“On your mark,” he said.
The hand was at the I.V gauge now’, using the thing between its fingers
to nuzzle a rubbertipped inlet.
Sharp-tipped thing.
White cylinder, much like a pen. Ultra-thin needle.
It darted, a bird pecking a wormhole.
Plunged.
Huenengarth said, “Go,” to the radio.
It was only later that I realized he’d skipped “Get set.”
He moved toward the door, but I threw the bolt and was out first. All
those years of jogging and treadmilling finally paid off.
The door to 5o5W was already wide open.
Cassie was on her back in the bed, breathing through her mouth.
Post-seizure slumber.
She was covered to the neck. I.V tubing curled from under the
blankets.
Cindy was sleeping, too, flat on her stomach, one arm dangling.
Milo stood next to the I.V pole, baggy in green surgical scrubs.
A hospital ID badge was pinned to his shirt. M. B. S’IURGIS, M.D his
photographed face cross and bearish.
The real face was policeman-stoic. One of his big hands was clamped
over ChipJones’s wrist. The other bent Chip’s arm behind his back.
Chip cried out in pain.
Milo ignored him and told him his rights.
Chip had on a camel-colored jogging suit and brown suede running shoes
with diagonal leather stripes. His back was arched in Milo’s grip and
his eyes were splayed and bright, sick with terror.
It was his fear that made me want to kill him.
I ran to the bed and checked the I.V gauge. Locked sealed with Krazy
Glue. Stephanie’s idea. None of what was in the cylinder was entering
Cassie’s bloodstream. Creative, but a risk: seconds later, Chip would
have felt the pressure build behind the needle. And known.
Milo had him cuffed now. Chip started crying, then stopped.
Huenengarth licked his lips and said, “You’re fucked,Junior.” I hadn’t
seen him come in.
Chip stared at him. His mouth was still open. His beard trembled. He
dropped something on the floor. White cylinder with a tiny, sharp
tip.
It rolled on the carpet before coming to a stop. Chip raised a foot
and tried to step on It.
Milo yanked him away. Huenengarth put on a surgical glove and picked
up the cylinder.
He waved it in front of Chip’s face.
Chip made a whimpering noise and Huenengarth responded with a
masturbatory movement of one arm.
I went over to Cindy and nudged her. She rolled and didn’t waken. A
shake of her shoulders failed to rouse her. I shook harder, said her
name. Nothing.
A cup was on the floor, near her dangling hand. Half-filled with
coffee.
“What did you drug her with?” I asked Chip.
He didn’t answer. I repeated the question and he looked at the
floor.
His earring tonight was an emerald.
“What’d you give her?” I said, dialing the phone.
Hepouted.
The page operator came on and I called for an emergency
resuscitation.
Chip watched, wide-eyed.
Huenengarth advanced toward him again. Milo stilled him with a look
and said, “If she’s in danger and you don’t tell us, you’re only making
matters worse for yourself.”
Chip cleared his throat, as if preparing for an important
announcement.
But he said nothing.
I went to Cassie’s bed.
“Okay,” said Milo, “let’s go to jail.” He pushed Chip forward.
“We’ll let the lab figure it out.”
Chip said, “Probably diazepam-Valium. But I didn’t give it to her. ”
“How much?” I said.
“Forty milligrams is what she usually takes.”
Milo looked at me.
“Probably not lethal,” I said. “But it’s a heavy dose for someone “Not
really,” said Chip. “She’s habituated.”
“Bet she is,” I said, lacing my fingers to keep my hands still.
“Don’t be stupid,” said Chip. “Search me-see if you find drugs of any
kind.”
“You’re not holding because you gave it all to her,” said
Huenengarth.
Chip managed to laugh, though his eyes were frightened. “Go ahead,
search.”
Huenengarth patted him down, turned his pockets inside out, and found
only a wallet and keys.
Chip looked at him, shook hair out of eyes, and smiled.
“Something funny, Junior?”
“You are making a big mistake,” said Chip. “If I wasn’t the victim,
I’d really feel sorry for you.”
Huenengarth smiled. “That so?”