Vendetta

Part 2

Time stood still for Tom. The pain in his hip was making his vision blurry. He knew that he should raise his weapon and at least attempt to defend himself, but the communication between his brain and arm seemed to have shut down.

The barrel of his assailant's automatic lined up with Tom's forehead, the man still grinning sadistically at him. Tom fought the urge to close his eyes. Watching the man's finger tightening on the trigger, Tom waited for the explosion of pain and subsequent nothingness.

It never happened. Instead, Burt's shout echoed through the garage. "We've got to get out of here. The cops are coming."

The man, startled by Burt's shout, looked at his cohort and Tom's brain finally made contact with his arm. He raised his gun and fired, hitting his assailant square in the chest. The man's body flew backwards with the force of the bullet.

Tom could hear the sound of footsteps running from the building. He wanted to follow. . .to stop the men, but now his legs wouldn't respond. "God, it hurts," he moaned and allowed himself to collapse fully onto the floor. He then heard the sound of tires screeching, telling of a quick get away and the subsequent wail of sirens indicating help was close.

Tom made one last effort to rise, but his hand slipped in the blood pooling beneath his body and he painfully fell back onto the floor again. Tom fought the spots which were beginning to gather in front of his eyes, but realized that it was a losing battle. He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to drift away into the blackness.

"It looks like a damn blood bath in here," were the first words penetrating Tom's brain.

"He's coming around," another voice said as someone jostled his body. He felt his body being lifted into the air and then lowered again. The movement caused a sharp pain in his lower back and left leg. He fought to open his eyes, but they felt like they were glued closed. A sharp pinch on his inner elbow jolted him and he knew from experience that an IV had been inserted. "Hey Buddy, can you hear me?" Tom concentrated on getting his eyelids to open, and this time was successful in the attempt. He saw an unknown face staring back down at him.

"Where?. . .Who?. . ." Tom stuttered, trying desperately to get his bearings. He started to rise up, but the man above him pushed him back. At the same time, the sharp pain in his hip returned and Tom regretted ever having made the attempt in the first place.

"You're gonna be okay, Pal. We're gonna take you to County General. Just lay back and enjoy the ride, okay?" Tom realized that the pain in his hip was so debilitating that he really didn't have much of a choice. He struggled to look at his surroundings. There was a flurry of activity; movement all around.

A voice from the opposite side startled him, "Hey Tommy. You're awake. . .you feelin' okay?" Tom immediately recognized Mickey Taylor, the vice detective he had called before. . ..

Panic struck Tom like a two-by-four. He bolted upright, ignoring the screaming pain and looked around for Fred. The green Jaguar was off to his right. Expecting to see chalk lines on the floor, or worse yet, a body bag, Tom looked down. There was nothing there but a large wet stain. . .blood.

"Whoa, Tommy. I don't think you should be doing that yet." Mickey pushed his friend back down onto the gurney. Tom was too weak to fight. The paramedic reappeared in his line of vision and reached for the straps which were on either side of the cart. He brought Tom's arms up, so that they folded on top of his chest and secured the straps over the top.

"That should keep him down," the paramedic said to Mickey. "Tom, you need to lay back. The bullet is still in you and any movement could make things a lot worse. I don't want to have to sedate you, but I will if I have to." The paramedic threatened.

"Fred?" Tom groaned, as the pain of his movement caught up to his brain.

"Who?" Mickey frowned, looking around.

"Fred Millen. He was shot. Is he dead?" Tom asked, not wanting to hear the answer he suspected he was going to get.

"Tom, there were a lot of people shot here today. . .which one are you talking about?"

"He was the black guy. . .next to the Jag." Tom closed his eyes, remembering how Fred's body slammed back against the car. . .the look of surprise and pain intermixed on the man's face.

"He's already in route to the hospital, Tom," Mickey answered, grabbing a hold of Tom's lower arm to make sure he heard the response.

Tom opened his eyes, "He's alive?"

Mickey nodded. "But the paramedic said it didn't look good."

Tom was relieved to know that the man was still alive. He was certain that he had lost his life when the bullet ripped into his body.

"Tom, what the hell happened here?" Mickey asked, trying to get information from the wounded man while he could still talk.

Tom opened his mouth to respond, but suddenly found he was very dizzy and the black spots were gathering in front of his eyes again. "I. . .I'm not. . ." he started to answer, but before he could complete the sentence, blackness took control of his mind again.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he became suddenly aware of a bright light shining in his eyes. He lifted his hand to push the offending light away.

A stronger hand pushed his back down to his side, "Take it easy, Tom. You're in the hospital. We're going to take care of you," a gentle feminine voice fluttered through his mind, setting him at ease.

The light moved away, and after a moment of seeing spots, Tom found he could see the face that went with the voice. The pain on his left side dominated his thoughts and all he could say to the woman was, "Hurts."

"Yes, I know it hurts. We're going to sedate you in a little bit, Tom. Then we're going to take you to surgery to get the bullet out. Do you understand?" Her voice was so easy to listen to that Tom agreed without really comprehending the words. The woman continued talking, "Tom, we have to role you onto your side so that we can examine the wound again. This is going to hurt."

Suddenly, Tom didn't find the woman so easy to listen to. The pain of being moved was excruciating and he gasped as the knives tore into his side. He felt the hands on his body, from shoulder to lower leg, keeping him in a tilted position on his right side. Another set of hands, presumably those of the woman, pushed against the wound, and Tom let out a cry of pain.

"I'm sorry, Tom, but we wanted to get more pressure on the wound so we could keep the bleeding under control." The doctor turned to her staff, "Okay, you can lay him back down."

Tom was eased onto his back and the sudden weight against the wound brought a second audible gasp to his lips. A man standing next to him placed an IV on the stand at the head of the bed and inserted the tube into the IV needle sticking out of Tom's arm. The doctor spoke again, "This will help you sleep. When you wake up, the bullet will be out and you'll be as good as new."

Tom nodded and closed his eyes, trying to keep the pain at bay. Darkness overtook him again.

Cassandra St. John paced the waiting room. It had been two hours since Tom had gone into surgery and there had still been no word. The doctor had reassured Cassy and Harry that Tom's wound was under control. . .that the surgery would not be difficult. So why in the hell was it taking so long?

She looked across the room at Harry, who was concentrating on a report which was spread out on the table in front of him. He felt Cassy's stare and looked up at the pretty blond. He shook his head at the woman, "Cassy, the way I figure it, you've walked about eight miles in the past two hours. Why don't you sit?" He pulled a chair out for emphasis.

"Why is it taking so long?" Cassy glanced at her watch again.

"It's not," Harry countered. "They had to go in and dig a bullet out of Tom. Lord knows, that takes time."

He stood and placed a comforting hand on his detective, stopping her in mid-pace. "The doctor says he's going to be okay. You have to trust her."

"Yeah, right. . .trust her." Cassy repeated, somewhat sarcastically. There was no basis for trusting this doctor and Cassy never gave her trust freely. It had to be earned, especially when Tom's life was on the line.

Movement from the entry way of the waiting room grabbed Cassy's attention. A handsome, well-built, young man entered the waiting room with a worried look on his face. Upon seeing the man and woman in the room, he opened his mouth to speak, his voice shaking with fear, "The nurse out there said you could help me. . .I'm Jeremy Millen. The police called me. . .my father. . .my dad's here. . .hurt. Do you know him?"

Cassy approached the young man, hand extended in welcome, "Hi Jeremy. I'm Cassandra St. John. This is Captain Harry Lipschitz. Tom Ryan is my partner. He's told me about you."

The young man reached out and grabbed Cassy's hand with a strong grip. . .one that was of desperation, not of greeting. "Is my father okay. The nurse at the desk said that you might have more recent information than she."

"We haven't heard anything yet," Cassy looked at Harry briefly to make sure his answer was the same, "I think he's still in surgery."

"Where's Mr. Ryan?" Jeremy looked around the waiting room. "I thought he'd be here for Dad."

Cassy cast a worried glance at her Captain. Harry nodded that Cassy should break the news to the young man, "Jeremy, Tom was shot, too. He was with your father at the time."

"Oh God, no. Is he okay?" Jeremy was clearly as worried about Tom's condition as he was about his father's.

"He's in surgery. The doctor says he should be okay." Harry stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on Jeremy's shoulder.

The young man sat down heavily in the chair that Harry had pulled out earlier. He dropped his head into his hands, letting his elbows rest on the table. "Are you going to be okay?" Cassy asked worriedly.

Jeremy nodded silently, but didn't raise his head. She could suddenly hear his quiet voice, the words a mere whisper, "I haven't seen my dad for almost three years. Every time I tried to see him, he would avoid me. . .said that he didn't want my reputation ruined by contact with him." The voice became even quieter, "He never understood that none of it mattered. . .that all I wanted was to be with him." Suddenly, the youth's shoulders began to shake uncontrollably. Cassy placed her arm around his shoulders, bringing him into a hug. Jeremy grabbed on holding her tightly in fear.

End Part 2

Back to Silk Stalkings Page