Split Second - Catherine Coulter [87]
Gator seemed to think about that. “Well, maybe you’re right. I mean, Billy’s my friend for a hundred years now, and he deserves one. Are you okay, buddy?”
Billy the Cop called out, “Yeah, Gator, give me a beer. That’d be good.” And then he moaned real loud.
“Don’t you dare die on me, Billy, you got that? Hey, I’ll get you two beers. As for those stampeding yahoos, I’d like to take my bat to them.” Still grumbling, Mr. Spicer walked back into his bar, his bat tucked under his arm.
Savich heard Billy the Cop say to Lucy, “Do you know, Agent, you have no idea how pissed off my guys in the BPD are going to be at you and your buddies. It might be best if you left right now, before they get here.”
Ollie came down over Savich. “How is she?”
“Unconscious. At least she wasn’t shot, but I’m worried she’s overdosed. Where are the ambulances?”
Ollie dropped down on his haunches. “They’ll get here soon. There’s no sign of Kirsten. What do you want me to do, Savich?”
“Help Coop with Comafield. He’s our only lead to Kirsten. I don’t want him dying on us.”
Coop looked over at Lucy when she said to Billy, “You’re doing great, Billy. I gotta say, though, you’ve really got sucky luck. I mean, here you are out for a night of fun, and a maniac guns you down. Sorry about that.”
“Ain’t that the truth. Anyone dead?”
“No, thank heavens, just a couple of walking wounded.”
“So why were all you FBI here?”
“I’ll tell you something, Billy. The woman who got away?”
“Yeah?”
“She’s Ted Bundy’s daughter.”
Billy cursed a blue streak, surprise mixing with pain. “We all knew she was out there, but not here, not in Baltimore. That was really her? Right here, at my neighborhood bar? I can’t believe I missed that.”
People being people, they began to slip out of the bar again once everything quieted down. They blocked the street, milling around when the ambulance sirens sounded in the distance, the cop sirens blending in. People who drove by slowed down to see what was going on, and others were hanging out of neighboring windows, asking what was happening. Even when the ambulances pulled close, few of them seemed to want to get out of the way.
It was a zoo until Ollie cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Every one of you step back inside or I’m making arrests!”
Finally most people moved aside so the EMTs could get through.
Savich heard Coop call out, “Here first!” and saw Coop was pressing both palms hard on Comafield’s belly.
Savich shouted, “How bad, Coop?”
“It’s going to be close, Savich. He’s shot in the abdomen, and there was blood and intestinal juice coming out. I can’t control the bleeding; it’s going to take an operation to do that. The other bullet went in and out of his arm, no big deal. Still, he’s going to be luckier than most of God’s creatures if he makes it. What about Sherlock?”
“She’s in and out,” Savich said, wiping her mouth.
And then she whispered, “Did she get away?”
“Yeah, but don’t worry about it now. How are you feeling, sweetheart?”
“We screwed up.” She pulled out of his arms, doubled over again with cramps and dry heaves.
That was true enough, Savich thought, gathering Sherlock against him once her cramps had lessened. They’d held their fire because of the crowd, but it didn’t matter, they all looked like incompetents.
Jack Crowne pushed through the crowd around them, saying, “FBI, let me through.” He came down on his haunches. “How are you, Sherlock?”
She said, “I sure wish we could replay that whole deal.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Lucy said, still crouched beside Billy the Cop, and then she blinked. “Yes, I really wish we could.” She raised her face to the sky. “Do you know a raindrop hit my nose. What more could we ask for?”
Coop was hovering next to the EMTs. “Take good care of him, we really need him. He’s our spigot.”
When the EMTs were ready to move Comafield, Coop stepped back, watched then slip a collapsible gurney under him, and lift him on its wheels and into the ambulance.