but he’s bleeding, and so is his friend. My driver found them lying in the street.”
The policeman moved to the double doors, which hissed open as soon as he stepped on the black rubber mat, and grabbed an orderly who was pushing a gurney around the corner to the next hallway. He could hear the policeman’s voice. “I don’t give a shit who you work for. I got gunshot wounds out there.” He had his hand on the orderly’s back, so it looked as though he were pushing the man and his gurney out the door.
The policeman and the orderly hauled the man the rest of the way out of the back of the car and lifted him onto the gurney. As the orderly wheeled him into the building, the policeman walked over to an ambulance driver who was just putting his oxygen bottle back into its carrying case inside his parked rig. As he and the ambulance driver pulled a stretcher out of the ambulance, its legs swung down and locked. By now the second wounded man was out of the front seat and standing beside the car unsteadily, and he gladly flopped onto the stretcher for the short ride inside. The policeman muttered, “You two park the car over there and come back. I’ll need you for a few minutes,” then pushed the stretcher to the door.
Instantly Ackerman was in the passenger seat beside the salesman. “Drive. Get out of here,” he said. The salesman had been sitting motionless, not even daring to glance at the policeman in his rearview mirror. Ackerman knew it must have taken a great act of will for him. Since childhood he had undoubtedly survived the way the thieves in the old days had, scattering at the first sign of the uniforms, each one scrambling in a different direction, down alleys and over fences, each of them alone and hoping that he wouldn’t be the one they picked to chase down. Now the salesman was released from whatever had held him. His instincts, temperament and ability to calculate all urged him away, and he let them carry him. He stepped on the gas pedal and the car was in motion.
A hundred feet away, an old man was shuffling across the drive toward the emergency room, staring down at the pavement with a contemplative look on his face. He took each little step carefully, with intense concentration, satisfied with the almost invisible progress it represented. The old man was caught in the lights for a moment and looked up defiantly, squinting a little, then stopped walking as though he intended to make this young fool wait as long as possible.
“You see the old guy?” Ackerman asked.
“Sure,” said the salesman, but he didn’t slow down. Ackerman could see the old man judging the distance to the curb and estimating the damage he would sustain if he made a dive to the pavement. The old man’s decision was conservative. He aimed himself at the curb and began to shuffle toward it, faster now than before, in a strange little dance that looked as though he were going down invisible stairs. The car shot past him, the slipstream blowing his coattails up and sending a ripple of wind to flutter his baggy pants. Then he was visible for a second in Silhouette against the yellow light of the hospital entrance, still standing.
The Jaguar spun around the corner and its arc carried it into the next one, heading south again. Ackerman turned to the salesman. “Do you know where you’re going?”
The salesman shrugged. “Can’t stay out alone. Got to get with my friends. The Jamaicans will be hunting me.”
“Let me out at the corner.”
The salesman’s eyes narrowed and he glanced at him quickly. “We still need to talk.”
“What about?”
“I need the gun back. They’re looking for me.” He had obviously been thinking about the predicament he was in. He had emptied the clip in the Uzi and sold his pistol, and now he still had to make it across the city to whatever stronghold his friends maintained. He wasn’t sure he would be able to do that unarmed, and even he knew he couldn’t stay out in a car as
The policeman moved to the double doors, which hissed open as soon as he stepped on the black rubber mat, and grabbed an orderly who was pushing a gurney around the corner to the next hallway. He could hear the policeman’s voice. “I don’t give a shit who you work for. I got gunshot wounds out there.” He had his hand on the orderly’s back, so it looked as though he were pushing the man and his gurney out the door.
The policeman and the orderly hauled the man the rest of the way out of the back of the car and lifted him onto the gurney. As the orderly wheeled him into the building, the policeman walked over to an ambulance driver who was just putting his oxygen bottle back into its carrying case inside his parked rig. As he and the ambulance driver pulled a stretcher out of the ambulance, its legs swung down and locked. By now the second wounded man was out of the front seat and standing beside the car unsteadily, and he gladly flopped onto the stretcher for the short ride inside. The policeman muttered, “You two park the car over there and come back. I’ll need you for a few minutes,” then pushed the stretcher to the door.
Instantly Ackerman was in the passenger seat beside the salesman. “Drive. Get out of here,” he said. The salesman had been sitting motionless, not even daring to glance at the policeman in his rearview mirror. Ackerman knew it must have taken a great act of will for him. Since childhood he had undoubtedly survived the way the thieves in the old days had, scattering at the first sign of the uniforms, each one scrambling in a different direction, down alleys and over fences, each of them alone and hoping that he wouldn’t be the one they picked to chase down. Now the salesman was released from whatever had held him. His instincts, temperament and ability to calculate all urged him away, and he let them carry him. He stepped on the gas pedal and the car was in motion.
A hundred feet away, an old man was shuffling across the drive toward the emergency room, staring down at the pavement with a contemplative look on his face. He took each little step carefully, with intense concentration, satisfied with the almost invisible progress it represented. The old man was caught in the lights for a moment and looked up defiantly, squinting a little, then stopped walking as though he intended to make this young fool wait as long as possible.
“You see the old guy?” Ackerman asked.
“Sure,” said the salesman, but he didn’t slow down. Ackerman could see the old man judging the distance to the curb and estimating the damage he would sustain if he made a dive to the pavement. The old man’s decision was conservative. He aimed himself at the curb and began to shuffle toward it, faster now than before, in a strange little dance that looked as though he were going down invisible stairs. The car shot past him, the slipstream blowing his coattails up and sending a ripple of wind to flutter his baggy pants. Then he was visible for a second in Silhouette against the yellow light of the hospital entrance, still standing.
The Jaguar spun around the corner and its arc carried it into the next one, heading south again. Ackerman turned to the salesman. “Do you know where you’re going?”
The salesman shrugged. “Can’t stay out alone. Got to get with my friends. The Jamaicans will be hunting me.”
“Let me out at the corner.”
The salesman’s eyes narrowed and he glanced at him quickly. “We still need to talk.”
“What about?”
“I need the gun back. They’re looking for me.” He had obviously been thinking about the predicament he was in. He had emptied the clip in the Uzi and sold his pistol, and now he still had to make it across the city to whatever stronghold his friends maintained. He wasn’t sure he would be able to do that unarmed, and even he knew he couldn’t stay out in a car as
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