Wake the Dawn (11 page)

Chapter Twelve

S
ir, I told you, you’ll have to wait—” Barbara’s voice was firm and loud enough for Ben to hear down the hall.

The man’s reply was louder. “I don’t have to—I need something. Show me your drugs. Now!”

The voice, blaring, shaky, desperate sounding, stopped Ben from slamming open the door and charging into the waiting room. He opened the door a crack. While he couldn’t see the man, he could hear Barbara stammering a reply.

“I-I-I don’t know. I’m just the receptionist.”

From somewhere in the middle of the waiting area, a woman screamed. “Don’t hurt my baby! Please! Not Robbie! Please!”

A man swore. A child somewhere close was screaming.

Ben opened the door a bit farther; how much could he see? Not much. A clean-cut man in an orange T-shirt, probably the child’s father, was helping a sobbing, distraught woman to her feet out among the chairs. Barbara, terrified, was riveting her attention on a very ratty-looking fellow standing unsteadily, his feet braced wide, between Ben and her desk. Ben could smell him from here.

Good luck bit number one: His back was turned. Ben slipped into the room and shook his head when Barbara saw him. Her eyes continued past him. Still, the smelly guy shifted to the side to glance around the room. One arm clamped a shrieking little boy to his chest, while the other hand held a knife point to the boy’s throat. He turned enough to catch a glimpse of Ben, who was silently moving closer. “Take another step and you’ll see blood all over!” Grizzled stubble on his chin, oily hair straggling down to his collar, and clothes that hadn’t felt the caress of laundry detergent for years. And he reeked penetratingly.

“Hold still, Robbie! Don’t move!” the orange-shirted fellow pleaded, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders.

Ben stood still, raised both hands palms out. “Easy, fella. We’ll get you what you want. Don’t hurt the child. No drugs are worth injury to a child.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone coming up to the front entry door.

“Barbara, lock the door.”

She half rose. “What? Don’t you…?”

“There are people about to come in. We don’t need…” Ben fought to keep his voice calm and even. “…them. Not right now.”

“No!” Smelly guy was, if anything, growing wilder. “I mean it! She don’t leave! Take me to where you keep your drugs, bitch.”

An old man Ben had not even noticed at the back of the room hopped up and waddled to the door. He opened it a little and said something. The people outside ran away. The old man ran out the door, slammed it behind him.

It was obvious that life was moving faster than the smelly guy could handle it. Panicky, he looked all around, his eyes wide, their whites so bloodshot they were pink. Maybe if he was so addled he didn’t know what to do, Ben could suggest something to do; maybe the guy would even do it.

Good luck bit number two: Ben had a stethoscope looped around his shoulders. “I am a doctor. Dr. Jones. I operate this clinic.” He dipped his head toward Barbara. “Miss Funkmeyer, the prescription drugs. Please bring them.”

“I will. Don’t hurt the boy. I’m going to stand up now.” Barbara pushed herself to her feet. “We’ll help you.”

Ben stepped back, his hands still clear. Scabs on the man’s arms, the shaking. Crank, meth. What? He started to move forward. “Why don’t we…?”

“
I said, don’t move!
” The fellow jerked, and the point of the knife pierced the boy’s skin. A trickle of blood sent the mother into a screaming, crying frenzy; her husband was wrapped around her tightly, doing all he could to comfort her.

“Now look what you did!” the smelly guy screamed. “I warned you! Don’t anyone move, or my knife might slip again. What the…” A dark wet spot was spreading down his clothes. In his fear, the child had wet his pants. “I should just…” He inched his way to the door. It was closed. “You, open the door.”

Ben nodded again. “Miss Funkmeyer, give him everything in the cabinet. As soon as he has our drugs, he will release the child.”

Barbara nodded and moved to do as she was told, following “doctor’s” orders.

No way could he get across the room in time to take him down in here. He glanced toward the couple. The man kept his arms clamped around his wife.

As Barbara led their smelly drug addict into the hall, Ben slid back out through the side door. The mother wailed. He distinctly heard Barbara’s, “Don’t anyone come out of the exam rooms. Stay where you are!”

Hearing a horrendous crash and glass shattering, Ben surmised that Barbara had just opened the locked cabinet. Vials and bottles rattled. Sounds told him they were dumping everything into a bag.

Ben slipped into the storage area, lit eerily green by the
EXIT
sign. He paused beside a steel shelving unit, squeezed back against the wall, waited. Hardest thing in the world, just waiting. He’d burned up a third of his life on surveillance, sitting, watching, and waiting, but this was different. A child could die here.

His ears told him some of what was going on, but he dared not peek.

Barbara’s voice: “…an exit over there that will take you out the back way. See it?”

Footsteps approached, staggering steps. He could clearly smell the guy. The little boy was crying. Getting louder. He kept his mind on task by rehearsing his next move.

The stench intensified, and now the fellow loomed into sight immediately in front of him, Robbie still pressed against his chest. Now!

Ben put his years of football training into use, combined with a bit of judo from the academy. His hands shot out; he seized the wrist with the knife, yanked it away from the child, kept moving, slammed the hand against the wall, and tackled the guy with a full body slam. The three of them crashed to the floor, but grabbing Smelly’s wrist had twisted all three of them aside and they landed on Ben’s left arm. All three of them. A white plastic kitchen bag fell open and spewed bottles and vials out across the floor. The clatter seemed magnified in this narrow passage. So did the stink.

Ben wrenched the man’s arm behind his back—the hand no longer held the knife—and surged to his feet. But the fellow’s other arm still wrapped firmly around Robbie. This worn old derelict, who seemed so compromised, turned out to be amazingly strong. Ben was in shape, and he was struggling.

“Let go of the child!” Ben dropped, both knees, onto the man’s back and, grabbing his hair, slammed his face into the concrete floor.

Smelly said, “Oof,” and his arm relaxed.
Let’s hope the other arm is just as relaxed.
Ben could hear the child choking and coughing under there. If Ben’s face were pressed that close to this mess of a human, he’d be coughing, too.

The boy’s father burst into the passage.

Ben jerked the scabby perp to the side by his bent arm, earning a shriek of pain that reverberated. The fellow was getting his wind, spewing a volley of filthy names.

The father grabbed his son’s legs and pulled him away.

Ben yanked the stethoscope off his neck, but the rubber tubes were too short. “Get me something to tie him with.”

From right behind him, Barbara handed him a roll of gauze.

Ben could hear people moving around him in the narrow passage, but he kept his attention on the pile of manure before him as he bound both hands behind the man’s back, wrapping the gauze in tight figure eights. Really tight figure eights. He staggered to his feet and jerked the prisoner upright to sitting. “Someone call the highway patrol.” He rubbed his left elbow.

“That old man who ran out the front door had a cell. They’re on their way.”

“Where’s Esther?” Ben took a moment to simply inhale deeply. Smelly’s stale odor put an end to that quickly.

Barbara stood beside him watching their would-be robber. And to think that the papers would refer to this as an “alleged” robber. “Working with that patient yet. I guess there are some complications. What more do you need? Our sweet old man here has a rather severe nosebleed. At least that’s where I think it’s coming from.”

“What a shame.” Ben fought to control his breathing, yearning for the impossible, to take on oxygen without taking in air. “Where can we stuff him until they get here?”

“Tie him to a chair?” Barbara poked him. “And what’s this ‘Funkmeyer’ stuff, ‘Doc’?”

“You wouldn’t want the doctor to use your real name, would you?”

She smirked.

Ben swiveled to see the mother kneeling close, leaning forward, carefully checking over her son as he lay in his father’s arms. The father was sitting spraddle-legged on the floor. Robbie’s snuffling had stopped, but he still looked frightened.

Ben ignored the continuous line of threats and filth from the man he’d tackled and settled down close to the father’s legs, watching the boy. The bleeding had already stopped from the knife stick and, occasional hiccuppy sobs aside, the child seemed to be breathing all right. His overall color was good, except for one side of his face. It was already turning pale yellow and starting to swell. The kid was going to have one beaut of a black eye. But he was alive.

He was alive. Wonderfully, vibrantly, alive.

Ben held both hands in front of the boy. “I promise I won’t hurt you. I want to check your pulse. It’s part of what we do.” Carefully, he laid two fingers on the kid’s carotid. Robbie watched him suspiciously, but he didn’t move from the warm nest of his father’s bosom. His pulse was firm, steady, about right for a kid his size.

A siren cut off outside that Ben had not even realized was hooting.

“State patrol. They’re here.” Barbara moved behind him and called, “Right in here. This way. It’s under control. You can put your guns away.”

Ben didn’t bother to tell her that law officers never pay attention to suggestions to holster sidearms. Or were they carrying something heavier?

Heavier. Not AK-47s exactly, but some hefty firepower. Two uniformed highway patrolmen appeared, their guns pointed up and prepared to blow holes in the ceiling.

Ben gestured with his head, but he didn’t move from his seat in front of the family. “He’s all wrapped up and waiting for you.”

“Any other weapons on him?”

“Didn’t check. But he didn’t go for any after he lost the knife.”

The taller of the two, a solid hunk of a guy with
LARRIMER
on the cotton name tape on his shirt, walked over to Smelly. He leaned down to frisk the foul fellow and quickly stepped back. “You planning on cleaning him up some?”

“Probably not.” Definitely not. Why spoil the kid’s dream of taking in a clean perp?

Larrimer asked, “You have a holding cell or something in town here?”

Ben shrugged. “You might try city hall. There used to be a cell there down in the basement, remodeled janitor’s closet.”

Larrimer grunted, a sort of acknowledgment. “Four blocks south on the right?”

“That one, yeah. Look for a clock tower. Clock doesn’t run right, so don’t believe what it says.” Obviously the officers had been brought in from some other part of the state. They didn’t know the area, and Ben had not seen them before.

The shorter of the two, labeled
OLSEN
on his shirt, bagged their evidence, the knife, without touching it. Ben admired the professionalism.

The smelly one burst out with, “You can’t treat me like this! I got rights! I’m a citizen, not one a them illegals.”

Larrimer grimaced, actually a half smile. “Ya know, I think I’ve heard that line somewhere before.”

“You hit me! I’m suin’!” It sounded more like
shoo-in
.

Ben rather enjoyed this now that it had ended happily ever after, except for his elbow. “I was making an official arrest.”

“You’re a doctor! You can’t arrest me!”

Ben dragged his badge case out of his pocket. Dang, his left elbow hurt! He flipped it open where Larrimer could see it but their perp could not.

The fellow nodded. “This guy walk?”

“Not real steady, but he walks.” Ben felt suddenly very, very weary. And the day was still young. “Just get him out of here. Please?” He climbed to his feet and helped the missus to hers. “Let’s take your boy into one of the exam rooms and look him over.”

“Come with me.” Barbara took the mother’s arm. “Let’s stop and get some coffee.” Her soothing voice helped bring calm to the whole area.

“We’ll come back later to get a statement.” Officer Jensen moved forward to help haul their prisoner to his feet, reflexively stepped back, steeled himself, and grabbed one armpit. Smelly lurched upright, still breathing fire and smoke. The man was coming up with words Ben hadn’t heard since high school.

Larrimer asked, “Gonna check this one out?”

Ben heaved a sigh. “Maybe.” The concession was almost more than he could bear. The thought of even touching the scum again made his skin crawl. “After we take care of the boy.”

“If we get a call…”

Ben raised his voice. “The boy comes first. Then Mr. Congeniality here, if I get to him. We’re a very small facility. He should really be seen in a larger facility. Mayo, maybe. I hear LA has a nice hospital.”

Larrimer shrugged and grinned. Jensen nodded. “Good for you.”