"Godzilla and The Smog Monster"
Chapter Sixteen
"Hello?" Martha Jenner listened, as one of her husband's friends from the LACFD requested to speak with 'the Chief Engineer'. "Of course, Chief Brevik. Hang on. I'll get him for you." She set the phone down and started weaving her way through the clusters of laughing, chatting guests who were 'ringing' the New Year in, in her living room.
Martha found her husband swapping 'war stories' with some of his old Department buddies. "Bill, Chief Brevik is on the phone. He claims it's important…"
Jenner exchanged mystified glances with his cronies. "What on earth could he possibly want at this hour?" he wondered aloud and stepped into the hall, to pick up the extension. "Jenner here. What's up, Bobby?" His eyes widened with shock and his jaw dropped. "You can't be serious!" he insisted. His hopeful reply, however, proved to be wrong. The Chief winced and bowed his head. "When did it happen?…Don't they have any leads?…Well, don't you have any of the details?…What was the name?" Jenner winced again. "Yes. I know him…All right, Bob…Just find out what you can…Right. And have Dalbert prepare some kind of press release…I don't care. Just keep it brief…Right. Look, I'd appreciate it if you would personally keep me posted on this…Don't worry about the time. I won't be getting much sleep tonight, anyway…Thanks, Bobby," he signed off and slowly returned the phone to its cradle.
"Bi-ill?" Martha rested a hand on her husband's arm. "What was all that about?"
Jenner looked up.
His guests were all staring at him, anxiously awaiting his answer.
"A Los Angeles County firefighter was shot tonight," Jenner regrettably replied.
The women gasped.
The men demanded more details, like 'How did it happen?' and 'When did it happen?' and 'How is he?' and 'Who is he?'
"No one knows—exactly. He was brought to the hospital about a half-hour ago. He's still in surgery. I'm sorry, but his name is being withheld…pending notification of relatives." Jenner exhaled a weary sigh and then hung his head—once more.
The New Year was certainly getting off to a da-amn bad start.
Roy DeSoto entered Rampart General's Emergency Receiving. He spotted Cheryl Norquist standing behind the Nurses' Station counter, at the end of the busy hallway, and stepped quickly up to her. "How is he?"
The nurse glanced up from a medical chart and seemed stunned to see John's partner standing there. "He's still in surgery. How did you get here so quickly?"
"I'm married to a very understanding woman and I drive a very fast sports car. What 'happened' to him? I mean, what, exactly, are they 'operating' o-on?"
Cheryl stepped around the counter and took him by the elbow. "Let's get some coffee," she suggested.
Roy allowed himself to be escorted down the crowded corridor and into the doctor's lounge.
DeSoto even permitted the woman to seat him at a table. But, when she started heading for the coffeemaker, the paramedic protested. "If it's all the same to you, I'd just as soon pass on the coffee."
The nurse returned to the table empty-handed, choosing to pass on the coffee, herself. "I assume you know he was working at 16's, with Craig Brice, tonight…"
Roy nodded.
"Well, they were at a structure fire over on the 1400 block of East Ames. Captain Mason ordered John and Craig to make a routine sweep of the four-story building. They split up, each taking two floors. John never finished his half of the search.
When he didn't show up, Craig, and another firefighter, went looking for him. They found his chalk…and traces of blood…in the doorway of an inner office on the second floor. They followed the blood trail and discovered his SCBA in the stairwell.
Captain Mason and his crew conducted a thorough search of the entire area, but they couldn't locate him.
Two patrol officers had already found John, lying facedown in an alley, a few blocks from the fire scene. He had a small cut on his forehead and he was bleeding from his nose and mouth. They brought him in to the ER, as a John Doe 218—"
"—Couldn't they see he was a fireman?"
"John wasn't wearing his uniform, or carrying any identification on him, when he was found."
The already confused paramedic now appeared to be completely perplexed.
"You're not gonna believe this," Cheryl confidently predicted, "bu-ut…someone shot him and stole his coat and helmet."
The woman was right.
Roy's confused look was quickly transformed into one of utter disbelief—closely followed by shock.
The nurse nodded. "He was shot." Seeing that John's partner was still too stunned to speak, she reluctantly continued. "The bullet struck his left temple, where it was deflected by the metal rim of his air mask's face shield."
"Why-y?" Roy angrily demanded, finally finding his voice. "Why would anybody ever wanna shoot Johnny?"
Cheryl shared his anger. "I can't even begin to imagine! But Craig has come up with kind of a theory. He figures that John must've interrupted a burglary in progress, or something."
"Nobody saw anything suspicious?"
"They used John's coat and helmet to sneak out of the building. Then they dumped him in an alley and just left him there to die! And he would have been dead, too, if those two police officers hadn't found him and brought him in when they did. He was awfully shocky. Dr. Early said, another ten minutes and—" the nurse stopped in mid-sentence and immediately changed directions. "Anyways, we got him in and got him stabilized, and he was still stable when they took him into the O.R."
Roy's completely puzzled look returned. "What are they operating on? I thought you said the bullet was deflected…"
Cheryl studied her folded hands. "The bullet's impact caused blunt force trauma to his brain. He suffered a moderate concussion…along with a depressed skull fracture. The resulting bone fragments penetrated the Dura Mater—the outer membrane that surrounds and protects the brain—and lacerated blood vessels in the underlying periosteal and meningeal layers. Dr. Kurtz is performing surgery to remove bone fragments and blood clots…and to try to stop any further brain hemorrhaging. I'm sure he also plans to repair the fracture site."
Roy absorbed all that, as best he could, and then angrily repeated, "Why would anybody ever wanna shoot Johnny?"
When DeSoto reached the surgical ward, he found Brice pacing up and down the corridor outside of the O.R. his partner was currently occupying.
Craig spotted Roy and stopped, right in mid-pace. "Squad 16 was taken out of service," he said, in an attempt to explain his presence. "They…couldn't find anyone to replace John."
"That's because he's irreplaceable," DeSoto half-teased.
Brice locked gazes with Gage's best friend. "I am so-o sorry, Roy!"
"What have you got to be sorry for? You didn't pull the trigger."
"No. But it was my idea for the two of us to split u—"
"—Johnny and I split up all the time—on routine sweeps," Roy reassured him. "It's a lot more efficient—and faster—way to search a large area." A slight smile suddenly played upon his pursed lips. "Did he wanna race you down?"
A small smile tugged at the corners of Craig's mouth, as well. He replied with a single nod.
Roy's slight smile graduated into a grin. The beat on his feet fireman spied a bench. "What d'yah say we both sit down, before we fall down," he wearily suggested. "We may be here…awhile." He hadn't even begun to recover from his exhausting shift, and he knew Craig was coming off of pulling a double.
The two tired paramedics collapsed onto the bench…and then patiently—er, impatiently, waited.
Four lo-o-ong hours later, the O.R.'s doors finally flew open.
Three members of the surgical team stepped out into the corridor, pulling their disposable caps and gloves off and untying their sweat-stained surgical masks.
The doors were locked open and four more surgically garbed people exited the room, carefully guiding a gurney.
The two waiting firemen rose stiffly to their feet, and Roy released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
The gurney's occupant's heavily bandaged head was not covered with a sheet. There seemed to be tubes and wires attached everywhere, though. John's eyes were taped shut and the anesthesiologist was still assisting his breathing.
The two off-duty paramedic's watched, as the gurney was quickly wheeled off in the direction of the Recovery Room.
Paul Kurtz turned to the youngest member of his surgical team and flashed him a warm smile. "Lee, I don't mind tellin' yah…it was a pleasure startin' the new year's surgical schedule off with 'a piece of the rock'," he teased and motioned to the young man's ungloved appendages.
Lee studied the backs of his steady hands for a few moments and then returned both the smile and the compliment. "I just never get nervous watching you work, Paul."
Kurtz snapped one of his latex gloves at his young associate.
Lee went snickering off down the corridor.
The surgeon grinned and went to leave himself. He turned around to find two sets of worry-filled eyes gazing back at him. He studied the two guys the eyes were attached to for a few seconds, before finally acknowledging their presence. "Ye-es?"
"How is he?" Roy inquired, his voice reflecting the worry in his eyes.
"You two fellow officers?"
"We're firemen," Craig corrected. "John is a fireman."
The surgeon seemed surprised. "I'm sorry. When they told me somebody had shot him, I just naturally assumed he was a police officer." He gazed off down the hall, in the direction of the Recovery Room. "Why would anybody ever wanna shoot a fireman?" he wondered aloud. He gave his head a quick shake and then turned his attention back to the two firemen. "I'm really not at liberty to discuss a patient's condition with anyone other than immediate family members."
"He's my brother," Roy replied, without so much as a moment's hesitation.
"All firemen are brothers," Craig quickly explained, upon noting the surgeon's look of extreme skepticism.
The physician was forced to smile. "Then it appears to me that the two of you more than qualify. Look, do you mind if we sit down? It's been a rather lo-o-ong day." He saw that the firemen appeared to be every bit as exhausted as he was and they readily approved of his suggestion.
The three weary men dragged themselves over to the bench across from the O.R., and then dropped themselves down onto it.
"I left my wife at a dinner party across town," Kurtz began. "She was upset because I wouldn't dance with her. I told her she should just be grateful that I could even stand with her, after eight straight hours in the O.R.—not to mention the two and a half hours I spent making my rounds." The physician finished with the small talk and flashed the fireman's worried 'brothers' a broad grin. "The surgery couldn't possibly have gone any better! We were able to stop the brain bleed and repair all the damages. His vitals are solid. His EEG looks good. Pupilary response is completely normal. Barring complications, I anticipate a complete recovery—in four to six weeks."
The relief flooding through Roy's body suddenly hit the Hoover Dam. "Complications?"
"As is the case with victims of traumatic brain injury, the next 48 hours are critical. Also, any time you have an open wound and unsanitary conditions, there is the threat of infection. Apparently, he breathed a bit of blood into his lungs. So there is a possibility he could develop aspiration pneumonia. Right now, we're pouring antibiotics into him, and hoping for the best. He's currently on an anti-convulsant and we'll be keeping him under heavy sedation—to allow the healing to begin."
Roy felt the floodgates open—a little. "When will we be able to see him?"
The surgeon flashed the fireman's brother a sympathetic smile. "How about...you ask me that question again…in 48 hours?"
DeSoto mustered up a small smile himself and extended a hand to his best friend's physician. "Thank you, Dr. Kurtz. You can count on it!"
TBC