him," Auntie Lil said simply. "Fran is coming with medication." Without waiting for the reply, she turned and walked briskly out the door. She would see for herself what they had done to Timmy.
A block away, a running figure brushed past her. She stared after broad shoulders in a plaid lumberjack shirt. Bob Fleming was heading for the warehouse, too. He would get there well before she would. But she was hurrying as fast as she could.
When she finally reached the intersection of Eleventh and Forty-Sixth, it was marked by two huge abandoned buildings. She had no way of knowing which one was the right one until Bob Fleming burst out onto the sidewalk through the twin door of one of them, his shoulder tearing off the padlock from the inside like a battering ram. He had climbed in the back and blasted his way out of the front to create a clearer path for the medics.
"Stand there and wave down the ambulance," he commanded Auntie Lil. "I have to help Annie bring the kid down the steps."
Auntie Lil obeyed. The sound of sirens was still far away, wailing impatiently in short bursts of indignant bleating. The ambulance had gotten trapped in the heavier afternoon traffic along the West Side arteries and selfish drivers were blocking its path. Auntie Lil began to curse, unaware that Little Pete had returned to stand by her side. Then a small hand slipped into hers. It was trembling.
"Annie says he's alive," the small boy stammered. "Annie says he's alive."
"Of course he's alive," Auntie Lil told him crisply, though she was weak with relief at his words. "We aren't going to let Timmy die. And we aren't going to let you get hurt anymore, either."
The sounds of sirens grew louder, accompanied by flashing red lights and the sound of an angry man on a bullhorn.
"Clear the lane," a deep voice boomed. "Clear the lane immediately."
"Cops!" Little Pete shouted. It was a single but powerful word, and it triggered an automatic reaction in him. He jerked his hand from Auntie Lil. Before she could stop him, he darted across the packed lanes of traffic. She watched helplessly as the small figure ran down the opposite sidewalk. He turned up toward Tenth Avenue and was gone.
The door clanged open behind her again and Bob Fleming re-emerged, holding a small bundle of blood, flesh and ripped clothing in his hands. Annie O'Day walked calmly beside the human catastrophe, holding an I.V. drip bag in one hand. It was attached to a small, clear tube that snaked down into the gore. "Where is it?" she asked angrily when she saw no ambulance waiting.
"It's here!" Auntie Lil shouted as she stood on her tiptoes and waved her pocketbook frantically, putting her legendary cab-hailing skills to good use. Her gesture was answered by the stepped-up volume of a siren and, suddenly, the ambulance dispensed with the traffic jam altogether. It hopped the curb and came tearing down the sidewalk toward them, followed by two patrol cars.
The attendant was out of the passenger seat before the vehicle had stopped. Another pair of medics popped from the back with a stretcher. The small figure in Bob Fleming's arms was swiftly transferred to a stretcher and lifted into the back of the ambulance.
"What is it?" a burly paramedic asked quietly.
"It's a small boy," replied Annie O'Day.
Despite a cup of coffee and his resolve to puzzle out Worthington's motives, T.S. had not been able to stay awake long enough to get anywhere. His body had cried out for still more sleep and he had barely been able to make it to the living room couch before he was out again. He awoke hours later to the rude sensation of having his face scraped with sandpaper. He opened an eye and an enormous yellow orb stared down at him. Worse, something was nibbling at his toes.
He groaned and struggled to sit up. What was he doing asleep on his own couch? The murky light outside indicated that it was early evening; the behavior of his hungry cats confirmed it. He padded into the kitchen and fed Brenda and Eddie an entire can of cat food each. After scratching Sally St. Claire, they deserved it.
He checked the answering machine. There was a message from Auntie Lil, but the street noises behind her made it difficult for him to understand. The gist of the message seemed to be that she loathed his answering machine. He sighed and tried