Стюарт Вудс - Indecent Exposure

“Surgery,” he said. “Call Ted Barnes and tell him to get his ass over here and scrub. Gunshot wound to the left shoulder. Female, maybe forty, and quite beautiful. That’ll get him moving.”

“Aren’t you kind?” Holly said, as the doctor began pushing the table out of the exam room.

“I’m right behind you,” Stone said, trotting along.

“You won’t be necessary,” the doctor said to him.

“I’m no more unnecessary pacing outside an operating room than I am down here,” Stone said.

Holly was being wheeled into an elevator when two cops appeared and each took one of Stone’s arms.

“I’m needed in surgery,” he told the cops.

“The hell he is,” the doctor said as the doors closed.

They sat Stone down on a bench next to Fred, who was reading a New York Post he had found there. “Disgusting,” he said, casting the newspaper aside.

“Okay,” a cop said, “who’s shot?”

“The lady in the elevator,” Stone replied. “She’s on her way to surgery. Come see her tomorrow.”

“We got a second victim back at Sixty-third and Park,” the cop said. “Did he shoot the first victim?”

“Yes, sir,” Fred replied, “and I shot him, but half a second too late.” He removed his pistol from his shoulder holster, popped out the magazine, cleared the weapon, locked the slide open, and handed it to the nearest cop. “I expect you’ll want this,” he said.

Next through the door was Dino, at a trot. “What the fuck is going on here?” he demanded of everybody present.

They all began to talk at once, including a nurse who had been eavesdropping.

“You,” Dino said, pointing at Stone. “Gimme a hint on what happened.”

“Some guy in a motorcycle suit shot Holly. She’s upstairs in surgery, looks like a .22 to the left shoulder, I’d say it missed the lung. Fred witnessed this and shot the shooter in the back of the head.”

“Half a second too late,” Fred said. “Yer man has got my gun.”

The cop held it up for Dino to see.

Dino pointed at Fred. “That man is not under arrest,” he said to the cop.

“Yessir.”

“Process his weapon, get ballistics on it, and when it’s all wrapped up, give Mr. Flicker here back his gun.”

“Yessir.”

Dino sat down next to Stone. “Okay,” he said, “who’s trying to kill you?”

“Me?” Stone asked, pointing at himself with his thumb. “Who would want to kill me?”

“That’s my line,” Dino pointed out. “Who?”

“Nobody, that’s who — I don’t have an enemy in the world.”

“Stone,” Dino said, exasperated, “people try to kill you all the time. Not so long ago somebody tried to bomb your house, remember?”

“All my enemies are either dead or in jail.”

“Anybody get out recently? I mean, apart from the fresh ex-con who tried to shoot you tonight? Through the miracle of modern technology, we managed to fingerprint the corpse without even giving him a ride to the morgue.”

“And who is he?”

“One Vernon Percival Jackson, aka ‘Crank’ to his nearest and dearest cell mates, out of Fishkill six days ago and dying to meet you, so he could put a bullet in your head.”

“Then he’s very bad at his work, isn’t he? Do I have to remind you that he shot our secretary of state?”

Across the room a nurse beat it to her station and made a phone call to a reporter she knew who paid for such services.

So, he was distracted by Fred shooting him in the head,” Dino said. “That kind of thing can put a guy’s aim off.”

“I did hear two shots, now that I recall,” Stone said. “One little one and one big one.”

“Which came first?”

“I’m not sure, they were very close together.”

“Trust me, the big one came first and ruined Mr. Jackson’s aim, as well as his day.”

“Then who made the little bang?” Stone asked. “Wait a minute, I’ve just remembered something.”

“Your words make a policeman’s heart happy,” Dino said.

“Fishkill — I know somebody who just got out of Fishkill.”

“Who might that be, and how did you make his acquaintance?”

“I didn’t, exactly. A guy named Alphonse Teppi...”

“I remember running that name for you.”

“Right. He wanted me to get a friend of his named Danny Blaine out of Fishkill.”

“Which you did not do, as I recall.”

“You recall correctly. I pretty much threw Teppi out of my office.”

“Now we have two people to investigate, just like that.” Dino snapped his fingers.

“And I saw Teppi earlier this evening,” Stone said.

“See? It’s all coming back to you. Where?”

“At Studio 54. We were watching Michael Feinstein.”

“I hope we don’t have to bring Feinstein into this. I like his work.”

“No, no, he was just singing. Teppi was listening.”

“And he saw you?”

“Yes, and I think he made a phone call.”

“Aha! A phone call! My blood is atingle,” Dino said.

“Hey, something else,” Stone said. “This guy was riding a motorcycle, right?”

“He was.”

“Well, Joan said she spotted a thug on a motorcycle outside the house. She wanted to take a shot at him.”

“Had she done so, she might have saved us all a lot of trouble,” Dino said.

A reporter at the Post , screwing his girlfriend on a sofa, surrounded by toy hats and empty champagne bottles, stopped. His cell phone was ringing. “I gotta get this,” he said to her.

“Don’t mind me,” she replied, closing her legs.

“Yeah?”

“Mickey, it’s Peggy, at Lenox Hill.”

“Make it quick, Peggy, I’m in a conference.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet, on New Year’s Eve.”

“I said quick!”

“We got the secretary of state in here with a gunshot wound.”

“The secretary of what?”

“State, that Holly lady.”

“Barker?”

“That’s the one.”

“Who shot her?”

“I don’t know, but there’s cops everywhere. The lady’s in surgery — small-caliber gunshot wound, left shoulder, up high. I saw the wound myself, before they took her upstairs.”

Mickey leaped to his feet, tripping over his pants, which were around his ankles. “I’m on my way, baby, and you’re getting champagne for this.”

“I’d prefer cash,” she said, and hung up.

“Mickey,” his girlfriend said, helping him up. “Are we screwing or what?”

“Later, babe,” he said, adjusting his clothing and buckling his belt. “Big story afoot.” He grabbed his coat and hat and ran for the door.

“Don’t wake me up when you get home!” she shouted after him.

Stone’s head had fallen forward as he sat in the waiting room, and he was dozing when a man burst through the double doors of the ER.

“Where is she?” he shouted.

“Where’s who?” Dino asked.

“That Holly... Whatshername.”

“You’re drunk,” Dino said. “Get out of here.”

“Only a little drunk,” the man said. “It’s New Year’s Eve, after all.”

Dino looked at the uniformed cop standing there and made a little motion with his head.

The cop took the man by the wrist and elbow and frog-marched him out onto the street, then returned. “Taken care of, Commish,” he said to Dino.

The man outside crashed through the doors again. “Didn’t you ever hear of freedom of the press?”

“Didn’t you ever hear of getting your head broken?” the cop asked.

“You hear that, Commissioner?” he shouted. “I’m Mickey Fields from the Post .”

“What do you want?” Dino asked.

“Where’s the secretary of state?”

“Try Washington, D.C.”