California Moon. Catherine Lanigan
of the nurses, who instantly did as she was ordered.
While the medical crew raced to save John Doe’s life one more time, Ben pounded down the stairwell to the parking garage where the orderly ran toward the opening onto the street.
His lungs burned, but he kept running.
The orderly wasn’t even twenty years old yet. And he was in better shape than Ben, who smoked too many cigarettes and hadn’t seen his early twenties for a decade.
The city streets were crammed with morning delivery trucks, semis unloading office furniture and clusters of pedestrians. The orderly rushed down the alley, darted between cars and disappeared in the bright southern sun.
Ben searched the street to the right and left. He inspected the shop fronts in the area and looked into office-building lobbies, but found no trace of the suspect.
Giving up, he turned back toward the hospital entrance, cursing himself for not having seen this coming.
“Damn! I know better!”
Ben was plagued with questions about this extraordinary case. None of the facts gelled, and he was sure Jimmy Joe was lying about something. And Ben didn’t believe for a moment there was no trace anywhere of John Doe’s fingerprints. Yet, when he’d telephoned his own sources, the answers were the same—no trace of this man.
Ben wondered if John was with the mob. But which one?
He wouldn’t know until he got back to the hospital if the attempt today, though bungled, was successful. One thing Ben did know. He wouldn’t give up until he knew the answers. All of them.
6
Arriving home, Shannon shook the icy rain from the army-green raincoat she’d bought at the Barksdale PX. It, and most of the little Christmas gifts she’d wrapped for the mailman, the apartment super and the high-school boy at the corner newsstand were deals she’d bought with the help of her next-door neighbour.
Elliot’s father was a colonel at the air force base, which allowed him privileges at the PX.
Plucking a message from Elliot off her door, she smiled at his attempt at British humor.
I’m home. Knock me up when you get in.
Normally Shannon ignored the messages Elliot left, unless, on very rare occasions he specifically asked her to accompany him to a movie or to go dancing at a honky-tonk in Bossier. Because she knew he had few friends, she would accept, though she preferred spending her time alone.
Nevertheless, Elliot continued putting notes on her door, deriving what she thought was sick pleasure out of seeing the notes disappear every day. Because Shannon left for work before Elliot got home, they seldom saw each other.
The note today was similar to most of Elliot missives, but since he was still at home, when he’d usually already left for the garage in Bossier City, where he worked, she decided his request was genuine.
Rapping on his door, she held the note to his face when he appeared. “It’s ‘ring me up,’ silly,” she said to the short, dark-haired younger man who held his grease-blackened finger under his nose as if he was about to sneeze, and did.
“Bless you,” she said.
“You’re wrong, Shannon,” he said, shaking his head. “If you watched Benny Hill as much as I do, you’d know…”
“That what you really need is two thousand milligrams of vitamin C, ten glasses of water daily and a hell of a lot of sleep instead of staying up all night watching reruns.”
“Too boring,” he groaned, shoving his arms through his heavy sheepskin-lined leather jacket.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she gave him a scolding look. “Maybe so, but you wouldn’t be sick.”
“Oh, hell, there’s been no heat in the garage for the past three days. And every car in Shreveport and Bossier City decided to break down. I’ve got work for the next forty years. I had no idea so many people went out of town around the holidays.”
“Imagine that,” she teased.
“Holidays are gimmicks to…”
“…boost the retail industry,” she added in unison with him. “Yeah, you’ve said that before.”
“Well, I’m right.”
She smiled, knowing he made such claims because he didn’t have any family except for his father who was perpetually overseas. At least Elliot had a father. She didn’t have anybody. Trouble was, Shannon did believe in holidays, which made them even lonelier. There were times she wished she could turn off her heart, like Elliot, and rationalize that her life was neat, orderly and uncomplicated, just as he did. But she couldn’t.
Shannon and Elliot had made a pact never to pry into each other’s business. They’d never broken the pact.
He was staring at her expectantly.
Shannon shrugged her shoulders. “Yes, Elliot. I have some vitamin C. Open your mouth.”
“What?”
“How can I tell if you have an infection if I don’t look at your throat?”
“Well, all right,” he said and opened wide.
Shannon turned his head toward the hall light. “You might have strep. You should get a culture as soon as possible, Elliot. But until you have time, I have some C Chlor that Dr. Scanlon prescribed for me last month for my sinus infection.”
Elliot smiled beneficently and followed her to her door. Because he didn’t like having people inside his apartment, he respected Shannon’s privacy by remaining outside while she searched for the medicine.
Between sneezes he asked, “Did you have a rough night?”
“Why do you ask?” she shouted from the bathroom.
He leaned against the doorjamb. “’Cuz you worked another double shift.”
“Triple.”
“Been a lot of those lately, huh? Things must really be busy at St. Chris. Sorta like at the garage.”
She returned with a thermometer. “A lot of staff are still battling the flu. And strep is going around,” she said, not wanting to admit to anyone her fascination with John Doe. “Here, you might need this,” she said, giving him the thermometer. “If you get a fever, take two aspirin every four hours.”
“Thanks, Doc.” He grinned, showing his large white teeth. “I’ll be seein’ ya,” he said and hustled quickly down the stairs.
Poor Elliot. He’s the closest friend I have and I didn’t even ask what he was doing for Christmas.
Closing the door, she mumbled, “Maybe he’s planning to spend the day catching up on his work, like me.”
Just then she heard a jingle bell chime.
“Valentine!”
Her caramel-colored Manx cat jumped onto the back of the garage-sale Chippendale sofa Shannon had reglued and slipcovered last summer. The cat shook her head, making the brass bell she wore on a black velvet ribbon tinkle merrily.
“Did you miss me today?”
The cat scurried over to Shannon and rubbed against her white-stockinged legs, purring loudly to show her affection. Shannon picked up the animal and nuzzled her nose in the cat’s neck.
Valentine purred as Shannon carried her to the kitchen where she opened a can of cat food. She watched with a smile as Valentine gobbled her dinner.
Hearing Christmas carols being played on a stereo from a nearby apartment, Shannon said, “I don’t know about you, Valentine, but carols make me sad.”
The cat looked up