THE LONG NIGHT
by
Diverting his attention from the rain-slicked road, Roy DeSoto shot a glance toward the slender figure slumped in the passenger seat beside him. In the faint glow of the dashboard lights, he couldn’t quite tell if Johnny had drifted off to sleep or merely slipped into one of his patented sulks.
He took in a deep breath, his nose wrinkling at the mingled odor of perspiration and mildew which permeated the vehicle interior. For a fleeting moment, he envied Johnny his plugged sinuses.
Three whole days he’d spent, annoyed by his partner’s endless supply of chatter. Yet, after an hour with nothing to listen to save the dull roar of the engine and the steady beat of the windshield wipers, he almost longed for a resumption of their bickering.
This camp out, planned weeks in advance, had been Johnny’s idea. At that time, he couldn’t have guessed how strained things would grow between the pair. While the friction had yet to interfere with their professional conduct, it made for some very long duty shifts.
He had tried his best to bail out of the trip, but Johnny wouldn’t hear of it. Clearly, he hoped time alone in the woods would be just what they needed to work through their difficulties.
Roy shook his head at the thought. Johnny’s plan had been destined to fail. How could it work when he wasn’t even part of the problem?
There was a phrase Roy had often used to describe himself, ‘independently poor.’ Sure things sometimes got tight, but he always prided himself in paying the bills on time.
Recently, however, there had been a series of incidents. Not a one amounted to much on its own, but piled together - well, the budget had been stretched past the breaking point. He’d seen far too many marriages affected by financial woes, and in his struggle to avoid taking out his frustrations on Joanne and the kids, he allowed Johnny to bear the brunt of it.
It had came as something of a shock when, for a time, Roy had forgotten his troubles and genuinely enjoyed the vacation. Long hikes, fresh air, warm sunshine - he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so free.
Then the temperature dropped and the rains came. The idyllic forest clearing became a mudhole. Johnny’s mild head cold turned into raging sinusitis.
Roy had suggested more than once they leave, but Johnny only grew more determined to stand their ground. Only when the wind sent a sizable branch ripping through their tent did he, at last, admit defeat.
He had voted for putting up in a roadside motel for the night. Roy just wanted to get home. Johnny agreed, with some reluctance, but only if Roy would drive. That, combined with the fact he’d slipped out of full rant mode in less than an hour, spoke volumes. Roy knew he had to be feeling lousy.
A jagged flash of lightning tore across the sky ahead, dashing any hope the rains would end soon. Roy sighed, then said, "How ‘bout we stop for a late dinner, on me."
"Now, I’d have to be plain foolish to turn down a free supper." Although he still sounded rather congested, Roy heard little trace of the drowsiness he’d have expected if Johnny were napping. For once, though, he couldn’t really begrudge him his sulk.
"Maybe it’ll give the rain a chance to let up a bit," said Roy, as he maneuvered Johnny’s Land Rover into an all but deserted parking lot.
"This place sure looked busier a few days ago. Maybe it’s closed."
"The lights are on. Let’s take a look." Truth be told, Roy’s stomach had started rumbling more than a few miles back.
They jogged through the downpour the short distance to the front door. Roy gave the knob a twist. "Well, it’s not locked, anyway."
The pair stepped into the restaurant, which looked like a typical diner. A series of stools lined the front counter and a section of tables sat off to the right. The dingy wall paneling and green upholstered seating combined to create a decor best described as ‘early ugly,’ but, at the moment, Roy wasn’t concerned about aesthetics. The place was dry and warm, and he already knew the food would be anything but disappointing.
A slim, sandy-haired man about Roy’s age, wearing a light brown plaid shirt neatly tucked into khaki trousers, looked up from wiping the counter. "I thought I’d locked that."
"I’m sorry," said Roy. "If you’re closed…"
With a pleasant smile, the man shook his head. "No, it’s okay. I’m not one to turn away customers."
Roy glanced over at Johnny, who just shrugged. "Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind, we’re awfully hungry."
"I insist. Normally, I’d be open anyway. It’s this darned rain. There hasn’t been anyone this way in a couple of hours and the girls were getting antsy about flooding and all, so I told ‘em to go on home."
"We sure do appreciate it. We stopped here on our way up on Thursday. Johnny’s been raving about your hamburgers ever since."
"I thought we had some pretty good ones in LA," Johnny chimed in, "but, man, we don’t have anything close to yours."
A broad grin spread across the restaurant owner’s thin face, and he thrust his right hand toward Johnny. "It’s always nice to meet a fan. The name’s Karl Owens."
Pumping Karl’s hand, Johnny said, "Johnny Gage." He nodded in his partner’s direction. "And this here’s Roy DeSoto."
After giving Roy a firm handshake, Karl motioned the pair toward a table and asked if they wanted to see a menu.
"Nope," said Johnny. "I know exactly what I want."
"Make it two," said Roy, when Johnny had finished placing his order.
"Coming right up."
As Karl disappeared into the kitchen, an uneasy silence descended between the pair. Johnny started fiddling with the condiment tray. Roy sighed, but resolved to hold his tongue.
After a while, Johnny began laying out the individual sugar packets across the tabletop, reading the informational snippets printed on each one. Unable to contain himself, Roy said, "Honestly, you’re worse than my kids. Other people have to use that stuff."
Johnny shoved the packets aside. He raked a hand through his dark hair. "Man, what’s eating you? I’ve tried being patient, honestly I have, but I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Either tell me, right now, what the deal is, or…," he broke off, unable or unwilling to finish the thought.
"Or what? You’ll request a new partner?"
Johnny looked down at his hands, pressed flat against the gray formica tabletop. "I didn’t say that." He lifted his head to meet Roy’s gaze, "Listen, if you can’t talk about it, forget I even asked."
The deep concern in his friend’s eyes shamed Roy. They had been through so much together, saved each other’s lives on numerous occasions. The bond which had inevitably formed between them rivaled only his marriage vows to Joanne for strength. What the hell did he think he needed to hide? "I’m sorry about the way I’ve been acting. I guess it’s just-"
Karl burst through the swinging door bearing a tray containing two tall glasses of milk and a couple of plates, each one loaded with an enormous hamburger and a heaping pile of french fries. He placed them before the hungry paramedics, then retreated behind the counter.
The aroma of freshly grilled beef set Roy’s mouth to watering, suppressing any confessional impulse. He dug into his food with gusto. The first time had been no fluke. This burger was every bit as juicy and flavorful as the last.
A tinkling of bells signaled another arrival. "Looks like Karl should’ve kept his waitresses here after all," said Johnny through a mouthful of fries.
Roy turned to see a short, stocky youth he judged to be no older than eighteen. Rainwater dripped from his faded blue jeans and ragged denim jacket, forming a puddle on the linoleum in front of the counter. Pushing a long strand of damp blonde hair from his eyes, he asked, "Can you change two dollars in dimes?"
"Is that kid nuts?" whispered Johnny, watching the transaction with interest. Taking a large bite out of his burger, he continued, "Imagine coming out on a night like this for something so stupid."
Karl looked as dubious as Johnny, but he told the kid, "I suppose so."
Once the cash register was opened, the stranger let the coins drop to the floor with a clatter. He whipped out a small handgun. "Gimme all the money."
Karl lunged for the phone and the boy pulled the trigger. The restaurant owner fell face down across the counter, then slumped to the floor.
A complete stillness followed, then Johnny leapt to his feet. A split second before another shot rang out, Roy caught hold of Johnny’s shoulders and pulled him to the floor. As he yanked his partner underneath the table, Roy grimaced when he heard his head thud against one of the legs.
"You okay?"
Johnny lay in stunned silence for a few seconds, then whispered, "Yeah. I can’t believe he shot at me."
Roy peeked out at the kid. He looked distinctly shell-shocked. "I’m not sure he can either."
Addressing the gunman, Johnny called out, "We’re Los Angeles County Paramedics. Why don’t you let us take a look at that man?"
"Come out slow, so I can see you."
Taking care to avoid sudden movement, Johnny crawled out from under the table. A few seconds later, Roy stood alongside him. The gunman ran a trembling hand through his stringy locks, but remained silent.
"We might be able to help him," Johnny said. "You’re in a lot of trouble as it is. Don’t go making things worse for yourself."
"Shut up!" For a second, Roy wondered if he’d blown it, but then the kid seemed to calm somewhat. "Okay, you can look at him," he said, gesturing at Roy with his weapon. "But only you. And bring him out where I can see what you’re doing." Directing his glare in Johnny’s direction, he waved his gun toward the far corner. "You, sit down over there, and don’t say another word."
"I think…," Johnny began, but the gunman cut him off.
"Did I ask what you think? Not another word."
Retreating to the corner, Johnny slid himself down the wall until he was seated on the floor, his knees almost touching his chin.
Roy stepped behind the counter. Blood seeped down the front of Karl’s shirt from a wound to his right shoulder. He moved him carefully, trying his best not to jar him, then set about assessing his condition.
"So what’s the verdict?" Karl asked after a moment, not quite successful at keeping the fear from his voice.
"I’m not going to lie to you, it’s serious, but it could’ve been a lot worse. You just take it easy. I’ll do what I can for you, and then my partner and I will see if we can’t get us out of here somehow."
* * *
The minutes which ticked by on Roy’s wristwatch dragged into hours, and still the situation remained unchanged. In a small way, that came as a comfort. It demonstrated a reluctance on the part of the kid to finish what he’d started. Yet, if he wasn’t going to kill them, why the hell hadn’t he just grabbed the money and run?
As Roy made his latest check on Karl’s vitals, he noted with relief that he seemed to be holding his own. He offered the man a reassuring pat.
"I’ve been thinking," Karl whispered. "There’s a window in the john. It’s not very big, but your friend’s kinda skinny. He might fit through it."
Roy shot a glance toward Johnny, still isolated in his corner, rubbing absently at his face. Figuring they had little to lose, he directed a subtle wave Johnny’s way. When he saw he had gained his attention, he angled his body so the gunman couldn’t see his hands. He pointed at Johnny, then at the door to the restroom. He then drew a small square in the air with his finger.
It seemed a longshot Johnny would even follow the meaning of such an obscure set of gestures, so it brought a thin smile to Roy’s face when he heard him clear his throat and croak, "I’ve really gotta go, man. What do you say?"
The gunman considered him carefully for a moment, then said, "Okay, but make it fast."
Roy seconded the thought. Hoping to buy his partner some time, he said, "You know, you’re in quite a jam. Thing I can’t figure is why you didn’t take off hours ago."
"I need time to think, okay?" the youthful gunman practically shrieked. "It wasn’t s’posed to go like this."
For the first time, Roy noticed just how shabby and weathered he boy appeared. He decided the kid had been living outdoors for quite a while. On a cold, rainy night like this, that couldn’t be comfortable. But it didn’t excuse theft, and it certainly didn’t justify shooting a man.
"Okay, just settle down," said Roy in his most reassuring voice. The one he often used to great effect on his patients. "I just can’t help thinking it would go much easier on you if you ended this now, let this man get the help he needs."
"I’m not gonna let ‘em lock me up!"
His own temper beginning to flare, Roy nevertheless kept his voice calm. "Maybe you should’ve thought about that in the first place."
"And maybe you’d just better shut up. Who the hell do you think you are?" The kid paused, then looked toward the restroom. Striding over to the door, he pounded it with his free hand. "You in there, time’s up."
When no response came, the kid turned the knob. The door only opened about two inches, held from swinging any further by a long metal hook. He reared back, giving it a savage kick. It flew open the rest of the way.
"Hold it right there," the kid yelled. Roy’s heart sank. So much for Plan A.
* * *
"Roy?"
With a start, Roy shook off the light doze into which he’d fallen, wondering how it was even possible to sleep under the circumstances.
"Roy?" This time he noticed a subtle note of panic in his partner’s voice.
"Johnny?"
"Something’s happening. The right side of my face-" His words sounded slurred, as if he’d been injected with novocaine. "It feels kinda weird. I think it’s paralyzed."
Roy studied Johnny’s face. Sure enough, he could see a pronounced droop to the right side, and a disconcerting lack of motion. The knot which had formed in his stomach twisted ever tighter.
He thought back to the beginning of this nightmare, recalling his partner’s head connecting with the table leg. It hadn’t seemed like much of a blow, but under the right conditions, it didn’t always take a lot. It sickened him to think that in trying to save Johnny’s life he might have endangered it further.
He started to scramble to his feet, but froze when the kid said, "Did I say you could get up?"
Roy took a deep breath and tried to force a reasonable tone. "I just want to check him out."
"I don’t think so. It’s some kind of trick. I let you two together and you’ll try something else."
Sweeping an arm toward Johnny, Roy said, "How? You’ve got him all trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Anyway, does it look like he’s faking?"
The gunman shook his head.
"Now, it could be any of a number of things, some of which are potentially very serious."
"I said no."
In a quiet voice, Johnny said, "Remember that run last week? Joe Martin, I think. Something like that."
Roy needed no further prompting. It wasn’t every day that a seemingly healthy thirty-two year old suffered a stroke. "Johnny, just calm down. There’s no reason to think it’s anything like that. Tell me, is it just your face that’s affected?"
He watched as Johnny tried to flex and stretch as best he could. "Tied up like this, it’s hard to tell, but I think everything else seems all right."
"How about a headache?"
"Not really. Just sort of hurts along the cheek, and my ear, but it’s been like that most of the day. I thought it was my sinuses."
The gunman broke in. "I can save you the effort. I know what it is. I’ve seen it before."
"Yeah?" asked Johnny.
The youth’s eyes took on a sorrowful glaze. "My sister. She had the exact same thing happen. Went to the doctor, he said it prob’ly wasn’t serious, but he ran some tests anyway."
"So what was it?"
"A tumor. She was dead inside of six months. Only twenty-five years old."
Johnny grew noticeably pale. "Oh man, I hadn’t even thought of that."
Roy knew he needed to insert a little reason into the dialogue. "This is all just wild speculation. It could just as easily be something simple, a pinched nerve or something." He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. "If you were smart, you’d let Karl and Johnny get the medical attention they need before something happens you’ll regret."
"Shut up for a minute. Let me think."
"You’ve had over five hours to think."
Karl raised a shaky hand and pointed toward the gunman. "You’re Angela Hardin’s brother. Daryl, isn’t it?" Roy didn’t like the halting manner in which Karl’s words escaped his lips, or the increasing difficulty he displayed in his breathing.
The kid nodded almost imperceptibly, but said nothing.
Looking up at Roy, Karl said, "I don’t mean to scare you, but he’s right. Angie worked here, and it happened just like he said."
Roy glanced over at Johnny, hoping he hadn’t heard. The abject misery which showed on the functional side of his partner’s face told him otherwise.
"That doesn’t mean anything," he said, seeking to reassure himself as much as the others. "Lots of completely different conditions can present themselves in a similar way."
* * *
"I’m not going to sit by and watch this man die."
The better part of yet another hour had passed. It frustrated Roy to no end he wasn’t allowed to examine Johnny, but whatever his problem, he at least appeared stable for the time being. The same could not be said for Karl. His condition, especially in the last few minutes, had begun to deteriorate with alarming speed. Something needed to be done, and done fast.
When Daryl said nothing, Roy rose to his feet, then slid behind the counter. His pulse throbbed so strong he almost felt dizzy.
Rummaging through his pockets, he fished out the keys to the Land Rover. "The way I see it, you really only have two choices. Use that gun of yours, stop me from making the call." He flung the keyring toward Daryl. It landed at his feet with a metallic clink. "Or, get the hell out of here before the authorities arrive."
For what seemed an eternity, the youth stood motionless, his gun leveled at Roy’s chest. As Roy picked up the phone receiver, a strange disassociation took hold, almost as if he watched himself from a few feet above his own body.
He heard a ragged gasp from Johnny at the same instant he saw Daryl’s finger tighten on the trigger. Time drew to a standstill.
Roy cursed himself. He’d been so damned sure he had Daryl figured out. Hell, he’d just bet his life on it. An image of Joanne and the kids flashed through his mind, and he mouthed the words, "I’m sorry."
As the report sounded, he squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for an impact that never arrived. He reopened them in time to see Daryl fling the weapon aside as if it were something alive and might bite him. He stooped to collect the keys, then sprinted out the door.
Roy’s sweat slicked fingers kept sliding out of the holes as he dialed the emergency number plastered on the side of the phone. Once assured help was on the way, he hung up. After a quick check on Karl, he rushed over to Johnny. The dark-haired paramedic looked about as pale and shaken as he’d ever seen him.
As Roy began untying him, he asked, "Are you all right?"
With an incredulous shake of his head, Johnny said, "That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen you do."
Roy shot him a weak smile. "Kind of makes you wonder which one of us needs his head examined."
* * *
"Roy DeSoto?"
He sat up and blinked a few times. Last he remembered, he’d been watching tiny fish swim around the aquarium situated in a corner of the small emergency department waiting room. Apparently, the long night was catching up with him.
"That’s me," he said, rising from the orange plastic seat. Being called by a nurse struck him as an ominous sign.
When the police and ambulance had arrived at the restaurant, he’d been asked to remain behind and answer questions while Karl and Johnny were brought in to the hospital. When he finally did arrive there, he had been unable to learn a thing. The receptionist merely directed him to the nearly empty waiting room.
As he took a seat next to the fish tank and began yet another of his all too frequent Johnny vigils, it struck him just how spoiled he had become at Rampart. He had special access there, and could always find plenty of good coffee and friendly faces to keep him company through the difficult waits. Here, all he got was a hard chair and guppies.
"The doctor isn’t quite finished, but your friend wanted to talk to you. I’ll take you back."
She led him through a door, into the actual emergency department. It consisted of a large room, one side of which had been partitioned off into cubbyhole exam rooms, each with three solid walls and a curtain for the door. As they headed toward the back, Roy asked, "Is he all right?"
She smiled at him. "He’s going to be fine." Halting in front of the rearmost cubbyhole, she slid aside the light blue curtain.
Roy saw a fortyish doctor with dark hair and a neatly trimmed mustache standing alongside Johnny. He appeared to be demonstrating the use of a bottle of eye drops.
"Roy, I wanted you to know how it went. Turns out I’ve got something called Bell’s Palsy."
"Bell’s Palsy?" Roy echoed.
"It’s sort of an inflammation of the facial nerve," the doctor said. "He’ll probably be like this for a few more days yet, maybe even a few weeks, then it should just start to clear up on its own. I’d say in six to eight weeks, he’ll be good as new. In the meantime, since he can’t fully close his right eye, he’s going to have to keep it well lubricated to prevent damage to the cornea. That means artificial tears during the day, and an eye patch when he sleeps."
"So what brought this on?" Roy asked. "The sinus infection?"
"Could be, but I doubt it. To be honest, it’s a bit of a mystery. No one’s entirely sure what causes it."
Roy hadn’t realized how tightly wound he’d been until he felt himself relaxing. Shaking his head at Johnny, he said, "Nothing’s ever simple with you, is it?"
Johnny just flashed him a grin even more lopsided than usual.
* * *
As he and Johnny took a seat in the booth of a small restaurant located a short walk from the hospital, Roy couldn’t help saying a silent prayer that this meal would go better than the last one.
Once Johnny had been released and they ascertained Karl’s chances were looking pretty good, Roy had called into the sheriff’s department. They had caught Daryl and recovered Johnny’s vehicle without so much as a scratch. The officer told him he needed to talk with Johnny, but suggested they go ahead and eat breakfast first, then call in for a ride to the station.
After their orders had been placed, Johnny said, "Roy, I still can’t believe what you did back there. It was really incredible."
Roy shrugged.
"No, I mean it. I thought you were a goner for sure."
"So did I. To tell the truth, you had me a little worried there, yourself."
A waitress came by and poured them each a cup of coffee. Once she had departed, Roy said, "Something like this makes me realize how stupid I’ve been acting the last couple weeks." He then proceeded to lay out his entire financial saga. It amazed him to discover how silly and inconsequential it now sounded.
"Roy, all you had to do was tell me. I’d be glad to help you out."
For the most part, Johnny tended to be a notorious penny pincher, but at times he could be surprisingly generous. Roy had feared just such an offer. With a firm shake of his head, he said, "I don’t borrow money from friends. It only leads to trouble."
"For heaven’s sake, Roy, I know you’re good for it."
Roy hesitated, giving the idea thought. He couldn’t deny it would be a help, and it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t pay him back. Maybe just this once it would be okay.
"Anyway," said Johnny, lifting his mug of coffee, "I’m gonna have plenty of extra cash for the time being."
Roy arched an inquiring eyebrow. "Oh?"
Taking a gulp, Johnny lunged for his napkin as a stream of brown liquid oozed out the corner of his mouth. He sighed. "I don’t think I’ll be going out much the next few weeks."
Roy made a valiant effort not to laugh, but didn’t quite succeed. "I think you’re right."
END