Author's disclaimer: I am totally unfamiliar
with street names, geography, etc. of Los Angeles and the surrounding area!
Forgive any errors or impossibilities based on this ignorance. My goal
was to write an Adam-12/E! crossover story that would be plausible. This
is just one of many possible scenarios.
Officer Pete Malloy eased the black-and-white LAPD cruiser into the early
morning Los Angeles traffic from the side street he and his partner had been
patrolling. It was a grey beginning to a day that promised to be atypical
by California standards; cold and stormy. It was one of those days the Chamber
of Commerce doesn't advertise on the brochures. Traffic was already beginning
to pick up, even at 6:15 a.m., no doubt from commuters made nervous by the
gloomy forecast, wanting to get in to work before the predicted Pacific Storm
front moved in.
Malloy and his young partner, Jim Reed, were about to finish up a tedious
AM watch that had been hectic from start to finish -- or near finish. They
had broken up three bar fights, one domestic dispute, pursued two stolen
cars in separate incidents, chased down a burglar in a harrowing foot pursuit
(harrowing from Jim's point of view, anyway; Pete had been following in the
car the whole time), assisted narco in a drug bust, and written numerous
tickets for traffic violations. And of course, they completed the required
paperwork that went with each caper. Both officers were tired and frazzled
and ready to call it a shift.
Beside Malloy, Reed looked at his watch and sighed.
"It's almost over," Malloy sympathized.
"Not a minute too soon," Reed responded. "I'm beat."
"That 600 yard dash you ran probably had a little something to do with that,"
Pete drawled, unable to keep a bit of a grin off his face.
"The dash wasn't the bad part. It was the wrestling match at the end that
wore me out." Reed rubbed a sore left arm to emphasize his point. "That
was one of the biggest guys I've ever had to take down. The cuffs barely
fit around his wrists!"
"Moved good for a big guy, too."
"No joke."
"You sore?"
Reed snorted. "Yeah. I'm probably bruised, too. Jean's gonna have a fit."
"Well, you have two whole days to reassure your lovely wife that you're
just fine."
That, as Pete had hoped, elicited a grin from Jim. "I believe I can manage
that. I tell you, Pete, I'm really looking forward to these two days off.
Being on AM watch is the biggest pain. Jean and I are like two ships that
pass in the night. We haven't even shared the same bed for two weeks. She
and Jimmy are getting up just as I'm getting in. If this keeps up Jimmy
is definitely going to be an only child."
"Maybe this romantic getaway you have planned will give you a jump start
on getting things back to normal." Pete stopped the unit for a traffic light.
"I certainly hope so. It's a three-hour drive to that seaside inn where
we're going to stay, but it'll be worth it just to get away by ourselves
for a while. Jean has her own stresses to deal with."
"Being married to you isn't easy, I'm sure."
Jim fixed his friend with an exasperated stare. "Thanks for the support,
partner," he grumped.
Pete laughed aloud. It was just too easy, sometimes, to get Jim to rise
to the bait.
"That's right, pick on me when I'm too tired to think of a decent comeback.
Don't worry, though, eventually something will bubble up through the mush
that's up here right now." Jim pointed to his head.
In a deliberate attempt to change the subject before Jim warmed up too much,
Pete asked, "You gonna go home and grab a couple of hours sleep before you
take off up the coast? If you're that tired, you probably should. Looks
like you're gonna be driving in the rain."
"Wasn't planning on it. I'll have plenty of time to sleep once we're there."
The light changed and Pete moved with the traffic. Unable to resist one
last crack, he looked at his partner out of the corner of his eye and offered,
"Somehow, I didn't think sleeping was exactly what you had in mind on this
little trip."
The exasperated look returned, accompanied by a slight flush to the neck
and face of the younger officer. He opened his mouth to say something but
the dispatcher's tinny voice stopped him.
"One Adam-12, one Adam-12, go to the station, see the watch commander.
Code 2."
Pete and Jim locked gazes as Reed automatically reached for the mic. "One
Adam-12, roger." He paused, putting the mic back in its holder. "That can't
be good."
"Let's not jump to conclusions, partner."
"Mac probably wants us to work a double. Oh, man, don't do this to me today!"
Reed rolled his eyes toward the roof of the car.
"Like I said, let's don't jump to conclusions."
"It's ten minutes 'til end of watch, and he's making sure we don't get out
of uniform before we see him. What else could it be? If it was routine,
he'd just track us down in the locker room."
"I hate to admit it, but you're probably right."
As if to emphasize Malloy's reluctant agreement, a deep rumble of thunder
echoed in the distance.
"Now there," Reed sighed, "is a bad omen."
By the time they reached the station, the rain had begun. Malloy parked
in their customary space, removed the shotgun from the rack, Reed retrieved
their helmet cases, and they both dashed in to keep from getting wet.
They met their watch commander, Sgt. MacDonald, in the hallway outside his
office.
"Ah, Pete, Jim, great." the broad faced Scotsman grinned when he saw them.
"Come on in and I'll fill you in. I've got something special for you two."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Reed mumbled under his breath.
"What was that, Jim?" Mac asked as Pete covered his mouth to hide his grin.
"Nothing, Mac, nothing."
Mac indicated they should sit, and they did so. Pete hitched on the corner
of Mac's desk, and Jim turned a chair around to sit straddle across from
his boss. Mac picked up a piece of paper from the corner of his desk and
sat down in his own chair. He rattled the paper in Malloy and Reed's direction.
"Remember your 459 suspect from last night? The big guy?" a grin broke
out on MacDonald's face at the expression that crossed Reed's at his mention.
"How can I forget?" the younger officer spoke. "I chased him six blocks
and spent five minutes wrestling with him before I got him under control."
"Well, I know it was a hard bust, but there are a lot of people who are
really singing your praises."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. After we processed him we ran him through the computer and discovered
he had outstanding warrants in the county. Remember the series of rapes
down in Carson about two months ago, and the number one suspect that escaped
custody?"
Pete nodded. "He's the guy?"
"Yup. He's the guy. Real name is Erik Jenssen."
"Way to go, partner," Pete grinned. "You nabbed a big fish this time!"
"How 'bout that?" Reed, ever modest, flushed a little, but joined Malloy
in a grin.
"The fellas down there want to shake your hand," Mac went on, "And after
I told them the circumstances of the bust, I think they want to eyeball you.
They probably think you're Goliath or something. So I offered to transport
him to the county so they could get the chance."
"Gee, thanks," Reed couldn't keep an edge of sarcasm out of his voice.
"I thought you'd be pleased." Mac chose to ignore Reed's tone. "Why don't
you guys go grab a cup of coffee while we get your guy ready for the trip?
Oh, and we're
gassing up a car for you."
"What? We don't get to take our car?" Malloy objected.
"Are you kidding? Daywatch would kill me if I let you do that."
"Just make sure this car runs, okay?"
"Trust me, Pete. Would I do you wrong? Don't answer that," Mac leveled
a finger a Reed, who seemed about ready to reply.
Jim stood and stretched not entirely successful in keeping a scowl from
his face. "I'm going to go call Jean. I'll see you in the coffee room in
a few."
"What's with him?" Mac asked as the door closed behind Reed.
"You have lousy timing," Pete informed his sergeant. "He and Jean have
this little getaway up the coast planned. Jean's parents picked Jimmy up
last night, and they planned to leave as soon as Jim got home."
"Oh," Mac sat back in his chair. "Well, I'm sorry about that. But it shouldn't
take too long just to deliver him out to the sheriff's substation in Carson.
They'll be on their way before they know it."
"Easy for you to say," Malloy eased himself off the corner of the desk.
"I'm the one who has to sit in the car with him for an extra three hours."
"You'll both live. Don't forget to get your overtime requests turned in
before you lose yourselves for two days."
"I'll remind Jim."
"Drive carefully -- there's a storm brewing."
"Always, Mac, always." Pete waved as he left the office.
Malloy strolled down the hallway to the coffee room. On the way he passed
his partner, still on the phone with his wife. Jim's back was to the him,
however, and Pete just kept walking.
Pete found the coffee room deserted, since AM watch was heading home and
daywatch was finishing up roll call. The coffeepot was empty, so he set
about making a fresh pot. No way he was driving in the rain all the way
to Carson without caffeine.
The pot was about half full of fresh joe when the door opened and Jim walked
in looking decidedly unhappy.
When Pete looked at him inquiringly, Jim sighed and said, "Just call me
Rover."
"Huh?"
"I'm in the dog house," Reed explained. He sat down in a chair, crossed
his arms and sighed again.
"Sorry," Pete sympathized. It was times like this he was ever so grateful
that he was not married.
"Bow wow," Jim muttered.
"Cheer up, partner. On the way home, just stop and pick up some flowers,
use a little bit of that Jim Reed charm, and you'll have Jean eating out
of your hand within minutes."
"Oh, and suddenly you're an expert on marriage?"
"No, but I am somewhat of an expert on placating women, since I've managed
to, ah, 'irritate' quite a few over the past few years."
"Do tell."
"Not on your life, partner. Besides, you already know some of the sad tales."
The coffee finished and Pete poured two cups.
"Oh, yeah. I remember...Donna, and Sally. And then there was.."
"Donna was your fault, remember?" Pete interrupted.
"Can I help it if my marriage was an inspiration to her? Anyway, where
was I? Oh, yeah, Annie and Millie...now that was a spectacular break-up,
as I recall. And I almost forgot about Susanne..."
It was now Pete's turn to scowl. He pushed the cup of coffee into Reed's
hands. "Just shut up and drink your coffee."
*****
Firefighter Paramedic John Gage dashed into Station 51, caught himself on
the wall as his wet feet slipped on the concrete floor, then slowed to a
more respectable speed to enter, dripping, into the kitchen where he found
most of his counterparts of the Station's A shift.
"Coffee! Coffee! I need coffee!" the young man pleaded, as he shook
himself free of most of the water clinging to his dark hair and flannel
shirt.
"If you'll just have a seat, sir, I can set up a coffee IV within moments,"
Gage's paramedic partner, Roy DeSoto, quipped from his spot near the coffeepot.
"Funny, Roy, real funny." Gage scowled half-heartedly at his slightly older
counterpart. "It's coming down in sheets out there!"
"No kidding. Was the fog still bad?" Roy poured a cup of coffee for his
waterlogged friend and handed it to him.
"Thanks, Roy." Gage gulped down some of the near-scalding liquid before
addressing DeSoto's question. "Yes, the fog is bad. And you know what that
means."
"It means," Hank Stanley, captain of the station's A shift spoke up from
his spot on the couch, "you'd better get into uniform before the bells go
off. Five minutes 'til roll call, anyway."
"We're taking bets on how long it will be before we get the MVA call. "Fireman
Chet Kelly came in from the locker room attempting to smooth his rather bushy
dark hair.
"That's morbid, Chet!" John accused.
"Well, you were thinking the same thing," Chet shot back.
"I wasn't gonna take bets on it!" John drank more coffee.
"Come on, Gage, you know you want a piece of the action." Once Chet and
Johnny got started, it took an act of Congress (or a deep growl from the
Cap) to call them off each other. "Join the pool. I know you're good for
five bucks."
"Buzz off, Kelly," Gage gulped the last of the coffee down and went to take
his captain's advice and change into his uniform.
"You paramedics are no fun at all," Chet moped. "Neither of you guys will
cooperate."
"Maybe that's because we're the ones that have to pick up the pieces of
an MVA, and we don't see any humor in it, morbid or otherwise." DeSoto refilled
his mug with coffee and sat down at the table, fixing his colleague with
a piercing look.
"Oh, come on, Roy, give me a break! I wasn't taking a body count survey!
Where's everyone's sense of humor today? It's a good thing that 'The Phantom'
paid a visit this morning, otherwise we'd..."
"Chet, what have you done?" Captain Stanley demanded, as Roy rolled his
eyes and the other A shift fireman in the room, Marco Lopez, groaned.
"Me?" Chet feigned innocence. "It was The Phantom!"
"I thought The Phantom had been permanently retired," Cap continued, his
voice threatening. He was the one who generally had to call a halt to the
mayhem that a visit from Chet's alter-ego, the "Phantom" always caused.
John Gage was almost always the victim of that mayhem.
Chet shrugged. "I have it on good authority that..."
"CHET!! I'M GONNA KILL YOU!" Gage's screech from the locker room interrupted
Kelly yet again.
"Thanks a lot, Chet." Roy pushed away from the table. "I'm the one who
has to ride out with him, and now he's going to spend all day plotting revenge."
he sighed long-sufferingly. "I'd better go check on him."
"Cheeetttt...." Captain Stanley warned as Roy left the room.
"Completely harmless, Cap, I promise. Just a repeat of a classic."
"Oh, yeah?" Marco asked, suddenly interested. "Which one?"
"Marco, don't encourage him!" Cap snapped.
The last of the A shift firefighters, the engineer, Mike Stoker, appeared
dripping in the kitchen doorway. He took in the dark look on the Captain's
face and the hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar looks on Chet and Marco's and
blinked.
"Did I miss something?" he asked in his characteristic quiet tone.
"Ignorance is bliss, pal," Cap sighed from the couch. "Better get changed."
*****
"Whipping cream in the shoes again?" Roy asked his fuming partner upon reaching
the locker room. Gage was furiously beating his shoes over a garbage can.
Thick white cream was falling out into the barrel.
"I swear, Roy, one of these days...I....will....kill....him...!" Gage punctuated
each word with a vicious whap of his shoes to the side of the can's
opening. "And no jury would convict me!" he finished with an angry flourish.
Roy wordlessly handed him a towel as Gage continued to mumble.
"You'd think he'd come up with something a little more imaginative than
whipped cream in the shoes again. This one's a little old."
"So, why do you keep falling for it?" Roy asked, then backed up a step as
John turned a glare on him.
"Just whose side are you on, anyway?"
"Me? I'm on the side of peace and quiet. I'm on the side of rational thinking.
I'm on the side of let bygones be bygones. I'm on the side of..."
"All right, all right, I get it, I get it! Sheesh, since when did you turn
into such a philosopher?"
"I've always been a philosopher. You're just usually talking too much to
listen to me."
John gave Roy a confused look. "What?"
"Never mind. You'd better get those shoes cleaned. That five minutes is
about up." Roy turned to leave the locker room and almost ran over Stoker,
who was hustling in to change clothes.
"Sometimes I think it's a requirement to be nuts to work here." Roy told
the engineer.
Stoker looked from Roy to Johnny. "I think I missed something again," he
complained.
*****
Pete and Jim were draining the last of the coffee from their cups when Mac
stuck his head in the coffee room door.
"Your prisoner is ready," he announced, with a look of resignation on his
face. "And I wish you luck. He's just as charming now as he was when you
booked him a few hours ago."
Pete and Jim exchanged a look. Pete raised an eyebrow at his partner and
grinned wolfishly.
"You're the one who hunted him down and wrestled him. If he's in a bad
mood, I reckon it's your fault."
"You're all heart, Pete," Jim griped, scraping his chair across the floor
as he rose.
Mac couldn't hide his own grin. "Just deliver the guy to Sergeant LaCrosse
at the Carson substation in one piece, all right? Get your shotguns checked
out and I'll give him a call and let him know you're on the way."
"Right, Mac."
Pete and Jim strolled out of the coffee room, took care of checking out
their equipment, then met the prisoner, being escorted by two brother officers,
halfway down the hall.
Erik Jenssen was an impressive sight, handcuffed or otherwise. He dwarfed
the two officers escorting him, and stood at least six inches taller than
Reed. He was heavily muscled and well toned, sporting a neck that would
have done any professional football player credit, with biceps to match.
It was obvious that Jenssen worked out with regularity and efficiency.
His disdain for the police was also obvious.
Pete turned to Jim and said, sotto voce, "How did you ever take
that guy down by yourself? I'm going to have to reevaluate your physical
prowess."
Beside him, Jim swallowed and shook his head. "Somebody up there was looking
out for me, I think. Jean must have been praying."
"Here you go, Malloy, Reed," the older of the two officers, Markham, handed
Jenssen off to Malloy.
"Let's go for a ride, Jenssen," Malloy took the prisoner by the arm and
started to move, but Jenssen was rooted to the spot. Malloy scowled and
looked up at the man, who was staring intently at Reed. "I said, let's
GO, Jenssen."
"I can't believe I let a puny little punk pig like you take me," Jenssen
growled to Reed.
Reed shrugged, and took Jenssen's other arm.
"You could never do it again in a million years," the prisoner sneered.
"Well, we'll never find out, will we?" Reed asked mildly. "You're in custody
now, and you're not going anywhere but to jail."
Between Malloy and Reed pulling on him, Jenssen began to walk, albeit reluctantly.
"You'd better hope I don't get loose," Jenssen warned Reed, "'Cause if I
do, the first thing I'm gonna do is kill you, you scrawny pig puke."
"Shut your mouth, Jenssen," Malloy snapped, tightening his grip on the monster
bicep.
"Or what?" Jenssen jeered. "It's a free country. Besides, you should be
glad that I'm warning your pig friend here of what I'm going to do to him
if I get half a chance."
"This is the last time I'm going to tell you to button it, pal, or we're
gonna stuff a rag in it." Malloy opened the door and Jim led the guy out
to their assigned car, X-Ray-23. Working quickly to get out of the rain,
Jim put Jenssen in the back, locked the door, and walked around to get in
on the other side. He handed his shotgun to Malloy.
"This is going to be a delightful trip," Malloy observed.
Jim rolled his eyes and slid into the backseat next to the prisoner while
Malloy secured their weapons.
The Friday rush hour traffic was in full swing at 7:15 a.m. as a steady
rain fell on the city. The fog had begun to roll in as well, and the traffic
moved at a turtle's pace as Pete steered the radio car out of the city.
"I'm not going the freeway," he remarked to Jim. "I think it's worse up
there."
"You're probably right."
"We'll get out of town, then take the coast highway and intersect with county
road 11 to Carson."
"Sounds good, Pete."
"How nice, the scenic route," Jenssen remarked sarcastically.
Neither officer responded, but Jim gave the big man a threatening look.
"Ooooh, I'm so scared," the prisoner laughed, his voice still full of sarcasm.
"Listen, pal..." Jim began, but Jenssen stopped him.
"I know, I know, shut up." the prisoner met Jim's glare with one of his
own, finally smiling ruefully when Reed refused to flinch or look away.
"Take a look at this," Pete groused from the front and indicated the windshield.
The wipers weren't clearing the rain sufficiently and it was like looking
through wax paper.
"Great. You want to stop and get them fixed?"
"Nah. Just going to have to drive even slower."
Reed suppressed a sigh as the prisoner stretched his legs beside him.
"Extra minutes in the company of city pigs," Jenssen commented. "How lucky
can a guy get? Everybody knows city pigs got more class than county pigs."
the prisoner laughed at his own bad joke.
Reed gritted his teeth to keep from responding. He looked up and met his
partner's eyes in the rearview mirror and found some sympathy there. Pete
was right -- it was already shaping up to be a delightful trip.
*****
Once Gage got his shoes cleaned out and slid into roll call at the last
minute, things settled down at Station 51. Since the weather was so bad,
all duty assignments for the day were indoor jobs. The guys were grateful
not to have to hang hoses and took to their various duties with as much enthusiasm
as they could generate for chores on the level of latrine duty. Chet wisely
stayed out of Johnny's way, and things were busily quiet when the tones rang
out with the first call of the day.
"Ahhh!" Chet exclaimed.
Squad 51, man down, possible heart-attack. At the high school track
-- 653 East Maple. 653 East Maple. Nearest cross-street, Dover. Ambulance
is responding. Time out 07:21.
"False alarm," Chet announced.
Stanley picked up the mic and acknowledged. "Squad 51, 10-4. KMG-365."
He tore the paper with the address off of the notepad and handed it to Roy
as the senior paramedic slid into the driver's seat. Stoker hit the door
release and once helmets were donned, the squad eased out into the rainy
Friday traffic.
"I think Chet was disappointed this wasn't an MVA," Johnny remarked. "Watch
that puddle, there," he went on to warn as Roy pushed the squad carefully
through a flooded intersection.
"No kidding," Roy was concentrating on the road. "But if someone was out
jogging at the track in this weather, that's almost as bad."
"No kidding," Johnny parroted his partner's earlier comment and followed
it with his patented grin.
They made the remainder of the trip in near silence, as visibility was horrible
and the streets were flooding in spots from the steady rain. Johnny watched
just as carefully as his partner for standing water and wandering traffic
and warned him as necessary of such hazards. Finally, the high school appeared
on the right.
"I think we need to make the block and come up the back to get to the track,"
Roy said.
"That's right -- hey, watch that bus, there!"
A school bus passed them on the right, readying to turn into the school.
It sprayed them with a muddy waterfall, temporarily obscuring their vision.
"Oh, that's just great!" John exclaimed. "Roy, can you see?"
"No...uh, almost..." Roy tapped the brakes, and somehow managed to stay
on the road and in his lane until the wipers cleared the windshield. "Now
I can."
"I know what we're going to be doing after this run," Johnny moaned.
Roy found the turn and eased the squad across a muddy access pathway until
a fence surrounding the track stopped him.
"There, at the far end," John said, pointing as he caught sight of a man
running toward them, waving frantically.
"I see him."
They bailed out of the squad simultaneously, keeping their helmets on as
protection against the rain. Once out, they donned their turnout coats for
the same reason -- to keep the cold rain from soaking them. By the time
they had the drug box and other equipment out, the man had reached them.
"Hurry, please, this way! It's my friend! He's having a heart attack!"
"Take it easy, sir," John soothed, "We'll do everything we can."
"Is your friend conscious?"
"No! No, he's not! I can't find a pulse! He's not breathing! Please
hurry!"
The two paramedics and the frantic man jogged carefully across the slippery
pathway to the nearest opening of the fence. Once they reached the paved
track, they made better time and they were at the fallen man's side within
seconds.
"Does he have a history of heart trouble?" Roy asked. He reached for the
man's neck to get a carotid pulse, as Johnny set up the biophone.
"Not to my knowledge!" the man's friend was breathing heavily and trembling
from both the chilly rain and fright.
"How old is he?" John asked.
"Forty-seven! Please, do something!"
"Just stay calm, please," John instructed. "Well do everything we can."
"No carotid pulse," Roy announced. "Not breathing...cyanotic, diaphoretic.
Let's get him on the scope."
Johnny left the biophone to assist Roy in setting up the equipment needed
to determine the fallen man's condition.
"Sir," Johnny tossed the victim's companion a disposable blanket with one
hand as he cracked equipment cases open with the other. "Spread this out
over my partner and your friend to keep the rain off."
"All right," the man agreed, tearing open the packet.
Johnny pushed the defib unit under the makeshift canopy and grabbed the
paddles. He quickly applied gel and positioned them on the man's chest.
Gage hit the power button and the scope bloomed to life. Not surprisingly,
it showed a flat line.
"Asystole!" Roy announced. "Get the mask on him. I'm starting CPR."
"Right." Johnny dropped the paddles and grabbed the resuscitator mask, placing
it over the victim's face. He started the oxygen flowing, then grabbed up
the biophone. "Rampart, this is Squad 51. This is Rescue five-one. How
do you read?"
There was a pause, then Dixie McCall, head nurse at Rampart Emergency, responded.
"We read you loud and clear, Squad 51. Go ahead."
"Rampart, we have a male, age 47, in full cardiac arrest. Scope shows asystole.
We have started O2 and
are performing CPR."
"Stand-by, 51. I'm paging a doctor."
"Ten-four, Rampart!"
The friend, still attempting to hold the blanket over the victim and the
equipment was near-panic. "What's wrong? What's taking so long?"
"Please stay calm," John said quietly. "We have to have a doctor's permission
to administer drugs. We're waiting for one to get to the phone and confirm.
Relax...we'll do everything we can." He quickly applied the ECG patches
to the man's chest.
"He has a wife...children in college..."
"I promise you, we'll do everything we can." Johnny repeated as Roy continued
chest compressions.
"Squad 51, this is Rampart." the reassuring baritone voice of Dr.
Kelly Brackett sounded over the biophone. "Any change in your patient's
condition?"
Roy stopped CPR, checked for a pulse and read the scope. He shook his head.
"Still in full arrest."
"That's negative, Rampart."
"Can you send me a strip? Switch to lead three and confirm."
"Ten-four, Rampart." Johnny manipulated a dial, then waited a beat. "Still
asystole," he said into the phone.
There was short pause, then Brackett continued. "51, start an IV with
lactated Ringers. Administer 1 milligram epinephrine." "IV, Ringers, administer 1 milligram epinephrine. Ten-four, Rampart."
Johnny scrambled back to the victim, picked up the IV kit from the drug
box and quickly and efficiently inserted the IV. In less than two minutes,
he was done and had administered the required medication. He waited a beat,
willing the cardiac monitor to show some life, but it continued to show a
flatline.
"Need to switch, Roy?" Johnny asked, reaching once again for the biophone.
Roy shook his head and continued the compressions.
"Rampart, this is Squad 51. We still show asystole."
"Squad 51, I concur. Administer 1 milligram of atropine, IV and continue
CPR."
"One milligram atropine, IV, ten-four, Rampart."
Again, Johnny grabbed the medication from the drug box and administered
it. After a space, the monitor showed the erratic, small squiggles that
indicated v-fib.
"Rampart, we show v-fib." Johnny called into the biophone.
Johnny grabbed the paddles of the defib unit and handed them over to Roy,
who placed them in the proper position on the victim's chest and side. He
counted down the seconds until the unit fully charged. "Four! Hit him!"
"Clear!" Roy warned, then administered the shock. The monitor continued
to show the ineffective v-fib rhythm.
"No conversion!" Johnny stated the obvious. "Hit him again!"
Roy recharged as Johnny moved back to the biophone. At 400 watt-seconds,
Roy re-shocked. The patient's body heaved in response, but once again the
rhythm remained unchanged. Roy dropped the paddles and resumed CPR as Johnny
spoke again to Brackett.
"Rampart, this is 51, we have countershocked twice with no success. Patient
is still in v-fib."
"51, administer 1 amp of sodium bicarb and repeat countershock."
"One amp of sodium bicarb, ten-four, Rampart." Johnny dropped the
phone and went to the drug box to get the proper meds. It didn't take long.
"Okay, it's in!" Johnny scrambled away from the victim as Roy readied the
paddles.
"Clear!" Roy administered the shock after the proper wattage was reached.
Again, the victim's chest rose in response, but the heart stayed stubbornly
in v-fib.
"Damn! No conversion!" Johnny looked up at his partner. "Again!"
At the recharge, Roy tried again. This time, there was a response, but
not the desired one. The victim's rhythm reverted to a flat line.
"Asystole," Johnny announced. "Damn!"
Roy's eyes met Johnny's and they shared a frustrated look. Long experience
told both paramedics there would be no miracle today. But long training
was too ingrained in their souls for them to give up without a longer fight.
Johnny broke the look and, once more, hailed Rampart.
*****
Malloy felt like he was sitting right up against the steering wheel as he
craned forward for a better view out of the windshield. The rain was relentless
and the fog had not abated. Thunder and lightning accentuated the gloomy
scene as the occasional gust of wind buffeted the radio car. Traffic was
heavy, even on the highway, and 45 was about as fast as they could manage.
Pete was beginning to regret not stopping to have the wipers replaced.
"Hey, cop, are you sure you can see?" Jenssen asked when Pete had to hit
the brakes once again to avoid a rear-end collision.
"He'll be a lot better off when you shut up," Reed snapped.
"Is that the only song you know, piglet?"
"Knock it off," Malloy growled. "I can see just fine. Relax, Jenssen.
You'll get to where you're going soon enough. What's the rush?"
"I might miss a door prize," Jenssen sneered, then laughed, clearly amused
with himself.
"Just relax and enjoy the view," Malloy suggested easily. He didn't want
to feed this guy's bad mood with his own irritation.
"Some view! A wall of gray and wet."
"I guess you prefer steel bars and electric fences?" Reed spoke then, scornfully,
with a sideways glance at his prisoner.
"You know something, piglet? I really don't like you."
"You're breaking my heart."
"I'd rather be breaking your neck, and believe me, I will when I get half
a chance."
"All right, that's enough of that," Malloy put the bite back into his voice.
He glanced into the rearview mirror to catch Jim's eye, but a pair of high
beam headlights caught his attention first. They belonged to the cab of
a tractor-trailer rig and they were coming up fast -- way too fast in Malloy's
view. "What is that idiot trying to prove?" he thought aloud.
"What?" Jim turned, as did the prisoner. Reed immediately saw the rig.
"That rig is moving way too fast...hey!" Jim exclaimed, as the vehicle in
question jerked to change lanes, barely missing the car immediately behind
their unit. "Did you see that?"
Malloy eased off the gas without hitting the brakes and edged the car a
bit more to the right, unsure of the control the driver of the eighteen-wheeler
had. "I saw it. The guy's an idiot."
"Bet he's flying on speed," Jenssen speculated.
Malloy didn't doubt that but didn't comment, intent on watching the truck
approach them from the left. It didn't take long for the rig to clear them,
as fast as he was running, and the resulting water that those eighteen wheels
kicked up sprayed them with even more dirty liquid.
Jim shook his head in disbelief. "He's gonna kill somebody if he doesn't
slow it down," he commented.
"Why don't you bust him?" Jenssen asked.
"Jurisdiction," Malloy responded.
"County pigs' problem, eh?"
"You got..." Malloy interrupted himself when the highway in front of him
suddenly turned into a scenario for disaster. Brake lights began to bloom
bright red as they reacted to something he couldn't yet see.
The problem became apparent all too soon. A few cars ahead, a driver was
fishtailing, turning sideways into the left lane, directly ahead of the speeding
tractor-trailer. Cars were slamming on their brakes, moving off the road,
trying to avoid being a part of the inevitable collision.
"Pete!" Jim warned.
Pete didn't even have time to acknowledge the warning, as he took defensive
action immediately.
What happened next made Jim's earlier statement prophetic. Unable to stop,
the large rig plowed into the side of <U>the</U> skidding
car, with a sound like an explosion. The car underneath its wheels. Metallic
parts flew in every direction, spraying the vehicles, smashing windshields
and windows.
"Oh, my God," Jim breathed, as Pete tapped the brakes and moved the vehicle
half-off the road, trying to drive around the wreck and the resulting secondary
collisions he knew would follow, especially if the trailer jackknifed.
Which is precisely what happened in the next second of the accident. The
automatic reaction of the driver of the rig was to hit his brakes, hard,
which locked up the wheels. The excessive speed, the wet road, and the sudden
deceleration of the front of the rig, coupled with the lock-up, caused the
trailer to jackknife, jerking it into the right lane. Two cars in the right
lane ahead of the officers spun out when they, too, locked their brakes on
the wet road. They collided with each other and their momentum spun them
off in different directions -- one of them directly in the squad car's path.
"Pete!" Jim warned again, bracing himself against the seat.
"Hang on back there!" Pete said, almost simultaneously.
Malloy jerked the wheel, bringing the unit back up onto the pavement and
swerved around the sliding car, missing it by inches. Unfortunately, the
maneuver took them into the path of the second car, also out of control,
and Malloy was forced to jerk the wheel back the other direction to try to
miss that one as well. Visions of his time at driving school and the instruction
received on how to drive through a problem flashed through his mind as he
fought to stave off disaster. His reactions were as ingrained as any police
procedure and his reflexes didn't fail him. The second car flashed by them,
still wildly out of control, and there was not a handsbreadth between the
two cars. There was a sound of another collision as a car following behind
the unit couldn't avoid the spinning vehicle.
The radio car now was back half-on, half-off the road and Pete fought to
keep control as the right tires dug into the soggy shoulder. He felt the
car tugging, trying to spin, but he kept an iron grip on the wheel, refusing
the impulse to slam his brakes. Miraculously, he saw the lane ahead of him
clear momentarily, and just when he thought he would make it to safety,
he heard Jim give another yell from the back seat.
The jackknifed trailer was suddenly sliding directly for them, the momentum
from the first collision carrying it even further to the right. One more
turn of the wheel took them as far away from it as their speed would allow,
and Pete held his breath, praying that the back of the car would clear the
edge of the trailer.
This time, their luck ran out. In the blink of an eye, the amount of time
it took the car to react to Pete's maneuver, the back end of the trailer
clipped the left rear of the squad car. The next few seconds became a blur
of noise, confusion, and pain. Pete heard the ripping sound of metal buckling
and the crash of breaking glass. He heard Jim cry out in pain, then the
wheel was ripped out of his hands. Malloy was aware of the car flipping
over, once, twice, heard the prisoner shrieking and cursing, but he was mercifully
unconscious by the time the car settled on its side and slid down the inclined
shoulder, coming to a rest in a precarious position on a slippery plateau.
