Mother's Milk (30 page)

‘It's OK, kid,' a medic in a navy uniform said, as he snapped a mask onto Marky's face. ‘We got it from here. You wait outside and give us some room to work.'

‘It's an overdose,' Jerod said, ‘you got Narcan?'

The medic looked at him. ‘You undercover or something?'

‘No,' Jerod said, shaking his head and trying to stand. He felt his pulse racing and sweat dripped under his shirt and down his pants. He looked around, each of the kids now either had a cop and medic or pair of medics attending to them. The lady officer who'd given him the face mask was standing on top of a mattress, her back pressed against the wall. The brown-haired boy she'd been working on, who couldn't have been more than eighteen, had an oxygen mask strapped to his face and a paramedic had just ripped open his shirt and put on paddles. ‘Clear.'

The kid's chest surged up and then back. Jerod looked at the little LED screen on the medic's defibrillator. No heartbeat; the kid was flatlining. The paddles were rapidly recharged, the voltage increased. ‘Clear.'

‘Give me an amp of epi,' the medic called, as his partner grabbed a syringe and handed it over.

Jerod turned to the lady officer; he could tell she was trying not to cry. He squeezed past a stretcher and went over to her. ‘His name's Brad,' he said. ‘He was new.'

They watched as the paddles were applied for a third time.

‘He's too young,' the cop said, her eyes intent on the monitor.

‘I've got a pulse,' the medic said, ‘let's get him out of here.'

‘What's your name?' the lady cop, who couldn't have been much older than he, asked.

‘Jerod,' he said. He could tell she was trying to push past the horror of the scene. It was hard not to compare this with what happened before – Bobby and Ashley should have had paramedics. He should have done something different. He should have been able to save them. He sank to the floor and sobbed.

‘It's OK, Jerod,' she said, sitting next to him. ‘I'm Officer Stanton … Kate.' Her gaze fixed on the boy and his tenuous heartbeat. She glanced across at Jerod. ‘You use, don't you?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Why?' she asked. ‘Why do people do this to themselves?'

He watched as Marky was hoisted onto a stretcher, a mask hooked to oxygen over his mouth and nose. ‘It numbs everything,' he said, ‘nothing hurts … but it doesn't last. I'm never doing it again,' he said, realizing that this was the truth. ‘I'd rather be dead than go though this again.'

‘That's good,' she said. ‘You knew these kids?'

Jerod looked up as Detective Hobbs pushed through a pair of empty stretchers and came toward them. His shoulders sagged and he was shaking his head. He tried to speak, and his voice choked.

‘Damn,' Hobbs finally managed, batting something from his eye. He turned and surveyed the scene, as one by one the kids were strapped onto stretchers and carried down the six flights. ‘I'm going back to the hospital, Jerod. You want to come with me?'

‘Yeah,' Jerod said, pushing back against the wall. His whole body ached, as though he'd been beaten.

The lady officer also stood and looked at Hobbs. ‘What happened here?'

‘Somebody just tried to exterminate their work force. If not for Jerod these kids would all be dead. As it is, we have no clue how many will make it.'

As Hobbs spoke, Jerod watched them carry out Marky, the blond man's eyes blinked. ‘You need to have somebody watch him,' Jerod said, ‘that's Marky. If anyone knows what happened; it's him. You can't let him get away.'

‘I'll go with him,' Officer Stanton said, getting to her feet. ‘My partner's over there,' she said, indicating an older heavyset cop who'd made it up after the medics. She looked at Hobbs. ‘I think he'll be happy doing some babysitting at the hospital.' She turned to Jerod. ‘You just saved a bunch of lives,' she said, looking him in the eye. ‘I hope you get off the dope, because I don't know you, but I think you're somebody pretty great.'

Her words hit him hard. How to respond? She'd called him a hero, sort of, not a fuck-up, not a junkie, not the crazy piece of shit his parents couldn't deal with. ‘Thanks, Officer Stanton.'

‘Kate,' she said, and headed toward her partner.

‘Let's get out of here,' Hobbs said. ‘They're transporting them all to University Hospital. It'll be easier having them in one place.'

‘Will he try again?' Jerod asked, struggling to keep up with Hobbs as they squeezed past a stretcher and started down.

‘If he knows he didn't succeed; he might.'

‘You think he's watching?'

‘If it were me,' Hobbs said, ‘and you always have to think like that if you want to be a cop, I'd want to know what was happening.'

‘Makes sense. Course I'm not exactly cop material, but maybe … Fuck!'

‘What?' Hobbs asked, stopping.

‘Rooftops. Bobby told me that the reason they had the apartment on the top floor was that if they ever needed to bolt, they could go over the roof. That's why Marky's apartment is up here. If he's anywhere, that's where he's …' Before he could finish the sentence, Hobbs reversed direction and raced up the steps.

Jerod watched him as the last of the stretchers started down. The girl they carried – Yvette – had ghost-white skin and dyed black hair. She'd hung out with them a few times; she'd always been nice.
How could someone do this?
He suddenly didn't care that his body felt like he'd been beaten or that waves of knife-sharp cramps kept rolling through his gut, he had to help, to somehow make this better, and pushing through the pain, he ran after Hobbs.

F
or the second time that day Hobbs struggled to force a rooftop door. Jerod was right. The perp – Barrett's date – had been watching, checking if he'd succeeded in killing off Marky and his family of dealers. And now he'd barricaded the door.

He rammed his shoulder into the solid oak, the lock had been smashed but something on the other side was holding it shut and with the bulb out overhead and only filtered light from below he couldn't see a damn thing. He hurled himself at the door for a third and fourth time. His shoulder ached. He stepped back and kicked at it with his steel-toed shoe – the sound of wood cracking. He didn't stop. He kicked hard and again. On his eighth or ninth try something snapped and the door banged open.

He drew his revolver and stepped into the night. It was lighter outside, the moon and the background glow of the city. Sirens wailed as he surveyed the roofscape. The building was wedged between others like it to his right and left. He saw ladders that ran over the side, but couldn't see anyone. So either this Chase made his escape, or he was hiding. He turned slowly taking in the scene; pulled out his phone and called the sergeant at the 9th for more backup, even though he knew it was getting more futile by the second.

Jerod came up behind him. He shivered and Hobbs knew the kid was trying to appear normal even though he was clearly jonesing. ‘You should get back to the hospital,' he told him.

‘I want to help,' he said, his teeth chattering despite the warm air.

‘OK, go tell Barrett – Dr. Conyors – what happened, she might have some ideas. If this was the guy who just drugged her; she could have remembered something else. You need to get out of here.'

A pair of uniformed officers came through the doorway. ‘It's a fifty-fifty shot,' Hobbs said. ‘You take that way, I'll go this way.' He looked back at Jerod – he really was trying to hold it together – and began to understand what Barrett saw in him. ‘Kid, go back to her. Stay with her.'

‘You think he'll go after her again?'

Hobbs started to jog to the ladder on the east side of the building. ‘Don't know, but she's the only one we've got who can tell us who he is … and Jerod, you did real good back there. Real good.' He looked over the edge, and then toward the distance. How much of a lead did this guy have? He pushed back a dangerous sense of futility, and grabbed the ladder, knowing that if there were fingerprints he'd just destroyed them. He lowered his legs over the side, and looked down at the roof next door – a small drop, three or four feet. He let go of the ladder and landed on the tar-paper surface. He ran to the rooftop door, locked from the inside. He unclipped a Maglite from his belt and ran its beam over the surface of the roof from the ladder to the door. They'd been so close … He looked for disturbances on the black-gray roof. Playing the light around the threshold, he saw no sign of scuffing, the hinges looked undisturbed. It meant little. The thing could have been wide open; this Chase went through it and then just locked it from inside. Or … each second that passed gave away the advantage.

Hobbs ran to the ladder on the east side. He grabbed hold and felt a small give; one of the bolts was loose – could be an old problem, or a new one. He ran his flashlight over the roof of the adjoining building. No footprints, but the door to the roof had a crack of light showing through. He climbed over and down, and was hit by the sweet smell of marijuana. He headed toward its source and found a man and woman in lawn chairs facing uptown, glasses of wine in hand, a joint being passed. As he approached, Hobbs caught a bit of their conversation. ‘Spending three thousand dollars on rent is for chumps. You got to buy something, Monique, 'cause you're just throwing that …'

‘Police,' Hobbs said.

‘Oh shit!' The man dropped the smoldering joint.

‘I don't care about that,' Hobbs said. ‘Did anyone come through here in the last couple minutes?'

The woman, a tall freckled blonde with a riotous mass of curls, turned back to look at Hobbs. ‘There was,' she said, ‘but more like ten minutes ago.'

‘Damn! Did you see him?'

‘Just a little.' Her gaze fixed on his scarred face. ‘But I don't think he saw us. I thought maybe he was one of the neighbors; I didn't recognize him.'

‘What did he look like?'

‘Like a movie star … dark hair kind of falling over one eye, and a face like out of a magazine – perfect profile. I heard him go down into our building. I just assumed he lived there, that maybe he'd just moved in. Should we be worried?'

‘No,' Hobbs said, heading toward the rooftop entry. ‘But I'd ditch the joint; there'll be cops swarming all over this place.'

‘Thanks.'

He stopped at the door, ten minutes was a long time. He looked around; the man was sucking down the last of the joint, clearly not wanting to waste any. This was the easternmost building on the block. Hobbs jogged to the edge that faced the avenue, and sure enough there was an entryway both there and on the north side. Chase could easily have exited without being noticed by the squad cars and ambulances parked in front. From there he could hop a cab to wherever … or he could be holed up in an apartment right here … or the stoned lady could be wrong altogether. But it was unlikely Chase would hang around.

He pulled out his cell and called Barrett. No one answered. He felt a pang of anxiety. Well, it could mean any number of things, and he dialed University Hospital and got put through. She picked up before the second ring. ‘Glad to see you're still there.'

‘Thanks to you,' she said. ‘Did you find him? Did you find—'

‘We found a bunch of late teens and early twenties all OD'd.'

‘Dear God. Dead?'

‘Not all, don't know the score yet. You come up with the last name of your dream date?'

‘It's Strand, Chase Strand, and he works for DYFS as a counselor.'

‘Any chance you got a home address for lover boy.'

‘Knock it off. And no, I don't have an address. Although he said he went home during the lunch break of the conference. Wait a minute, he told me … God, my brain is scrambled. It's TriBeCa, he had a friend give him a loft in TriBeCa.'

‘Nice friend.'

‘Apparently he'd taken care of this guy who had AIDS.'

‘A real prince. What about a phone number?'

‘He gave me his card … Oh shit, I don't have my purse or any of my things – not even my cell. They must have locked them up when I came in … Mom, could you go out to the nurses' desk and get my bag? Thanks … OK, now give me the details.'

‘Let me call this in first so we can get an address. He's on the run, but he might need to pick up a thing or two. If you get his number or an address, call me.'

‘Hobbs, I could meet you. I recognize him, no one else does.'

Hobbs paused. He thought of her in intensive care, of how close she'd just come to dying. ‘You need to stay there.'

‘I'm fine. The drugs have all worn off; I could help you.'

‘Stay there, Barrett, and call me if you find anything, like an address.'

‘Hobbs!'

He hung up. He looked down at the street; at least now he had a name and something of a description. He headed back toward the stoned couple, who still reeked. ‘You two are going to need to give statements. Don't worry about the pot; just tell the officer everything you can remember. The guy we're looking for just tried to kill a bunch of kids, so take it serious.'

The woman looked back at him, again studying his face, as though she were trying to remember every line, the way the scars and skin grafts created unnatural layers of interwoven flesh. ‘I hope you find him,' and then added, ‘It's odd how some people can be so beautiful on the outside and absolute monsters on the inside.'

‘It is,' he said, backing away,
but the pretty monsters get dates with Barrett and I get ‘can't we just be friends'
. As he ran down the stairs and toward his car, he reminded himself that his infatuation with Barrett was in the past, but that was a whopping lie. He hated feeling this way, scared to death that she'd been hurt … or killed, hating that she'd been interested in a man she'd just met at a conference. It didn't help that he was attractive … like she was and he wasn't.
Who you kidding?
Barrett is not attractive … she's a goddamn knockout; no way you'd ever fit – beauty and the freak.