Hot Shot, page 3
Never one to say five words when two or three would do, Harry said, “Talk to me.”
Jack watched in horror as the color left Harry’s face and his hands started to shake so badly that he almost dropped the phone. “I’ll tell Jack,” Harry said, in a voice Jack had never heard before.
Jack’s heart kicked up a beat as he waited for whatever Harry was going to say. Finally, he barked, “What?”
“They just took Cosmo back into surgery. Wylie is the surgeon. Something went wrong, but Charles doesn’t know what it is. He said nurses and doctors all came running, and they were told to leave. They’re all in the chapel right now.”
“Oh shit!”
“Oh shit is right,” Harry said.
“How do we play this?” Jack asked. “Do we wake Lizzie up and head back to the hospital? Or do we let her sleep and get some strength back so she can . . . so she can deal with whatever happens?”
Instead of answering Jack’s question, Harry said, “You know what I wish right now? I wish that damn dog Cooper was here. I really do. Things always worked out the right way when he was with us. Does that make sense, Jack?”
“As much as anything I could come up with.”
Harry’s voice was fretful and strange. “So we’re going to let Lizzie sleep, eat, then we tell her.”
“Hell no! Well, you had part of it right. We let her sleep and eat, then we go back to the clinic, where a doctor will tell her what she needs to know. Unless you want us to end up dead right here when we tell her.”
“I see your point,” Harry said. “Let’s go eat some of that soup.”
“You know, Harry, that’s a great idea. I guess we’re going to skip the veggies, or we put them in and let them cook while we eat it as it is. Lizzie is going to need the veggies. I got a ton of noodles. I know how you love noodles. I like noodles, but not so much that I crave them. Lizzie must like them a lot. Noodles! Who knew?”
“Jack, you’re ranting. Will you just shut the hell up already?”
Jack clamped his lips tight as he stomped his way to the kitchen.
Harry slumped down into the captain’s chair with the bright red cushions and closed his eyes while Jack heated up the chicken soup. Then his eyes snapped open almost immediately. He looked at Jack, his voice full of panic when he said, “Holy crap, we forgot about the boy! How could we have forgotten him? Where is he, Jack?”
“Easy, Harry, easy. Little Jack is at sleepaway camp. It’s a swim camp; LJ is into swimming. It’s July, school is out, and kids go to camp. You told me yourself that Lily is at camp.”
“How do you know that?” Harry asked, not sure if he believed Jack or not.
“Because he sent me a text the first week asking for advice.”
Suspicion rang in Harry’s voice. “What kind of advice. Why would he ask you and not his parents?”
Jack grinned. “Because he thinks I know everything. I have no idea where he got that idea, but it’s in his head. But to answer your question, it was girl advice he was looking for.”
Harry groaned. “The kid is ten years old! What kind of girl advice does a ten-year-old need?”
“Seems a girl named Emily, same age as LJ, is his competition on the swim team he was assigned to. It would appear, according to LJ, that she is better and faster than he is, and it’s rubbing him the wrong way. She seems to be a little more mature than LJ and knew which buttons to push, because she told him the reason he was so slow in the water was he had fat knees. LJ was wounded to the quick over that. Plus, she’s cute; she has curly hair and big blue eyes and dimples. Here’s the thing, though—her front teeth protrude a little, and she has an overbite. He’s smitten and jealous at the same time. End of story.”
“No, it isn’t,” Harry sputtered. “What did you tell him? I know you told him something. Fat knees! What?”
“Well . . . I might have said something. What you need to understand is this, Harry. Women, girls of all ages, they stick together, and it’s a sure bet that the female counselors are telling her how to get to LJ, and because male counselors are all macho and crap like that, they aren’t really equipped to counsel kids like LJ. So, I just . . . you know, helped out my godson. The kid’s goal in life is to go to the Olympics and outdo Phelps. Cosmo is even having an Olympic-size pool built out back for him to train, and when he gets back from camp, he’s going to have his own personal trainer. True or false, I don’t know. LJ told me that, so who knows. It might be wishful thinking on his part. He is good, though—swims like a fish. How’s the soup? Are there enough noodles?”
“It’s okay. Not great but passable. Yoko’s is better. I don’t think Lizzie will complain.”
“We should have heard something by now,” Jack said fretfully.
“It’s three o’clock in the morning, Jack. Surgeries take hours, and then the patient is in recovery. Call Charles if it will make you feel better.”
Jack had his phone in hand when he looked past Harry to see Lizzie standing in the doorway dressed in what he thought was Cosmo’s bathrobe, her silver hair soaking wet, her face shiny and scrubbed. “Is there news?”
“Um . . . no, guess not. No one is answering their phones. It’s late. How about some chicken soup? With noodles. You need to eat something.”
“You made chicken soup! That was so sweet of you, Jack. Sure, I’ll have some with lots of noodles. You can talk to me while I eat. Then I want to go back to the hospital. I don’t care if it is the middle of the night.”
“Sure, sure, whatever you want, Lizzie. Eat up,” Jack said, putting in front of her a bowl of soup that was loaded with skinny noodles. He crossed his fingers that Lizzie wouldn’t mention the lack of vegetables in the soup.
“This is good. Kind of tastes like Dip Sing’s soup, but they put wontons in it.”
“No kidding!” Jack said, feigning surprise. “Harry and I will take that as a compliment.”
Harry winked at Jack as he handed him his empty bowl.
Time froze when Jack’s phone, which was lying in the middle of the table, chirped to life.
Lizzie stopped eating. “Someone should answer that.”
“Yeah, someone should.” Jack reached for the phone.
Chapter 2
Elizabeth Fox Cricket, lawyer extraordinaire. Lizzie Fox, or as she was often referred to in legal circles, the Silver Fox.
Lizzie Fox, a legend in her own time.
Lizzie Fox, White House counsel to two-term president Martine Connor.
Lizzie Fox, nominated for a seat on the Supreme Court, but every lawyer’s and judge’s dream was not her dream. She said thanks but no thanks. She explained she had a husband to care for, a son to raise, and more cases to try.
Prosecutors lived in fear of going up against her, often caving in before they even got to present their case because no one won against Lizzie Fox.
Judges loved Lizzie Fox, and it was rumored that they often waggled and finagled among themselves to sit on any case she was trying. True or false, no one was sure.
The sun had just crept over the horizon when all those thoughts rushed through Jack Emery’s mind as he watched the friend he was in awe of dressed in what he knew was Cosmo’s robe, her glorious wet mane of silver hair piled high on her head in a scrunchy. She was freshly showered, but she still looked tired and beaten. He ladled out a second helping of soup and noodles into a bowl. Harry poured coffee into a mug that had a casino chip and a dollar sign on it and handed it over to Jack, who set it down next to Lizzie’s soup bowl. Both Jack and Harry watched Lizzie as she greedily tore into her meal.
“Just keep eating, Lizzie. Harry and I will talk and then you can tell us what you know and how we got to this point in time. In case you are wondering what we’re doing here or how we got here so fast, we were all up in Reno for the martial arts trials. Harry was a judge, and he also participated in one event. We heard on the radio yesterday morning that some big VIP here in Vegas got gunned down outside an apartment complex he owned. They didn’t mention a name, but we all came to the same conclusion, so we packed up and drove down here with five of Harry’s friends from the trials. They’re visiting from China. They were planning on coming with us anyway, so we just left a day early. Everyone is here, even Abner, but he was the last one in. He has Cyrus with him. That’s about all we know. You need to tell us what you know, as we’re all pretty much in the dark.”
“I googled the clinic; its trauma unit is top notch. Cosmo couldn’t be in a better place,” Harry said.
Lizzie stopped eating for a moment and looked at the two men sitting across from her. “Yes, it is the best. I just wish it were Cowboy who had operated on Cosmo. Simon is good, don’t get me wrong, but I would have preferred to have Cowboy perform the surgery.”
“By Cowboy I assume you are referring to the string bean Dr. Wylie,” Jack said. “Why do you call him Cowboy?”
Lizzie smiled wanly as she went back to the mound of noodles in her soup. “That’s what Cosmo calls him. They’re great friends. He’s six-foot-eight, did you know that? He eats nonstop. I think he has the same kind of metabolism that Maggie Spritzer has. The guy is so in demand, he could charge anything he wanted for his expertise in the operating room. Here’s the kicker, though—most of the surgeries he performs are freebies. He even pays his own airfare when he travels out of the country to perform his one-of-a-kind surgeries. He’s not into money or the trappings that go with it. His only goal in life is to save lives. You saw how he was dressed. That’s Joe making a statement. Take it or leave it. That was some really good soup, Jack. Call the hospital, Harry, please, to see if there’s any change.”
“Lizzie, it’s just coming up to seven in the morning. You know how busy hospitals and clinics are this early in the morning. I called right before you came down,” Jack outright fibbed. “No one answered. Get dressed and we’ll head on out. But before you do that, you have to tell us what happened. Everything, Lizzie, don’t leave anything out, even if you think it’s not important. We’ll be the judge of that. We’re all here now, so it’s personal with us.”
Lizzie sighed. “Honestly, Jack, I don’t really know. I’m not sure anyone really knows. It happened late in the afternoon . . . I guess it’s five days ago by now . . . I’ve sort of lost track of time. Fiveish. I got a call from the clinic saying my husband had just been brought in and that he had been shot multiple times. I was home. Little Jack is away at camp, so I was cooking dinner, you know, foods Cosmo and I like that Little Jack won’t eat. It was supposed to be a special dinner for just the two of us. I had the kitchen TV on but wasn’t paying attention to it. I keep it on more for sound than anything else. With LJ gone,” she said, “the house is just way too quiet.
“The phone rang, and a male voice told me that Cosmo was being rushed into surgery. I was so stupid, Jack. I just stood there and went about cleaning up the kitchen, putting everything away, turning off the stove. It was as if I heard what the voice said but I didn’t believe it. I actually poured myself a cup of coffee, sat down, and drank it. Who does something that stupid after a phone call like that? Me! Me! I did that. It wasn’t until I finished the cup of coffee that I came to my senses. It hit me full force. I was out of here in a nanosecond, driving like a bat out of hell. I don’t think it took me ten minutes to get there, park, and go up to the waiting area. No one would tell me anything. Even when I raised all kinds of holy hell, they still wouldn’t tell me anything other than that if I didn’t calm down, they would make me go down to the first floor. I could tell they meant it, so I had no choice but to settle down. I was a basket case. Me! Do you believe that?
“It was two o’clock in the morning when Simon Simmons, the surgeon, came out to talk to me. Cosmo was in recovery and would be moved to the intensive care unit. I know Simon, he’s a great guy, and Cowboy says he’s almost as good a surgeon as he is. He was making a joke, of course. Simon didn’t sugarcoat it. He said it was touch-and-go. Five gunshot wounds—one to the head, one to the shoulder, two to the back near his spinal cord, and one that creased his neck and took off part of his ear. Cosmo is a big guy, as you well know, and has lots of flesh on him. Simon said all that worked in his favor with the back bullets. The shoulder was in and out and not a real problem. The ear shot . . . well, anyone can live missing part of an ear. It’s the head wound that was crucial. They put him in a medically induced coma. That’s it.”
“Was it a hit on Cosmo himself? I thought he traveled with security. Was he at the wrong place at the wrong time? Do you know, Lizzie? Did you talk to the police?”
“I don’t know the answers to any of those questions. The police did come to the clinic. I spoke to them briefly, only to tell them I knew nothing. No one in authority has contacted me, not even the casino owners, which I find strange. Then again, maybe they tried but the clinic staff kept them away from me. I’m going to get dressed now, okay?” Harry and Jack nodded as they shooed Lizzie out of the kitchen. Jack cleaned up as Harry sat down and went into a trance.
Twenty minutes later, Lizzie reappeared. Jack and Harry gaped at her, their jaws dropping. It was a long time since they had seen Lizzie dressed in anything but court attire. Here she was wearing a very worn sweat suit with running shoes. Her long silvery hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Her face was freshly scrubbed and devoid of all makeup. There was no jewelry to be seen other than her gold wedding band.
This is the real Lizzie Fox, Jack thought. He looked over at Harry, who appeared to be thinking the same thing.
“Hey, guys, I have a question. Who put me to bed? Who undressed me?” Lizzie asked in a voice neither had ever heard before. Jack winced.
Harry stepped up to the plate so fast, Jack got dizzy. “Now, who do you think did that since we’re the only ones here? I give you my word we closed our eyes when we . . . um . . . got you ready for bed.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks.”
And that was the end of that.
The trio piled into the car—Harry driving, Jack in the passenger seat, and Lizzie in the backseat by herself. The short drive to the clinic was made in virtual silence. The moment Harry pulled into the parking lot, Lizzie had the door open and was sprinting toward the main door, even before Harry could park the car.
“Can we use your car?” Jack bellowed out the open window. Too far away to respond, Lizzie just waved her hand. “Guess that means yes. I don’t see any point in our going in. We would have heard from someone if we were needed. Let’s head back to Babylon so we can shower and change. Then I want to go to the police station to get a copy of the police report, unless one of the guys has already done that. And you want to check on your guys, too, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do. Sounds like a plan. Why haven’t we heard from anyone? Something must be going on,” Harry grumbled.
“No news is good news, Harry. I’m thinking things are just the way they were, with no changes in Cosmo’s condition. I want to believe and hope that’s a good thing.”
“I could never live here,” Harry said as he tried to maneuver the Mercedes around a slow-moving Ford Focus with an elderly couple inside. “Lookie-looks, and they back up traffic for miles,” Harry continued to grumble under his breath.
“The city that never sleeps. No clocks. City of dreams and crushed hopes. I agree, I could never live here either. This has got to be the mecca of all money. Did I say that right?” Not waiting for a response from Harry, he continued, “Millions and millions of dollars change hands in this town every hour of the day and night. I read an article once about some couple from Boise, Idaho, who saved their money for years and years because they thought they had a foolproof plan to quadruple their money and retire to some island and live happily ever after. The article went on to say they hit the craps table running and were wiped out in two hours. They didn’t even have enough money for gas to drive back to Idaho. They had to panhandle to get home. Who does something like that?” Jack asked.
“Okay, we’re here. I hate this place. I just want you to know that.”
“I do know that, Harry, but we have to make the best of a really, really bad situation,” Jack said irritably. Sometimes Harry made him crazy, and this was one of those times.
Jack and Harry registered and accepted their room cards. They were next door to each other, one floor down from Annie’s penthouse suite. The desk clerk had clarified that everyone except Fergus and Charles, who were staying in the penthouse, were on the same floor.
At the door to their respective rooms, Jack looked across the hall at Harry and said, “When you’re ready, let’s head up to the penthouse. I just hope one of the guys had enough sense to bring our bags when they checked in.”
“Dennis was gathering them up when we left,” Harry called over his shoulder. He gave a halfhearted wave and closed the door behind him.
Jack shut his own door and looked around. His bag was on some kind of fold-up table at the foot of his bed. A huge bed, big enough for him, Nikki, Cyrus, and six other dogs. He missed Cyrus as much as he missed Nikki when he was alone like this. He could hardly wait to call Abner to bring Cyrus down to his room. Cyrus didn’t do well in the cargo hold when flying, so he’d made the decision for the big shepherd to ride with Abner, and that way Abner had company for the long cross-country ride.
Jack had his phone in hand when he stopped and listened. Was it his imagination or was he hearing a dog bark? Did Cyrus know he was here? Damn straight the dog knew, because in that moment he heard feet thundering down the hall and joyful barking. Jack opened the door just in time for Cyrus to slam up against him as he tried to hug, snuggle, lick, and bark at his owner all at the same time.
“Good to see you, too, big guy!” Jack laughed as he let the big dog drive him back to the bed, where both man and dog fell backward and proceeded to tussle with each other.
“That dog knew the minute you hit the building, Jack. How do they know that?” Abner asked fretfully.
“They’re extrasensory is the best answer I can give you,” Jack said, getting up off the bed. “So, talk to me, Abner. What, if anything, do you know?” He watched as Cyrus prowled through the suite, sniffing everything, then pawing the carpet to make sure he put his scent in the room. He did the same thing each and every time they entered a room he’d never been in before. Marking his territory is what it was.
