Lou disappeared at the same instant the shadowy backseat figure discharged his pistol yet again, followed by the noise of shattering glass. Without thinking, Jack flipped the gun he was holding around so that his index finger slipped into the trigger guard. Still crouching behind the back of the passenger seat, he raised the gun, and aiming blindly in the direction of the shadowy person, pulled off three shots in rapid succession. To Jack, the sound of the weapon was a loud hissing thud like a combination of a fist hitting a punching bag and air being let out of a tire. The expended shell casings clanked down between the front seats. Although his ears were ringing, silence returned. Again, the smell of cordite permeated the vehicle's cab.
Jack's heart was pounding. As he huddled against the back of his seat, he heard a gurgling sound from the rear seat. He was afraid to move and half expected the man in the back to loom up and shoot him like he had shot Rakoczi.
"Lou?" Jack called. He was afraid to move, and he was afraid Lou might have gotten shot.
"Yeah!" Lou's voice sounded from someplace outside the car.
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Who fired those last three shots?"
"I did. I shot blindly."
"Who is it you shot at?"
"I haven't the slightest idea."
"Is this the nurse you were talking about on the phone lying next to me on the pavement out here?"
"It is," Jack said. He switched positions. His back was killing him the way it was pressed up against the passenger-side door.
"I thought you promised you weren't going to be a hero," Lou complained. "Did you shoot her, too, or what?"
"I didn't shoot her," Jack exclaimed. "It was the guy in the backseat."
"Whoever the guy is shot at me," Lou said. "I don't like that."
In addition to the gurgling, Jack now heard definite wheezing. At that moment, he caught sight of Lou's eyes between the open driver's side door and the doorframe. He was now squatting next to the driver's-side front wheel, holding his pistol up alongside his head.
Jack managed to get his legs down where they belonged under the dash so that he could move his head and cautiously look into the backseat between the front seats. In the dim light and limited view he could see a flaccid hand lying on the backseat with its index finger still within the trigger guard of a pistol. At that point, Jack heard stertorous breathing.
Gaining courage, Jack raised his head and peered over the top of the front seat. He could just make out a man sitting upright but with his head back and arms splayed out to the sides. With his head back, Jack could see that he was wearing a ski mask. His breathing was labored.
"I guess I shot him," Jack said.
Lou stood up, walked along the side of the car, and stuck his pistol through the back window that had been blown out. He was holding his gun in both hands and pointing it at the stricken individual. "Can you hit the lights?" Lou asked.
Jack spun around and briefly searched for the interior lights. When he found them, he switched them on. He looked into the backseat at the man. An expanding stain of blood was on the man's chest.
"Can you reach his gun?" Lou asked. He kept his gun trained on the apparently unconscious stranger.
Jack extended his hand warily toward the gun as if the man would suddenly wake up like in a thriller movie for one more desperate struggle.
"Just touch the barrel, not the butt," Lou directed. "And put it on the front seat."
Jack did as he was told, then quickly got out the passenger-side door. He opened up the back door and leaned in to get a closer look at the man. Up close it was more apparent how labored the individual's breathing was. Jack pulled off the ski mask in hopes it would help the man breathe. Lou opened the door on the man's other side.
"Do you recognize him?" Lou asked.
"Not at all," Jack said.
While Jack felt for a pulse, Lou grabbed the fabric on the front of the man's shirt, and with a sudden lateral tear, ripped the shirt wide open. Buttons popped off. Three entrance wounds were apparent in the man's chest.
"I'll say you shot him," Lou remarked with admiration.
"His pulse is thready and rapid," Jack said. "He's not long for this world unless we act fast. On the positive side, he's already at the hospital."
"You check the nurse!" Lou said. "I'll start getting him out of the car."
Jack ducked back out of the vehicle and ran around to the other side. Bending down, it took him only a second to ascertain that Jazz had been shot execution-style through the back of the head at very close range. The bullet had undoubtedly passed through the brainstem. She was clearly moribund.
Jack stood back up and stepped over the woman. He could see that Lou had the injured individual half out of the car.
"What's the situation with the woman?" Lou grunted.
"She's gone. Let's concentrate on the guy."
With the back door open against the neighboring vehicle, Jack had to reverse directions, step back over Rakoczi, and run all the way around the SUV to lend a hand with the man. Lou had his hands under the individual's armpits. Jack squeezed by and grasped the man around the thighs.
"God! He weighs a ton!" Lou complained as they managed to get out from between the parked cars. They were immediately caught in the headlights of a car attempting to exit the garage. The driver had the nerve to beep the horn.
"Only in New York," Lou complained at the impatient driver through clenched teeth. He struggled with the injured man. "What the hell is this guy anyway, a professional football player?"
As they approached the doors to the pedestrian bridge, a few of the departing hospital workers stopped to gawk, unsure of what they were witnessing. At least one had the sense to reverse direction and reach back to hold open the door.
Halfway across the bridge, Lou staggered. "I got to stop," he said while panting.
"Let's switch," Jack suggested. They put the man down on the concrete floor of the bridge, quickly changed places, and then picked up the man again.
"You certainly picked a good time to show up," Jack said and grunted.
"Apparently, I just missed you outside the CCU," Lou said. "Then I just missed you on the sixth floor. It was a good thing the clerk told me to look for a black Hummer."
In the better light, it was apparent that the stains on the man's shirt were blood, and people were now willing to help. By the time they got across the bridge, two male nurses had pitched in. One was at the head with Jack, while the other had a leg with Lou.
"The ER is on the floor below," one of the nurses said between breaths. "Should we wait for an elevator or try the stairs?"
"The elevator," Jack answered. He was aware the man was no longer breathing. "But we're going up, not down. He needs a thoracic surgeon, and he needs him now."
The two nurses looked at each other in consternation but didn't say anything. Rather than put the man down, Jack backed up against the wall and hit the elevator button with his free hand. Luckily, a car arrived almost immediately. Unfortunately, it was full.
"Coming in!" Jack yelled. He was not to be deterred, and he backed right into people who momentarily had not moved. Recognizing the degree of the emergency, a number of people got off, creating the necessary space. The door closed.
The four people holding the injured man looked at one another while the people in the elevator stared at the wounded individual. No one said anything as the elevator rose up a floor.
When the doors opened on the third floor, they carried the man out and then pushed through the double doors. As they passed the arched opening into the surgical lounge, Jack cried out that they had a man who had been shot in the chest three times. By the time they got to the doors leading into the OR itself, a number of surgeons who had been waiting for their cases to start were walking alongside. Several of them were thoracic surgeons, and they started to assess the man's condition, as evidenced by the position of the entrance wounds. Although there was some disagreement about the nature of the injuries, all thought that the only chance the patient had for survival was to be put on cardiopulmonary bypass immediately.