Part 11
Robert Orlowski had been born in a tiny Polish "pocket neighborhood" in Chicago forty-eight years ago. He had always been a big boy, bigger than the other kids in the neighborhood who called him "Bolo" and came to him for help when bullies from other neighborhoods crossed the invisible lines that divided Chicago's South Side.
By the time he was twelve, Bolo had discovered his talent and his love: making things blow up. He was good at it. Joining the Marine Corps at seventeen had honed this talent. When he had got out of the Corps ten years later, it had taken just a few words in the right ears, and Bolo Orlowski had a job for life.
He was semi-retired now-by which he meant he had enough money to live on and no real challenges in mind. He only took jobs if they appealed to his artistic sense, or if they were for old friends, or if they were especially lucrative.
The job for Marcus Hoyt met all of his criteria. Bolo was on a plane within two hours of the phone call from his old friend, and by eleven o'clock that evening he was in a nondescript rental car outside a converted warehouse which housed the loft apartment of ATF Agents Buck Wilmington and JD Dunne. Dunne, Bolo understood, was out of town, and wasn't the target anyway. No, the challenge here was to set a bomb to take out only one person: Buck Wilmington.
Bolo averted his eyes as a Denver PD patrol car drove slowly past the building. The car turned left at the stop sign. Bolo got out of the car, reaching for the white jacket and bags of fragrant Chinese food in the back seat. The jacket was his but he'd purchased the food two blocks away at a busy eatery called the Oriental Pearl. Carrying the bags, he briskly trotted up the steps to the entrance door. It was one of those where you had to be buzzed in; that wasn't usually a problem. He just randomly hit buttons until someone released the lock. He grinned. Someone was always waiting on someone.
Once in the vestibule he looked at mailboxes until he saw the listing for B. Wilmington/JD Dunne. 'Idiot. You'd think Feds would be a little more careful with their own security.'
He started for the stairs. He had fifteen minutes before the patrol car would make another round in front of the building.
Plenty of time.
Vin shifted his lanky body in the uncomfortable chair. He had long ago decided that hospitals deliberately purchased chairs specially designed to be unforgiving to the spinal cord.
A faint sound came from the still figure in the bed. Vin straightened up, reaching over to cover Ezra's hand with his own, careful not to disturb the IV line. "Ezra? You hear me?"
His friend stirred, one hand coming up to swipe fretfully at the oxygen tube. Vin had been expecting that and caught the errant hand, detangling the IV. "Com'n Ez, wake up."
Thick eyelashes fluttered on pale cheekbones. Finally two clouded green eyes opened, taking in the surroundings blankly before focusing on Vin. "Mr. Tanner." The voice was faint, blurred with sleep and drugs. "Have you returned so soon from your jaunt in the wilds?"
Vin felt a slow smile cross his face. "Hey, Pard. You got more tubes stuck in you than one of those kiddie playgrounds at McDonalds."
"What...an analogy," Ezra gasped. He tried to raise one hand toward his throat, only to stare at the dangling IV tubing. "Dear Lord...is there no inch of my flesh these miscreants... haven't pierced with their savage needles?" He coughed painfully.
Vin reached for the cup of ice chips next to the bed. He dug a few out with the spoon and offered them to Ezra. "Here. Nurse said your throat would hurt."
Ezra accepted, sucking the ice greedily. "My throat...isn't the only...thing." He closed his eyes. "So, how was your pursuit of piscatory excellence?"
"Y'know, Ez...if you wouldn't use them ten dollar words you might not need to have that oxygen tube stuck up your nose."
"Touché." Ezra coughed. "Could I trouble you for...some water?"
"Sorry, Pard. Nurse says you have to stick to ice chips for awhile yet." Vin offered him another spoonful.
Ezra nodded. "Would it be...terribly cliche for me...to ask what happened to bring me to...this den of vampires masquerading..." he trailed off, breathing deeply from the nasal canula.
"Think you'd better stop talking for awhile." Vin glanced up at the monitors above Ezra's head. Unfortunately, since joining Team Seven, he'd spent enough time in hospitals-as both visitor and patient-that he knew which one was the "pulse-ox" and that Ezra's reading was too low. "Looks like that little food poisoning bug was too much for you."
Ezra nodded slightly. A frown creased his forehead and he opened his eyes and looked around the room. "Mr. Wilmington?"
"He'll be okay," Vin soothed. "Chris is with him." He saw the battle waging on Ezra's face and forestalled any more questions. "Go back to sleep, Ez. I'll tell ya all about it in the mornin'."
7:30 am
As early morning light flooded Buck's fourth-floor hospital room, Chris slowly stood up from the chair next to the bed. He stretched muscles protesting from too much sitting and surveyed his friend with an anxiety he'd never have allowed to cross his face had Buck been awake to see it.
He walked over to the window and stared out at the hospital grounds below. A white marble statue surrounded by flowering plants was directly in front of the main entrance. The helipad was to the west, past a parking lot. Farther on, pathways studded with benches meandered around huge trees.
"Chris?"
Larabee turned at the sound of his name. Buck's dark blue eyes were open, watching him. "Hey. You're awake. How're you feeling?" Chris walked back to the side of the bed.
Buck didn't answer. He looked around the room, then back at Chris with an alarmed expression on his face. "Ezra?" He started to sit up.
Chris put a hand on his shoulder to hold him back. "He's okay. Doin' better. Vin said he woke up for a few minutes around four this morning."
Buck grinned. "That sounds like his timing." The grin vanished. "What're you doin' here, Pard? You and Junior get tired of tryin' to catch Old Pete?"
Larabee smiled. Old Pete was their nickname for the giant catfish supposedly lurking in the depths of the lake in Wyoming. "Think Old Pete is waiting for you," he said easily.
Buck shook his head. "Why'd you come back so early?" He frowned. "How'd you even know where we were?"
"Well, not 'cause you called me," Chris couldn't resist pointing out. He sighed. "Hoyt was ROR'd two days ago."
"Son of a -"
"Yeah. And of course, the first thing he did was bail out his gang. Then someone in Travis' office got a tip that Hoyt knew the identities of the two undercover ATF agents who'd brought him down. Judge thought you were with us, but he couldn't get 'hold of Ezra, so he called me at the cabin."
Buck's eyes widened. A look of understanding crossed his face. "Then you couldn't reach either of us," he finished quietly. "Shit, Chris, I'm sorry. I should of called you."
"Yeah. You should have." Chris took a deep breath. "But I shouldn't have thrown you into a wall, either."
"Is that what happened?" Buck managed a grin. "I don't remember much after you came bustin' in ta Ez's room. How'd you figure out where we were?"
Chris sat down in the chair. "The Judge found out Ezra had been admitted here. Guess someone in the Denver PD finally thought to review the 911 tapes from yesterday. Vin and I were just gettin' back into town when he called us."
Buck knew how nerve-wracking that long trip would have been for his friends. "Damn, Chris, I'm sorry," he repeated. "I meant to call you...seemed like every time I thought to do it, I got sidetracked." He paused. "What am I doing here, anyway?" He nodded at the IV in his arm. "You didn't throw me into a wall that hard."
Chris managed a chuckle. "No. You passed out right after we got here. Dehydration, low blood sugar-basic exhaustion. Milder version of what's wrong with Ez. What happened anyway? Thought you said you were feelin' better?"
"I was. Thought Ezra would start improvin', too. But when I called him yesterday he couldn't even talk. I just grabbed some clothes and ran to the truck." Buck shook his head. "Didn't get my watch or my cell, even. Hell, I'm not even sure I locked the door behind me. When I got there..." Buck's eyes dimmed with the memory. "Hell, Chris, he was puking up blood. I didn't know what was wrong with him. You sure he's gonna be okay?"
Chris nodded reassuringly. "Doctor says he's doing okay. He's been stable for almost six hours and they took out one of the IVs. It was close, though, Buck. If you hadn't got him here when you did..."
Buck closed his eyes. "So when do I get out of here?"
"Around noon, probably. They want to make sure you can keep down some breakfast before they take out the IV." Chris changed the subject. "Guess who's guarding your door? Our old buddy Hamilton from the Denver PD."
Buck snorted. "Bet the prick loves that assignment. Can't believe they never got rid of him." His eyes snapped open, startled. "Why's anyone guardin' my door?"
"Well, figure it out," Chris drawled. "If Hoyt knows who you and Ez are, you're both in danger. And we're kinda short-handed at the moment, remember?"
"You didn't call JD, did ya, Chris?" Buck asked, alarmed. "No reason to ruin his vacation-"
"No, I haven't called him, or Nathan, or Josiah...yet." Chris steeled himself for what he knew was coming. "And I won't, but you have to stick with Vin or me. When they let you out of here, you're going to my place until Hoyt's back in custody."
tbc...
