Peggy Sue Got Murdered

5

Laughter drifted down the dark street, carried by the wind.

M. J. spun around and saw the teenagers, still standing at the far corner. They were looking her way and grinning. Damn punks, she thought. They think this is hilarious. In fury she stalked toward them. "Hey!" she yelled. "Hey!"

Adam grabbed her arm and dragged her to a halt. "I think this is a bad idea," he whispered.

"Let me go."

"On further thought, it's a terrible idea."

"I want my car back!" she said, and yanked her arm free. Rage was all the fuel she needed to propel her to the corner. The kids stood watching her, but they made no move. "Okay," she snapped. "Where is it?"

"Where's what, lady?"

"My car, jerk."

"You had a car?" a boy asked with mock innocence.

"You know I did! Now, it's not worth a hell of a lot, that car. And it's sure not worth going to jail for. So just give it back to me. And maybe I won't call the cops."

Some of the kids retreated and faded into the background. The rest-a half-dozen of them-began to fan out into a semicircle. Suddenly she realized that Adam was standing right beside her, shoulder to shoulder. Amazing. He didn't turn tuxedo and run, she thought. Maybe she had underestimated him.

The kids were watching her, waiting for signs of fear. She knew how their minds worked; she'd grown up with kids just like these. Turn your back, show a flicker of anxiety, and you were theirs.

She said, slowly, deliberately, "I want my car."

"Or what?" one of the boys said.

"Or my friend here,"-she nodded at Adam-"gets nasty."

All gazes turned to Adam. Just a bluff, Quantrell, she thought. Don't fold on me.

He stayed right where he was, solid as a wall.

Now two more of the boys backed down and slid away into the darkness. Only four were left, and they were getting edgy.

"No way you gonna get your wheels back," one of them said.

"Why not?"

"Man, she's long gone. Wasn't us."

"Who was it?"

"Repo dude. He's in and outta here. Your car, lady, she's chop."

Damn . They were probably telling the truth, she thought.

"This is hopeless," she muttered to Adam. "Let's go."

"I thought you'd never ask," he hissed between his teeth.

Cautiously they eased away from the gang and quickly headed back toward Building Five. They would use Papa Earl's phone to call the police. As for her Subaru, well, at least it was insured.

M. J. was so worried about whether the boys were pursuing them that she scarcely noted the footsteps moving in the darkness ahead. Just as they reached the front steps of Building Five, two figures emerged from the darkness and barred their way.

"Let us through," said M. J.

The boys didn't move.

"Just move aside," said Adam calmly. "And there won't be any trouble."

They laughed. That's when M. J. saw them glance past her, behind her.

She whirled around, just in time to spot the rear attack.

A figure flew at Adam's back, thudding into him so hard he staggered forward to his knees.

Now the two in front launched their assault. A fist slammed into Adam's jaw. Grunting, he brought his arm up to fend off the second blow.

That's when M. J. leaped into the fight. With a cry of rage she threw a left hook at the nearest attacker. Her knuckles connected with cheekbone. Pain exploded in her hand, but the triumph of watching the punk stagger away was worth it.

By now Adam had hauled off and landed a blow on his forward attacker. The rear attacker was still pummeling him on the back. Adam flung him loose. The kid rolled a few feet, then leaped to a crouch. Something clicked in his hand-a switchblade.

"He's got a knife!" yelled M. J.

Adam's gaze instantly focused on the silvery blade. He was unprepared for the sideways tackle by the other punk. They both landed on the ground, the punk on top.

The boy with the switchblade moved in toward the struggling pair.

M. J. let fly a kick, felt an instant thump of satisfaction as her shoe connected with the back of Mr. Knife's knee. He groaned and fell forward, but didn't drop the knife.

Something thudded into her from behind, made her stumble to her knees. A fourth? she thought in confusion as hands gripped her arms. How many were there?

Her hair was jerked back, her throat lay bare.

The boy with the knife crouched beside her.

"No!" yelled Adam. "Don't hurt her!"

The blade touched her throat, lingered there a moment. She caught a peripheral view of Adam struggling to reach her, panic stamped plainly on his face. Two boys had him by the arms. A third kicked him soundly in the belly. Adam doubled over, groaning. "Leave her alone," he gasped.

"We won't cut you," whispered a voice in M. J.'s ear. "Not now. But you stay away, you hear, lady cop? 'Cause she don't want to be found."

"I'm not a cop," rasped M. J.

The knife bit sharply into her flesh; she felt a drop of blood trickle down her neck. Then, suddenly, the knife was lifted away and her hair was released. M. J. knelt on the ground, her heart thudding, her throat closed down by terror. She touched her neck, then stared at the blood on her fingers. "I thought," she said hoarsely, "that you weren't going to cut me."

"That?" the lad with the knife laughed. "That's not a cut. That's just a little kiss." He signaled to his buddies that it was time to leave. With startling efficiency, they picked Adam's wallet, stripped off his overcoat, relieved M. J. of her purse.

"This time," said the kid, "you get off easy." He gave M. J. a kick in the shoulder, which sent her sprawling onto the glass-littered sidewalk.

She groaned. "I'm such a lucky girl."

"No goddamn car is worth it," said Adam, gingerly holding an ice pack to his cheek. The left side of his face was swollen, and dried blood had caked in his eyebrow. His tuxedo, which had started the evening crisply immaculate, was now in tatters.

He fit right in with the other down-and-outers sitting in the Hancock Emergency Room waiting area. The benches were filled with a tired collection of the bruised and sick, coughing kids, wailing babies, all of them resigned to the long wait for a doctor.

"Anyone with a modicum of sense knows when to fight, and when to turn tail and run," said Adam. "You should've run."

"I didn't see you running," she shot back.

"How could I? I had to stay and protect you!"

"Well, I do appreciate the gesture."

"Let me tell you, I wasn't the least bit happy about getting killed over some old Subaru." He looked sideways in distaste as a drunk fingered Adam's tuxedo sleeve. "Do you mind?"

"No," said the drunk. "Do you?"

"I liked that car," muttered M. J. "It was the first car I ever bought brand-new."

"It could've been the only car you ever bought brand-new."

A man staggered into the waiting room, rolled his eyes back, and fainted. He was quickly scooped up by two orderlies and wheeled into the inner sanctum. Everyone in the room gave a collective sigh of unhappiness. The wait would be that much longer.

"I tell you what," said Adam. "Next time this happens, I'll buy you a new car."

"Hey, I could use a new car," said the drunk brightly.

"You could also use a bath," muttered Adam, sliding away.

"I can buy my own car," said M. J. "I just don't like getting ripped off." She-as well as everyone else-looked up hopefully as the ER nurse came into the waiting area.

"Ripped off," said Adam, "is better than beaten to a pulp. I can't believe they did that to us. And all over something so trivial."

"But it wasn't over the car," said M. J. "Don't you get it? My car had nothing to do with it."

The nurse called out: "Novak!"

M. J. shot to her feet. "Here."

"Follow me."

"Wait," said Adam, tossing aside the ice pack. "What do you mean, your car had nothing to do with it? Then what was that fight all about?"

"Your daughter," M. J. replied, following the nurse out of the waiting area.

Adam was right behind her as she went into the treatment room.

"You'll have to wait outside, sir," said the nurse.

"He's with me," said M. J.

The nurse looked at Adam's battered face, then at M. J.'s black eye. "I think I can tell," she said, and shook out a paper drape. "Lie down and put this over your blouse. So it doesn't get blood on it."

"It's already got blood on it," said M. J. as she settled back on the treatment table. The nurse began to clean the knife slash; the sting of Betadine was almost worse than the blade itself.

"What makes you think Maeve had anything to do with this?" said Adam.

"Something our friend with the knife whispered in my ear."

"Hold still," snapped the nurse.

"He said, 'Stay away, lady cop. Because she doesn't want to be found.' Now, that tells me a couple of things. First, he's stupid. He can't tell a cop from a civilian. Second, he's warning us that she doesn't want to be found. Who do you suppose she is?"

"Maeve," he said, looking stunned.

The ER doctor came in, a shaggy version of Dr. Michael Dietz, with the same look of battle fatigue. M. J. wondered how many hours he'd been working, how many bodies he'd laid hands on. He glanced at her neck wound. His name tag said Dr. Volcker.

"How'd you get it?" he asked.

"Switchblade."

"Someone try to kill you?"

"No, it was an accident."

"O.K." The doctor sighed. "I'll skip the dumb questions." He turned to the nurse. "Suture set. She'll need about three stitches. And hand me the Xylocaine."

M. J. winced as the needle with local anesthetic pierced her skin. Then there was the moment's wait for the drug to take effect.

"I can't believe she'd do it," said Adam. "I mean, we've had our differences. But for Maeve to have her friends assault us…"

"She wasn't attacking you, specifically. She probably didn't know who the hell was asking about her. We might've avoided the whole scene if we'd just told Anthony right off that you were her father."

"You're saying Anthony warned her?"

"He left the apartment while we were still there, remember? Before you said anything about her being your daughter. Probably went straight to Maeve."

"And she had her friends jump us."

"Gee," said the doctor, tying off the first stitch. "You two lead exciting lives."

They ignored him. "Maeve must be scared of something," said M. J. "Why send the troops to attack at the first sign of strangers?" She glanced at Adam and saw his troubled look. "What's she afraid of? What did you forget to tell me?"

He shook his head. "She's in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

He sank into a nearby chair and wearily ran his hands across his battered face.

"Does it have to do with Jane Doe?" asked M. J. "With Xenia Vargas and Nicos?"

"Maybe." His answer came out muffled, as though he wanted to bury the words in his throat.

"Or does it have to do with Cygnus? Some miracle drug you've got in development?"

He looked up in anger. "Why blame it on Cygnus? None of your tests are back! You don't know what the hell those junkies were shooting up."

"Do you know?"

He started to speak, then saw that both the doctor and nurse were watching them in fascination.

"Are you going to sew her up or what?" Adam snapped.

"I was kinda hoping I could hear the end of the story," said the doctor. He tied off the last stitch and snipped the thread. "All done. Come back for suture removal in five days."

"I can pull 'em myself, thanks," said M. J. She sat up. The room seemed to sway around her like a boat. She waited for a moment for everything to stop moving.

"Last tetanus shot?" the doctor asked.

"Two years ago. I'm current."

"Keep the wound dry for twenty-four hours. Clean it twice a day with peroxide. And call if it gets red or warm." He gave her the ER sheet to sign, then he headed for the door. "Come back any time," he said over his shoulder. "I can't wait for the next installment."

Back in the hospital lobby, M. J. waited for Adam to call his house. Collect, of course; the punks had done a thorough job of emptying their pockets. It was a helpless feeling, being penniless. When M. J. had told the ER billing clerk she'd mail in her payment, the clerk had given her a yeah, sure look. No respect at all.

"Thomas is on his way," said Adam, hanging up. "We'll give you a ride home."

"Who's Thomas?"

"Sort of my man Friday." Adam glanced down at his soiled shirt. "And he's not going to be pleased when he sees what I've done to his ironing job."

M. J. looked down at her own wrinkled shirt. "Maybe I should borrow him sometime," she said. "Along with his iron."

They sat down in the waiting area. A nurse walked by, carrying a cup of coffee from the vending machine. M. J. would've loved a cup of coffee, but she didn't have a dime. Broke and in purgatory, she thought.

A half hour passed, forty-five minutes. It was almost midnight, and things were still hopping at Hancock General. The next shift of nurses dribbled in from the parking lot, lugging umbrellas and lunch sacks. At the front door, an armed guard eyed everyone who entered. This was frontline medicine, and Hancock General was the equivalent of trench warfare. Every stabbing, every shooting that took place within a three-mile radius, anything on South Lexington, would roll in these ER doors. So would the drug ODs. M. J. wondered if another Nicos Biagi or Jane Doe had been found.

"He's upstairs, you know," she said. "In the ICU."

"Who?"

"Nicos Biagi. I came by to see him, earlier today."

She shook her head. "He didn't look good. Whatever it was he shot up, it's fried his brains. And kidneys."

Adam was silent. Coldly so.

"The ER doc says it's something new. Something he's never seen before…" She paused, as a chilling thought suddenly came to mind. She looked at Adam and saw that he was avoiding her gaze. "You said you gave Maeve a job. Was it at Cygnus?"

He sighed. "Yes."

"Which department?"

"Really, this has nothing to do with Maeve-"

"Which department, Adam?"

He let out another breath, a sound of profound weariness. "Research and Development," he said. "She was doing cleanup in the lab. Running the autoclave. Nothing vital."

"What was the lab working on?"

"Various projects. Everything from antibiotics to hair restorers."

"Morphine analogues?"

"Look," he snapped. "We're a pharmaceutical company. And pain relief is a big market-"

"You're cooking up something new in that lab, aren't you? Something no one else has developed yet."

A pause. Then, reluctantly, he nodded. "It's… a breakthrough. Or it will be, if we can iron out the kinks. It's a close relative to natural endorphins. Latches onto the same enzyme receptors as morphine does, holds onto those receptors like Krazy Glue. So it's very long-lasting. Which makes it perfect for terminal cancer patients."

"Long-lasting? How long?"

"A dose will give pain relief for seventy two-hours, maybe longer. That's its advantage. And its disadvantage. If you overdose an animal, you'll put it in a long-term coma." He looked up at her; what she saw in his eyes was worry, maybe guilt. And absolute honesty.

She rose suddenly to her feet. "Come upstairs with me."

"The ICU?"

"Nicos Biagi's tox screen might be back. I want you to look at it, tell me if it matches your miracle drug."

"But I'm not a biochemist. I'd need confirmation from my staff-"

"Then take the report back to them. Have them confirm it."

He shook his head. "Hospital tox screens aren't specific enough."(

"Why are you so reluctant? Afraid to hear the truth? That it could be a Cygnus drug that's killing people?"

Slowly he rose to his feet. His height put her at a disadvantage. Now she was looking up at him, confronting the chilly silence of his eyes.

Up till now, she hadn't felt in the least bit intimidated by Adam Quantrell, not by his wealth or his power or his dashing good looks. But his anger-this was something else. This she couldn't brush off, couldn't turn her back on. Their gazes held and all at once something new flared inside her, so unexpected she was stunned by its intensity. Temptation. Desire. Suddenly she was unable, unwilling, to take note of anything else in the room.

This is crazy , she thought. I don't want to feel this. I refuse to feel this. But she couldn't seem to break that gaze, to command her body to turn away.

It was a woman's voice, calling Adam's name, that finally broke the spell.

"Good heavens, Adam! What on earth did you do to yourself?"

M. J. turned and saw Isabel, still in full evening dress. She'd just come through the ER doors and now was staring at Adam in dismay.

"Look at your clothes! And your face! What happened?" Isabel reached up and touched the bruise on his cheek.

He winced. "We got into a little… trouble," he said. "What are you doing here, Isabel?"

"I heard Thomas say he was coming to fetch you. I told him I'd do it instead."

"I'll have to talk to him about this-"

"No, I insisted. I thought you'd be glad to have me rescue you." She flashed him a dazzling smile. "Aren't you glad?"

"You shouldn't be down here," he said. "Not at this time of night. It's not safe."

"Oh, well." Isabel glanced around in disbelief at the tired army of people waiting on the benches and she clutched her wrap more tightly around her shoulders. "God, this is like the third world. I can't imagine what you're doing in this part of town." She looked at M. J.'s equally bruised face. "It appears you both got into a little trouble."

"Dr. Novak needs a ride home, too," said Adam. "Her car got stolen. And at the moment, we're penniless."

There was a brief silence, then Isabel shrugged. "Why not? The more the merrier, I say." She turned toward the exit. "Come on. Let's get out of here before my car gets stolen."

"Wait." Adam looked at M. J. "There's something we need to do first."

"What's that?" asked Isabel.

"We have to go upstairs. There's a patient we have to see. In the ICU."

M. J. gave him a nod of approval. So he was finally ready to hear the truth.

"I'll just come along," said Isabel. "You wouldn't leave me down here all by myself, would you?"

With Adam and Isabel in tow, M. J. retraced the steps she'd taken earlier that day, down the hallway with the tired aqua walls. Up the elevator. Down another hall. Isabel's high heels made an annoying clack-clack across the floor.

The ICU was a hive of activity, nurses scurrying about, monitors beeping, ventilators whooshing. At the central nursing desk, two dozen heart tracings zigzagged across a bank of oscilloscopes.

The ward clerk glanced up in surprise at the trio of visitors. We must be a strange sight, thought M. J. Two bruised bums and one blond bombshell in evening dress.

"Are you visiting someone?" asked the clerk.

"I'm Dr. Novak, ME's office," said M. J. "I was here earlier with Dr. Dietz, looking over Nicos Biagi's chart. Would you know if his tox screen came back?"

"I just came on duty. Let me check the reports." The clerk turned to the in-box, rifled through the stack of newly delivered lab slips. "There's no tox screen here for a Biagi."

"How is he doing?"

"You'll have to talk to one of the nurses. Which bed is he in?"

"Bed thirteen."

"Thirteen?" The clerk looked at the Cardex file and frowned. "There's no one in bed thirteen."

"That's his bed number, I'm sure of it." M. J. glanced at the oscilloscope, where every patient's heart rhythm wriggled across the screen. Number thirteen was blank.

A nurse walked past the desk, carrying an armful of charts. "Excuse me, Lori?" called the ward clerk. "There was a Mr. Biagi in bed thirteen. Do you know if he's been moved?"

Lori stopped, turned to look at the trio of visitors. "Are you friends or relatives?"

"Neither," said M. J. "I'm from the ME's office."

"Oh." The look of caution eased from the nurse's face. "Then I guess it's okay to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"Mr. Biagi died. Two hours ago."