One for the Money (Stephanie Plum 1)

I found a parking place on Hamilton one block from the emergency entrance. I set the alarm, and Jackie and I took off at a trot. She had about two hundred pounds on the hoof, and she wasn't even breathing hard when we pushed through the double glass doors. I guess humping all day keeps you in shape.

“A woman named Lula was just brought in by ambulance,” I told the clerk.

The clerk looked at me, and then she looked at Jackie. Jackie was dressed in poison green shorts with half her ass hanging out, matching rubber sandals, and a hot pink tank top. “Are you family?” she asked Jackie.

“Lulu don't got any family here.”

“We need someone to fill out forms.”

“I guess I could do that,” she said.

When we were done with the forms, we were told to sit and wait. We did this in silence, aimlessly thumbing through torn magazines, watching with inhuman detachment as one tragedy after another rolled down the hall. After a half hour I asked about Lula and was told she was in X ray. How long would she be in X ray? I asked. The clerk didn't know. It would be a while, but then a doctor would come out to talk to us. I reported this to Jackie.

“Hunh,” she said. “I bet.”

I was a quart down on caffeine, so I left Jackie to wait and went in search of the cafeteria. I was told to follow the footprints on the floor, and darned if they didn't bring me to food. I loaded a take-out carton with pastries, two large coffees, and added two oranges just in case Jackie and I felt the need to be healthy. I thought it was unlikely, but I figured it was like wearing clean panties in case of a car crash. It never hurt to be prepared.

An hour later, we saw the doctor.

He looked at me, and he looked at Jackie. Jackie hiked up her top and tugged at her shorts. It was a futile gesture.

“Are you family?” he asked Jackie.

“I guess so,” Jackie said. “What's the word?”

“The prognosis is guarded but hopeful. She's lost a lot of blood, and she's suffered some head trauma. She has multiple wounds that need suturing. She's being taken to surgery. It will probably be a while before she's brought to her room. You might want to go out and come back in an hour or two.”

“I'm not going nowhere,” Jackie said.

Two hours dragged by without further information. We'd eaten all the pastries and were forced to eat the oranges.

“Don't like this,” Jackie said. “Don't like being cooped up in institutions. Whole fucking place smells like canned green beans.”

“Spend much time in institutions, have you?”

“My share.”

She didn't seem inclined to elaborate, and I didn't actually want to know anyway. I fidgeted in my chair, looked around the room, and spotted Dorsey talking to the clerk. He was nodding, getting answers to questions. The clerk pointed to Jackie and me, and Dorsey ambled over.

“How's Lula?” he asked. “Any news?”

“She's in surgery.”

He settled himself into the seat next to me. “We haven't been able to pick up Ramirez yet. You have any idea where he might be? He say anything interesting before you started recording?”

“H

e said he was watching me pull Lula through the window. And he knew the police were in my apartment. He must have been close.”

“Probably on a car phone.”

I agreed.

“Here's my card.” He wrote a number on the back. “This is my home phone. You see Ramirez, or you get another call, get in touch right away.”

“It'll be hard for him to hide,” I said. “He's a local celebrity. He's easy to recognize.”

Dorsey returned his pen to an inside jacket pocket, and I got a glimpse of his hip holster. “There are a lot of people in this city who'll go out of their way to hide and protect Benito Ramirez. We've been this route with him before.”