Great Deception

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Leaving the clean up to others, Sullivan and Ted went straight to Maine Medical Center. They were directed to where Striker was being tended to in the emergency wing after being told that Jones was in surgery.

Striker was propped up on the bed in one of the small cubicles used to treat emergency patients. His arm was being bandaged by a male nurse, who smiled at them when they entered.

“The Detective here was very lucky, just a flesh wound, that by the looks of it didn't miss his head or neck by more than an inch or two.” Sullivan nodded and then the nurse continued, 'I'll be finished in a minute and then you guys can talk.”

After the nurse finished, “Where is my shirt and jacket?” Striker asked as he looked around the room. “I'd like to get ready to leave.”

“That's not going to happen for a while. You need to stay here so we can observe you for an hour or so,” the nurse commanded. “As for your clothes, your jacket is in the closet there in the corner, a bit bloodied I might add and your tee shirt was cut off, so it's gone.” Smiling at Striker, “Your shirt is slightly splattered with the sleeve cut off,” he said pointing at a couple of blood spatters on the front of the shirt that was draped over a chair off to the side.” Turning to leave, “Gentlemen, I pray you all a good evening.”

While this was going on, Ted slipped out and went to the nurse's station to find out what he could about Jones.

Looking at Striker, Sullivan asked, “I don't suppose you know anything about Jones' condition?”

“No, by the time I got here they already had him on the way to surgery. At least that's what I assume because I saw them rushing into the elevator just as I arrived.”

“How you feeling?”

“Mostly, I feel like hell for being such a fool today and now I'm beginning to feel nauseous.”

Moving over to the side of the bed, he forced Striker to lay down. “This wasn't your fault, no one could have foreseen what happened. There is a lesson here though, not to make that mistake again. I should have stopped you because I have had experiences like this before, so there is ample blame to go around, if it would do any good.”

Entering, Ted announced, “Jones is still in surgery and I was told that a couple minutes later and he would have bled out. They think he will make it.”

“Any idea how long before he will be out of surgery?” Sullivan asked.

“I was told it would be within the hour and I asked them to let us know when we could go up to see him.”

By this time, Striker had fallen asleep. Poking Ted, Sullivan said, “Let's go to the waiting area until we can see Jones.”

They were sitting there for about five minutes when Mrs. Striker arrived in a frazzled state. She was a striking red head and stood about five foot two inches. A patch of freckles crossed the bridge of her nose. As soon as she saw Sullivan, she ran over to him. He caught her in his arms and quickly explained her husband's condition.

Pushing herself back just enough to catch Sullivan's eyes, “Oh, thank God, thank God. Where is he? Can I see him now?”

Taking her by the hand, “Let me take you back to see him. He was sleeping when we left him a few minutes ago.” Turning to Ted, “Let me know as soon as you find out about Jones.”

Sullivan came back a short while later. Sitting down beside Ted, “They were both smiling and hugging when I snuck out.”

“A doctor was here a few moments ago. Jones is doing well and we can go see him in about thirty minutes. The Doc said he would come down and tell us when it's time.”

The time passed slowly. Both wanted and needed a cup of coffee, but there was nothing close by and neither wanted to go find some, so they sat and waited.

Some time passed before a plump nurse came down and led them to Jones' room on the third floor.

Entering quietly, they found Jones sleeping. They both pulled up a chair and sat quietly for about fifteen minutes before Jones finally opened his eyes and looked around.

Groggily, Jones said, “Looking at you two guys, I must be in hell.”

“Funny guy,” Sullivan said and then rose to take his hand. “If you don't get out of that bed and back to work soon, I'll show you what hell's like.”

“He means it,” Ted said as he smiled. “Hope you're happy putting us through this.”

“Now who's the funny man? Did you get the shooter?”

“Oh yeah, he's having dinner with the devil as we speak,” Sullivan said.

“Have my parents been notified?”

“I had one of the locals go pick them up. They will be here soon. Now try to sleep, we'll talk when you're feeling up to it,” Sullivan said.