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Chase
When your phone rings in the middle of the night, it’s hardly ever good news. I wake up and grab my cell phone.
“Carson?”
“Chase, we have an emergency. A guard has been shot. He was working a job on the Southbank. There was gunfire. Guy Sanders was taken to the hospital.”
“Damn. Okay. I’m on my way. Do you know how badly he’s injured?”
“I don’t know any more details. I’ll meet you there. He’s at Baptist.”
Also, now awakened and hearing half the conversation, Val asks, “Chase? Is something wrong?”
“There was some gunfire at a job. One of our guards has been taken to Baptist Hospital. He was shot. Carson is going to meet me there.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You don’t have to, Val. You can go back to sleep.”
“No, Chase. I’m coming with you.”
“Okay, thanks, Val.”
I throw on some jeans and a blue hoodie and shove my feet into a pair of boots.
I look around to see if Val is ready. She comes out of the bathroom, brushing her hair and then she pulls it into a ponytail. She has on jeans and a gray hoodie as well.
“Ready?”
She nods, and then I drive us to Baptist Hospital.
When we get there, Carson is already talking to one of the doctors.
Val and I approach him. He turns with a grim look on his face.
“They’re going to extract the bullet. It nicked a main artery. They’re trying to stop the bleeding. They don’t know if he’ll have full use of his arm and hand. He got hit in the left shoulder.”
“But he’s out of danger?”
“Barely. The doctor said he lost a lot of blood. He said if it had been another ten minutes, Sanders might have bled out. I offered to give blood if they need it.”
“Do you know if he has any family? Anyone we need to notify?”
“He’s single, according to his HR record; there was an aunt in Georgia listed for next of kin. I called, but there was no answer, and her voicemail wasn’t set up.”
We walk over to the waiting area and sit down.
“It’s going to be a long night.”
Sometime during the night, Carson gets a call from the police. They have a suspect, and he’s being held for questioning. They believe it was an attempted robbery.
Finally, in the wee hours, the doctor comes to the door of the waiting room.
“Guy Sanders, family.”
“We’re his employers. How is he, Doctor?”
“He’s resting comfortably. We were able to control the bleeding. We won’t know how much use of his arm and hand he’ll have until he’s recovered from the surgery. We’ve done all we can. We’ll know more in about twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”
