Chapter Nine
I bolted up from bed when my alarm went off. I hadn't slept very well at all, and so had heard its first ring. Actually, I was rather pleased that night was over. I do believe I could have gotten more rest if I had stayed up all night. I glanced out throught the drapes; the sky was just beginning to turn a drab shade of gray. There was a heavy overcast, which made the morning look downright cold and drizzly. I slipped into an old pair of jeans and a warm flanned shirt, over which I pulled a dark blue sweatshirt. Then I pulled on my old, faithful, if clothes can be faithful, cowboy boots. Now, I felt prepared for anything.
"I'll let Martha straighten up this mess," I thought lazily. "She'll probably tack an extra ten dollars onto my bill just to demonstrate that picking up after me isn't part of her job description, but, I can afford it." I decided that was what I liked about being rather well off, rich, as a matter of fact; one does not have to worry about ten dollars here, or twenty there, or even a hundred, now and again.
I trotted down the spiral, which was the only thing I liked about the apartment, and might have been why I rented it. I wasn't hungry yet, but I figured I'd better have something; who knows when I might get to eat again. I looked at my pocket watch (I've never been able to abide anything on my wrist); there was still plenty of time. I flicked on the radio to dispell the silence.
"Might as well have a little light on the subject," I considered as I stepped
toward the drapes covering the balcony doors and pulled the cord at the left side.
As I did, I heard a loud pop and saw a hole with shatter lines around it in the glass
door before me. Then the door to the right burst. I threw myself backwards,
simultaneously there was another pop. I felt myself falling.
The next disturbance I was aware of was a pounding at the front door, and the bell was ringing. "Randolph!... Randolph!" a voice shouted.
"I know that voice," I thought hazily, dumbly. However, I could not rouse myself. "It's weird," I ruminated. "It's so far away, like a sound from across a foggy bay." I couldn't force my eyes open. I felt I was floating on a sea of blackness; there was darkness and peace and oblivion. I wasn't at all certain if I ever wanted to return to a world of violence, violent in every way, in sound, in thought, in action. I was drifting into the merk again, but there was a loud bang and then another. "They must have kicked the door in," I dreamed. "Why couldn't they have done it quietly?" Once more I sank into the still, peaceful gloom.
"Let's get him into the chair." It was Carter's voice; that was the familiarity.
"Has he been shot?" came another known voice. I felt myself lifted from the floor and gently placed into some soft cushions.
"Get me a wet rag! Then call the paramedics!" ordered Carter.
Gradually, my senses told me more: my head hurt and there was a throbbing pain in my left forearm. I perceived a damp coolness on my face and forced open my eyes. I inhaled a deep sighing breath of relief.
"You're not too bad off," said CArter, who was kneeling before me with a wash cloth in his hand, "just cracked your head pretty good, only a little blood though, but you've got a nasty slash on your arm. What happened?"
"I don't know," I whispered, slumping down into the deep, yielding chair and leaning my head back onto the cushion. I closed my eyes again for a couple of moments to compose myself; my senses and nerves were beginning to react rather harshly against the episode I had just experienced. At last, I described to the lieutenant all that I could remember, which wasn't much, because there wasn't much to recall, but shattering glass.
Within ten minutes two paramedics had arrived and we were rejoined by Sgt. Williams. The bleeding at my temple, which had struck the corner of the piano when I fell, had stopped, so they simply cleaned that and smoothed over it some antiseptic ointment that was quite irritating at forst, but then produced a cool, tingling sensation, then. Then they place a large bandage over it. My arm was another matter, though; it had a long, deep, but at least clean gash. The exploding glass must have slit it as I raised it to protect my face. It was continuing to bleed profusely, but at last, they got the flood under control, though reluctantly, ad dressed it with some more of the grayish salve that had been spread onto my temple, then they applied a pressure bandage to my now aching arm.
"If I's you, I'd get that stitched up as soon as possible," commented one of the paramedics, as they were leaving. These guys, though, theyhave caught a lot of flack, are well worth their pay. Without them many people would not be around today."
"I will," I replied and then turned to Carter. "What's going on?"
"Someone took some pot shots at you with a high powered rifle from the top of that building across the street. Williams went over there and found these three shell casings. You were just plain lucky. Usually people using that class of gun don't miss."
I stared at the shiney, brass cylinders laying in Carter's palm. None of this seemed to be truly happening; it was much like one of my dreams. I glanced down at the floor, which was strewn with fragments of glass. "Well, I'll probably have to give Martha--- that's my cleaning lady--- an extra twenty to clean this disaster up." I started to push myself out of the chair, but a brief wave of dizziness swept over me. I swayed, steadying myself against the piano. I touched its velvety smoothness.
"You OK?" questioned Carter with concern.
"Yah, I'm all right. Just a little woozy. I'm going up and get out of these bloody clothes."
"You'd better get anything else you might need, 'cause you're not coming back here for a while. I'm putting you in protective custody."
I didn't especially like the sound of that, but at the moment I didn't feel like arguing the point. I brushed the sharp slivers and chunks from the top of the smooth, black instrument and then pushed myself away from it. My boots crunched as I took a step in the shiney litter covering the carpeting. Then I caught sight of something that sickened me--- three splintery holes in the side of my musical companion.
"Damn! He shot my piano!" I said angrily. "That was a twenty thousand dollar piano; had the best sound I've ever heard." I stepped around to the keys; half of them had no voice and the other half sounded as if they were in agony. I gently closed the lid over the row of black and white. All the swimming sensations had passed away the instant I saw those holes.
I believe Carter thought that the sight of a grown man being upset because his piano got shot was rather amusing. I turned on him, "And what do you think is so funny?" This flurry of temper took him by surprise, because even though he was being careful to keep a straight face, I had a fairly good idea of what he was thinking. He grunted.
"How long will I be away?" I asked abruptly, trying to get my mind off those hideous holes.
"No way of knowing" was the stern reply. Carter was revealing a new side of his personality to me--- he sulks.
"Just be a few minutes." I trudged up the spiral once more and, after changing shirts, I threw everything I could possibly need in my remaining suitcase. (The other case was still in my car in a police parking lot.) When I had finished and had glanced around the room to make sure I had everything, I handed the brown, leather case to Williams, who had followed me up, no doubt at Carter's instructions.
Once downstairs again, I left a note for Martha telling her that she needn't come again until I got in touch with her, along with a check for a hundred dollars to apologize for the mess, including the blood, she would have to clean up.
"Let's see, is there anything else?" I mumbled to myself. "Oh! The book!" I was astonished at myself for having let it slip my mind, even for an instant. I stepped over to the shelves against the wall, where I kept it near the stereo and recording equipment. "Lieutenant, will you go into the linen closet?" I pointed to the small, latticed door behind the iron stairs. "I need the large, square, dark blue case on the top shelf," I called after him. Carter, having returned with the substantial, little box that somewhat resembled a lady's make-up case, but was larger, I carefully picked up the ancient book, wrapped it in the cloth and plastic I kept in the case for that purpose, and placed it in its traveling protection. To my horror, though, I would have dropped it, my arm being weaker and more painful than I had supposed, had not Carter steadied it. I nodded by thanks as he did so."
"I'll take that," he said. "What is it, a Bible?"
"No, I've got it. Thanks, anyway. It's a witch book," I joked.
Down the stairs to the back of the building we went. Williams had already brought the car around and loaded the suitcase into the trunk. I then allowed Carter to place the book in as well.
Once we were in the car, I asked, "Well, where do we go now? To find Amber?"
"No, to the hospital to get you fixed up," was the firm reply from the driver.
"I hate hospitals," I groaned.
"No matter."
"Then what?"
We get a chopper and see if we can't find the girl."
"Listen. Can we try it on the ground first? I think I can find it this morning," I said confidently. "In any case, I'd like to try something."
"OK, but just one try."
I leaned my head, which was not throbbing, as was my arm, back onto the
headrest and shut my eyes, attempting to ready myself, mentally, for the very much
feared hospital.
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