"Play sick," I said.
Until she made a statement, everything was up in the air. She was still alive, so there was a possibility that she could have seen the killer. He couldn't afford any witness at all, but if he tried to erase her he'd be a sitting duck himself. From here on, there would be a solid cover on the hospital room. The killer was going to sweat a little more now.
I thought I saw the good corner of her mouth twitch in a faint smile and again I got the small finger squeeze. "Be careful," she said. Her voice was barely audible and she was slipping back into a sleep once more. "I want . . . you back."
Her fingers loosened and her hand slipped out of mine. She didn't hear me when I said, "I want you back too, baby."
Outside the door the cop said, "How is she?"
"Making it." He was a young cop, this one. He still had that determined look. He had the freshness of youth, but his eyes told me he had seen plenty of street work since he left the academy. "Did Captain Chambers tell you what this was about?" I asked.
"Only that it was heavy. The rest I got through the grapevine."
"It's going to get rougher," I said. "Don't play down what you're doing."
He grinned at me. "Don't worry, Mike, I'm not jaded yet."
"Way to go, kiddo."
"By the way . . ."
"What's that?"
"How come you never locked into the department?"
"King Arthur wouldn't let me go."
"That's right," he laughed. "I forgot, you're the Black Knight."
"Take care of my girl in there, will you?"
His face suddenly went serious. "You got it, Mike."
Downstairs another shift was coming on, fresh faces in white uniforms replacing the worn-out platoon that had gone through a rough offensive on the day watch. The interns looked too young to be doctors, but they already had the wear and tear of the profession etched into them. One had almost made it to the door when the hidden PA speaker brought him up short, and with an expression of total fatigue, he shrugged and went back inside.
I cut around the little groups and pushed my way through the outside door. The rain had stopped, but the night was clammy, muting the street sounds and diffusing the lights of the buildings. Nights like this stunk. There were no incoming taxis and it was a two-block walk to where they might cruise by. There was no other choice, so I went down the steps to the street. Behind me two interns were debating waiting for a nurse who had a car, then decided they were too tired to wait and followed me, taking the other side of the street.
At night this area was solid bumper-to-bumper parked cars, wedged so tightly together you wanted to see how they came unstuck in the morning. A smart one had a two-foot space in front of him with his wheels cranked hard away from the curb so he couldn't be pushed up, and I walked right past it like a Jersey tourist before I knew it didn't fit and the slight metallic creak of a door was wrong and everything exploded at once.
Ducking and twisting was automatic and something whispered by over my head. Then a pair of bodies were on me, fists smashing at my kidneys and bouncing off my neck. I rammed my elbow back and felt teeth go under it and the back of my head mashed the guy's nose who was holding me. I was off balance and before I could use my feet another flying pair of arms nailed my legs together in a crude tackle and we all hit the pavement with me on the bottom. My .45 was still tight in the shoulder holster and I felt a hand going under my coat and yanking it clear.
It wasn't a mugging. I felt the needle go into my hip and within seconds the drowsiness started. Somebody was cursing and spitting blood behind me, and when I had no strength left the restraining arms fell away and I heard a voice saying he wanted to kick my brains out for breaking his nose.
It wasn't dream time. There were faraway sounds and feelings of being in motion. I could hear voices, but didn't know what they were saying. And it was black. I felt tired and wanted to sleep, but I was in a limbo all alone.
Time itself had no meaning. Its passage I could record by the throbbing where my body hurt, but no other way. So I just let it all happen, thinking of what a damned sucker I had been for letting myself get trapped. I said, "Shit," and my ears heard it and I let my eyes slide open and lifted my head up.
Somebody said, "He's awake."
There was barely any light and it came from a small open bulb thirty feet away. I was tied to a chair, my arms and legs snug to it and two turns of rope holding me tight against the back. There was no sense wasting any strength thrashing around. Pros had done this job and I could barely make out the form of one of them in front of me, his face an indistinguishable pale orb. There was another behind me and he wasn't breathing right. He kept swearing under his breath and spitting on the floor.
A hand came out of the darkness and tilted my head back. The beam of a small flashlight swept across my eyes and the voice said, "It's all worn off. He's wide awake." It was an accented voice, but nothing I could place.
The other one sounded like he had a bad cold, his words whispery deep with a rasp to it. He moved in closer, but I still couldn't make out his face. "Tell us about Penta," he said.
Sometimes you have to mouth off. I told him, "Up yours."
His hand came around and there was no way I could move. It was a flat-handed slap with a hell of a lot of meat behind it and I could taste blood in my mouth.
"One more time, Hammer."
"Asshole," I said.
The hand got me again, harder than before. My ear was ringing so badly I hardly heard the other voice say, "Knock if off. We haven't got time for this."
"You just let me . . ."
"Damn it, you're not playing with some patsy. He's been through the rough stuff before. Give him the sodium pentothal."
I thought now somebody would come in close enough for me to get a good look at them, but an oily smelling towel was tossed over my head, then somebody pulled my sleeve back. I felt the cold touch of an alcohol swab, then a needle went into my forearm.
Again, reality drifted away. It took all my defenses with it and I could hear and speak and even see light through the worn towel. A little part of my brain told me if I fought real hard I could lie right through the truth serum, but then, why bother lying when telling the truth was so much fun?
"Who is Penta?"
"I don't know."
"Where is Penta now?"
"I don't know."
"When did you meet Penta?"
"I never met Penta."
"Who is Penta?"
"I don't know."
The first voice said, "Let's increase the dosage." I felt the needle again. There was another long pause before the questions started. I gave them the same answers. It was almost a pleasure to be able to do it.
Another needle, and this time they waited almost too long. The sleep was coming on me.
The voice said, "I am Penta."
Only my brain made an idiotic grin. If I said he wasn't, it would mean I knew Penta.
My tongue said, "Good for you."
"Do you work for Penta?"
They were trying it again.
"I work . . . by myself." The words didn't come out easily at all.
The raspy one said, "He's going."
"Well, that's it," his partner told him.
"You think he was faking it?"
"I don't know how he could."
Sounds were too faint now to register and I felt myself being jostled around, then the sleep came and the strange, fuzzy chemical dreams that had no direction or substance, shooting off into one area after another like a firefight pattern of tracer bullets gone wild.
Awakening was in slow motion, one part at a time. I stayed immobile until I had things back in focus again, trying to remember what had preceded the odd stupor I was in. Then the mental door unlatched and it was all there, not totally clear, but discernible enough.