The Biker's Doctor

Chapter Seven

I poured myself a glass of red from the black marbled kitchen bar, slinging my black leather saddle bag over the usual bar chair. The robust Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon had hints of chocolate, mocha and eucalyptus. Delicious. I was relaxed almost immediately.

I gave Lucifer a few treats as a snack, as I always did when returning home. He was happy enough to see me jumping up to nearly my full height with his paws on my shoulders. I caught him, as I always did and gave him a rough pat, which he loved. Once he was content to settle down on the couch once more with his favourite chew toy, an old left-footed slipper, I could turn back to my wine. I tried to remember the last time I saw the right-footed pair of those slippers. I am sure it is buried like a body in the backyard and will never be found.

I walked over to my balcony, unlocked and opened the door to the cool night air, and leaned against the wall, staring into the night over Menlo Park.

Menlo Park was such a nice area. It had more greenery than most suburbs this close to San Francisco's city limits. It almost made you feel like you were North of the bridge in the country, not only about forty-five minutes south of the centre of San Francisco.

I briefly thought about my two revision lectures and my plans to examine the Cadaver again tomorrow. I will be harder on myself about my emotions around a Cadaver tomorrow. After that, I will come home, take Lucifer to the park around the corner, and then spend a few hours studying. I won’t have time to take him to the city park. So, the less fun, smaller, closer one will have to do.

It will be a busy day. Right now, my mind was ready to shut down.

The night was peaceful. A set of matching tiled stairs led to the ground-floor back garden below, with a recently mowed lawn and palm trees. That lawn was not comparable in any way to the Oval at Stanford, but nor should it be. It’s not like a small communal garden like this had the same pedigree. It was purely humble. A comfortable alcove offered shade from the sun or from inclement winter weather. Spring blossoms on citrus trees were powdering white, even visible in the darkness.

The backyard was a serene slice of heaven, bordered by a brown wooden fence that shielded it from passersby outside the complex. The four apartments shared a BBQ area, which Brian and I never used as singles, but the couples on the bottom floor often did. I never minded the loud summer weekends when children ran around and played down there. I could close my balcony door to the noise if I needed to study.

It was not long before I heard men speaking next door. Brian had left his balcony sliding door open. The fact that our balcony was connected, with the only separating element a three-quarter-height plaster wall, made me an unwilling listener to their current discussion.

Oh, please don't let this be a late night. I want to get some sleep as soon as I finish this glass of red.

I was not about to eavesdrop, but the voices grew louder and became impossible to ignore. They were muffled, so I could not actually hear what was being said, but it was clear that a civil discussion was turning into an argument between the two of them. I could distinctly hear Brian's voice, and he not only sounded agitated, but he was cursing something fierce.

It was then that I heard the distinct breakage of glass shattering against something hard.

That breaking of glass registered something violent, something thrown in anger with intent. I wanted to ignore it. This was not my domestic dispute or any of my business. But that feeling of fear and danger from the look of that man in the complex corridor abruptly returned. A sense of dread crawled up my back all the way to my neck.

Was whatever had been shattered thrown between them, as from one to the other, aimed and deliberate to cause harm?

Was Brian in danger?

I did not know him well enough to interrupt whatever this was, but I did not want him to be hurt either.

The curse that followed the shattering of glass was a distinct command from Brian to end whatever was going on as I heard the words 'Get the f**k Out' imminent with now clear precision from the interior of Brian's apartment.

The argument that I was overhearing had turned from verbal to violent, and I now felt that Brian was not safe at all, and it was becoming hard to avoid. Why had he let this man into his apartment?

Brian opened the door for him. That means he knew him. Whatever his reason for being there, at this very late hour, it was not the outcome that Brian had expected when he opened his door.

I didn't want to be nosy, but I wanted to hear what was going on with more clarity to know if my worry about Brian's safety was at all warranted. I walked back inside, setting my wine glass on the counter, and grabbed my mobile phone. I moved back to lean against the door leading out to the beige-tiled balcony. I was ready to call the police if needed.

I propped myself up closer to that plaster wall, just enough so that I could peer next door without being noticed.

"You took the money, damn it! I told you not to talk to Giuseppe!" The guest shouted. That was not just a statement of disappointment; it was almost an excuse for anger as he then pushed Brian with both his hands to increase the space between them.

I looked at my mobile. Should I call the police? No, surely this does not require that. I don't want to waste public time by calling the police for something that is not an emergency. People are allowed to have disagreements; surely that is all that it is.

"You will regret this!" Brian threatened back. "It's over, Johnny. I am going to give Giuseppe everything first thing in the morning. There is nothing you can do about it!" Was intermediate shouting between definitive statements.

This new intrigue, Johnny now punched Brian straight in the jaw. All I could see was the bottom of Brian’s legs as he now lay half in my view on the ground.

Brian was a strong physical guy; knocking him back would require not just strength but also the skill of a boxer or someone who knew how to throw a punch effectively.

This was not good. That was physical, and that did warrant a call to the police.

I looked down at my phone and started to dial 911.

9… Wait. I could still avoid the police. The voices continued loudly, and I heard another thing break with a resounding clatter. I deleted the nine and began to dial Brian's mobile number.

I intended to disrupt whatever was going on in the other apartment by calling Brian. If this stranger knew that I was hearing all of this, he would undoubtedly leave. I don’t think Brian would mind that idea.

The phone rang. I could even hear the echo of the mobile ringtone in the other apartment. I held my breath.

The phone answered, and it was not Brian.

"Hello." A dark voice said.

My heart sank. Had he knocked Brian unconscious and dared to pick up and answer his phone?

I thought about speaking into the phone to ask for Brian, but he would have heard me on the balcony, which was only a few feet away. I did not want him to know that I was there, listening and watching as the fight between the two of them unfolded. If Brian was in danger, I was not about to put myself in the middle of it by letting him know the phone call was coming from the next-door apartment.

"Hello?" the voice repeated more firmly, with a demanding, sulky tone.

The voice matched the dire look of his sullen face, which I had seen only moments before—the look and sound of a monster.

I was as silent as a mouse. I ducked further down from the plaster wall, terrified he would hear me or see me next door to where they were.

The line went dead. He hung up on me.

I heard a clear bang. The crack that could only be described as thunder struck through the air with a slice as sharp as a butcher’s knife. I remembered the sound from when my father was shot when I was only sixteen. I never wanted to listen to that horrid sound again, and here I was grimly recalling the loud, dreadful sound of firing a weapon.

I glared quickly back over the wall, and the stranger was standing over Brian, who was not moving. A glossy black gun was in the stranger's hand.

I no longer hesitated. The stranger, Johnny, was holding a gun and had just shot Brian. Brian was not moving.

I started to dial 911. My hands were shaking, and my breath was not exiting past my lips. I knew medically what I was going through. I was terror-struck and in shock.

I heard Lucifer jump up from the couch at the loud noise of the gunshot, but the loved dog was far from my mind.

I dropped the phone when, mid-dial, it began to ring. Brian, with a house emoji, blinked in neon across the mobile screen. I jolted my gaze back towards the balcony wall, and there was silence.

I grabbed the phone and fumbled to turn it to silent mode, accidentally hitting vibrate first. I still couldn't breathe as I looked at the wall with complete dread taking over my bones. I heard footsteps.

The door to Brian's apartment opened…

All I could feel and hear was my own heartbeat jumping out of my chest with adrenaline as there was a knock at my door.

Lucifer's ears pricked up further, and he began to bark at the door.

Good guard dog, I thought to myself, but dear god, please be quiet, Lucifer. Your barking is letting that crazed individual know that someone is here, in this apartment, not answering that knock.

The man still standing after that fight, Johnny, had heard the phone ring in my apartment. That means he also knew that I had overheard everything.

Where was Brian?

With little hope, I listened for his voice to introduce himself at the door, and in a few seconds' lapse, I knew he was not there at all. It was the other terrifying person.

My mind tried to gather thoughts over what I had just seen. Was Brian dead?

I felt my breath draw back further into my lungs at the mere thought that might well be the case.

I did not answer the door. Nor was there a chance in hell I was going to. Getting out of my apartment without using the front door was my sudden concern. This man at my door was not just threatening; he was deadly. He was armed with a gun. Even with that fear, my mind remained focused on Brian and my concern for his immediate welfare.

Another rumbling knock sounded at my door, and I was as silent as the grave. Lucifer, however, continued to bark on edge. He was darting his gaze between me and the knock at the door, wondering why I was not reacting to the intrusion at this late hour.

I need to get out of here. I have to get to the police station, was my sudden realization.

I grabbed my saddle bag, my car keys, and threw my mobile in it. I darted out to my balcony and used the back stairs down to the garden, with Lucifer quickly following me. I didn't even bother to shut the sliding door of the balcony. That way, Lucifer could go back into the garden. But I had to leave him here, and I hated that.

I hesitated at the bottom gate for only a second to give Lucifer a quick hug, which calmed him down.

“Stay,” I instructed.

Lucifer could tell that something was not right. Despite his instincts, he sat and watched the wooden door to the back garden swing closed with me now at a full run in the other direction.

I sped around the side of the complex, racing as fast as I could, to the car park. My adrenaline was still pumping as I jumped in my Porsche and drove foot down out of the garage. I saw the man in my rear-view mirror pounding down the stairs.

Thankfully, Lucifer was nowhere in sight. He was safe in my back garden, and the back sliding door to my apartment was open.

There was no way that this Johnny could catch up to me now. But he had seen enough of my face to remember me? Did that even matter? He knew where I lived.

I instructed myself to focus on reaching the police; I just needed to get to the closest police station I can. I tried to remain strong, centering my thoughts on slowing my breathing and concentrating on where I was driving.

Oh, god Lucifer. I left my dog next to a crime scene.

Don't worry, Lucifer, I will be home soon. I hope.