Douglas Dorow - The Ninth District

Jack walked beside the doctor, their shoes squeaking on the floor. The rhythm and hum of the ER worked its way into Jack’s thoughts now that he knew Ross was OK.

As they walked by the desk, the doctor stopped to talk to the nurse. “Can you get an extra-large top sent down to room 2?” He continued down the hallway with Jack following. “A hot day to run. I hope you’re hydrating.”

“I was just heading to the showers when they picked me up to bring me here.”

The doctor stopped outside room 2. “We’ll get you a dry top. Don’t stay in there too long. He’s OK, but he needs his rest to help him recover and we have him on some strong stuff for the pain. He may be a little dopey.”

Jack followed the doctor into the room. Ross smiled when he saw Jack, but it quickly turned to a grimace from the pain. Jack almost grimaced along with him because Ross looked terrible. His arm was in a sling, his face bruised from the air-bag, and there were cuts on the side of his head. He sucked in air as he fought the pain, and the sound triggered the sympathetic reaction in Jack.

“Remember, not too long,” the doctor said before leaving.

Jack was ready to keep it light, make sure Junior was OK. He started to say something, but Ross beat him to it.

“Jack, it was him, the Governor.”

“What do you mean, it was him?”

Ross spoke softly. “My phone rang, I answered it and boom, somebody’s playing bumper cars with me.” He shifted in bed. “It was him on the phone Jack. He said something to me about how I shouldn’t talk on the cell phone when I’m driving and then he hit me.”

“Slow down, Junior.”

There was a knock on the door. A nurse came in and handed Jack a green surgical top before approaching Ross’ bed and checking the IV’s and other equipment surrounding him. Jack took off his t-shirt and put on the dry top. “Can I keep this?” he asked the nurse.

“Sure. I’ll come back in a couple of minutes to make sure you leave our patient alone.” She smiled at Jack, but underneath he saw she was serious. He didn’t have a lot of time.

“OK, Junior. You’re sure about this? This isn’t a dream induced by the meds? The doctor said you’d be a little dopey.”

“It was him.”

“We must be making him nervous for him to try this. I have to go find your car. Get the crime team to figure out what hit you. Find your phone.”

“Are my clothes here?”

“Junior, you’re not going anywhere.”

“The phone, it might be in my coat pocket.”

Jack looked around the room, but didn’t see anything. “I’ll find them, Ross. They have to be around here somewhere.”

The nurse pushed open the door. “The party’s over boys. The patient needs some rest.”

Jack looked at Ross. “I’ll be back later, Junior. I’ll see what I can find out about the phone, car, and witnesses. Maybe you’ll remember something.” He headed for the open door and the glares of the nurse.

“Jack,” Ross hoarsely whispered.

Jack looked back. “Yeah?”

“Sorry about the car.”

“Don’t worry about her, Junior. She saved your life.”

The room had a quiet buzz from the equipment and the soft clicking of fingers on keyboards. The only light in the room came from the computer monitors spread across work surfaces, which wrapped around the outer wall of the room and formed an island in the middle of it. Jack stood a couple of steps inside the door, waiting for somebody to notice him. Nobody even looked up so he walked over to one of the faces glowing in front of a huge monitor and looked over the shoulder of the operator. ESPN’s website was up in one of the windows. “How are the Twins doing?” Jack asked.

The computer operator’s head jerked slightly to the left towards Jack’s voice. “If you’re a betting man, bet against them.”

Jack looked around the room and settled his eyes back on the sports fan. “Who can tell me how we’re doing with the Governor case and the accident with Special Agent Fruen?” He threw in the “Special Agent” to get this guy’s attention and the attention of anybody else listening. He wanted to make it known how he felt about the agents pounding the pavement versus these guys pounding their keyboards.

The man in the chair spun it around to face Jack. “And who are you?”

“Special Agent Jack Miller. Can you tell me who you are?”

“Sure thing.”

Jack stared at the man, waiting for an answer. He wasn’t going to ask again. He looked at the computer screen again and some papers on the desk. The man had been working on some spreadsheets; game stats were on the papers. He looked at the man again. The corners of his mouth had turned up into the smallest of smiles.

“OK, Sure Thing, can you tell me where things are at with our investigation or are you just looking for those sure thing bets.”

“Well, Jack, we’ve been busy down here. What do you want first?”

“Let’s take them all in order.” Jack sat on the edge of the table, keeping his elevated status over the man in the chair. “Bank videos, mask, Agent Fruen’s credit cards, and his accident and cell phone call.”

“Bank videos, that’s Goose’s assignment. The guy over there with the red hair.” Jack looked in the direction that Sure Thing had nodded. The blob of curly red hair glowed with the reflection from the computer monitor.

“The Governor is a man, five foot ten inches tall. He’s right handed. The coat he was wearing was nice, but too big for him. Trying to make him look bigger than he is. One hundred sixty-five pounds.”

“That’s it? I could get most of that.” Jack looked across the room at Goose.

“And he prefers boxers.”

Jack looked at the Sure Thing with a grin and raised his eyebrows.

“OK, that’s his guess, but if I was a betting man I’d bet boxers.” Sure Thing spun around in his chair, fiddled with the mouse, and brought up two pictures on his computer monitor of the Governor in his mask. “I’m sure you know this already too. This mask is good. It fits well and the likeness isn’t perfect but it’s very close. If you got a glimpse of him on the street or in the car next to you on the road you might think it was the governor.” Sure Thing got up from his chair and walked a few steps. He returned with a glossy printout of what was on the screen, gave it to Jack, and sat back down. “That’s for you.” He scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Take this too.”

Jack looked at the scrap of paper with a name on it.

“That guy’s the best in the business. He’s at the Guthrie. With his contacts and a little digging, he can probably find out who made the mask. You can get there tonight?”

Jack nodded as he looked at the picture in his hand. Sure Thing had been talking a mile a minute and wasn’t slowing down. Jack was afraid to interrupt him and throw him off track. Sure Thing reached under his worktable, brought out a bottle of Mountain Dew, and twisted the cap to open it, releasing the carbonated gas.

“You want one?”

Jack shook his head.

“I’ll leave him a message that you’re coming. Make sure he’ll talk to you.” Sure Thing took a big swig of the green soda, put the bottle on the table, and belched out of the corner of his mouth. “OK, what was next?” He answered his own question without waiting for Jack to answer. “Credit cards. I gave that to Squeaky.”

Jack looked around the room, trying to guess who Squeaky was. Everybody was still staring at computer monitors and typing.

Sure Thing called out, “Hey, Squeaky!” A hand popped up from behind the monitor across the aisle, flipping them off.

“What do you want, asshole?” The origin of the nickname Squeaky became apparent as the voice carried around the room, a combination of the voice somebody gets after breathing helium and the sound of fingernails scratching a blackboard.