Secrets & Lies (31 page)

I'm worried about him. The bullet went through Dad's
neck
and he was in surgery for nearly seven hours. Something called the vagus nerve was severed, but that's all I know. I have no idea what that means, if he's going to be paralyzed or impaired or what. He was fortunate that the carotid artery wasn't hit or he'd be dead. I'm so upset. I pray that he's going to be all right.

I've been in a 20th Precinct cell before. The place hasn't changed. Detective Jordan couldn't believe he was seeing me again in his station. He's the detective who handled my assault case, and again later when I was accused of stalking. Detective Jordan is a pretty nice cop. He's a handsome black man in his forties or fifties. Kind of like Denzel Washington. He took a shine to me back when I was nearly killed. He was doing his job and abiding by the law throughout his actions, but I think deep down he sympathized with me later when I was charged with stalking that rapist.

I've been arrested for assault on the two men who were about to kill me and my dad. The cops who arrived at the scene had never seen anything like it. After all, it was a nice, Upper West Side hotel room. It's just that the guest was tied to a chair and had blood all over him, and his assailants were lying on the ground unconscious, one seriously injured. The guest's visiting teenage daughter stood in the middle of it all, unharmed, claiming she had saved her father from torture and murder. The cops didn't believe me. Actually, they found me holding a towel tightly against Dad's neck, attempting to stop the blood. Luckily, ambulances came quickly and picked up my dad and the two creeps while the police questioned me. Dad's now at St. Luke's-Roosevelt, where I once spent some time, too.

Detective Merrill, whom I didn't know, asked me to come to the station for more interrogation. At the time, I wasn't under arrest. I said I wanted to go to the hospital to see about my father. When I refused to come along cooperatively,
then
Merrill said I was under arrest for assault.

It's now the next morning, and I'm sitting in this stupid jail cell with a gross little toilet and an uncomfortable mattress on the poor excuse for a bed. Needless to say, I didn't sleep well. The meals have been okay, but nothing I would normally eat. I wouldn't be able to keep my body in shape if I had to eat that high-calorie crap every day.

Right after breakfast, which was a strange concoction of rubbery scrambled eggs, leatherlike bacon, and a biscuit as hard as a stone, Detective Jordan came to see me. “Why are you always getting in trouble, young lady?” he asked. I couldn't tell if he was joking or not. He wanted to go over my story again. He and an officer brought me into an interview room, and I went through the whole thing for the zillionth time—how I'd come to meet my dad for breakfast and found him a prisoner of two strange men, one of whom was armed. I used what I've learned of Krav Maga to disable them, but the gun went off during the fight. My dad was shot. I tore into the shooter, and then I called 911. Then I attended to my dad and waited. And I've been waiting ever since.

Jordan checked his notes and said, “Gina, I'm sorry Detective Merrill brought you here and you had to spend the night in a cell. It wasn't right. His actions will be reviewed. I believe your story, but we can't completely drop the case until we talk to your father and get his side of it. He obviously can't speak right now, so until we
can
interview him you'll be released on your own recognizance. You'll have a hearing this afternoon in front of a judge. If you want to get a lawyer, you can. It's all bureaucracy and stuff, otherwise I'd just let you walk out of here. But you can't leave town, understand?”

“What about my dad? Have you heard how he is?”

“Only that the operation was successful and that he's still in ICU. But maybe your visitors outside can tell you more.”

They were my mom and Ross, who had flown in from Chicago early this morning. After a few tearful hugs and kisses, Mom told me that Dad had a serious injury and it may take months or years for him to fully recover. The surgery repaired the wound, but only time will tell how badly the vagus nerve was damaged. Apparently, it has branches to the larynx, among other places, so his voice will most likely be affected. It's too early to know if he'll be able to speak again. Hopefully, he'll just be hoarse for a while. If you can call it “lucky,” Dad was hit on the left side of his neck. If he'd been hit on the right side, he could suffer rapid heartbeat and hoarseness for the rest of his life. Instead, he'll have some gastrointestinal problems like reflux and loose bowels, as well as the hoarseness, for some time—but it's possible these will improve with time. Dad will be in ICU for at least another day, probably more. Right now he's drifting in and out of consciousness and can't speak. He's been told I'm “all right.”

Ross asked me if I knew
anything
about the two men who attacked Dad. I told him the truth—I had no idea. It turns out the shooter has a broken neck, so he will be paralyzed forever. Maybe I got a little carried away on him. The other guy has a concussion, a broken arm, and a broken collarbone, but he'll eventually be okay. Frankly, I don't care if the shooter is paralyzed; I was fighting for our lives.

Mom said I had another visitor outside waiting—Josh. I was so happy to see him. He and Mom had been talking by phone since yesterday, so he met them when they arrived in New York. When Josh walked in the room, we didn't leave to the imagination how much we care for each other. Mom raised her eyebrows and said, “Well, it looks like you two are close.”

Ross took care of hiring a lawyer for me. Again. They would surely drop all charges against me, but it was best to have one in the courtroom. I wasn't allowed to leave yet, so Mom and Josh stayed with me in the interview room while Ross went to take care of the red tape.

“What about Dad?” I asked. “Shouldn't someone be at the hospital?”

“Maggie flew in this morning, too,” Mom said. “She's there now.”

That's good. I like Maggie. I hope Dad will be all right and they'll get married. Dad needs someone like her in his life.

We waited a long time. At one point, Josh went to get coffee for all of us, and Mom said, “Ross and I like him a lot.” That made me happy. She said she'd been disappointed that I'd quit school, but when she met Josh and heard him speak about me, she knew I should follow my heart.

Finally, Ross returned, and during lunch a nice lawyer named Mr. Drake came to talk to us. An hour later, I was in front of the judge and the whole thing was over in five minutes. I was free.

“Do you want to go home and bathe?” my mom asked.

“No,” I answered. “I want to see Dad.”

1961

S
EPTEMBER
12, 1961

Today's events certainly distracted me from what's going on in my world. The main thing is the building of a wall between East and West Berlin, which is going to cause all kinds of political problems between us and the Soviet Union. The “Cold War,” as it's called, is getting hotter.

That was on my mind this morning because I was listening to a story about the “Berlin Wall” on the radio in my car as I drove from my apartment down to Hollywood Boulevard so I could go to a Laundromat. The one in my building was under repair, and I badly needed to do a wash. I knew there was one on Cahuenga, so that's where I was headed. I also had my Stiletto outfit with me, because I was supposed to go see Barry in the afternoon and planned to change somewhere. But then the day took an unexpected turn, and I helped foil a bank robbery. I think. To tell the truth, I'm not sure exactly what happened or what the thieves got away with.

The Security First National Bank is an old 7-story building on the northeast corner of Hollywood Blvd. and Cahuenga. Barry once told me that Raymond Chandler's character Philip Marlowe was supposed to have an office inside. The ground floor was a bank, though, and there appeared to be some kind of commotion going on
as I drove by. A police car with flashing lights was double-parked in front, but no one was inside and the doors were wide open, as if the patrolmen had rushed out. A crowd of people stood on the sidewalk. From their demeanor, it was obvious something bad was happening in the bank. My windows were down and I was sure I heard gunshots. I didn't even think about it—I turned right at the next street, Cosmo, and luckily found a parking place. Not having time to dress completely, I donned just the leather jacket, the mask, and my belt. I had on blue jeans and tennis shoes below. I took my stiletto and strapped it on my leg, and got out of the car. It was a risk because people were on the street, but everyone's attention was directed toward the boulevard, where all the excitement was happening.

As I darted across the intersection of Cosmo and Hollywood, I saw that the crowd had grown in front of the bank. I shouted, “Out of the way! Move! Let me through!” There were the usual cries of surprise, but they opened up for me. I halted briefly at the door so I could take stock of the situation.

It was a robbery in progress. I saw two gunmen wearing Halloween monster masks holding customers hostage on one side of the room. One was Frankenstein and the other was the Bride of Frankenstein. In fact, that robber was a woman, I could tell by the shape of her body. The civilians and bank employees were lying facedown on the floor with their arms spread. Bride of Frankenstein covered them with a handgun. A policeman lay on his back in a pool of blood. A second cop was nearby, lying facedown with arms spread-eagle—he had given up. Frankenstein had the patrolman's weapon in his belt. The robber was watching the cop and the other door that was the exit to Cahuenga.

Were more police on the way? I couldn't count on it, so I bravely burst into the bank. Frankenstein swung his pistol at me and fired—people screamed—but by then I had dropped, rolled, and crouched behind the cover of a free-standing station where customers could fill out forms. Frankenstein kept firing, but the Bride shouted, “Don't waste your ammo!” The gunman stopped shooting. The
hostages sobbed in terror. I heard the Bride say, “Watch them,” so I knew she was coming around to attack. I got up on one knee as if I was about to run the 50-yard dash, and perked up my ears to listen to her steps. I made a judgment call on exactly how far away she was standing, so I pushed up and charged around the station and slammed into the woman's waist. Her gun went off over my head, but I tackled her and we both crashed heavily on the hard floor. The weapon flew across the room and miraculously slid inches away from the living policeman's hand. Seeing his opportunity, he grabbed it, and, while still lying facedown, aimed the gun at Frankenstein. He fired and missed. The robber, who stood a few feet away, slammed his shoe down on the cop's gun hand, causing the patrolman to release the weapon. Then Frankenstein aimed his pistol at the man's head and squeezed the trigger.

Click.

He had emptied his rounds firing at me. Frankenstein dropped his weapon, pulled the policeman's gun from his belt, and aimed it at the man, but the cop courageously leapt for the thief. Frankenstein fumbled the policeman's weapon and it slid somewhere out of sight. The cop slugged the thief and the fight was on. Meanwhile, I was busy wrestling with the Bride, who was surprisingly strong and vicious. She punched me hard in the belly, knocking the wind out of me, and then she used that opportunity to roll away from me. The woman tried to jump for her gun, which the policeman had dropped nearby, but with my left hand I grabbed her by the ankle and twisted it. She yelped but kicked my hand hard with her other foot. I wasn't wearing gloves, so her shoe ripped the skin on the back of my hand. It hurt like the dickens and I started bleeding.

The Bride made it to the weapon and picked it up, but instead of shooting me, she grabbed a female hostage from the floor close by and pulled the woman to her feet. While that was going on, I stood and drew the stiletto. The female robber pointed the pistol at the woman's head and shouted, “Don't move!”

Meanwhile, the cop and Frankenstein were still grappling, but
the policeman was receiving the brunt of it. The robber delivered a powerful punch to the patrolman's face and knocked the man out cold. He crumbled to the floor like a ragdoll. Frankenstein retrieved his empty gun and started to reload it.

The Bride addressed me, “Stay where you are or I'll blow her brains out!” The hostage sobbed uncontrollably, tears running down her face.

At that moment there was a small explosion somewhere in the back of the bank. Several hostages screamed again. A thick cloud of smoke issued from a hallway. I figured the robbers' colleagues were in the vault or another area where the money was kept, and the blast was their handiwork.

“Let her go,” I said to the Bride.

“Back off, bitch!” the woman spat. “Drop the knife and lie down on the floor with the rest of them.”