moon didn’t say anything. Didn’t take either hand off the automatic either.
“Bit out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you, Rockland?” the cop asked.
“Expecting a little interagency cooperation here,” Moon muttered.
“This side of the river, we don’t usually shoot people over traffic violations,” the cop said.
The first cop came back outside. “Heart attack,” he confirmed.
Everybody stood still and waited for Moon to get the message.
Another tense moment passed before Moon holstered his weapon. “I’ll be filing a report with your chief,” he promised.
“Look forward to reading it,” one of the cops said.
After he’d sauntered back to his car, and fiddled with his seat belt and radio knobs a bit, Moon gunned it out of the emergency room driveway and peeled off down the street.
The nearest cop looked over at Keith and me. He wasn’t about to say anything detrimental about another police officer, no matter what kind of idiot the guy might be, but each of us knew what the others were thinking. Keith slid out of the cargo space and stood next to me on the concrete.
“Sarah Jane looks like she could use some company,” the nearest cop said.
I threw my overnight bag onto the bed and sat down beside it. Keith had the TV on, watching the local news, when a knock rattled the motel room door.
Everybody’d agreed. The Holiday Inn out on Nez Perce Drive was the place to stay in Lewiston, so we collected our thanks, said our goodbyes, and headed that way.
We’d been in residence less than five minutes when the knock came, so I figured
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