Two nurses and an orderly fell on us like a curse from Heaven; it took them about two seconds to see that this was serious, then the orderly vanished into thin air, re-appearing almost instantaneously with a gurney which the nurses gently placed Rebecca on (when had they taken her from my arms? I didn't remember their having done that) and the next thing I knew one of them was asking me what happened and I said something about her having missed her insulin shots and then another nurse or maybe it was the same one asked did I think it was only one or could she have missed more, as well, and I said I wasn't sure, it had been a long trip and she was usually pretty good at keeping track of her medicine, and the nurse said that was all right, calm down, can you give me any information about her type of diabetes, and I said sure, it's here on her bracelet, but that was silly because the nurse already had it in her hand (when had she taken it from me? I didn't remember her having done that) and was shouting instructions to another nurse, and then someone was on the P.A. paging doctor something-or-other to the ER stat and then Rebecca was gone and so was the orderly and so was the security guard and so were the nurses…
…and I just stood there like the biggest, dumbest, crap-for-crap useless dick this side of a Homestar Runner cartoon and realized that I had absolutely no idea what to do next.
Except for an older couple sitting over near the wall-mounted television, I was alone in the waiting area. I took a couple of steps and looked at the television. Nick at Nite. I Love Lucy. Ricky was grabbing his hair and screaming that Lucy Esmeralda MacGillicuddy Ricardo had some serious splainin' to do.
"I know this episode," I said to the older couple. "This is the one where Lucy does something silly and she and Ethel try to hide it from Ricky and Fred, right?"
They looked at me as if I'd just hawked up a live kitten. So I went back to standing there, quiet, polite, without a clue; portrait of a doofus in action.
Then the overweight security guard came back from behind the automatic doors and asked, "Is she your daughter?"
"No," I answered without thinking.
"Can I have your name, sir?"
Ahem…
Have you ever had one of those moments where a simple piece of information like, oh, say, your phone number or shoe size or wedding anniversary or—just to pull another quick example out of my ass—your name suddenly eludes you? If he would have asked me anything else—who was Vice President under Lyndon Johnson, or who shot J.R., or why for the love of God was Frampton Comes Alive still one of the biggest-selling albums of all time—those I could have answered; but, no, he had to be a wise-guy and stump the band with an obscure request.
At least there were options available here; I could: 1) Shriek like a little girl with the cooties and run like hell; 2) Ask the couple by the television if they knew what my name was; or, 3) Look at my I.D. I opted for #3, and was just reading the word "Mark" when the security guard took a step back and said "Wow," with such genuine awe I thought Michael Jordan had just walked in; then the synapses started firing again and I saw the glint and realized that I still had my I.D. in the same wallet with the U.S. Marshal badge—but of course by then it was too late.
"Oh, sir, look, I didn't realize that you were—hey," he stepped closer to me, lowering his voice. "Is that girl part of a case you're working on?"
His face said everything; that this was the most exciting thing to happen to him in a long time, that he really wanted to be of assistance, and who knew?—maybe his helping out a U.S. Marshal would impress the nurse he'd been trying to flirt with into finally going out with him.
"Yes," I said, then cleared my throat and spoke with more confidence. "Yes, she is." I closed the wallet and slipped it back into my pocket. "She's"—I led him away from the older couple, who suddenly weren't so interested in seeing how Lucy was going to get out of this one—"a material witness in a kidnapping case we've been working on for a while, Officer"—I checked his name tag—"Ransom. If you could—"
"That's kind of an odd coincidence, isn't it?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You working on this kidnapping case and my last name being 'Ransom'. Kinda odd, wouldn't you say?"
Jesus, I hoped the nurse didn't say yes to this poor sap. "Now that you mention it, yes, yes it is. I'll have to make sure to mention that in my report." I leaned closer. "My boss enjoys little tidbits of information like that. He says it gives our reports 'verisimilitude'—whatever that means."
Officer Ransom and I shared a professional chuckle over that one.
"Listen," I said, pulling him farther away from the two former Lucy fans, "I'd really appreciate it if you could keep a close watch on her until the rest of my team arrives. We're very close to nabbing this bastard and she's the only one who can positively identify him. That's why they've got to do their best for her, understand? They've got to make her better. She's a sweet girl and"—I felt myself starting to choke up and couldn't stop it—"and she's been through too much for it to end like… like this… I'm sorry…."
"Hey, no, I understand, sir, really, I do." He put his hand on my shoulder. "I imagine it gets to you, seeing a kid like that who's been taken from her family and subjected to God-only-knows what at the hands of her kidnapper."
I wiped my eyes and patted down my pockets for some tissue, but then the sap Officer Ransom handed me his unused handkerchief. "It gets to me sometimes, too, you know? Seeing some of the awful things done to kids that're brought in here."
Okay, he wasn't a sap. Shame on me for thinking that. I wiped my eyes again, blew my nose, and offered back the handkerchief; to my surprise, he took it without a flinch and shoved it into his pants pocket. "You okay, there? Want me to maybe get you a cup of coffee? The crap from the vending machines tastes like old motor oil, but the stuff they make in nurse's lounge—hoo-boy! That's some mighty fine joe."
"Yes," I said. "I'd appreciate that. And if you could check with the nurses and doctors back there about Rebecca's condition"—I bit my lip too late, her name was out—"I'd really appreciate that." Then I added, for what reason I still couldn't tell you: "And the office tends to remember those local law enforcement officers who cooperate as well as you are, Officer Ransom."
"Daniel," he said, shaking my hand. "I'll check on the girl and the coffee. Anything you need, sir, just give the word."
"Thank you. Listen, if I'm not out here when you get back, don't worry—I'll just be out in the car, contacting other team members. I'll be back in here soon enough."
He nodded. "You're the boss."
I shook his hand again and smiled at him as he left; was it my imagination, or was his walk a little taller?
I really hoped that nurse said yes.
I turned around and almost knocked over Arnold, who was standing right behind me with his shoulder-bag dangling halfway down his arm. "Watch it there, Grace. I seen enough of your chest and belly for one night."
"How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough to see another great performance. Man, you could cause some serious shit with that badge if you put your mind to it."
By now the couple had apologized to Lucy for ignoring her, and were back at attention just as Fred Mertz was flipping out, screaming that Ethel Mae Roberta Louise Potter Mertz was going to have a tasty knuckle sandwich for lunch if she didn't zip it. Personally, I'd always felt that Ethel could ream Fred's ass seven ways from Sunday—she'd feel awful about it afterward, probably even make him a big juicy steak dinner, but if it ever came to knock-down drag-out between them? No contest.