Kill on Command by Slaton Smith Page B

They placed him on a gurney, strapped him down and cut away his jersey and compression shirt.  Heart monitors were placed on his chest and an IV was started.  Michelle looked at the heart monitor.  His heart was strong.  His blood pressure looked good.  She held his hand.  The ambulance started off the field and made the short trip to UPMC.
     
    The two cops turned to Brian.  Both were huge and dwarfed him.  They had their hands on their belts. 
     
    “I want you to put the cuffs on that guy,” Brian said nodding towards Steve Vaughn.
     
    “On what charge?  You guys were playing a game,” one of them said to Brian.  The Harrisburg players were visibly nervous.  The Pittsburgh guys wanted their blood.
     
    “Assault!  What he did transcends this game,” Brian said putting his index finger into the other cop’s chest. 
     
    The two cops briefly looked at each other.  One shrugged.
     
    “You got it.”  The two cops walked towards Steve, who was trying to staunch the blood pouring from his nose. His mouth was split open.  One of the cops reached behind his back and produced a set of handcuffs.
     
    “You’re under arrest.  Assault,” the cop said in a booming baritone.   Steve put his hands behind his back.  He apparently knew the drill.
     
    “Wait!  Wait!  I’m a lawyer.  What is going on?   We were playing a game,” a smarmy Harrisburg attack-man said walking forward as they were slapping the cuffs on Steve.  The other cop turned towards him.
 
    “I am sure you are.  All you guys are big important punk lawyers or doctors, ri ght,” he laughed.  The lawyer took a breath.  He was a bit of a punk.
     
    “Look at his face!  Who was assaulted?” the guy asked.  The cops looked at Steve’s face, and turned towards Brian.
     
    “What happened to his face?”  The cop asked, looking Brian’s way.
     
    “We didn’t see nothin’!”  Tom Ryan shouted.
     
    “Good enough for me.”  The cop pushed Steve towards the car.  The second cop stopped in front of Brian and whispered,
     
    “You know this is not going to stick.”
     
    “Yeah, but thanks for doing it,” Brian acknowledged.  The referees walked towards Brian.
     
    “We starting back up?” one asked.
     
    “No.  That’s a bad idea.”
     
    Brian told them thanks and walked over to Andrew and his squad.
     
    “Andrew, the game is over.”
     
    “I understand, Brian.  I am sorry about today.”
     
    “That guy is not welcome here ever again! Tell your guys that they had better not speed until they hit the city limits,” Brian said, pointing at Steve and looking over at the rest of the group.
     
    “They going to hold him?” Andrew asked.
     
    “No.  Send that prick lawyer over there downtown.”
     
    “Will you make a call for us?
     
    “No.”  Brian turned and jogged back to the team. 
     
    ‘I am heading over to UPMC,” he said to the Pittsburgh squad grabbing his stuff and running to the Jeep.
     
    “We’ll be there!” Tom shouted. 
     
    Amazingly, the Jeep started on the first turn of the key.  Brian backed up and took off for the hospital.
     
    Sandy was on the bike heading back to the duplex.  She took an indirect route.  Something didn’t seem right.  Her phone was not working.  She dumped the bike a block away and walked between houses until she had a clear view of the duplex.  Crouching down behind a hedge, she could see Bill and Bob in the big window on the second floor.  There were two more men she did not recognize in another car out front.  They were dressed like they were FBI, but they weren’t.  Sandy knew the look.  They were killers.  Assassins.  Just looking at them, she knew she was in trouble.  She sprinted back to the bike and threw the phone into a storm drain.  Keeping it would be foolish.  They could easily track her. She hopped on the bike and furiously pedaled on back streets heading towards Walnut Street. 
     
    She stopped briefly in the parking