“Stop him!” the teens cried as he bolted back toward the stairs.
“Stop them!” the would-be murderer cried as he threw carts and laundry hampers in their path.
“Call security!” a nurse cried as she was bowled over by teens in high-tops.
“What security?” another nurse cried, because, really, what security?
“Whaaaa!” the babies in the ward cried, because, well, that’s what babies do.
Now, had Sergeant Borsch been able to enter the Floor 2 stairwell door, he would most certainly have done so in pursuit of Larry Daniels.
But there was no wadded napkin in the Floor 2 doorjamb, and by the time he’d reached it, it was latched up tight.
So he hustled down to the first floor and used the exterior exit (where he discovered another folded-up napkin). Then out he went, radioing the station as he hustled around the building to the front of the hospital, calling for backup and requesting an APB for one Larry Daniels.
In a fair world, Sergeant Gil Borsch would have been rewarded for his stalwart determination and commitment with a bit of good luck. But, as we all know, it’s not a fair world, and luck, in Gilbert Borsch’s corner of this unfair world, is not something that shows itself very often.
(Or, really, ever.)
So it should have been no surprise to him that the first “backup” to appear on the scene was a self-proclaimed superhero roaring into the parking lot on his High Roller with a fortune-teller in the sidecar.
“Commissioner!” Justice Jack cried. “Which way did he go?”
“I can’t believe it’s that same creep!” Madame Nashira cried from the sidecar (as she had been one of Larry Daniels’s past victims). “I’ll rip his eyes out!”
From his Saddle of Justice, Jack looked at the fortune-teller and a little red heart practically popped out of his chest and floated dreamily above him.
“Why me?” the lawman moaned.
And, as if dealing with Justice Jack and his new fortune-telling sidekick weren’t enough, the unfortunate lawman was suddenly (and rudely) goosed.
By a pig.
“Hey!” he squawked as he jumped, and when he turned around, Penny oinked at him (loud and long and lovingly).
“No!” the lawman screamed, backing away. “What are you doing here?” Because, yes, he knew Penny. And yes, Penny remembered him, too. And it was undeniable—Penny was still very much an oinker in love.
“Stay back!” he commanded as Penny approached. “Do you hear me? Stay back!”
Now, if a pig could coo, that’s what Penny would have been doing.
But pigs can’t coo.
They can only oink.
And snort.
And kind of snotter.
And since Sergeant Borsch was distracted by Penny oinking madly and frolicking after him, and since Justice Jack and Madame Nashira were likewise distracted watching Penny oink and frolic, neither the crime fighters nor the claw-wielding fortune-teller noticed the two swarms of teens approaching.
From one side came Marissa and her group, still chasing Larry Daniels after they’d tailed him down the back stairs.
From the other side came the other (newly text-alerted) teens, who had opted not to take the stairs (and had been evicted by Fig and Bunny).
And, chalk it up to bad luck or good fortune, but it does seems fitting that the formerly blind ice cream man/wannabe kid killer would be tackled by kids.
Loud, angry kids who knew how to apply a hammerlock and grind a cheek into asphalt.
“You thought you’d get away with it?” they crowed as they brought him down. “You mess with Sammy, you mess with all of us!”
“Yeah! You’re going away for good, dude! You are toast!”
And then over his shoulder, Billy cried, “Officer Borsch! Get over here! Cuff this guy!”
For Larry Daniels, it wasn’t the pain of the hammerlock or the little road rocks being ground into his cheek. It wasn’t the metal cuffs ratcheting around his wrists or the sound of a cop reading him his rights again. It wasn’t even the pig that came from God-knows-where to sniff and snort and slobber around his head.
It was the shoes.
All he could see was those shoes.
Shoes that were just like hers.
Shoes that would give him nightmares for the rest of his life.
GOODBYE
It’s never easy to say goodbye.
Well, unless it’s a good-riddance sort of goodbye, and then it’s super easy.
But when you love someone and it’s time … well, it’s hard.
Really, really hard.
It does help knowing that they’re going to be okay, and Sammy is going to be okay. You should have seen the commotion on the fourth floor. Everybody was there, and you know what? The hospital just let them invade. After all, it’s smart to be agreeable when questions of slipshod security could develop into lawsuits. Plus, it’s a well-known fact that keeping celebrities happy is sound business practice.
The invasion started with Rita, who skidded up to the bed in her high-tops and then sobbed happy tears until Sammy told her, “Grams! Stop it! I’m fine!”
Hudson, too, was reduced to happy tears, and then came Lana and Darren and Marko, followed by a seemingly endless stream of friends.
They did draw the line at Penny, but after Lucinda was reunited with her love-struck pig and learned that Sammy was no longer in need of pet therapy, the old woman gave her stubborn streak a rest and accepted a ride home from Mr. DeVries.
So in Room 411 there were lots of hugs and kisses and laughter (and a very emotional reconciliation between Lana and Rita), and although some people stayed to just deliver a quick high five (or, in the case of Justice Jack, a quick “Justice prevails, young firecracker!”), there were those who, once in the room, wouldn’t budge.
People like Rita and Hudson.
And Lana and Darren and Marko.
And Marissa and Holly and Billy and Dot.
Even Cricket.
And Heather.
And, of course, Casey.
The room was filled with the chattering of voices and the sharing of bears and the retelling of stories and just … joy. Somehow the scrappy girl who’d had practically no family and only one friend the first time she’d tangled with Larry Daniels had a whole city rallying around her.
She was surrounded by family.
Surrounded by friends.
Surrounded by love.
It was easy to see, she was going to be fine.
Still, it was hard to leave. Even after word came down that she wouldn’t be discharged until the next day and the hospital shooed everyone away, even after the parking lot was quiet and darkness had fallen, it was hard to leave.
Hard for me to say goodbye.
Outside, I lingered in the parking lot, trying to figure out which window was hers. The fourth floor about … there. Then I just stood under a streetlamp, and watched as the windows went dark, one by one, waiting for hers to go dark, too, so I could say good night.
And goodbye.
But instead of her light going off, suddenly there she was, at the window.
I watched her as she looked out, looked around, obviously thinking.
And as I watched her, I couldn’t help but think of the way she’s changed my life. The way she’s made me laugh, and grow, and feel. The way that she’s helped me see that a good heart and a strong head will take you anywhere you want to go. The way she’s lifted me through dark times and, probably most of all, the way she’s been a friend.
A real friend.
Lost in thought, I hadn’t noticed that her position had shifted, that she was looking more downward.
That she seemed to be looking at … me.
Could she really be looking at … me?
“Sammy,” I whispered as I put my hand to my heart.
She just stood there, still, staring at … me?
So I blew her a kiss, and that’s when she did something that caught me by surpri
se, although it probably shouldn’t have. Something that made me know that she will always be the feisty, fearless, and funny girl I love.
She waved.
Wendelin Van Draanen, Sammy Keyes and the Kiss Goodbye
(Series: # )
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