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“I’m going to head in that direction,” Delta 10 advised.
“I’ll drop the job on your pager,” I said.
“Machete,” Gregg told the cops. “Two man crew. Uncertain of injuries.”
“Ambulance calls A 5-6,” I repeated and got nothing.
* * *
Mark inhaled and blew out a ring of smoke.
“Tough day, huh?” he said.
I said nothing, just shrugged.
“You wanna talk about it?”
I shook my head.
“He’ll be alright, Ky. You got him help before it went too far.”
“The patient had a machete,” I said.
“Shit,” was all the support Mark could give me.
* * *
“R25 is responding,” Gregg told me. “ETA four minutes.”
I nodded.
“Ambulance. A 5-6. R25 responding; ETA four minutes.”
Nothing.
“Do we have any other ambulances nearby?” Gregg asked.
“LSU 4-2 clearing North Shore Hospital.”
“Send them to a staging point at the corner of Fleet Street and Victoria.”
“Ambulance calls LSU 4-2.”
“LSU42. North Shore Hospital. Clear.”
“Priority One, LSU 4-2. Corner of Fleet and Victoria Streets, Devonport. Details on your pager.”
“LSU 4-2 copies. Are we backing up 5-6?”
“Affirmative. Details to follow.”
“Responding.”
* * *
The room spun lazily. Cathy was curled up in Mark’s arms. Tayla had left for home hours ago. The TV was on but muted.
My cell phone buzzed.
