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When Luke hung up, he remained by the telephone for several seconds before relaying the bad news. “I’ll have to take a rain check on dinner. There was a drive-by shooting half an hour ago. The mural was sprayed with bullets, and a couple of the kids were hit.”
She leapt to her feet. “My God! Have they been taken to a hospital?”
“Yes, I’m going there now.”
“I’ll come with you.” She grabbed her purse from the entryway table and followed him out the front door. “Was it a gang shooting?”
“Sure sounds like it.” Luke started his Subaru, then paused before putting the car in gear. “Dave said it was bad, and it might be a long night. Maybe you should reconsider and stay home.”
She buckled her seat belt. “No, I want to be with you. Drive.”
“All right, but don’t say you weren’t warned.”
“I won’t. Did Dave tell you who was hurt?”
“Nick and Max. Hang on, I’ll try and beat the ambulance to the County/USC Medical Center.”
She’d ridden with him before and assumed he must be exaggerating, but he wasn’t. They sped from one freeway to the next, zipping in and out of traffic, and pulled into the County/USC parking lot in what she was convinced had to have been record time. She grabbed his hand as they headed for the Emergency entrance.
Dave and Toby were in the waiting room, along with Polly, whose dress was splattered with blood. Dave got up and came to meet them. “We were just standing in Toby’s yard when we heard what sounded like firecrackers. Max screamed and grabbed his leg, but Nick just fell. That’s his blood all over Polly, rather than hers, but she was standing right next to him, and it’s a wonder she wasn’t hit too.”
“Take care of Polly,” Luke urged. “I’ll check with the doctors.”
Catherine nodded, but she hadn’t realized how quickly visiting an emergency room would bring back painful memories. Suddenly light-headed, she sat beside Polly and took her bloodstained hand.
“Polly, let’s find a restroom, and I’ll help you clean up.”
Polly turned toward Catherine, but her gaze was blank. “The bullet tore off the side of Nick’s head. He’s dead.”
Catherine would have begged her not to give up hope, but Toby caught her eye and nodded. The waiting room was crowded, and she could hear someone crying softly in the row of chairs behind them.
“We still need to clean up.” She rose and, with a gentle tug, raised Polly from her chair.
Catherine found the nearest women’s room, led Polly over to the sink and eased her backpack to the floor. “Take off that dress, and we’ll rinse it out. You have other clothes in your backpack, don’t you?”
“There’s no point in washing my dress when I’ll never want to wear it again,” Polly insisted.
Polly removed her hat, then yanked off her badly stained dress, wadded it up and shoved it into the trash container. Underneath, she had on a tank top and shorts, so she was still fully clothed.
“That’s fine, as long as you have something else to wear.” Catherine held the faucet to keep the water on as Polly began to scrub her arms. Two other women came in, appeared unconcerned by Polly’s gruesome appearance, and entered the stalls.
Catherine felt sick clear through. She’d wanted to be there, indeed, was convinced she should be there. But after they’d all had such a good time painting the mural, to have a tragedy like this strike was nearly unbearable. She tore off several towels and handed them to Polly.
“I don’t expect you to feel any better, but you look far more presentable now,” Catherine told her.
“That’s ’cause all people can see is the outside.” Polly unzipped her backpack, and after a quick perusal of her choices, she drew out another gauze dress in a tiny floral print. She slipped it over her head, fluffed out her hair, and added her hat.
“Let’s go see if there’s any news about Max,” Polly suggested. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and led the way to the waiting room. A little child was screaming in the corner, but she went straight to her chair without glancing his way.
Even with the bright splashes of color on his tattoos, Toby looked pale. “Maybe the mural wasn’t such a good idea after all,” he whispered as Catherine sat down.
“No, it was a wonderful idea,” she argued. “The city is filled with crazy people who get their kicks shooting off guns. It doesn’t matter what you do or where you go, anyone can become a target of random violence.”
Dave was slumped back in his chair. “I didn’t see the gunman, did you, Toby?”
“I was too busy grabbing for dirt, and all I saw was blood.” Toby shuddered and rubbed his arms. “Is it freezing in here, or is it just me?”
“It’s cold,” Polly agreed, “probably to keep the bodies from rotting.”
