The Next Day
Charlie Spagnozzi was recovering just two floors below Steve Keller. Registered as Charlie Smith, he had a police guard outside his door twenty four hours a day. While sore for his gunshot wound and the subsequent fall, Spags was making a solid recovery. Spags faced six months in San Quentin for a parole violate, but his current situation confined to a hospital bed left him oddly content. While eating his lunch, he watched the mid-day news.
"A body, recovered yesterday at the Fairway Motel, has been identified as that of Gregory Harmon of Sacramento. Harmon, 36, was found after an apparent electrocution in the motel bathtub. Police consider the death suspicious.
Harmon was recently seen in the company of Charles A. Taylor, also of Sacramento. Mr. Taylor, 42, is considered a person of interest by police. Taylor is six feet tall, one hundred eighty pounds with graying hair. Any one who has information concerning the whereabouts of Mr. Taylor is asked to contact police immediately."
Side by side photos of Harmon and Taylor were presented on the television screen following the broadcast.
Charlie Spagnozzi stared at the television mid-chew. He picked up the phone and called his brother.
"Vic, are you watching the news?"
"No, what's going on?" the brother responded.
"This guy they are talking about…he was electrocuted at the Fairway Motel. I think he's the guy who shot me."
"Are you sure?"
"Not quite - it happened so fast. But the report said the police are investigating a suspicious death at a motel over near the courthouse. His name is Gregory Harmon. There was another guy they are looking for - a Charles A. Taylor. See what you can find out."
Charlie hung up the phone as Stone walked in with Tanner not far behind.
"Mike, good to see you. How's your boy doing?"
Mike sighed. "The doctors operated again and he got through it all right. If he can knock this infection, he should be okay."
"Well, my family's thoughts and prayers are with you both. All of you guys," he said as he looked over to Bill. "You guys do your duty. I know it's thankless."
"Ironic words coming from you, but thanks, Spags. How are you doing?" Mike said as he sat on the edge of the bed.
"Okay," he nodded tentatively, "I'll live. Have you found anything out? Any leads?"
Mike looked over to the television. "Haven't you been watching the news?"
"It's been on."
"Too bad you haven't been watching closely. I was hoping you had seen the news so you could identify this guy," the detective said as he pulled out a photo. "Seen him before?"
"Besides the day I was shot? No."
"So, are you telling me that's the shooter?"
"It happened quickly, Mike, but yes. That's him. What's his story?"
"That's what we're trying to find out. Does the name Gregory Harmon or Charles Taylor mean anything to you?"
"No, not yet at least."
"What's that supposed to mean, Charlie?"
"Oh, nothing. I'm just anxious to find out who's behind this…as if I don't already know."
"We don't know anything yet and whatever we find out, we need to follow the process."
Spags said nothing but gave the detectives a smirk.
SOSF SOSF SOSF SOSF SOSF
As Mike and Bill left the hospital, the older detective noted, "Bill, I think we've shook things up a bit today."
"I'm not sure how much more 'shaking up', I can take, Mike," Tanner said with a half smile. "Between the case, the body in the tub and what has happen to Steve, I feel like we're in one big aftershock."
"Yeah, I know what you mean," Mike said quietly. "But what I meant was with the news release. I think quite a few people know that something happened to our suspected shooter. Spags, his people, Taylor, and whoever hired Harmon. Now, we need to watch who makes a move."
SOSF SOSF SOSF SOSF SOSF
Mrs. Livingston answered the phone. "Hello, who is this?"
"A friend of a friend," replied the voice on the line.
"Who is this?" Mrs. Livingston persisted.
"I'm a buddy of Greg Harmon's. I was helping him out on the job you had him doing. He's dead now and everyone is looking for me. I need some cash so I can get away from here - out of the country to where there's no extradition."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you do, lady. I need one hundred thousand dollars in twenties, fifties and hundreds. You give that to me and you're home free. We did the hit. Unfortunately, Greg ran into some bad luck and now the cops are after me. I was even on the noon news. If I don't get out of here, I'll get caught. And if I get caught, I'm going to make some deals with the cops."
Mrs. Livingston was floored and had to think quickly. "I can't raise that money very quickly. I'll need time."
"You have until tomorrow at 10am. You meet me at a public place. How about in front of the chocolate factory? I like chocolate. Meet me there at ten with a briefcase with the cash."
"How will I know you?"
"Don't worry about it. I'll find you. You'll be the older woman with a briefcase who will look like she's searching for someone."
"How do I know that you'll leave me alone after that?"
"The cops will be looking for me at the local airport. I'm thinking that I need to go elsewhere to catch a plane out of here. LA, maybe. You drive me down to LA and you can watch me board a plane for Brazil. You'll know. I have no desire to go back to the pen or to stay around here. I want cash and a way out."
"Very well, Mr. Taylor. Ten a.m. it is," the old woman replied.
SOSF SOSF SOSF SOSF SOSF
It was later that evening, when Mike returned to St. John's. He had stopped by to see his partner earlier in the day, but caught him mid-exam with the doctor. Not that he was ever alone during this time. The guys from the squad had decided to take turns staying nearby in case Steve had a relapse with the penicillin or a setback from his injuries. Mike appreciated how the group came together during such a rough time.
As he walked into the ICU, he was greeted by the nurse he had come to know over the past two days.
"He's doing better, Lieutenant. They removed the breathing tube earlier and his fever is down to low grade. They may move him out of ICU as early as tomorrow morning."
That stopped Mike dead in his tracks. "I think that's the best news I've heard in a very long time," he smiled. He quickly walked over to the partitioned area where Steve was and pulled back the curtain.
Mike couldn't tell if the young man was awake as he made his way to the bedside.
"Steve?" he asked quietly. "It's me, Mike. Are you with me?"
Steve opened his eyes slightly. "Hey," he said in a whisper as he reached his hand up. Mike grabbed a hold and squeezed.
"How are you feeling?" Mike asked as he quickly evaluated his partner's appearance. With the fever down, Steve no longer looked flushed. Instead, he was very pale. The dark circles under his eyes provided quite a contrast.
"O-kay," was the simple reply.
"Want to try again?" Mike asked, "On second thought, save your energy, Buddy boy. Just tell me if it hurts anywhere or if I should get the nurse."
Steve nodded slightly and then looked confused. "Mike, what happened?"
"You don't remember?"
"No."
"You were shot. We were escorting Spags to the courthouse and all hell broke loose." Mike tried not to give too much away. If Steve were ever needed to testify about the occurrence, he needed to do it from his own memory. "Does it ring any bells?"
"No. Was anybody else hurt?"
"A couple of minor injuries, but nowhere near what you got. But you are doing better now. You are going to be okay."
Mike gave the young man an extra squeeze. It had been a long two days and while Steve's condition was still serious, the improvement gave Mike tremendous relief.