James Grippando - When Darkness Falls

“What kind of shape is she in?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a doctor. That’s the problem, remember?”

“Is she conscious?”

“Yes. Most of the time.”

“Is she bleeding?”

“Not anymore.”

“But she has lost some blood?”

“Yeah.”

“A lot or a little?”

“Some.”

“Is it a gunshot wound?”

“Hardly. A bullet grazed her thigh. It’s not like she’s going to die or anything. She’s just in pain.”

“I’d feel a whole lot better if I heard those words from a doctor.”

“Well, that’s a real bummer, because last time I checked, nobody here went to med school.”

“What if I could get a doctor to come into the motel room and examine her?”

“No way.”

“It can work, Falcon. I’ve done it in these situations before.”

“Sure you have. You send in a SWAT guy dressed up like Marcus Welby. He takes one look at me and prescribes two bullets and a burial in the morning.”

“I don’t play those games.”

“That’s what you told me on the Powell Bridge, when you said I could talk to Alicia Mendoza if I came down from the lamppost.”

“What happened the last time wasn’t my fault.”

“Well, it sure as hell wasn’t my fault.”

“It was a different situation.”

“Not to me it wasn’t. Just forget it. I’m not letting any doctor come inside here.”

Vince tightened his fist, then released, relieving a little stress as he searched for the right words. “Okay, I’m not going to force the issue. But we can still work this out. Tell me something. Can the girl walk on her own power?”

“I don’t think so. She’s pretty weak.”

That was exactly the answer Vince was hoping to hear. “Do you think you could get her to the door?”

“Yeah, no sweat. She’s a toothpick.”

“Okay, listen to me. Here’s how this can work. We agree that Swyteck’s honesty bought some goodwill, right?”

“Yeah, some.”

“Good. Then here’s what we can do. If it’s just a leg wound, you can pick the girl up and take her to the door. Open the door, and lay her right outside on the stoop. Then just close the door, and leave her there.”

“Then what?”

“Then we’ll send someone to pick her up.”

“No cops.”

“No. It will be paramedics with a stretcher.”

“No, it will be SWAT guys dressed up like paramedics. Forget it.”

“I give you my word.”

“Your word isn’t worth dirt. Not after the Powell Bridge.”

“Trust me on this.”

“Never. If you want to send someone to pick the girl up, send someone I can recognize-someone who I know is not a cop.”

Vince paused. The silence lingered a good bit longer than he would have liked, but it was still nowhere near as long as it felt. That recurring and unnerving image suddenly flashed in his mind-the pockmarked door at the end of the hallway, the unexpected percussion of flash grenades, the burst of light, and then the darkness. Unceasing darkness. Vince couldn’t believe the words were coming from his mouth, but it was like a reflex. “What if I come to pick her up?”

The suggestion seemed to have caught Falcon by surprise. “Now there’s a twist. A blind cop turned escort.”

“It’s perfect,” said Vince. “You don’t have to worry about me busting down the door and shooting the place up.”

“You got a point there.”

“So it’s agreed? You bring the girl to the door, I’ll come and pick her up.”

“Let me think about it.”

Vince tried not to push too hard, but Falcon didn’t seem to appreciate how urgent the situation was. “There’s no time to think about it. We need to cut a deal on this girl, or things are going to get ugly in a hurry.”

“Is that some kind of a threat?”

“I’m just being honest with you, like we agreed.”

“I’ll call you back.”

“Please. I’m not messing with you, my friend. This is something that we need to work out right now.”

“Stop rushing me.”

“It’s the best deal I can offer.” Vince braced himself for a hang-up, but he could tell that Falcon was still on the line. He gave him a little time to think it over, but too much time would cost him his momentum. Vince said, “So, is it a deal?”

Falcon let out something between a sigh and a groan. “All right. You can come.”

“Good.”

“But bring Swyteck with you.”

“Why?”

“It’s like I told you. I don’t trust cops. Not even blind ones.”

“I’m not going to lead the cavalry through your door.”

“Probably not. Definitely not, as long as there’s a civilian in the line of fire.”

“The wounded girl is a civilian.”

“The girl is a prostitute from Colombia,” Falcon said, scoffing. “Call me crazy. I get more comfort with the son of a former governor at risk.”

“I can’t guarantee that Swyteck will be willing to do it.”

“He’ll do it, if he wants to talk to his buddy Theo again.”

Vince was about to say something, but he heard the line disconnect. The call was over.

A licia should have been driving faster.

More than an hour had passed since she’d left the mobile command center and headed home. Vince hadn’t called for her, but she still felt like she was letting him down, as if it was important for her to be with him. She was the one who had talked him into taking this assignment in the first place and, after all, he…She halted that train of thought, which of course would have ended with “was blind.” She knew that Vince wanted no part of that pity party, and thinking along those lines was the quickest way for her to earn a permanent ticket home.

The police barricade on Biscayne Boulevard was just ahead. The rainstorm had driven most of the onlookers off the street and sidewalks, though many still watched from higher and drier ground, through the windows of apartments and office buildings. The only folks braving the weather were law enforcement and, in even greater numbers, adventurous members of the media, who seemed to relish strong winds, driving rain, tsunamis, or anything else that made it even more challenging to bring a story into the comfortable living rooms of couch potatoes. Alicia stopped at the police roadblock and rolled down her window. The cool rain was falling so hard that, just in the short time it took a patrol officer to check her badge and grant her clearance, her sleeve was completely soaked. She raised the window and adjusted the windshield wipers as she continued up Biscayne Boulevard. Squad cars, vans, and a variety of police vehicles still filled the parking lot that served as the staging area. Alicia found a spot as close to the mobile command center as possible and killed the engine.

She reached for the door handle and then stopped. Why hadn’t Vince called her? She was running almost twenty-five minutes late. Vince was dealing with a hostage-taker who had a history of making public demands to speak to the mayor’s daughter. Surely, in the past seventy minutes some question of strategy had arisen that involved or at least related to Alicia. Yet her cell phone and BlackBerry had remained silent. Maybe Vince was trying to prove something-that he didn’t need her. Maybe he didn’t see her as helpful any longer, or worse, saw her more as a hindrance.

Or perhaps Vince was starting to wrestle with the same questions and suspicions that she was finally facing.

Alicia’s BlackBerry chirped and vibrated in her purse, which wrested her from her thoughts. Without even checking, she was certain that it was from Vince, and that this phone call would settle once and for all that he respected her judgment and that, despite all the personal history and the intervening tragedy, they could work together as a team. She smiled a little as she grabbed the phone and prepared to deliver some pithy greeting. But it wasn’t Vince. It wasn’t even a phone call. It was an e-mail. It came from a server she didn’t recognize, and the screen name wasn’t even a name, just an apparently random combination of letters and numbers. The subject line took her breath away. It read simply, “It was only out of love that I sought you,” harking back to the e-mail she’d received that same night her purse had been stolen. Alicia scrolled down to the body of the message, her hand shaking.