Chapter Six
In the boss’s office. Again. Lucky claimed his usual chair.
Walter pulled a few printed pages from a manila folder—a manila folder with a coffee cup ring on the front. Most in the department would have read off their laptop, or in Bo’s case, one of those fancy tablet thingies. Not Boss. Old school all the way.
Solid. Dependable. You knew what to expect with Walter.
Damn the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau for not appreciating him.
“I have the DEA’s report.” Walter’s stony expression gave away nothing.
“And?”
“In following up on an anonymous tip, they discovered a shipment of controlled substance raw materials from a company with a revoked DEA registration.” Walter’s eyes darted back and forth while he read. “They’ve cited negligence in due diligence and insuring Chastain only purchased from reputable sources.”
“Da fu…” Lucky cut off mid-“fuck”.
Walter passed the report to Lucky. Lucky filed away information. He’d seen Chastain’s methods, and met the people responsible for keeping the company compliant with state and federal regulations. While he normally scoffed at pharma companies, this one worked hard to do everything right.
Kinda like a company owned by Bo, run by Bo, and staffed with nothing but a bunch of Bo clones.
Lucky glanced up from reading. “Hey! This isn’t exactly a shipment.” Twenty-five grams. Merely a sample for use in setting lab testing standards. “Getting their registration yanked had me thinking kilos.”
“It doesn’t matter how small the quantity if the supplier isn’t properly licensed.”
“We found no evidence of this supplier in any of their records, nor did we find any shipments not properly accounted for.” Never lifting his eyes from the report, Lucky asked, “Walter, do you have a purchase order, DEA 222 forms, packing lists?”
When Walter didn’t answer, Lucky glanced up from the damning paperwork. “Boss?”
Walter missed three times before successfully placing his coffee cup on the edge of his desk. He clutched his shoulder, teeth bared in a grimace. “Lucky, I…” His face went slack. The chair tipped.
Oh, shit! Lucky dashed around the desk before Walter hit the floor. They both crashed to the carpet, Lucky breaking Walter’s fall. Fuck! Walter easily made two or three Luckys.
“Bo! Bo!” Lucky screamed. Their cube wasn’t far away. Please let the man hear!
“Call nine-one-one,” Bo shouted to someone behind him, suddenly materializing in Lucky’s view.
Lucky struggled, trying to breathe. His recently healed side throbbed. Never having surgery again. Nope, nope, nope. He pushed his hands against Walter. With Bo’s help he squirmed out from under his boss.
Bo shook Walter’s shoulder. “Walter?” No response.
“Boss?” Lucky tried, resting a hand on Walter’s fleshy face. Cold. Clammy. Sweaty. No! He’d been fine a moment ago. Any minute now he should open his eyes and say, “Got’cha!” Only, Walter didn’t play practical jokes. Lucky’s heart pounded.
Blue tinged Walter’s lips. Bo raised an eyelid to reveal tiny pupils. Not good.
“Paramedics on their way,” Johnson said, dropping down beside them.
Walter’s pulse beat slow against Lucky’s fingers on his neck. Not breathing, as if the blue tinge of his skin didn’t shout the fact loud and clear.
Lucky laced his fingers, hovered over Walter, and began chanting, teeth clenched, matching his chest compressions to the beat he set. “One, one thousand, two, one thousand, you, one thousand, ain’t, one thousand, gonna, one thousand, fucking, one thousand, die, one thousand, on, one thousand, me, one thousand, old, one thousand, man, one thousand.”
What was keeping the paramedics? Hell, they were only on the ground floor. If they didn’t get here soon, Lucky’d steal an ambulance and take Walter to the hospital himself.
The muscles in Lucky’s arms screamed. Should’ve only kicked two butts yesterday. Who knew he’d need the strength today?
“Here. Let me.” Bo picked up massaging Walter’s heart without missing a beat, singing and keeping time to Stayin’ Alive by the Bee Gees. His chest didn’t rise and fall on its own when Bo finished a set and sat back a moment.
“Breathe, damn it, breathe!” Lucky knelt by Walter’s head and swooped to give rescue breaths.
“No. That’s not current guidelines,” Bo said.
No, no, no, no, no! Walter couldn’t die. No fucking way.
“Fuck the guidelines.” Lucky gave Walter another breath.
“Chest compressions!” Bo ordered.
Lucky rushed to take Bo’s place. His arms could fall off for all he cared, as long as the effort helped Walter.
Johnson elbowed Lucky aside and picked up without missing a beat, panting out the words to I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor, to the perfect rhythm for CPR.
Apt songs.
God. Walter lay so still, skin a sickly shade of pale. Johnson pumping his heart might be the only thing keeping him alive.
“Please don’t let him die, please don’t let him die…” What happened to all the air in the room? Why did his heart stutter? Lucky braced a hand against Walter’s desk to keep from falling. Liquid heat slipped down his cheeks.
Who cared if Rett and Bo saw? A good man, a much better man than him, lay on the floor, fighting for life.
If he could take Walter’s place, he would.
Only…
Bo.
A gurney clattered into the room, pushed by two uniformed paramedics.
About time!
“What’s his condition?” one asked, sinking to his knees and taking over for Johnson.
The other paramedic took Walter’s vital signs and questioned Bo, fluent enough in medical-speak to provide the particulars, only asking Lucky about what happened before Bo came into the room.
Walter, grabbing his chest. Walter, falling to the floor, sweaty and pale. An endless stream of images looped through Lucky’s mind.
Numb. He’d gone completely numb.
The paramedics settled Walter on the gurney and Lucky took one last look when they dashed from the room, wheels clattering.
Walter shouldn’t be alone with strangers. “I’m going with them.” Lucky bounded from the room. Wait! What about Mrs. Smith? He hollered at Bo, “Go get his wife. Bring her to the hospital. She doesn’t drive anymore.”
They barreled past Lisa at the reception desk. Her tears left a trail of black down her cheeks. “Will he be okay?”
“He better be!” was more of a demand to the universe than an answer, but the best Lucky had to give.
The gurney and paramedics took up all the elevator space. Lucky pounded down the stairs, arriving in the parking garage totally winded a few seconds before the elevator doors opened. He clutched his screaming side.
Without waiting for an invitation, he climbed into the ambulance and clasped Walter’s hand. His eyes blurred. He blinked several times, then gave up the fight. Wetness trickled down his cheeks.
The woman fussing over Walter asked, “Are you family?”
Lucky wiped a hand over his face. If he said no, he might get kicked out. Walter needed someone with him. “Yes. I’m his son.” At least, that’s what Walter had said once.
The next half-hour went by in the blur: arriving at the hospital, answering questions, a clipboard full of forms to fill out.
Lucky found himself in the cardiac unit waiting room, alone. Walter’s Old Spice clung to him.
***
A hand on Lucky’s shoulder made him jump. “What the—”
“Shh… It’s just me. Heard anything yet?”
Bo. Here. Tight bands eased around Lucky’s chest. He rubbed burning eyes and glanced around.
Bo held up a fast food bag. “After I brought Mrs. Smith I went up to the cafeteria and got you something to eat. Figured you’d be hungry by now. Sorry, but they didn’t have much in the way of comfort food.”
Wasn’t that just like Bo to keep a level head and take care of things? “Thanks. She’s with him now?”
“Yes.”
Lucky opened the bag and bypassed the carrot sticks on the way to the wrapped sandwich, turkey from the looks of it. Every bite turned to sand in Lucky’s mouth, but not eating wouldn’t help anyone.
“Those are mine.” Bo pulled out the carrot sticks and crunched one.
Also trust Bo to feed Lucky when dealing with bad news. “What’s going on at work?” Walter’s attack must’ve caused a panic in the department.
“Everyone’s shook up about Walter. Or rather, most people are.” Bo’s eyes went hard and his lips thinned.
“Should I guess, or should we play ‘name that asshole’?” Lucky paused his eating long enough to growl. Plenty of heartless bastards wandered the SNB’s halls.
Bo raised an eyebrow. “Actually, if it’s Keith you’re referring to, he’s been out of the office. He might not even know yet. I’m sure he’ll be worried.”
Lucky snorted. Keith? Worried about anyone but himself? Ha!
“Lisa’s shook up.”
Yeah, she would be, with her heart soft enough to even make room for Lucky. Of course, he’d swept in like a white knight and saved her from the department asshole a time or two. “How’s everybody else?”
“Landry didn’t seem to give a rat’s ass.”
“He’s a rat and an ass.”
“The rest are okay, I guess.” Bo scrubbed a hand over his face. Dark shadows lurked under his red-rimmed eyes and he gave a soft sniffle. “Jameson O’Donoghue stepped up and told everybody to get back to work.”
Sounded like O’Donoghue, running around barking orders like he ran the place. Why he hadn’t left the bureau and returned to the DEA remained a mystery. Maybe they no longer wanted him. Lucky wouldn’t.
“How are you feeling?” Bo asked, dropping his gaze to Lucky’s waist and back to his face.
“Stop worrying about me. I’m fine.” If only Lucky could say the same about Walter. “Thanks for…” Lucky nodded at the food bag.
Bo gave a half-smile. “You’re here for the Smiths and I’m here for you. And them.”
Of course he was. “What do we do now?”
“We wait.”
“What time is it?” Lucky lacked the energy to check his cell phone.
“Just after one, but I figured you’d want to stay until we find out something solid. That might take a while.” Bo wrapped an arm around Lucky and pulled him close.
They’d gotten here around eleven. Two hours of not knowing whether Walter lived or died. “What about Todd and Ty? School lets out at three-thirty.”
“Ty rides the bus home, and they’re more than capable of fending for themselves for a few hours. We can stay as long as you like. Besides, Mrs. Smith will need a ride home.” Bo shook his head and bristled. “Would you believe someone at work suggested I call Uber for her? Uber! I’m not letting her get into the car with a stranger. Not as long as I’m around.”
Lucky agreed. He’d been brought up to take care of his elders, and if Walter was his second father, that made Mrs. Smith his second mother.
“You trust them to stay at the house alone?” Two teenagers weren’t the safest bet to act responsible without adult supervision. Hell, even with adult supervision Lucky had managed his share of trouble at their age.
Bo nodded. “Todd’s got a good head on his shoulders, and for all his bluster, Ty’s a pretty good kid. Just hurt and confused right now. They’ll be okay until we get there.” He hunkered down in the chair next to Lucky. “Finish eating and close your eyes. We might have a long wait ahead of us.”
A yawn creaked Lucky’s jaw. “What about you?”
“I ate my lunch in the car. The carrots looked good though.”
Lucky wrinkled his nose when Bo bit into the last orange stick. “If you say so.”
“You, eat, then rest.”
Lucky bounced a knee, pent-up frustration raining down.
The bag offered up a cup of potato salad and a spoon. Lucky ate. Resting might be impossible. Thoughts he’d successfully blocked returned with a vengeance. What would happen if Walter didn’t recover? Ever since Lucky first met the man, Walter had carried around a few pounds of extra weight—more than a few—and that he knew of, Walter never exercised.
Why hadn’t Lucky invited him on a run? He tried picturing the boss in a track suit. Okay, maybe a walk? Helped Mrs. Smith keep an eye on his diet? Lord knew the boss heaped enough sugar, caramel, and whipped cream into the liquid doughnut he called coffee. Lucky accepted early on with the bureau that Walter had been around forever and always would be. The place couldn’t possibly run without him.
Had Lucky been so busy with his own problems and his family that he’d not noticed something off about his mentor? He’d nearly lost one father this year, he didn’t want to lose the man he’d looked up to long before he’d been willing to admit it.
Most likely a heart attack, the paramedics said. Easy enough to believe given Walter’s physical condition. Still, doubt niggled in the back of Lucky’s mind.
The assholes at the main office had been urging Walter to retire. Maybe instead of being pissed off, he should’ve been trying to convince the boss to take things easier.
Bo didn’t suggest they go home, had even assured him they didn’t have to, knowing Lucky would want to stay without asking.
Doctors and nurses came and went through the double doors leading to where they’d taken Walter.
Each time one came out, Lucky’s heart missed a beat, until they ambled on past and he could breathe again.
Sooner or later, though, someone would come, and possibly say things Lucky didn’t want to hear.
He gave a heaving sigh, eyes stinging, recalling Walter and the bits and pieces he’d understood. “His breathing was down to six times per minute when we got here. Then dropped to four.” He raised his head from Bo’s comfortable shoulder to view Bo’s reaction. With his pharmacy background, the words might mean more to him than Lucky.
“Four!” Bo’s eyes went wide. “Oh, my God.”
The words were really bad, then. “They couldn’t figure out why the drop but shot him full of Narcan.”
Bo nodded. “If the problem was a lack of oxygen, then it ought to do the trick.”
God, let the drugs work. Narcan, naloxone, what agents gave to narcotics overdose cases. More than a few people still walked the earth due to the medicine’s ability to reverse the effects of oxycodone or heroin overdose.
The opioid antidote even saved Bo’s life once.
“Bo?” Lucky pushed past a boulder in his throat.
“Yes?” Bo clutched Lucky’s hand.
Lucky pulled in a deep breath, stalling for time. Admitting the next part made the words too real, too hard to deny. “He didn’t have enough oxygen for a pretty good while. They said his oxygen stats were in the sixties, whatever that means.”
“Sats. Oxygen saturation levels.” Bo closed his eyes, his squeeze on Lucky’s fingers nearly painful. “Possible brain damage.”
“Fuck.” Lucky wasn’t much of a praying man, but he’d certainly been talking to the man upstairs today.
“It’s probably too early yet to tell.” Bo opened his eyes, the stubborn lift to his chin Lucky knew too well.
“That’s what the paramedic said.” Lucky sniffed and wiped at his eyes with his free hand. “The nurses won’t let me see him.”
“Shh…” Bo rubbed a hand down Lucky’s back. “I’m sure they’re only allowing family right now.”
“I—”
An approaching nurse cut off Lucky’s confession. “Mr. Smith?”
Bo started to answer. Lucky elbowed him. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You can see your father now.” She aimed an apologetic lip twitch at Bo. “I’m sorry, but family only.”
Lucky lifted his and Bo’s clasped hands. “He’s my husband.”
Her mouth and eyes went round. “Oh! Then follow me, please.”
One thing kept Lucky from racing down the hall: not knowing where they’d put Walter.
The nurse finally opened a door and ushered Bo and Lucky inside. “The doctor will be here soon.”
Tubes protruded from Walter’s arms, and a mask hid most of his face. The visible parts of his skin now held more of a pinkish hue.
The tiny form of Lucille Smith sat by Walter’s bedside, holding his hand, appearing more fragile than Lucky remembered.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. She reached up and wrapped her fingers around his, softly sobbing.
Bo grabbed tissues from a box on the nearby table, knelt down beside her, and murmured words of comfort.
Lucky couldn’t form words. A knife plunged into his heart and twisted. Chances were she’d already talked to the doctor, knew things Lucky didn’t. May he never have to watch over a loved one, helpless to do anything, not knowing if they’d live or die.
Or, heaven forbid, have Bo sit at his bedside. Thinking hurt too much. He held on as much for his own comfort as for Mrs. Smith’s.
Each breath Walter took kept him in the world a little longer.
Then again, Lucky might be watching a loved one die now.
The door clicked open and a doctor entered the room. Lucky nodded every now and then, letting Bo ask the questions and translate medicalese to real speak.
Walter might never wake up. They’d ruled out heart attack, but something sure as hell went wrong.
And Lucky had never told the old man how much he loved him.