Chapter Six – Part 4
The sky was just lightening by the time Chuck walked out on to the streets of Little Italy. He had gotten himself thoroughly lost within the boundaries of University Hospitals and Case Western Reserve University. In a way, that was good, since three minutes after he'd found his way out of the University Hospital ER building, cops were everywhere, looking for him. If he didn't know where he was going, the cops certainly didn't.
The only real touchy part was avoiding all the damn security cameras. That had meant no well‑lighted thoroughfares, and, consequently, no visibility on a overcast night. He'd nearly broken his ankle twice, running where he couldn't see. Eventually, after dodging cop‑cars with spotlights, and hiding in dumpsters, he had stumbled down to a set of train‑tracks and had followed them up to Little Italy.
Through the night he had managed to ditch the lab coat that he'd stolen from the doctor, as well as everything from the doctor's, the nurse's, and the cop's wallets, except for the cash. Chuck felt he was owed that much, since the hospital had taken his wallet, his knife and his keys, everything but the loose change in his pockets.
Everything else from the hospital was stashed in a plastic bag he'd found fluttering by the Food Co‑Op when he'd climbed down from the tracks. Even the gun was in the bag. With his bloody, shredded shirt, a gun in the belt or a pocket would be an invitation saying, "shoot me!"
All the shops down here were dark and closed at this time of night, except for a donut shop he passed. Fortunately, no cops.
Chuck kept an eye out for cop cars, but he didn't see any. But he was worried about going up into the Heights area. The place was crawling with police, especially at night. All he had to do was walk in front of the wrong speed trap.
He needed a friend.
His cell phone was presumably with his wallet, but he managed to find an anachronistic payphone in a part of Little Italy that probably hadn't changed since the Seventies. It took him a few moments to tease from his memory the phone number of one of the more available girls he knew, and it took him the last two quarters to make the call. It almost dropped into voice-mail, but she answered at the last second. The answering voice was slow and slurred, and if it wasn't for the fact he knew her, and the blaring techno music in the background, he would have worried about waking her up.
He bent over the phone and nodded a lot, "Yeah, I know. . . sound's like a party Gigi. . . I know, always a party there. . . yeah, was wondering if I could come crash. . . uh‑huh I got something for you. . . yeah, you'll like it. . . no, the couch is fine, just if anyone's looking for me. . . you got it— could you send someone down here to pick me up?. . . Little Italy, in front of Presti's donuts. . . don't ask. . . yes, I have some for him too. . . and if anyone asks for me. . . yep. . . see you."
Chuck hung up the phone and picked up his little plastic bag of contraband. He faded into a shadowy part of an alley, where he could watch for his ride without being observed, and he fished through all the stuff he'd liberated from the hospital.
The bag held the cop's gun, gauze for his hand, and what had mounted to impulse theft on Chuck's part. He'd swiped a half‑dozen hypodermic needles and syringes, rubber hoses, a scalpel that was still wrapped in plastic, and a dozen small vials filled with various medications.
He was glad he'd thought of it while he had a doctor at gunpoint. Gigi was about to have quite a party.
