Sleight of Hand (10 page)

"I don't intend to.  I also don't intend to allow him to hurt Juanita or let the police start a gun fight in the middle of my ER."  Cassie turned and left.  

The two cops, the younger one looking more than a little sheepish, stood outside the doorway to Morris' room.  They had their guns drawn and had moved the spectators back.

"Give me the key to his handcuffs," she demanded.

"Sorry, doc, no can do," Spanos told her, muscling his bulk between her and the room.  "Don't worry, the SWAT guys are coming."

Exactly what Cassie was worried about.  A bunch of gung-ho cowboys shooting up her ER with her nurse caught in the crossfire.  

"We don't have time.  He's going to kill her if I don't get back in there."  She held her palm out for the key.  "If anything happens to Juanita, I'll make sure the entire city knows it was your fault."

Spanos' glare had no effect on her.  He lifted his shoulders in a dramatic shrug.  "You want to play hero, go ahead," he said.  "But if I get a clear shot, I'm taking it.  So you'd better stay out of my line of fire."  His eyes narrowed.  "Or not.  No matter to me."

"Just give me the damned key."  She knew Spanos was merely posturing, being his usual idiotic Neanderthal self, but this wasn't the time.  Her five minutes were almost up.  He slapped the key into her waiting hand, and she rushed past him back into the room.  

"Okay Morris, it wasn't easy, but I got the fentanyl from the pharmacy."  She pretended to be out of breath, hoping that her notoriously poor acting skills were up to the task.  

Morris had relaxed his hold on Juanita enough so that he could wrap his arm around her and fondle her breast.  Cassie almost wished she had let Spanos shoot him.  Or at very least tazer him. She forced herself to stay calm and not lash out at the addict.  

"First, unlock these."  He jangled his handcuffs.

Cassie showed him the key.  "You'll have to let her go, so that I can reach them."  She slowly moved toward the two.  

"Think I'm a fool?"  

Instead of releasing Juanita, Morris grabbed her tighter, hauling her over the bedrail so that she now sat on top of him.  He adjusted his grip, his arm returning back around her throat.  Cassie tried to ignore the huge biceps and bulging veins as he slowly began to squeeze.  She rushed forward and after fumbling with the key, released the handcuff from Morris' right wrist.

Morris sat up and lowered the bed rail.  He swung his legs around, Juanita still on his lap.  "That's better."

"Let her go."

"Not until you give me my stuff."

Cassie thrust the two vials at him.  "Here.  Now, let her go."

Morris took the vials with his right hand and scrutinized them.  He nodded.  "Might as well use a clean needle, right doc?  Wouldn't want to catch the virus or nothing."  He extended his arm.  "You shoot me up."

She shook her head.  "Not until you let Juanita go."  

"She can go.  Long as you stay."  Morris stared at Cassie with eyes filled with anger and loathing.  She knew that if she remained with him, he would kill her.  

And if she did nothing?  Morris could easily kill Juanita before the cops stopped him.

This was a bad idea.  A very bad idea.  But what other choice did she have?  She nodded.  "Deal."

CHAPTER 8

Cassie grabbed a syringe and tourniquet, holding them up, a peace offering.  Morris stared at her for a long moment, then grabbed her by the arm as he released Juanita.  The nurse's legs buckled, and she gasped for breath.  She looked up at Cassie with tearful eyes and hurried from the room.  

Morris' grip on her wrist was bone crushing.  Cassie bit her lip with the pain but said nothing.  

"Okay, bitch, just you and me.  Go ahead and give me the good stuff."  He held out his arm, releasing his grip on her wrist and grabbing a handful of her hair instead.  

Searing pain raced across her scalp, bringing tears to her eyes.  She applied the tourniquet, drew up the drug and quickly injected it.  He wrenched her head back when she finished.

"Now you and me are walking out of here," he said, rising to his feet.  "We'll find someplace quiet and have ourselves a little party."  

Succinylcholine had been around for years.  Cassie had never seen it fail.  She prayed this wouldn't be the first time.  

"How long before this stuff starts to work?" he asked. 

She said nothing, counting the seconds in her head.  Just about...
now
.  

"Whoa, I feel a rush coming on already–" His voice faltered.  He stopped, slumping against the gurney, pulling her down to the floor with him.  Cassie reached up and pried his fingers from her hair.  Now paralyzed, unable even to blink, Morris watched her with reproachful eyes.

"I need some help in here!" she shouted, going for the oxygen.  

Quickly, the room swarmed with medical personnel and police.  "Get him up on the bed, set up for intubation."  

She began to use the bag-valve mask to force oxygen in and out of his lungs.  Morris' eyes remained open, staring at her as he lay helpless on the gurney.

"Hey doc, that's good stuff–how long does it last?" the younger cop asked as he applied handcuffs to both of Morris' arms.

"Long enough for him to have brain damage if we don't breathe for him," she snapped.  "Get that pulse ox and monitor on him.  Let's go people!"  She looked up to see Rachel frowning at her from the doorway.  

Cassie felt a twinge of guilt.  What she had done was in violation of the Hippocratic oath and principles of medical ethics.  Her job was to heal, not to harm.    

She focused on her task, quickly intubating Morris and ensuring that he was getting oxygen. Once Morris was stabilized and headed up to the ICU, she went out to the police officers.  

"He'll be here overnight, then he's all yours," she told them.  

In truth, they could have allowed him to wake up and extubate him in the ER, but she didn't think it was fair for her staff to have to deal with Morris anymore.  Let the ICU handle his crap.

"Not bad for an amateur, Hart," Spanos told her grudgingly.  "Still, would have been easier just to shoot him."

"Not in my ER.  Next time you guys might want to notice if a guy's right handed or left handed when you cuff him."  

She ran her fingers through her hair, massaging her sore scalp.  Her hands were trembling, but she'd be damned if she'd let Spanos see that.

Johnson, the younger one, looked down.  "That was on me.  It won't happen again.  He seemed so out of it–"

"Just do me a favor and make sure that he stays locked up for a good, long while this time, okay?"

The two officers headed toward the elevators leading to the ICU. Cassie went back into the nurse's station and handed Rachel the remaining vial of succinylcholine.  

"You want to dispose of this for me?"

Rachel took the vial with a look of distaste.  "Certainly, Doctor," she said in a frosty voice.

Damn, here we go
, Cassie thought. Confrontations with nurses were bad enough, but get on the wrong side of a charge nurse and you were in for hell.

"Want me to call the Critical Incident Team?" Cassie asked, referring to the multi-disciplinary team that helped to defuse the stress of  traumatic events on medical personnel.  It might be helpful.  Lord knew, she was feeling pretty shaky after her confrontation with Morris.  Contrary to popular media images, having your life threatened was not an ordinary part of working in the ER.

"I don't feel that is necessary," Rachel replied.  

"It might help Juanita and anyone else to talk about things, review security procedures so this doesn't happen again, vent any feelings–"

"Don't you dare try to blame this on my nurse!" 

"I'm not.  I just thought–"

"That's the problem, you didn't think, Dr. Hart.  You rushed in to play hero, totally ignoring the fact that you were placing my nurse and your patient in jeopardy.  I hold you responsible for everything that happened today and don't you think for a minute that I won't report your actions to Dr. Castro and administration.  Your callous disregard–"

"If you had a better idea, you should have said something!" Cassie snapped, her temper flaring now.  "I had less than five minutes to come up with a plan that wouldn't get anyone killed."

"And did you ever consider the consequences if your plan hadn't worked?  We're here to serve our patients, to help them get better–whatever their illness or injury.  I took an oath in nursing school: First do no harm.  Tell me, Dr. Hart, what about your oath?"

Cassie was silent.  Rachel had hit a nerve with that one, but what else could she have done?  Stand by and let the police handle things?  The outcome could have been bloody.

Or everything might have been fine.  She should have trusted the police to do their job.  They were trained for these things, she wasn't.  She'd overstepped her bounds and in doing so, she had violated one of the fundamental principles of her profession.

She started to apologize to Rachel, but the charge nurse turned her back and walked away.

<><><>

"Hey, Drake.  Got a case for you."

Drake looked over as he and Jimmy moved through the front lobby of the station house.  Tony Spanos leaned against the desk, talking to a girl about ten and a younger boy who clung to her hand.  

Behind Spanos, his partner had the thankless task of writing up a report.

"Here you go, folks," Spanos said.  "This is Detective Drake, he specializes in your kind of case."  Spanos moved away, leaving the two children with Drake.

He sent a glare toward the uniformed officer.  Spanos returned it with a mocking salute.  Then Drake crouched down so he was at eye level with the kids.  "Hi, guys.  What can I do for you?"

"Will you help us?"  The girl was the spokesman for the duo.  Drake watched as she looked over her shoulder at a man who stood just behind her.  Their father, Drake guessed, nodded his encouragement, and she turned back.

"First of all, what's your name?"

"I'm Katie Jean and this is my little brother, Nate." 

"Pleased to meet you, Katie Jean and Nate." Drake extended his hand and shook Katie Jean's.  When he offered it to Nate, the boy flinched away, moving so that his sister shielded him.  "And is that your dad?"

The man moved closer and took Drake's hand.  "John Trevasian."  He looked down on his daughter.  "Go on, Katie Jean."

She straightened and stared up at Drake with an intense expression that reminded him of Hart.  "It's my job to talk to you, 'cause Snickers is our responsibility."  She stumbled on the last word, and he realized she had rehearsed the speech.  "We need you to help us find him.  Nate drew pictures and we left them all over, but no one's seen him and he's just a puppy and what will happen if no one knows how he likes his belly rubbed or what kind of food to get him?"  The last came out in an explosion of fear.

Drake rocked back on his heels.  He could hear Spanos' laughter from behind him but ignored it.  Katie Jean sniffed back her tears and tried to continue.  

"Anyway, Daddy always says the police are here to help us, so I asked him to bring us here today.  So will you?  Find Snickers and bring him home?  Please?"  She looked up at him with an earnestness that was mirrored on her brother's face.

How could he say no?  He nodded solemnly.  "I'll do my best," he assured them.  "You said you have a picture?" 

Katie Jean turned to her brother who withdrew a sheet of paper from his pants pocket and silently offered it.  Drake unfolded the paper and smoothed it.  He glanced up at the boy in surprise.  It was a detailed rendering of an Australian Shepard done in pencil except for two blue smears of crayon for the eyes.  

"Did you draw this?" he asked Nate who merely shrugged.  The boy looked to be only eight or so, but the artwork was that of an advanced talent.

"He drew it 'cause we didn't have any new pictures of Snickers, only when he was a baby," Katie Jean continued her role as spokesperson.  "Nate draws lots of things."

"I'll bet he does," Drake told her.  "You kids wait here a minute while I talk to your father, all right?"  He glanced over at Spanos who was still lounging nearby.  "Officer Spanos will get you both some honorary police badges."  Spanos looked up at that, but it was too late, Katie Jean had already marched over to him and began tugging on his arm.

"Thanks for talking to them, Detective," John Trevasian said.  "I know there's nothing you can do, the dog's probably long gone.  But Katie Jean was determined."  His voice trailed off as he looked over at his children.

Drake smiled.  "I can see that.  You've got a couple of great kids there, Mr. Trevasian.  Did Nate really draw this by himself?"

A cloud passed over the father's face.  "Yes.  Since Snickers disappeared, drawing has been his only form of communication.  He loved that dog so much."

"He's very talented.  You should look into classes for him.  Maybe it would give him something to concentrate on now that Snickers is gone."

"Yeah, that's what the people at school say.  We don't know what to do.  He refuses to talk to anyone–not even Katie Jean.  First the school said he was hyperactive and needed medication, then once he started taking the drugs he got moody and sullen.  And since Snickers has been gone he hasn't said a single word, not to anyone. We even have the school psychologist working with him."

Drake turned and watched the boy clutching his sister's hand.  "What's your address?" 

"It's on the back of the picture.  You're not really thinking you can find Snickers, are you?"

"I told Katie Jean and Nate that I'd do my best.  Let me talk to some of the guys who patrol near your house.  Who knows, maybe we'll get lucky."

Trevasian smiled and took Drake's hand once more.  "Thank you, Detective.  I–we–really appreciate this.  Come on kids, it's time to go."

Drake watched the family leave, ignoring Spanos' approach.  He remembered being a shy kid, his only solace the pictures he'd draw, scribbling over any scrap of paper he could find.  But Nate seemed more than shy, the boy was lost somewhere, wandering alone without comfort.