Victor came back at work, though only temporarily, he said. Medical control had lifted his suspension and Don Seurat had convinced him to come in and work some shifts while we were so short-handed. If the bounty hunter he was apprenticing with didn’t need him that day, he’d come in and work. It was good to have him back.
We drove past the courthouse on Washington Street. It was the first day of Felipe Ruiz’s trial. A large crowd had massed outside. “The big day,” Victor said.
“Troy should be up tomorrow.”
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s hurting. He tries not to let it show, but he blames himself for what happened to Pat.”
“He’ll come back to work. He’ll get one of those new insulin pumps – they’re working for a lot of people, helping keeping their sugar regular. He gets one of those, he’ll be back.”
“You think?”
“I just can’t see him not being here. Its where he belongs.”
“Maybe being up here tomorrow and seeing the ambulances going by will do it.”
“He’ll be back before the month is out I predict. He’ll be back as soon as the trial is over.”
Troy and Linda had been deposed to give testimony about what happened the night Felipe shot Joey Diaz on Afflect Street. The prosecution had Troy set to be a prime witness. Linda’s testimony was less important because though she had been there she had her back turned and couldn’t actually testify she saw Felipe shoot the other man.
We hadn’t gone three blocks past the courthouse when we heard sirens and saw three police cars heading north on Washington.
“463, 100 Lafayette in the Courthouse, shooting to the head on a one.”
“I don’t believe this,” Victor said.
I hit the lights and pulled a U-turn.
The scene outside the building was chaos. People spilled out of the courthouse, while others tried to get inside. We had to push our way through the crowd to get to the door. I saw two burly courthouse guards wrestling with a man who spat at them and cursed. Two police officers raised their night sticks to clear a way for us. Just as we went through the front door, I thought I heard gunshots on the street. On the portable I heard the call go out for two more ambulances.
We went through the metal detectors that beeped, then were led into the first courtroom.
“Head and chest shot,” an officer said to us.
Papi Ruiz howled. His son Felipe lay bleeding in his lap. I could hear the gurgling in Felipe’s lungs. The officer had to hold Papi down, as we pulled Felipe off him and onto our stretcher. “Easy Papi, easy Papi,” Victor purred, but I doubted Papi could hear above his anguished cries as he tried to hold onto Felipe.
Papi’s white shirt and black pants were drenched with blood.
Victor slapped a dressing on the open chest wound. Felipe’s teeth were clenched. His gurgled breathing was erratic. I put on a non-rebreather.
“We’ll strap him down later. We’ve got to move,” Victor said.
Felipe started seizing. It took five deputies to clear the way for us back to the ambulance. We saw three more ambulances and a fly car at the curb. When the crowd saw Felipe shaking, a man shouted, “Do something, he’s dying! What’s the matter with you? Don’t let him die!”
Someone pushed me from behind. I turned and decked the man. Victor kept pushing the stretcher forward and in the confusion, we made it through. Three cops came to our aid and held the crowd back while we loaded Felipe.
In the back, Victor gave Felipe Valium to stop the seizing, and intubated him while I drove and patched. “Shooting to the head and chest. Two minutes out,” I said. “We’ll need help unloading.”
The hospital sent out two techs to greet us. When they opened the back door, Victor was doing CPR. In the trauma room they opened Felipe’s chest and did open cardiac massage just like they did with Pat, but to no avail. With his head injury, it was surprising they even went that far.
“Wild scene, huh?” Victor said when he met me outside while I cleaned off the stretcher.
“Did you hear who shot him?”
“Yeah, an officer was just telling me. Joey Diaz’s sister.”
“Denny Creer told me she pulled out a 9 millimeter in the courthouse. I don’t know how she smuggled the gun in through the detectors, unless someone else got it in for her.”
“Yeah, I talked to dispatch. They said Melnick took one critical to Saint Fran.”
“This stuff is out of hand.”
“We’re killing ourselves off.”
“I felt bad for the old man.”
Victor just shook his head.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, I feel bad for him too. Hey, I meant to tell you. You threw a mean punch there.”
“I wasn’t thinking.”
“I’m not complaining.” He patted me on the back. “You did a good job.”
“You too, friend,” I said. “If anyone would have saved him, you would have. It’s good to have you back.”
“I can’t do this much longer,” he said, and went back inside.
A half hour later I went in to find Victor. Dispatch was asking us to clear. Jean Rushen told me he was in the trauma room. I found him standing next to Hector and Papi. Papi sat in his wheel chair, holding his grandson’s hand, his head lay against his boy’s side. Hector stood behind him, his eyes steely and dead. I left them there.
The police sent reinforcements to the ER to guard against the growing crowd that had migrated from the courthouse. People cried and screamed and beat their breasts.
