09 To the Nines (23 page)

Valerie went into the breathing and rubbing mode again and my mom ran upstairs for the suitcase.

“So what do you think, Valerie,” I asked when she stopped rubbing and puffing. “You've done this before. Are you ready to go to the hospital?”

“I was ready weeks ago,” Valerie said. “Someone help me get up.”

Albert and I each took an arm and pulled Valerie up.

She looked down. “I can't see my feet. Do I have shoes on?”

“Yep,” I said. “Sneakers.”

She felt around. “And I've got pants on, right?”

“Black stretchy shorts.” Stretched to within an inch of their lives.

My mother came down the stairs with the overnight bag. “Are you sure you don't want to get married?” she asked Valerie. “I could call Father Gabriel. He could meet you at the hospital. People get married in the hospital all the time.”

“Contraction!” Valerie said, huffing and puffing, holding Kloughn s hand in a death grip.

Kloughn went down to one knee. “Yow! You're breaking my hand!”

Valerie kept huffing.

“Okay,” Kloughn said. “Okay, okay. It's not so bad now that the hand's gone numb. Besides, I got another one, right? And probably this one's not actually broken. It's just mashed. It'll be fine, right? Mashed isn't so bad. Mashed. Squished. Smushed. That's all okay. That's not like broken, right?”

The contraction passed and we propelled Valerie out the door, down the sidewalk to the driveway. While the rest of us were flub-a-dubbed, my father had slipped outside and started the car. Sometimes my father knocks me out. On the surface he's all meat and potatoes and television, but the truth is, he doesn't miss much.

We put Valerie in the front seat. Albert, my mom, and I got in the backseat. Grandma and the girls stayed behind, waving. The trip was only several blocks long. St. Francis was walking distance from my parents' house, if you wanted to take a good long walk. I called Morelli from the car and told him I wouldn't be home for dinner. Morelli said that was cool since there didn't seem to be any dinner anyway.

Even with our combined abilities, Morelli and I as a single entity didn't equal a bad housewife. Bob ate regularly because we scooped his food out of a big bag. After that it was all downhill to take-out.

Albert and I walked Valerie in through the emergency entrance and my mom and dad took off to park the car.

A nurse came forward. “Omigod!” she said. “Valerie Plum? I haven't seen you in years. It's Julie Singer. I'm Julie Wisneski now.”

Valerie blinked at her. “You married Whiskey? I had a big crush on him when I was in high school.”

This caught me by surprise. I was just a couple years behind Valerie, but I had no idea she'd had a crush on Whiskey. Whiskey was drop-dead cute but not a lot upstairs. If you talked cars with Whiskey you were on solid ground. Any topic other than cars, furgeddaboudit. Last I heard he was working in a garage in Ewing. Probably happy as a clam at high tide.

“Big contraction,” Valerie said, her face turning red, her hands on her belly.

“So what do you think?” I asked Julie. “I don't know a lot about this stuff, but she looks like she's going to have a baby, right?”

“Yeah,” Julie said. “Either that or forty-two puppies. What have you been feeding her?”

“Everything.”

My mom and dad hustled in and went to Valerie.

“Julie Wisneski!” my mom said. “I didn't know you were working here.”

“Two years now,” Julie said. “I moved from Helene Field.”

“How are the boys? And Whiskey?” my mom wanted to know.

Big smile from Julie. “Driving me nuts.”

My dad was looking around. He didn't care about Whiskey and the boys. He was scoping out televisions and vending machines. Good to know where the essentials are in a new environment.

Julie wedged Valerie into a wheelchair and took her away. My parents went with Valerie. Kloughn and I were left to complete the admission ritual. From the corner of my eye I caught site of a black hulking mass, positioned against a wall. Steroidasaurus was still watching over me.

When we satisfied admissions that the bill would be paid, I sent Albert upstairs to be with Valerie and I went over to talk to Cal.

“It's not necessary for you to stay,” I said. “I'm going to be here for a while. When I'm done at the hospital I'm going back to Morelli's house. I don't think I'm in any danger.”

Cal didn't move. Didn't say anything.

I slipped out the emergency room door and called Ranger and filled him in. “So I thought it didn't make sense for Cal to stay here all night while I'm with Valerie.”

“Hospitals don't screen for killers,” Ranger said. “Keep Cal with you.”

“He's scaring people.”

“Yeah,” Ranger said. “He's good at that.”

I disconnected, returned to the emergency room lobby, and went upstairs to look for Valerie. Cal followed close at my heels.

We found Valerie on a gurney, in a hospital gown under a sheet, her stomach a huge swollen mound on top of her. My mother and father were at her head. Albert was holding her hand. Julie was attaching an ID bracelet onto Valerie's wrist.

“Omigod,” Valerie said. “Unh!” And her water broke.

It was an explosion of water. A tidal wave. We're talking Hoover Dam quantity water. Water everywhere . . . but mostly on Cal. Cal had been standing at the bottom of the gurney. Cal was totally slimed from the top of his head to his knees. It dripped off the end of his nose and ran in rivulets down his bald head.

Valerie drew her legs up, the sheet fell away, and Cal gaped at the sight in front of him.

Julie stuck her head around for a look. “Uh-oh,” Julie said, “there's a foot sticking out. Guess this is going to be a breech baby.”

That was when Cal fainted. CRASH. Cal went over like he was a giant redwood cut down by Paul Bunyan. Windows rattled and the building shook.

Everyone clustered around Cal.

“Hey,” Valerie yelled. “I'm having a baby here!”

Julie went back to Valerie.

“Is it a girl or a boy?” Valerie wanted to know.

“I don't know,” Julie said, “but it's got big feet. And it's not a puppy.”

A doctor appeared and took charge of Valerie, wheeling her down the hall. Kloughn and my mom followed after Val and the doctor. My father wandered into a room that had a ball game going. And I watched a couple nurses pop ammonia capsules under Cal's snout.

Cal opened his eyes but it didn't look like anyone was home.

“He hit his head pretty hard when he fell,” one of the nurses said. “We should get him checked out.”

Good thing it was his head, I thought. Not a big loss there if it's broken.

It took six people to get Cal onto a stretcher and then they rolled him away in the opposite direction they'd gone with Valerie.

One of the nurses asked if I knew him. I said his name was Cal. That was about it. That was what I knew. I wasn't allowed to use my cell phone in that part of the hospital, so I went outside to call Ranger.

“About Cal...” I said. “He's sort of out of commission.”

“Used to be you destroyed my cars,” Ranger said.

“Yeah, those were the good old days.”

“How bad is it?”

“Valerie's water sort of broke on him and he fainted. Bounced his head on the floor a couple times when he went down. Lucky, he was in the hospital when it happened. He was looking a little dopey, so they took him somewhere for testing.”

“St. Francis?”

“Yep.”

Disconnect.

I was making a shambles of the Merry Men. I suspected Tank was somewhere in the hospital, too. I'd stop in to say hello, but I only knew him as Tank. Probably Tank wasn't the name listed on the chart.

Morelli called while I was still outside. “So?”

“I'm at the hospital with Valerie,” I told him. “It's been pretty uneventful except for the birth and the concussion.”

“What, no fires or explosions? No shoot-outs?”

“Like I said, it's been quiet, but it's still early.”

“I hate to ruin my tough-guy image, but to tell you the truth, I don't even like to kid about this stuff anymore.”

I didn't know how to tell him ... I wasn't kidding. “I should get back to Valerie,” I said.

“Television sucks tonight. Maybe I'll come over to the hospital.”

“That would be nice.”

The sky was overcast and a fine mist was settling around me. Streetlights popped on in the gloom. A block away, headlights glowed golden on cars cruising Hamilton. I'd exited the emergency entrance on Bert Avenue to make the call. I'd walked toward the back of the building, going just far enough to avoid activity. I had my back pressed to the brick wall of the hospital while I talked, trying to stay dry, trying to keep my hair from frizzing. Used to be there were houses across the street, but several years ago the houses were torn down and a parking lot was created.

A kid walked out of emergency and turned toward me, moving with his head down against the light rain, hugging a small gym bag to his chest. From the brief look I'd caught of his face I'd put him somewhere in his late teens to early twenties. Not really a kid, I guess, but he dressed like a kid. Low-slung baggy homeboy pants, gym shoes, short-sleeved shirt unbuttoned over a black T-shirt, spikey green hair. Probably had multiple piercings and tattoos, but I couldn't see any from this distance.

I dropped my phone into my purse and headed back to emergency. The green-haired kid got a couple feet from me and staggered a little, bumping against me. He picked his head up, looked me in the eye, and raised a gun level with my nose.

“Turn and walk,” he said, “I'm really good with this gun. I'll shoot you dead if you make a single false move.”

Usually there were people hanging out around emergency, but the rain had driven everyone inside. The street was deserted. Not even car traffic. “Is this about money?” I asked him. “Just take my bag.”

“Hah, you wish, sweetie pie. This is The Game and I'm the winner. Just me and the Web Master left. I get to go on to the next game after I do you.”

I turned and gaped at him.

“What?” he asked. “You didn't know it was me? You didn't think the hunter had green hair?”

“Who are you?”

He jumped and slashed at the air. “I'm the Fisher Cat.”

I'd never heard of a fisher cat. I was pretty sure we didn't have any in Trenton. “Is that a real animal or did you make it up?”

“It's a member of the weasel family. It moves along real quiet. You hardly know it's around. It's real sneaky. And it's ferocious.”

“Have you ever seen one?”

“Well, no, not exactly. You know, like, in a book.”

“If I was going to name myself after an animal I'd want to see it first.”

“That's because you have no imagination. Gamers have imagination. We create stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“The Game, stupid. And then we transcend the game. The game becomes the reality. Is that total whack, or what?”

“Yeah, total whack.” It had been a long day with a lot of adrenaline expended. For that matter, it had been a long week that had brought a lot of terror and death. This kid was right about one thing. I hadn't expected the bearer of that terror and death to have green hair and a tongue stud. “So this is a game,” I said. “With a Web Master?”

“Pretty cool, huh?”

“Did you pull wings off butterflies when you were a kid?”

“No. I was a total wimp kid. I was a wimp until I found the Web Master and got into The Game.”

“Are there rules to The Game or do you just go around randomly killing people?”

“The Web Master runs The Game. He's the one who decides who can play. Not everyone gets to play, you know. There are always five players and a prize. This time you're the prize. I know you've been getting messages from the Web Master. That's part of his job. He's the one who keeps the rabbit running while the players are in the elimination stage. This is my second game. The first game was a couple years ago. I was last man standing on that one, too. I got to hunt a cop that time.”

“What's with the flowers?”

“That's The Game designation. If you play the Web Master's game, you're a Red Roses and White Carnations player.”

I couldn't believe I was standing on the sidewalk, talking to this kid who looked more like the Green Goblin than a Fisher Cat and was holding me at gunpoint. . . and not a car drove by. No one strolled through the emergency room doors, looking for a place to sneak a smoke. No emergency vehicles barreled down the street with lights flashing.

“You look kind of young to be killing people,” I said. As if age mattered when you were insane.

“Yeah, so far as I know, I'm the youngest player. I was seventeen when I killed Lillian Paressi. I got so excited I did the deed on her after she was dead.”

“That's sick and disgusting.”

Fisher Cat giggled. “Maybe I'll do it on you, too, after I blow your head apart. I should have done it on Singh. The Web Master sent me to Vegas to get Singh. Really nice of you to find the little jerk for us. You don't just walk out on a Game. The Game is everything.”

I thought I was sounding pretty comfortable. My voice wasn't wobbling. My breathing appeared normal. I was asking questions. Deep inside there was bone-jarring fear. This was a seriously sick person. He had a gun. And it was going to ruin his night if he didn't kill me.

“The Fisher Cat has a real good sense of smell,” he said. “I can smell your fear.”

“I don't think that's fear you smell,” I said. “My sisters water broke on me.”

“Don't joke about it,” he yelled. “This is serious. This is the Game.”

Oh boy. Good going, Stephanie. Now he's mad.

He waved the gun at me. “Walk toward the garage.”

I hesitated and he shoved the gun in my face. “I swear to God, I'll kill you right here if you don't start walking,” he said, still agitated.

So maybe it was fear he smelled. I was putting out a lot of it. I walked toward the garage, thinking the garage might be helpful. It looked empty, but visiting hours were still going on and I knew there had to be people around. I'd never paid attention before, but there had to be security cameras. Whether they were working or anyone was watching was a whole other thing.