“You do have a way of always being there, looking up just as the pigeons fly over.”
“It’s a gift.”
“What the hell were you doing there?”
I told him.
“And you think there’s a connection between the shooter and SeCure Corps?”
“This so-called Sentry’s the only other person I’ve come across lately who’s as shy as our sniper.”
“Shy-and high.”
“Exactly. Well worth checking out even if it weren’t the only lead we had.”
“Mr. Griffin?”
We both turned. A low-browed, acned young man in a lab coat stepped through the curtain. He was tall and gangly and looked to be all of sixteen, as though he ought to be mowing lawns and sitting at the movie wondering how to get an arm casually around his date’s shoulder. Instead, here he was patching people back together and trying to save the occasional life.
“Your X-rays came back. Skulls series and cervical spine are okay, no problems there. That hand looks okay, as far as we can tell. No evidence of fracture. You’re going to have one mother of a bruise, and the hand may swell up till you look like Mickey Mouse. However …”
The great medical however.
“… you have three cracked ribs. I don’t think there’s any danger, but we’d like you to stay here overnight for observation.”
I shook my head. “Tape them.”
“Mr. Griffin-”
I stopped him. “Doctor. I appreciate your concern, believe me. But I’ve been through this before.”
“You don’t understand. With injuries of this kind there’s always the possibility of-”
“Lung puncture, pneumothorax, atalectasis, pneumonia. I do understand. As I said, this isn’t exactly new territory for me. First time, I went to bed the way I was told and I got so sore it took me two months to get over it all. Next time, because someone was stalking me, I didn’t have a choice, I had to keep moving. By the end of the week I’d almost forgotten it ever happened.”
“Well … you have a point. All right, Mr. Griffin. We’ll do it your way, on a couple of conditions. One: you let me write a prescription for you in case the pain gets too bad, so you’ll at least be able to rest.”
“Second?”
“You come back day after tomorrow and let me take a look at you.”
“Agreed.” Though I knew there was little chance I’d come back. He probably knew it too.
“I’m still not clear on this thing with Davis,” Walsh said as the doctor began wrapping me.
I looked beneath one raised arm.
“When all hell started breaking loose, I had to wonder if it might be a set-up. If the whole thing, the speaker trouble, the ensuing riot, all of it, hadn’t started out just as a way to provide distraction.”
“Making it easy for anyone who wanted to take Corene Davis down.”
I nodded. “Hold still, Mr. Griffin,” the doctor said.
“There wasn’t anything I could do out on the edge like that. Man could have been standing in moonlight on the roof with a cannon and I wouldn’t have seen him. So I pushed into the crowd. Thinking all the time that if I got in closer to the center, there was at least a chance I’d see something-assuming there was something to see.
“About this time they brought Corene Davis out a side door, trying to get her away from danger. They came out of the church itself, not the community center, and I just happened to be in the right position and looking that way. Four men pressed close to her, and they were making for a black Lincoln parked in the alley behind.
“I caught a glimpse, just a flash of motion, from a doorway back there. I wasn’t even sure, afterward, that I really saw it. But I went over the low stone wall between the buildings and along it, crouched as low as I could and still keep my speed up, and just as they reached the car, Corene and her escorts, this guy stepped out of the doorway.”
“You broke his arm in two places, Lew. Witnesses said it looked like you were trying to tear it off. Then you started in on the rest of him.”
“I don’t know. I was concentrating on the gun. Funny how fast it came swiveling away from the others and toward me. All I wanted to do once he was down was make sure he stayed down. Man had one hell of a kick to him.”
“Well, you took him down, all right. Hard. Be a while before he gets back up.”
“Who is he?”
“We don’t have much yet. His name’s Titus Kyle, appears to be local. We’ve got his picture and prints on the wire, and feds are running a check for affiliations with subversive organizations, known activist groups and the like.”
“He’s an old man.”
Walsh nodded. “Late fifties, anyway.”
“Not the shooter.”
“Nope.”
“How does that feel, Mr. Griffin?” the doctor said.
I lowered my arms, twisted about, took a deep breath. “Like someone’s sitting on me.”
“Perfect.” He may even have smiled. “See you day after tomorrow.” He scribbled on a pad, tore off the sheet and gave it to me. “Every four hours if you need it.”
Walsh handed me my shirt. I managed to get it on without gasping.
“There’s a line forming outside the ER door, you know. People taking numbers. Your dance card’s filled. Five or six reporters, someone from the mayor’s office. Man from SeCure Corps wants to offer you a full-time position. And Miss Davis is waiting to thank you personally.”
I tucked the shirt in, put on my coat. “There a back way out of here?”
“That’s what I thought you’d say. Yeah, there is. And a car waiting in the alley.”
We made it along narrow corridors smelling of chlorine and through a steel fire door without getting spotted. Walsh started the engine and sat there a moment looking ahead.
“You know, you probably saved more than one life out there tonight, Lew,” he said.
Then he slipped the Corvair into gear and headed for Jefferson Highway.