Decency (7 page)

…mean bitches, Gimme and She-bo…

“I doin’ it. Right?”

…first part, sex, that was easy…

“Not doin’ it fast.”

…join or die… …Marsha, she died… …bein’ a “Stink” sure be BAD…

…second part, droppin’ this here rock on the Beltway… …no big deal…
“Right here! Now!”

…get the damn thing up… …over the railing…

“
Hoo-oo
dawg! Right in the windshiel’!”

“You be a Stink now!”

Tom Hawkins checked the clock on the dash. 9:34.

…plenty of time…most of the traffic is gone…Kelly won’t be home until at least 10:00…

…something
falling
…

BRAP!

Shatter cracks spider-webbed the windshield.

Tom jerked in surprise, instinctively turning the steering wheel to the right and kicked for the brakes.

BAM.

His Beemer careened into a pillar support for the overpass. A sledge hammer blow to the left side of his head blotted out his mind.

The BMW rose as if to climb the pillar. Almost instantly, it was at ninety degrees then carom-twisted over and back onto the road surface.

Two cars followed behind. One of the drivers saw something on the overpass. Both drivers saw the BMW veer too far to the right. When it hit the pillar they stood on their brakes and steered to avoid it. When it caromed, they saw it coming back toward the center of the road.

One of them steered left and passed, never to be seen again, between the center barricade and the BMW as it landed on its top. The other tried to stop behind it and its driver saw a full circle and a half panorama sweep horizontally past his line of vision before striking the inverted car, trunk lid to trunk lid, banging his head on the headrest.

He opened his eyes to see nothing but the headlights of three other oncoming cars, hoods low, skidding to stop in front of him.

His first thought was to call 911. He got the dial tone but no ring. He opened his door and unsteadily stepped out. The drivers of the cars facing his were getting out.

“Can anyone call 911?”

One of them answered, “Yeah,” and ducked back inside her car.

Another called back over his shoulder, “I’ve got a fire extinguisher…does anyone else?”

The third came up to the man, looking him up and down.

“Y’all hurt, man?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Yo man. D’uthuh car might blow ‘fo’ duh
poh-
leece git here.”

He looked back to the BMW and saw the rear wheels spinning above his own trunk, engine running, driving the wheels as though still bound for northern Virginia. The engine sputtered and would soon die.

He caught his balance and staggered, then leaned back against the roof line of his vehicle.

The woman who said she would call 911 came up to him carrying a small first aid kit.

“Sir, I’m a nurse. Help is on the way. Please sit down and tell me your name.”

“Jack. Bachman.”

“Yo, mama, d’ gas tank in duh air. Maht blow!”

She glanced up and saw that he was right, gravity would send gas through the line to the electric wires, even if the tank was not ruptured.

“Brother man, can you take a look inside it? Somebody could need help getting out.”

“Bitch, yo crazeh! Fire depahtmin’ comin’.”

Sirens began to come out of the distance.

“Fine. Just take this man to the side of the road…
Know-whut-Ahm-sayin’
…?”

“Mr. Bachman, please walk away with this gentleman.”

The driver with the fire extinguisher, a pitiful thing capable of dousing grease flares in a back yard Weber, went past the group, to the BMW.

The nurse grabbed her first aid box and went with him. The first driver sprayed the crevices around the bottom of the engine. The nurse got down on her hands and knees at the passenger window housing, crushed to a width of eight inches, and looked in. The packed jumble in front of her was not decipherable in the poor light.

The sirens were getting closer. She got up and went around the front of the car to the driver’s window housing. It had not been crushed as much and she could just make out the driver’s back, probably male. She saw a hand pinched between the roof and steering column. She reached in and worked her fingers under the wrist feeling for a pulse.

She forced her own breathing to slow down and to concentrate on what she felt through her finger tips. There, just barely, probably a beat. She withdrew her hand and stood up to get a look for possible access points into the wreck. The sirens were dying down as the emergency vehicles stopped. The front door looked too crushed to be openable. She tried the rear door. It unlatched and opened about three inches. She was not strong enough to pull it farther open.

An emergency services technician rushed up to her.

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t involved. I’m a nurse. I got a pulse on the driver.”

“The fire suppressants and cutting tools are about thirty seconds behind me. You can do more with those other people off to the other side. Listen now, if we can get them out alive they’ll be cared for on Medstar. Help us with these other folks, okay?”

She moved away, holding her unopened first aid kit. She recognized the first symptoms of the adrenaline receding from her flagging limbs. She knew if she didn’t keep moving she would get too tired, too fast, and might not be able to drive home.

Behind her the technician radioed, “Calipers and jaws. Maybe a saw for the seats.”

She looked back to her car. Beyond it police were putting flares on the road and bringing all oncoming traffic to a stop. As she made her way back to the right side of the road the fire truck pulled up. Men and equipment came out like a colony of ants. The fourteen hours she had put in at Walter Reed were piling up on her. She had to keep moving.

The screech of bending and breaking metal came from the BMW. In the distance a helicopter
whupp-whupped.

“Ma’am.”

She turned toward the officer.

“Ma’am, are you one of the drivers initially on scene?”

“Yes, I can get my ID. I know I’m a witness.”

“Ma’am, just very briefly, would you tell me what you saw?”

“Sure. The brake lights of the two cars in front of me came on and then I saw the wrecked car hit the pillar. One of the cars in front of me went between it and the median. The other one spun around and hit the car that wrecked. I got stopped and tried to help. I’m a nurse. The driver of the car that hit the overturned car, Jack Bachman is his name, asked me to call 911 and I did. One of the other drivers who stopped got his fire extinguisher and he and I checked Mr. Bachman and then went on to the over-turned car. There was a slight pulse on the only person I saw inside. Then the EMT guy showed up.”

“Did you see anything on the overpass?”

“No. Why?”

“That’s okay. Would you be kind enough to give your personal identifying information to the officer over there?”

“All right…” He was gone.

The officer turned away and walked several paces away from her. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw that she was indeed heading for her car, not trying to watch.

He drew the hand mic from his shirt and keyed it.

“Dispatch, five eight.”

“Go ahead, five eight.”

“Dispatch, operator of vehicle two, Bachman, B-A-C-H-M-A-N, relates observing juveniles throwing rocks from the overpass immediately prior to the incident. Other drivers in the vicinity do not confirm. Repeat, do not confirm. Witness Bachman is considered reliable. Continuing to gather witness identification and assessment. No indication of alcohol. Over.”

“Copy all. Crime scene and ballistics examiner to respond in…one three minutes. Over.”

Another late night.

…no mercy for the wicked…

Kelly Hawkins prepared yet another motion. It was 9:30 p.m. and the filing deadline was close of business tomorrow.

The phone rang.

…why now…?

“Hello, Kelly Hawkins.”

“Mrs. Hawkins, this is Sergeant Dillon with the Montgomery County Police…”

…they can’t serve the process…

“…your husband was in an accident on the Beltway, possibly caused by rock throwing. He is at…”

…no, he’s on his way back from Baltimore…

“…George Washington University Trauma Center…”

“
HOW IS HE?
”

“…Ma’am, you should go to the hospital. They have more information…” Kelly did not hear the rest. She was out the door.

Kelly’s Volvo screeched to a stop in front of the emergency room entrance.

She threw the car into Park, lunged out, left the door open and ran inside.

She stopped the first nurse she saw.

“I’m Kelly Hawkins…Mr. Hawkins?”

“Ma’am, you should check at the information desk…”

Kelly ran down the corridor and skid-stopped in front of a desk.

“Mr. Hawkins? I’m his wife.”

The attendant checked her list and, without changing expression, replied.

“I’ll call his attending.”

She picked up the phone and punched an extension button.

“Mrs. Hawkins is here.”

She looked up at Kelly.

“The Doctor should be coming…here he is now.” She indicated back in the direction Kelly just came from, where a young Pakistani physician was approaching.

“Mrs. Hawkins…”

“
HOW IS HE?
”

The next words seemed to draw out and echo in her brain, forever.

“We…did…all…that…we…could…do…The…trauma…to…the…head…was… uncontrollably…devastating…”