Chapter 4 - Shadows in the Hallway and the Price of Intervention
While the surgery progressed in grim, silent efficiency inside Trauma Bay 2, the situation outside in the deserted corridors of St. Jude’s began to curdle.
The rhythmic hum of the vending machine down the hall was interrupted by the heavy, synchronized thud of rubber-soled boots approaching from the main lobby.
Vance, standing sentinel outside the double doors with his hand resting casually inside his wool coat, narrowed his eyes.
From the shadows of the ambulance bay entrance, 3 figures emerged.
They wore nondescript black tactical jackets, their faces half-hidden beneath the brims of dark baseball caps.
They did not look like cops.
Cops wore uniforms, or at least carried themselves with the bureaucratic arrogance of badge-holders.
These men moved like ghosts—quiet, purposeful, and heavily armed.
Vance stepped away from the door, blocking the narrow hallway completely.
“End of the line, boys,” Vance said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that carried easily down the linoleum corridor.
“This wing is closed for private business.”
The lead man stopped ten feet away.
He had a jagged scar running from the corner of his left eye down to his jawline, and his right hand was hooked casually through the strap of a suppressed submachine gun tucked under his arm.
“We heard there was an accident,” the scarred man said, his voice flat, carrying a distinct northern accent.
“Just came to check on the patient. Word in the district is that little Toby didn’t make the drop tonight.”
“Word travels fast,” Vance replied, his fingers curling around the grip of his pistol inside his coat.
“Too bad it didn’t tell you that you’re walking into a graveyard.”
“Dominic can’t be everywhere at once,” the scarred man sneered, taking another step forward.
“The Boss is busy inside,” Vance said, his teeth flashing in a cold, humorless grin.
“And right now, he’s in a very bad mood. Turn around, or I’ll save the coroner the trouble of picking the slugs out of your teeth.”
Behind the scarred man, his 2 companions spread out, their hands dropping toward their waistbands with practiced stealth.
Vance didn’t blink.
Inside the trauma bay, through the reinforced glass window set into the double doors, Clara could see the shadows shifting outside.
She paused for a fraction of a second, her hand holding a clamp steady while Althaus worked feverishly to tie off a bleeding vessel deep inside Toby’s pelvic bowl.
“Mr. Gallo,” Clara said quietly, not looking away from the patient.
“You have company in the hall.”
Dominic didn’t look up from the IV bag.
“Vance knows what to do.”
“There are three of them,” Clara noted, her voice devoid of panic, sounding more like a weather reporter tracking a distant storm.
“And they’re carrying suppressed hardware. If they start shooting through these doors, the glass isn’t going to stop a high-velocity round.”
Dominic finally raised his head.
His asphalt-colored eyes locked onto the frosted glass of the doors.
He didn’t look worried.
He looked bored.
The kind of profound, ancient boredom that only a man who had survived a dozen assassination attempts could muster.
“They’re scouts from the Rinaldi crew,” Dominic said softly, as if he were discussing the weather.
“They thought they could catch us with our trousers down while Toby was making the run from the docks. They didn't expect us to bring him here.”
“Why St. Jude’s?” Clara asked, dropping a used clamp into the steel basin with a sharp clatter.
“Why not a private doctor? Why bring a dying boy to a public charity ward where the staff drinks battery acid for coffee?”
Dominic looked back at her, his expression softening just enough to reveal the exhaustion beneath the stone.
“Because this is the only place in the city where the cameras don’t work, Hayes,” Dominic said quietly.
May you like
“And it’s the only place where someone like you is crazy enough to work the graveyard shift alone without asking too many questions.”
Outside, the first muffled thud of a suppressed gunshot echoed down the hallway, followed immediately by the shattering of glass and the dull thud of a heavy body hitting the floor.
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