Incredible Hulk. Romero got them for her on videotape. As far as I can figure, she can’t really discern a difference between Bill Bixby and David Banner, but she sees the difference between Banner and the Hulk. It’s sort of cool. Bixby’s this consummate nice guy, but if you get him mad he becomes the incredible protector. Super strong, but only doing harm to evildoers.”
“There’s something to that.”
“Would that we all could turn green and frighten our problems away.”
“Don’t get too many ideas. See you later,” I said.
“Cool. Don’t get shot,” Rubin said.
At exactly two o’clock, I performed our hourly radio check. Both Dale and Natalie called in, told me that I was loud and clear. Rubin didn’t respond because he was out of range. I went for a cup of coffee in the second-floor waiting room, and was headed back past the nurses’ station when I heard sudden yelling and the sounds of metal hitting the floor.
Stupid Things You Think When The Adrenaline Pumps #87: Well, Jesus, Atticus, if you knew this was going to happen, why did you just pour yourself a cup of coffee?
I dropped the mug, running to the noise, and pulled my radio. Just before I keyed the transmitter, Natalie came over the air, saying, “Room two twenty-three, principal’s inside.”
I pressed the button and said, “En route.” Came around the comer, bringing my gun out as I heard Dale call in that he was on his way.
It took maybe another five seconds to find the right door, and that was more than enough time to commit murder, but I couldn’t move any faster. I found 223 as Natalie pushed inside, following her into the room.
The woman I’d seen in the waiting room earlier stood behind the examination table, a plastic pop bottle in her hand. The cap was off, and the bottle was half-filled with a red liquid that had been splashed over the equipment, walls, and Dr. Romero. The woman was shouting.
I went for Romero as Natalie went for the other woman.
“She’s pregnant,” I shouted to Natalie. Felice Romero had her glasses off, and the skin that had been protected by them was untouched, although a thick strip of red ran from her dark hair down across her lab coat. I wrapped my arms around her, pivoted, and dropped her outside the room, just as Dale came around the comer.
“Principal’s clear,” I told him. “Get her secure and call the police.” Then I turned back to see that Natalie had the pregnant woman pinned against the wall, one hand on the bottle, immobilizing it. Natalie’s right forearm was pressed under the woman’s chin.
“You’ve been marked!” the woman was screaming. “Anytime we want to, butcher! Anytime we want to!”
“Shut the fuck up,” Natalie said, “or I will knee you so hard you’ll miscarry right here.”
The woman shut up. Whether because she believed the threat, or because Natalie had six inches on her and the ability to crush her larynx, I don’t know.
I holstered my weapon and then took the bottle out of the woman’s hand, setting it down on the counter.
“She got paint on my blouse,” Natalie told me.
“You’re overdressed anyway,” I said.
“It’s going on my expense report,” she said.
I took the woman’s purse and began looking through the contents. “Write it up,” I told Natalie. “All expenses will be reviewed.”
“Skinflint,” she said.
“No free rides,” I told her. The purse held a lipstick, a pocket Bible, a hairbrush, five subway tokens, a folded piece of paper, and a driver’s license. The license was state of New York, and identified the pregnant woman as Mary Werthin. I showed the license to Natalie, who snorted, then I dropped it back in the purse and unfolded the sheet of paper.
It was a photocopied wanted poster, with a grainy picture of Dr. Romero centered on it. At the top of the sheet were the words WANTED FOR MURDER, and beneath the picture, DOCTOR FELICE ROMERO. At the bottom of the sheet was a list of her crimes. According
“There’s something to that.”
“Would that we all could turn green and frighten our problems away.”
“Don’t get too many ideas. See you later,” I said.
“Cool. Don’t get shot,” Rubin said.
At exactly two o’clock, I performed our hourly radio check. Both Dale and Natalie called in, told me that I was loud and clear. Rubin didn’t respond because he was out of range. I went for a cup of coffee in the second-floor waiting room, and was headed back past the nurses’ station when I heard sudden yelling and the sounds of metal hitting the floor.
Stupid Things You Think When The Adrenaline Pumps #87: Well, Jesus, Atticus, if you knew this was going to happen, why did you just pour yourself a cup of coffee?
I dropped the mug, running to the noise, and pulled my radio. Just before I keyed the transmitter, Natalie came over the air, saying, “Room two twenty-three, principal’s inside.”
I pressed the button and said, “En route.” Came around the comer, bringing my gun out as I heard Dale call in that he was on his way.
It took maybe another five seconds to find the right door, and that was more than enough time to commit murder, but I couldn’t move any faster. I found 223 as Natalie pushed inside, following her into the room.
The woman I’d seen in the waiting room earlier stood behind the examination table, a plastic pop bottle in her hand. The cap was off, and the bottle was half-filled with a red liquid that had been splashed over the equipment, walls, and Dr. Romero. The woman was shouting.
I went for Romero as Natalie went for the other woman.
“She’s pregnant,” I shouted to Natalie. Felice Romero had her glasses off, and the skin that had been protected by them was untouched, although a thick strip of red ran from her dark hair down across her lab coat. I wrapped my arms around her, pivoted, and dropped her outside the room, just as Dale came around the comer.
“Principal’s clear,” I told him. “Get her secure and call the police.” Then I turned back to see that Natalie had the pregnant woman pinned against the wall, one hand on the bottle, immobilizing it. Natalie’s right forearm was pressed under the woman’s chin.
“You’ve been marked!” the woman was screaming. “Anytime we want to, butcher! Anytime we want to!”
“Shut the fuck up,” Natalie said, “or I will knee you so hard you’ll miscarry right here.”
The woman shut up. Whether because she believed the threat, or because Natalie had six inches on her and the ability to crush her larynx, I don’t know.
I holstered my weapon and then took the bottle out of the woman’s hand, setting it down on the counter.
“She got paint on my blouse,” Natalie told me.
“You’re overdressed anyway,” I said.
“It’s going on my expense report,” she said.
I took the woman’s purse and began looking through the contents. “Write it up,” I told Natalie. “All expenses will be reviewed.”
“Skinflint,” she said.
“No free rides,” I told her. The purse held a lipstick, a pocket Bible, a hairbrush, five subway tokens, a folded piece of paper, and a driver’s license. The license was state of New York, and identified the pregnant woman as Mary Werthin. I showed the license to Natalie, who snorted, then I dropped it back in the purse and unfolded the sheet of paper.
It was a photocopied wanted poster, with a grainy picture of Dr. Romero centered on it. At the top of the sheet were the words WANTED FOR MURDER, and beneath the picture, DOCTOR FELICE ROMERO. At the bottom of the sheet was a list of her crimes. According
Similar Books
Cascadia's Fault
Jerry Thompson
Counting to D
Kate Scott
Mischief
Amanda Quick
Manhattan Dreaming
Anita Heiss
Blood Witch
Cate Tiernan
A Prologue To Love
Taylor Caldwell
EarthRise
William C. Dietz
His Captive Bride
Suzanne Steele
The Mystery of the Ghostly Galeon
Julie Campbell