Olympus Drive Book 3: According to Plan

Chapter 59

Detective Stamos

I get to the hospital just after Reynolds does. I was busy trying to track down the source of the gunshots (i.e. looking for Thyme). But this wasn't him. Not directly, this time.

"Riviera?" I ask, as I walk into the ICU hall. Mostly quiet. Winfell is a quiet town, usually.

Reynolds nods, tears in her eyes, "I followed the blood---he ran two miles. He tried to go home, he ran two miles after he was shot."

"Shit," I say.

"His phone's dead, he couldn't call an ambulance for himself," a man, bloody, is sitting there, hands bloody and a white shirt splattered with the boy's blood.  He's sitting next to Dean which is random, but not that random Dean winds up places.

"You found him?" I ask, "How? Sorry you are---?"

"My name's Omar, the boy's worked for me for the past three summers, on my boat. He was supposed to come over this evening and he'd texted me this morning saying he'd had a row with his parents. I was hoping he'd decided to go to his boyfriend's," the man says, wearily.

"His phone doesn't have service," Reynolds says, wincing as she sobs, "I assume he knew  he was going door to door."

"They fucking canceled his phone?" Omar says.

"How is he?" I ask.

"No brain activity," Reynolds says, almost choking on the words. "The hospital called all of his family members. They're gonna keep him on life support until they come. But he bled out before they found him."

"Come here," I say, hugging her. That kid meant something to her, she was fond of him, like I am my trouble makers, and this kid didn't mean any harm.

"He ran two miles," she sobs, into my good evening suit, "He must have been so scared."

"What was the caliber of gun? The range?"

"They tried to stich him up so some of the evidence is gone but—twelve gauge, it opened his back up, tore him open," Reynolds says, shaking, "They couldn't save either of his kidneys. That's what took him, that and the blood loss, it ripped him open and they can't get blood back in him fast enough, and he's not strong enough for any surgery."

"Shit,"  someone mowed down a kid? Oh really? Am I gonna be lucky enough to be able to arrest him before someone in this crack town kills them? Probably not.

"Yeah, was he---did he say anyone was after him was he fighting with anyone in  school?" Reynolds asks Omar.

"No, just his parents, he spent his evenings and Saturdays helping me or mowing his yard for his mother, that or with his boyfriend. He didn't cause trouble," Omar says.

"What about you? What do you know?" I ask Dean, shoving his leg.

"Nothing---I was hanging with Omar so I said I'd help look for the kid," Dean says, shrugging.

"You called 911," Reynolds says, "How did you know it was a gunshot wound?"

"You've both met my brother Thyme?"

"Oh excellent reason," I say, taking a deep breath. Okay. Need to go and find whoever did this. Now. Before things get worse.

An inhuman scream interrupts my thoughts, and a boy, clad in a too big green sweater, rips past us and into the ICU room, the scream still coming from his lips. A girl, red faced, follows him, wearing a blue NYU sweatshirt and her hair done messily in a bun like she was in bed.

"What happened?" she asks, crying and looking at us.

"We don't know," Omar says, "I found him shot in the street—he was out when I got there. I'm sorry, love."