Chapter 44

word count 1215

Buzz thrashed in bed, the remote in one hand and the other on his stomach. Geez, his stomach hurt like hell. He'd like to double up with the pain, but with all the casts and contraptions on him, he couldn't.

"Ooooooh!" he moaned. Trudy had left a little while ago, and since that time, the pain had gotten worse and worse. "OOOOOH!" This time the moaning was more than a whisper. He felt a chill rush over him the same time as his pulse began to race. His heart started a louder, more vigorous beat, but did the thump thump seem out of rhythm? Cold sweat, heart thundering, his stomach twisting and twisting, he felt like he was losing control of his body. He got light-headed, the room began to swim, blur...he had to call for help...get help.

"ADAM!" It was a miracle he managed to yell so loud. For once, he hoped that kid would listen and come.

"DAD?" Little Adam stood in the doorway, aghast at what he saw. "Dad, you look really sick."

"Call 911! I swear to Gawd some sonofabitch is trying to kill me!"

"Huh?"

"CALL!"

As the paramedics loaded the big guy into an ambulance, someone watched, sitting in a green 92 Ford Bronco parked a block away. One wouldn't think anything special about such an old, ordinary car. But inside, gloved hands held up binoculars. The shadowy figure nodded in satisfaction at the sight of Buzz on a gurney being lifted up and into the conveyance. Had someone succeeded in taking down one of the best cops in the city?

***

Trudy sashayed up to Gil. Cocking her head a little to one side, she flitted her eyelashes and purred, "Excuse me, hon! Don't we know each other?" She stood in front of the men's table, expecting an answer.

Gil looked up from his hamburger in surprise, ketchup and mustard dripping from his lips, and gazed at the lady. He gulped, then dropped the burger as though he forgot he was holding it in the first place and ran burger-greasy fingers through his hair while contemplating how to answer. Something was bumping his feet under the table, but his mind couldn't connect with it while his eyes fixated on Trudy's ample breasts.

"I...I don't think I know you," he stammered.

She leaned down close enough for her perfume to waft up his nostrils, a heavy, musky fragrance.

"Well, I think ya should," she murmured close to his ear.

Gil cleared his throat. "Would you like to join us?" He felt the bumping against his foot again, but ignored it as his eyes remained plastered to her chest. She pulled out a chair and sat with a smooth sultry motion, sort of a slither down followed by a slide, rather than the more typical kerplunk. She brushed some crumbs aside and rested her arms on the table.

"I think I'll leave you two lovebirds and get back to work," Hank said. Gil had completely forgotten about Hank, and the voice was startling coming from out of the blue. It was a simple task for Hank to slip a note in bewildered Gil's pocket unnoticed as he got up to leave. The older cop's confident strides took him away in short order.

"So what's your name, sweetie?" she asked.

"Huh? Oh, Gilberto, Gil for short."

"Oh, Latino! Sexy." She fumbled in her purse and pulled out a cigarette and lighter and proceeded to light up.

"Excuse me, miss! There's no smoking in restaurants. City ordinance." Gil looked determined. His cop persona kicked in any time he saw people abuse the law. It was a highly tuned reflex.

"Oh, ya say that like you're a cop, ya silly!" She took a long drag and blew a stream up to the ceiling. He grabbed her wrist, the one where her hand held the smoke. It was a powerful grip, reddening the skin under his grasp and slowing the blood to her hand.

"I said it that way because I am a cop. I suggest you put it out," he said, pushing an empty plate in her direction. The china clattered as it slid across the table.

Trudy hardly heard him. His grasp on her wrist, his hand, warm, large, hands that knew work, yet gentle enough to love, caress, and his demeanor, hard, strong, tough. Her heart raced, and her body reacted in ways she couldn't control. Her temperature rose along with her libido.

"Certainly," she replied, stubbing the cigarette on the plate without taking her eyes off his. Impulse overcame her and without thinking she leaned over and kissed Gil, straight on the lips, her tongue shoving in to mingle with his. It lingered there and prodded, searched, controlled, before she drew it out slowly. When she pulled back, Gil was staring at her in total surprise.

"We need to get together," she said. "Call me." She laid a card on table with her number.

Gilberto reached for it, and by the time he looked up, she was gone. "What just happened here?" he muttered. He held the card in indecision for a moment, poised to crumple it, then shrugged and reached to put it in his pocket. It wouldn't fit. Something was already in there. He fished out Hank's note and spread it open. It read: Don't do anything stupid. The lady is the boss's squeeze!

¡Ay, caramba! he said.

Trudy made her way down the hospital hallway without looking back. She intended to remain mysterious to the cop, keep him guessing. It took all of her will power to walk away when every part of her wanted to stay, to flirt, to get him into bed right then and there, today and tonight, again and again.

"Take your time, Trudy hon! It'll come, and the waitin' will make it so much better." She spoke the words out loud to cement their significance. Her heart pounded uncontrollably in the anticipation. He was hot! A hot Latino. She smacked her lips in sexual hunger. I think I'm recovering from Buzz quite nicely, she pondered.

"CLEAR PLEASE!" A voice called out. A crew in green scrubs rushed a gurney toward her. "Clear please, coming through!"

Stunned, Trudy looked around, realizing she'd wandered to a hallway next to the ER. The gurney got closer and her pulse took off like a day at the races. Something was wrong. She could feel it. As it neared, she could see a mountain of man laid out on it. An unmistakable mound of human flesh, Buzz. It was Buzz, being wheeled along with an IV trailing along behind him. He was motionless.

"Easy does it," one of the medics said. "This is Buzz Miller, the city's most famous cop. Let's get him safe and sound to ICU. We can put him in the cubicle next to his wife."

"Wait! What's wrong with him?" Trudy cried while chasing the gurney. It was an awkward affair in her stilettos.

The guy looked back at her in alarm. Truth be told, she was a disturbing vision, hair sticking up, make-up smeared from the tears that rolled down her cheeks. "Sorry, miss! Patient confidentiality!" he said.

She watched as they disappeared from view through the double doors.