Miller stood with his back to the wall in the alley, huddled in a ragged overcoat, despite it being 78 degrees. He fiddled with his lighter, having smoked his last cigarette a half hour ago. A scrap piece of paper skittered across the pavement, making him duck nervously into the nearest doorway for cover. He pulled a small paper bag from his pocket and quickly unscrewed the cap, taking a long drink of the bitter liquid. Squeezing his eyes shut at its cheap bitterness, Miller paused as it burned all the way to its destination. He held the back of his hand to his mouth, willing the contents of his stomach to remain there. Satisfied that they would, he took another swig. Replacing the cap, he put the bottle back in his pocket and waited. He paced. He even resorted to relieving himself in the corner like the homeless drunks had done that slept in that same alley. He wasn't sure he could go back to his apartment anymore. He wasn't sure what they knew at this point. He wasn't sure if they were looking for him. He wasn't sure if Gage had outsmarted him.
Finally, he heard the sound of the loud, muffler-less vehicle. He slid back into the doorway just to be safe. The car door slammed. He heard heavy footsteps clunking through the alley. Then, nothing.
"Hey, you here? Miller?" A loud whisper could be heard asking.
Miller stepped out of the shadows, grabbed the man's arm and pulled him back into the doorway with him.
"You have a big mouth, you know that? I don't know why you bother whispering. Did you do what I asked? Did you take care of Gage?" The man looked around and nodded his head.
"I rammed his Rover from behind – right off the road. Did a header right off the 405." The man smiled eerily. "I've wanted to do that for a long time…ever since Gage got me kicked out of the paramedic program!" He looked at Miller.
"But did you make sure he was dead?" Miller grabbed him by the shirt collar. His breath was making the man shrink back from Joe Miller's face. The man grabbed at Miller's hands and tried to pry them from his shirt.
"Look, Miller! I didn't run down to the vehicle and check his pulse if that's what you mean, but I hit him pretty hard, and the way his truck went off the road and nailed that highway sign…I'd say It's not very likely that he survived. Now if you don't mind…" He grabbed at his shirt and yanked it from Miller's grasp. The men glared at each other for a few moments. Miller shook his head. Another incompetent idiot.
"Did you bring what I asked for?" Joe Miller asked him. The man reached into his pocket and retrieved a thick envelope and handed it to him. He opened it, and started counting money, and looked at what appeared to be a passport.
"Now, you promised that if I brought this to you, you would keep quiet about my involvement in Gage's little, ah, accident. I have your word. Right, Miller?"
Without looking up, Miller nodded his head. The man looked relieved.
"So...are we done here?" The man asked, looking around nervously.
"Yep, you go your way, I go mine. Got it?" Miller told the man. The man nodded, looked around and stepped carefully out of the confines of the doorway and cautiously headed slowly toward his van.
Miller stepped out of the shadowed protection of the doorway, and yelled.
"Hey, Marlowe!" Ed turned in the direction of the voice to see a gun leveled at him. A shot rang out. Ed Marlowe grabbed his chest and fell with a thump to the ground. Joe Miller slipped the paper bag out of his coat pocket and began pouring its contents onto Marlowe's bloody body. He poured some on his overcoat, and pulled up the lifeless body of Ed Marlowe, and put the beat up overcoat on him. He emptied Ed's pockets, emptied Ed's wallet, stuffing the money into his own pocket, and smeared dirt onto Ed's lifeless face, then let him fall, thumping coldly and heartlessly to the ground. He pried the keys from his fingers, and headed for the dented up van. Joe Miller sped off, never looking back, heading for the 405.
E*E*E*E*E
The A-shift of station 51 sat around the table devouring their meal. Well, except for one member. Roy scooted his Goulash around his plate with his fork in absent-minded patterns. The phone call he had received from his friend Pete Malloy had un-nerved him. He had tried to reach John at the DeSoto house, but with no luck. He called Johnny's apartment, but got no answer there either. He knew that John hearing the news of Dave Bergman's death would come as a shock to his partner. John and Dave had become friends and often did things together. Dave became engaged six months ago, and John was to have been a groomsman in Dave's wedding next month. What worried Roy was the news of Linda Jennings' suicide. He knew that would hit his best friend deep in the pit of his soul. He also knew that his friend would set his mind with new determination to make sure that Miller be stopped, and that scared Roy. His worrisome thoughts would have to wait, as the klaxons called them to a single vehicle accident.
E*E*E*E*E
The mangled large highway sign was snapped in half. The force of the impact caused it to plummet forward and cover the white hood of the Rover. Angry wisps of smoke began to sneak slowly from the bent grill, and from the undercarriage, ruffling the dry grass beneath. The jagged edges had somewhat shattered the windshield, sending ragged fragments carelessly both in and out of the vehicle. The two front tires were now limp and shapeless. The rear tailgate was pushed in and the spare tire lost, probably somewhere in the vast brush landscape. An eerie stillness surrounded the inside of the vehicle. Cars and trucks alike maintained their busy journeys on the highway above.
A black and white police unit pulled up to the shoulder of the highway, and Vince Howard exited his vehicle, and began scanning the vast scrub scenery. Spying the wreck below, Vince began making his way to the accident scene to check for survivors. A bevvy of sirens began making themselves heard in the distance, as Vince got to the window of the vehicle. Shocked at what he saw, He pounded on the window to rouse its occupant. Not getting a response, Vince tried to pull on the door. Being jammed in the accident, He retreated back up the hill when he heard the horn blast of the approaching engine, knowing that help was approaching.
Squad 51 pulled up first, with Roy and Brice getting their turnouts on, and getting their equipment out of the rig. Roy greeted Vince, who quickly bypassed him, and went straight to the engine, and to the ear of Captain Stanley. After sharing his information, a quiet expletive could be read from the Captain's lips as he called out orders for a hose to wash down the scene below. As Roy and Brice were preparing to head down to the scene, their Captain called them over.
'Roy? Brice? A moment, please?" Both jogged over, knowing moments were crucial. Hank put a hand on Roy's shoulder.
"Roy, it's, ah, Johnny down there. Vince said he's unconscious. Can't tell how bad. I'm gonna send Brice and Chet down and have you set up a line to Rampart up here…" Roy interrupted his superior. Roy paled at the news.
"No way! Cap! Johnny's gonna need me! No offense to Brice, but Johnny'll respond to me. Let me go. Please, Cap." Hank only had to ponder the request for a moment. He handed the HT to Roy.
"Ok, Roy, Brice Go. Chet, Go with them. Roy took off before his captain could change his mind.
Descending the hill, Roy couldn't breathe. Not because of the exertion, but because of his best friend. Because of what he might find. He let Brice and Chet carry the equipment. God, let him be alive. Please. Mike and Marco were hosing down the Rover and the area around it.
E*E*E*E*E
His mind was muddled with pain and confusion. He felt the echoed pounding over his left shoulder on the window…and a voice calling out. Was he in his truck? Why was he in his truck, or wait, was he at home? Where was he going? Was it time to go to the station already? What day is it? A stab of pain shot through his head. Slowly a moan escaped his throat. He lifted his fingers to the source of the pain. Sticky. Warm. Taste..what was that taste? Coppery…bitter…his stomach did a turn. He moved his leg. A pain shot through him. Bad idea. How did that happen? His head was swimming. His eyelids were heavy – too heavy to lift. He let his hand drop. The vehicle rocked. A voice – who was that? So tired…hurts to breathe…hurts to think...so sleepy...
a smothering darkness claimed him.
E*E*E*E*E
Chet began to pull on the passenger side door. The vehicle rocked in rebellion. Roy knew there would be no access through the drivers' side, and Mike produced a crowbar and began working on the passenger side door. Groaning and creaking in retaliation, the metal door finally gave way, and Roy crept into the vehicle, eager to be at his best friend's side.
"Johnny? Johnny? Can you hear me?" A small moan was all that could be heard. Brice worked at getting behind their patient to immobilize him. Roy tried to hide his fear at the blood covering his friend's forehead and trickling down his cheek. He continued to prod his friend to respond to him. He carefully removed the broken windshield glass from around him.
"Hey junior, I need you to talk to me. Com'on buddy. Johnny?" Roy began to take vitals, and instructed Chet to get an open a line to Rampart. Frowning at his findings, Roy began to check John's limbs, noting swelling of his left ankle, and the throaty moan that escaped his partner's lips.
Chet appeared, asking when John could be transported. Roy was chomping at the bit, wanting to get his friend out of the vehicle, but the steering column and the unstable vitals were preventing that. He knew his shift mates were working on it. He kept talking to his best friend, encouraging him to stay with him, telling him that he was there. He even took a moment to squeeze John's hand in reassurance, hoping that he might receive one in return. He didn't. Roy sucked in a worried breath.
After all barriers were removed and everything was in place, John was slowly and carefully extricated, and brought to the waiting ambulance. There was no question that Roy was going with him. Brice didn't even ask or question. He helped load the equipment and closed the ambulance doors. He backed away, and the ambulance pulled into traffic. A white banged-up van watching from the overpass above took the exit and pulled onto the crowded freeway, tailing the ambulance. Even with sirens blaring, the van was able to follow at a reasonable speed two cars behind. It wasn't long before traffic was at a complete stand-still, mimicking a giant parking lot. As he sat in the van, an idea crept into his mind that could lead to his freedom, and possibly out of the country.
E*E*E*E*E
"Com'on, Johnny, leave that alone. Take it easy. You're gonna be okay. I promise." Roy tried to replace the oxygen mask for the third time on his partner, as Johnny fought the fog in his mind. He reached again for his aching head, and Roy intercepted his hand, gently placing it back down. Roy reported his partner's disorientation to Rampart, and adjusted the IV and flow of oxygen. He checked his watch for the tenth time, or was it fifteenth? They had only inched in traffic; slowing the progress of his best friend getting the treatment he needed. His blood pressure was too low; His pulse fast. Rampart was edgy and anxious to get him in there. Johnny was shocky. Time was getting crucial.
"How ya doing,Junior?" Roy asked, trying to hide his concern.
"Mmnnmm…" was all John could muster. Roy slammed his fist into the jumpseat bench. Sitting idle in traffic was useless. Time was wasting. He began taking Johnny's vitals again when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. He looked out the back window to see someone quickly approaching the ambulance. Before he could react, the door opened, and found himself face to face with Joe Miller, and his gun.