The Heavenly Fugitive (32 page)

The sound she had heard intensified. Then pain like a white-hot knife plunged into her chest. It stunned her. She could do no more than remain still until the intensity of it passed, dulled to a throbbing ache instead of the terrifying agony she feared must be her death.

The darkness thinned, and a milky whiteness filled her vision. A wonderful relief swept through her as the light grew brighter and the sound she was hearing grew louder. It was ticking, she realized, like the ticking of a clock.

Consciousness came to her; the confusion, darkness, and silence passed away. Opening her eyes to slits, letting in a gray wash of antiseptic light, she realized she was lying in a bed. The touch of cool, soft sheets against her body became a reality. The ticking was to her left, and turning her head slightly, which brought a hot twinge to her chest, she saw a clock sitting on a dark table. She stared at it until the hands came into focus—eight minutes after four. She had no idea whether it was morning or afternoon, but a sense of
gratitude rushed through her that she was no longer in that pit of stygian darkness.

“Rosa?”

The voice startled her and she stiffened. She turned in the direction of the voice and saw a face. At first she could not make out the features, for the light was behind whoever stood there. She tried to speak, but her lips were dry, her throat constricted.

“Rosa, can you hear me?”

Then Rosa knew that voice—it was Phil! As he leaned closer the light struck against his face, outlining his features. She saw lines of strain around his eyes, and his lips were drawn tightly together. He laid his hand on her forehead. His light touch felt cool, and she was grateful. She tried to speak again but could only whisper huskily, “Phil . . .” and could only choke, “water . . . please . . .”

Phil’s face disappeared, and she heard the tinkling of water as it passed from one container to another. She felt his hand on the back of her head. “See if you can sip through this straw, Rosa.”

The straw touched Rosa’s lips. She opened them and began to pull at it frantically. The water touched her parched tissues, and she drank until she heard Phil say, “I think you’d better take a break. Just take a mouthful and hold it until it soaks up.”

Rosa obeyed and lay still, savoring the moisture that brought life to her lips and the dry tissues of her mouth. She watched Phil standing over her with the glass in his hand. “How do you feel?” he asked.

Rosa tried to respond, then tried to move, but the pain prevented her from doing either.

“Take it easy. Don’t stir.”

“What . . . happened?”

Phil reached out and brushed a lock of hair from Rosa’s face. After a moment he said quietly, “You were injured, Rosa. There was some shooting, and you got hit.”

Rosa’s fear returned. She searched his face, saw the grief, and whispered, “Am I going to die, Phil?”

“No—no, nothing like that!” Phil assured her. “You took a bullet up high in the chest, but it missed the lung and it missed the bone. I know it’s painful now, but you’ll be all right. Here, take another sip.”

He held her head again, and Rosa obediently sipped at the water, relief washing through her. He let her have several mouthfuls, then withdrew the straw and gently replaced her head on the pillow.

“How long . . . have I been here?”

“Just since yesterday. You had me worried, Rosa—all of us, as a matter of fact. But you’re going to be all right. The Lord took care of you.”

His words were like a balm to the wounded young woman, and she closed her eyes and lay quietly. Other anxious thoughts troubled her mind, and she opened her eyes. Memory slowly returned. She thought back to the scene, but she had been drinking, and it was all like a kaleidoscope of flashing memories, with no clear order or meaning. She did remember hearing the gunfire, and she remembered running. She also remembered Dom dragging her to safety . . . then running again and Phil’s voice . . .

“Where’s Dom, Phil?” she asked, looking up at him.

Phil’s expression disturbed her. He did not answer for a moment, but his lips tightened, and she demanded, “Is he all right?”

“He’s pretty badly hurt, Rosa.”

Rosa felt a stab of fear. Dom Costello was a rough man, but he’d watched over her and kept her safe since she was a child, and now the harsh reality of his condition touched her with dread. She tried to see some hope in Phil’s face, but he said no more.

For several minutes Rosa lay quietly, then demanded, “What happened? What was the shooting about?”

“You don’t want to talk about that now, Rosa.”

“Yes I do. What was it?”

Phil shifted uneasily and ran his hand across his hair. He thought he should go get the doctor and let Rosa’s family know she was awake. They had been at the hospital all night and had finally gone home to get a little rest. It was almost time for them to return, and Phil wished they would.

Rosa saw Phil’s hesitation, and then the truth came to her. “It was a gang war, wasn’t it?”

“It was connected with that. There was a raid, and a number of men were killed.”

“Who?”

“Two of them were special agents from the justice department—from Lee Novak’s team. That’s who I used to work for before I became a lawyer. Lee himself was hit twice.”

“Did he . . . did he die?”

“No, he’s all right, thank God! Just badly hurt, but he’ll make it. But two of his men didn’t.”

Rosa turned her face away and lifted her hand to cover the side of her face as if to cut off his gaze. Phil was startled. “What’s the matter, Rosa?”

Rosa did not answer. She shook her head and felt hot tears coming down her cheeks. She then felt Phil’s hand touching hers. He leaned over and looked directly into her face. “Are you in pain?”

“It’s not that.”

“What is it, then?”

She would not answer, and Phil remained silent too. He stood beside her, gently brushing back her silky black hair. “You’re going to be all right. Don’t worry.”

“No, I’m not.” Rosa removed her hand, and when she turned her face to his, he saw the tortured light in her eyes. “It’s never going to be all right!”

Baffled by her words and thinking her disturbance stemmed from the drugs they had given her to ease the pain, Phil shook his head and smiled. “It’ll be all right,” he said. “You’ll see.”

“My father’s a gangster. All our money comes from crime.
Everybody knows it, Phil. I’m so ashamed, and it’ll never change.”

Phil tried to protest, but Rosa put her hand back over her face. He leaned forward and tried to whisper something to console her, but he heard her say faintly, “My family . . . my family . . . who would ever want me?”

Phil was stunned by the words. He knew that Rosa, Jamie, and Mrs. Morino all hated the life they led, but he had not known before how deeply these feelings touched Rosa’s heart.

****

Rosa said nothing more and Phil waited patiently by her side. Ten minutes later Tony and his wife came in. Phil was shocked at Morino’s condition. His hands were trembling, and he was pale as paste. When he spoke his voice was unsteady. “How is she?”

“She’s doing fine. She woke up about twenty minutes ago. I’m glad you’ve come.” Actually Phil was apprehensive. If Rosa were to tell her father what was on her heart, he knew that would destroy Tony Morino. Somehow, sometime, that was going to come, but he hoped that such a confrontation would not happen until Rosa was completely out of danger. “I’ve got to go down and see Lee,” Phil said.

Morino had been looking at Rosa, but he turned and licked his lips nervously. “I hope he’s okay.”

“Do you, Tony?”

“Why . . . sure I do.”

“Two of Lee’s men won’t be okay.” Phil could not help saying this. He knew it was neither the time nor place, and he was aware that Mrs. Morino had turned her face away to avoid looking at him. Quickly Phil said, “I’m glad Rosa’s all right. I’ll tell the doctor she’s awake.”

Phil left the room and went down to the nurses’ station. A bright-eyed young woman with flaming red hair turned to him as he said, “Miss Morino is awake.”

“Oh, that’s good! She’s going to be all right, then. Now don’t you worry.”

Phil smiled at her optimism. “Thanks. Her parents are with her now, but maybe you’d want to note it down for the doctor that she woke up about twenty minutes ago.”

“Thank you, Mr. Winslow.” She leaned forward over the desk and said, “You were lucky you didn’t get shot.”

“Not luck. The Lord took care of me.”

The nurse blinked with surprise. “Well, yes, of course, that’s true.”

“Has the doctor been in to see Mr. Novak yet?”

“Not since you were here last.”

“I’d like to go sit with him awhile.”

“Oh, that’ll be fine. His wife has left to go get some rest. She’s worn out, poor thing.”

“Thanks, Nurse.”

Phil turned and walked down the corridor thinking of the casualties that had resulted from the shoot-out. Rosa would be all right and so would Lee, but Dom Costello was not likely to live. The doctor had offered little hope, and the two special agents who had died had been good men. Phil had known both of them, and a slow, cold anger burned in him as he thought of the loss to their families and the grief they now suffered. Two of Morino’s men had died instantly, and two more were badly wounded but would probably live. Of course, Morino himself could not be held, for as usual, his men refused to implicate him. It infuriated Phil that such things could happen, but he knew it was the story of the war against crime all over America. He turned into Lee Novak’s room and found his friend lying with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. “How are you, Lee?”

“It hurts.”

“I would think so. Can I get you anything?”

“No, just sit down a minute. I want to talk.”

“Sure, but let me stand up. You can’t see me if I sit down.”

“All right. I wish I could stand up myself.” He tried to move, but pain washed across his face, and he gritted his teeth.

“Pretty bad?” Phil asked quickly.

“Could have been worse.” Novak had taken two slugs, one in the knee and the other in the side. The bullet in the side had been painful but had missed all the vital organs. He had lost a great deal of blood, which had left him weak. It was the bullet in the knee that troubled him the most, having done considerable damage.

“What does the doctor say about your knee?”

“He says I’ll walk, but I’ll limp the rest of my life.”

“Maybe it’ll heal better than that.”

Lee Novak did not answer for a time. Finally he sighed and said, “You know we all could have bought the farm the way bullets were flying around.”

Phil stood over Novak, thankful that they were both alive. He knew their fight with the criminal gangs of New York was far from over. Perhaps they’d suffered only the first skirmish in a war that would not be easy to win. He’d been shaken by what he’d seen and experienced, and a part of him wanted to flee, to find another more comfortable job. But even as he knew his friend Lee would recover and go back to fighting the warlords, he also knew that he played a vital role, too, in getting these dangerous criminals off the streets and behind bars.

Lee reached up and took Phil’s hand and squeezed it. His hands were as hard as if he had done manual labor all his life. He had a crushing grip, and now Phil felt the power of the man. “Don’t be discouraged by this minor setback, Phil. We’ve got them on the run now. Just a little more time, and we’ll be able to break up the kingpins. You’ve gotta stay in this fight too, Phil—help put every last one of them behind bars. Can you do that?”

Phil Winslow felt inadequate to the task, but he knew the power of the law was on their side. The dark intensity of Lee Novak’s gaze held him. He took a deep breath and then nodded. “I’ll do the best I can, Lee.”

****

Jamie had looked at every magazine in the waiting room and was bored. He wished he had brought his new book on photography with him. His parents were sitting with Rosa in her room, but he had chosen to sit out in the waiting room. It was not crowded, occupied only by an older couple sitting at the end of the room. They were poorly dressed and held hands. Their faces were lined, and they seemed very worried. Jamie wondered whom they were waiting for and hoped that whoever it was would come out all right.

Restlessly Jamie paced around the room, then went out into the hallway to get a drink of water he didn’t really want. He watched the nurses as they patrolled the corridors. They appeared pretty cheerful for people in such a grim occupation. One of them stopped and asked, “How are you today, Jamie?”

“All right, Miss Madigen.”

“Your sister is doing very well. I think she’ll be going home soon.”

“Yes, maybe day after tomorrow, the doctor said.”

The brunette nurse winked at him. “You’ve been missing seeing your girlfriend, spending so much time here, haven’t you? What’s her name?”

“Penelope.”

The nurse blinked and then laughed. “You’re putting me on, Jamie. You wouldn’t date a girl named Penelope.”

Jamie said earnestly, “Oh yes, she’s a very nice girl. Not very pretty, but she’s earnest and means well.”

The nurse laughed and shook her head. “You shouldn’t tease like that. I’ll bet she’s beautiful.”

Jamie watched the nurse as she went down the hall. Then he started back toward the waiting room. He had almost reached it when the elevator stopped, the door opened, and Wes Winslow got out. Instantly Jamie brightened up. “Hello, Wes,” he said, walking over to meet him.

“Hi, Jamie, how’s Rosa?”

“She’s doing fine. She might get to go home day after tomorrow.”

“Hey, that’s great!”

“Did you come to see her?”

“Yes, but I’m also meeting Amelia here. She’s going to help me meet some show business people and get some shots of them.”

“You mean movie stars?”

“I don’t think so. There are plenty of pictures of the stars. I want to get some of the less successful people. Come on, let’s go down to the cafeteria.”

Jamie accompanied him, and Wes bought some pie and coffee while Jamie got a soft drink. “Why would you want to take pictures of unsuccessful people?” Jamie asked.