A FATAL REUNION, CHAPTER SEVEN

Roy waved at the old man watering his flower pots, the young lady walking her poodle and the gardener mowing the tiny strip of grass Johnny called his lawn. He made a wide circle around the rough-looking guy who sat snarling in his parking spot surrounded by tools and assorted parts of his motorcycle. He climbed the wrought-iron stairs to John's apartment and let himself in. The thick shag carpet still bore the tracks made by the stretcher and he shuddered a little. It had been a long, exhausting night and it was surely going to be a long, exhausting day. Roy stepped into the kitchen and searched the fridge for food that might be spoiled or sour, but found nothing. He rifled through the cabinets for anything past prime, but came up empty. It actually surprised him a bit at how little food Johnny actually had in the house. He then examined the trash for things Johnny might have thrown away, but found only two foil containers from the take-out food, a few paper napkins, some bread crusts, and the remnants of Carla's mostly uneaten omelet topped by a single slice of mushroom.

"I don't know if would help, but I think I'll bring the trash back to Rampart," he thought of the contents. "Maybe they can analyze it for something." Roy's stomach rumbled loudly and instinctively he glanced at his wrist watch- it was nearly 1:00. "Geez, no wonder I'm hungry," he considered. "I haven't had anything to eat in ages!"

Roy found a half loaf of bread and buttered a slice. "I don't suppose Johnny would mind if I ate something here before I go to work," he said aloud to the small apartment. He unfolded the paper bag and removed the container of soup from Carla. Roy placed it in the refrigerator, but when his stomach reminded him again of its emptiness, he took it back out and poured it into a small pan to re-warm on the stove. The relative silence of the room was snapped when John's phone rang. "Gage residence," he answered.

"Is John Gage there, please?" a man asked.

"No, I'm sorry, he's not; may I take a message?" Roy asked.

"Yes, please. Would you have him call me as soon as he can. My name is Arthur Dobson. The offer he made on the ranch south of Carson was accepted if he's still interested. The sellers have made an offer on another home and are anxious to sell this one now," he told Roy. "I believe Mr. Gage will be pleased to know this; he showed quite an interest in this lovely property. He can call me at 885-555-3948 any day from 9a.m. To 6p.m."

"I see," Roy said, astonished, "Johnny will be happy to hear that, I'll tell him soon as I speak with him next. Thanks for calling."

"Absolutely," said Mr. Dobson, "good day."

Roy hung up. "Wow, a ranch. Johnny's gonna love to hear that," he thought.

He looked back at the stove to see the soup steaming and ready to eat. He had just turned off the burner and ladled the soup into a bowl and sat it on the table when the doorbell sounded. "I'm not ever going to eat again!" Roy grumped loudly as he went to answer the door.

An elderly woman stood there, leaning heavily on a gnarled wooden cane. She smiled a nearly toothless smile at Roy. "Is Mr. Franks here?" she asked.

"No, I'm sorry, you must have the wrong apartment," Roy told her. "Can I help you?"

"Oh," she said. "I'm looking for apartment 321."

"Close," Roy chuckled. "This is apartment 312. 321 is down that way and to the left, I think."

"Oh gracious, thank you kindly," she said and hobbled away.

Roy sighed and went back to the table, hoping that perhaps now he would get something to eat. He was famished and only had 45 minutes to finish up at Johnny's, bring the trash to Rampart and get to work. Deciding he needed to hurry, he poured the hot soup into a large, deep mug, grabbed another slice of buttered bread, a can of cola from the fridge and locked up Johnny's apartment, taking the trash bag with him.

"Man, I'm gonna be late and I still have to bring this stuff to Rampart," he thought, looking at the trash. He slid into his vehicle, yawned, and as he drove off, took a large bite of the bread and a gulp from the soda can. "Heh, breakfast of champions", he snorted. At the first stoplight, he reached for the mug of soup. "This smells pretty good," he said as he brought it to his lips. "I wonder which deli Carla got this from?"

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

Carla was driving aimlessly, making endless loops around the main roads near Rampart and around Carson. Her hair was a windblown mess, she was nervous and irritated and fidgeted as she drove; her thoughts a jumble in her mind. Men were stupid, selfish and arrogant. Men only wanted sex and control; they were easily fooled and each one she disposed of had deserved it...and yet...something felt off about her leaving Johnny like that. If it hadn't been for Roy and that doctor, she could have done something to end it right then. The more time that passed, the closer they might come to figuring out what Johnny was poisoned with and trace it to her somehow.

Still, she needed to see him again; needed to witness his suffering and be there when it ended, she decided. She craved the ravenous release she felt when another useless male met his demise at her hands. She hungered for the feeling of power that would course through her veins as she watched him die. There was a hefty portion of the mushroom in that soup and Johnny would not recover once he'd consumed it, that much she knew, but how was she going to get him to eat it? Suddenly, she slammed on the brakes. The soup! She'd left it at Rampart! "Carla!" she screamed at herself, "you idiot! How could you have left it there? What if someone else eats it? What if they get sick and they trace it to you?" She released another loud shriek and cranked the wheel to the right to turn around. She had to get that soup back!

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

Roy pulled into the parking lot of Station 51 and turned off the key. For just a moment he sat still, gazing out the window to the rear of the station. He was so tired; the last thing he wanted was to have a run right away and he hoped the klaxons would be merciful for at least a little while. He paused and took a deep breath before picking up the can of cola and the nearly empty mug of soup and brought them into the station.

Marco walked in from the truck bay as Roy came in. "Roy! How're you doing? How's Gage?"

"Ah, just a second, Marco. I have to change my clothes, then I'll tell you all about it. Some jerk behind me at the traffic light honked his horn and made me spill soup in my lap. What a mess."

"Ye-eah, I kinda noticed you're a little soggy, amigo. Sorry about that," Marco snickered.

Roy walked over to the sink and before rinsing the mug, took the last big gulp of the remaining soup.

"C'mon along, I'll fill you in," he said, wiping the drips from his chin.

Dwyer and Kendrick were out on a run, so the squad was gone. Chet was in Cap's office expounding on his latest invention, and Mike was sitting on the bench, reading. He looked up from his paper as Roy and Marco walked in. "Roy? How's Johnny?" he asked. "Any better?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure," Roy answered as he stripped from his soup-soaked clothes. "It was really kind of touch-and-go for awhile there. Doctor Brackett thinks it's some kind of food poisoning, but so far, none of the standard tests are determining the cause. I went to Johnny's apartment to look around; thought maybe I'd find something, but I came up empty." He stretched, looked down at his feet, and said tiredly, "I'm really getting concerned about this."

Mike folded the newspaper and put it on the bench beside him. "Man, I sure wish there was something we could do to help, Roy. Are you hungry? I made lunch today and I think there might be leftovers."

"Nah, not really," Roy said. "I grabbed a couple of slices of buttered bread at Johnny's and there was still a mouthful or two of soup left in the mug after I spilled it, so I had that. I guess I'm not really as hungry as I thought I was, but thanks. What I really want is a nap."

Mike smiled and nodded and went back to the sports section. Roy finished dressing and walked out to find Cap and update him. The office was now empty, so he wandered into the kitchen, soon finding Hank sitting at the table, looking over some papers.

"Hey, Cap, I'm here. Dwyer can take off as soon as the squad gets back."

"Roy! Anything new with Johnny? How's he doing?" Cap asked, looking up.

"You know, Cap..." Roy paused and sat down hard in one of the kitchen chairs. He sighed heavily, "I just wish we could figure out what's causing this. All they can do now is give him I.V.s and oxygen because they can't pinpoint the source. It's ...really frustrating."

"Yeah, Roy, I imagine it is. I'm real sorry." Cap offered.

"I took the trash from Johnny's apartment and brought it to Rampart before I got here. I'm hoping their lab can find a trace of anything that might help us figure this out."

They both looked toward the truck bay when they heard the squad backing in, returning from its run. Soon, Dwyer and Kendrick came walking into the kitchen, and Paul went to the stove to pour himself some coffee.

"Hey, Roy," Paul Kendrick said, then made a face at the bitter taste of the coffee, "we just left Rampart. Dixie says Johnny's hanging in there, eh?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Roy answered. He looked over to Dwyer. "Hey, Charlie, thanks a lot for staying for me this morning. I really appreciate it."

"No problem, Roy. Glad to help out," Dwyer answered. "But if nobody minds, I'm gonna split. I have some stuff to get done before I go on home."

"Yeah, we'll see you later, thanks again," Cap told him.

Just minutes later the klaxons sounded. "Squad 51, possible heart case, one-one-four-seven Cambria, one-one-four-seven Cambria, time out, two twenty-one."

Roy shoved himself away from the table and he and Kendrick dashed for the squad. Roy jumped into the familiar driver's seat, Cap handed the call sheet over and Paul flipped on the lights and sirens.

The victim was a younger man, barely out of his thirties. Both Roy and Paul were surprised when it turned out he was indeed having a heart attack. Stabilizing their patient was blessedly uncomplicated as far as heart cases go, and Roy rode in with the ambulance to transport their victim to Rampart. As they were exiting the treatment room, Dr. Brackett noticed them, and called Roy over to the desk.

"Roy, how's things going? Were you able to find anything at Johnny's apartment?" he asked.

"Not much, Doc, nothing looked unusual at all that I could tell. I brought in the trash from his kitchen earlier today and Dixie said she'd have it sent it to the lab." Roy told him.

"Yes, she mentioned that- I'll be sure to let you know what they find." Brackett rubbed his chin and fiddled with the stethoscope around his neck. "Roy, Johnny's liver enzymes are continuing to rise for some reason and his kidneys aren't putting out like I think they should by now. On the plus side, we haven't had any other reports of food poisoning here so far, so maybe Johnny will be the only one. He does seem more alert and less nauseated and that makes me think whatever he ingested is being flushed out. Do you have time to stop in?"

"Ah, yeah, I suppose so- 'long as we keep available. Okay with you, Paul?"

"Sure, Roy, I'll radio us in." Kendrick handed Roy the HT and decided to wait in the squad while Roy and Dr. Brackett walked to Johnny's room.

Gage's bed was in a more upright position and he was awake. The oxygen and two I.V.s remained. He would, from time to time, lift a shaking hand to wipe a bit of saliva that still ran from his mouth, using a handkerchief thoughtfully placed in his fist by a nurse. He blinked and squinted at things in the room, trying to focus his sight. He turned toward the door when he heard it opening. He could see two figures coming in, but couldn't make out who they were.

"Johnny?" Roy prompted, "How are you feeling?"

"Roy! Glad...you came back," Johnny said once Roy had gotten close enough for him to see. Gage still took short breaths and had to pause often when he spoke. "I'm...doing better...I think." Johnny took in a sharp breath. "Still have these...stomach cramps. Wish...I'd stop this...stupid drooling, too."

Dr. Brackett told them that even though John appeared to getting stronger, his liver and kidney levels were still mystifying. They indicated there was still something–a toxin of some sort—that was making diagnosis difficult. Johnny lay back and sighed.

"Johnny," Dr. Brackett said, "I'm getting concerned about these levels. Your blood sugar is low and getting lower, despite the medication. I'm sure food doesn't sound good to you right now, but I'd really like to see you try to eat something." He looked around the small room, "Too bad that soup is gone. You brought it back to John's, right Roy?"

Roy cleared his throat. "Oh, uh, yeah, I did, but, uh, I ate it," he admitted, sheepishly. "Well, actually, I ate some of it...then I wore a lot of it." He looked again at John who wore a bemused smile. "I didn't think you'd mind if I had something to eat while I was looking around and well, you didn't have much to pick from, so I thought I'd have the soup. I put it in a mug to drink on the way to work but I kinda' spilled it all over myself," he explained with an embarrassed smile.

Johnny's chuckle sounded thin. "Aw, that's...okay, Roy, I...can get more...later. Really...the thought of food...makes me queasy," John said quietly.

"Johnny, I know you don't feel up to eating, but I can't stress enough how important it is for you to try. I'm going to have a tray sent up at dinner time tonight and I'll be sure it's nothing too strong-tasting. I'd like to see you get some real food in you."

The mere idea of putting a forkful of anything in his mouth made John swallow back a bit of bile. "Doc," he lamented, "any time...I've been a hostage...I mean...a patient here...I have never...had anything...strong-tasting!"

"I understand," Brackett said, with a wry smile. "Just promise me you'll try."

"I'll try doc...I promise," Johnny frowned.

Brackett was far more concerned about Johnny than he let on. Gage's skin was taking on a yellowish tint indicating more serious liver problems than was first thought. His blood pressure was still too low for someone of Johnny's normal physical condition and his muscle weakness was not rebounding. It was a struggle just to get him to sit up. When a nurse had asked Johnny to sign a paper, he was unable to grasp the pen and it fell to the floor. He said that he was feeling better, but his appearance and lab work said otherwise.

Roy shifted his feet, "Look, I have to go, but ah, you hang in there, Junior. I'll check back when I can. He headed for the door then turned around again. "Oh…wait, I forgot to tell you, a Mr. Dobson called and said that your offer on a ranch south of here was accepted and you should call him. That's pretty good news, right?"

"Yeah? Well...all right! 'Bout time...something good...happened." His breaths still puffed between just a few words. "Do a favor...for me, Roy? Call him...ask him to...come here so...I can sign? Don't wanna...miss this."

"Sure, I can call him for you. I'll do it as soon as I get back to the station, okay? I better get going."

"See ya', Pally...thanks." John said and let his head fall back. Holding it up longer than a few minutes was more than he could handle and it frustrated him to no end. Still, he began to doze, happy that at least he would soon have his ranch.