Late Night with Andres (7 page)

“Will the bomb go off?” She spoke into his neck.

His chest rumbled as he answered her. “Hasn’t yet. So I hope not. How’re ya feeling? The foot?”

As if his words dissipated the adrenaline that had kept her foot from killing her, it was instantly white hot and throbbing again. She glanced over his shoulder and noticed the drops of blood she was leaving like a Goth version of Gretel. “Hurts.” She could barely make the word come out of her mouth. Then she felt like a baby because obviously, Sydney was so much worse off.

“My paramedics will get you cleaned right up and get you some painkillers.” He turned his face to give her a sympathy smile with his totally white freaking teeth.

“Can they inject it right into my eyes? I feel like my foot’s on fire.” She started to wiggle and struggle against the pain.

The policeman took the stairs like he carried girls around for a living. He only stopped once to adjust her. When they hit the side door, Milla took a deep breath of the fresh night air. Instantly her vision was blown apart by cameras flashing. She buried her face in Rocco’s chest out of instinct. Then she thought of her ass. Her ass was most likely hanging out of her underwear.

“My ass.” She wiggled again.

“On it. Can I get a blanket?” A cover was thankfully draped over her.

“Why are they here? Oh, wait, Gage. ”

Milla tried to look at the crowd she could hear mulling around. Rocco used his chin to keep her in place.

“They like you too. This whole thing has been broadcast live.” Rocco stepped into an ambulance and set Milla down on a gurney.

The doors closed and she was finally able to take stock of her surroundings. The paramedics were comforting with their quick actions, though Milla recoiled from their touch a few times.

“Brun, did you grab her toe?” a female EMT asked.

“Sorry, I didn’t see it, and they were doing the dismantle. You think there’s anything worth saving? I thought it would’ve been blown to bits.”

Rocco worked his way past Milla. “I’ve got to get back in there. If I see any toes, you get ’em. ” He smiled and patted her shoulder.

Milla frowned at the callous attitude toward her baby toe. She heard the back door open, and in rushed a million questions all running together:
“SheDyingWillShePoseForPlayboyGageDaxsonDying?”
The door slammed shut, trapping the questions outside. Milla interrupted the paramedic readying a vial of injectable drugs.

“How’s Sydney? How’s Gage? Did someone call my mom?”

He answered while he tied off her arm with a strip of rubber. “The bodyguard’s going into surgery soon, I’m sure. His vitals were good. He’s a brave guy.”

He slid the needle into her vein, and soon she felt cloudy and fuzzy. Milla slurred before she drifted off to a drug-induced sleep, “Daxson’s out, right?”

Blackness claimed her before the answer came.

“I’ll take the really bad news first.” Gage felt sweat trickle down the center of his back.

Brett delivered the news in a chipper voice, like it was a weather forecast. “Well, this bomb is real. I can’t believe you’ve managed the tradeoff once already because this trigger is insane. So the really bad news is that we need you to hang on to the button. If you twitch or freak out, you’ll blow us all to hell.”

Gage shook his head slowly. “All right. And the bad news?”

Brett looked to the ceiling. “If we crap our pants, it’s going to be televised. Where did they hide that fucking camera? Damn.”

“What do you mean?” Gage concentrated on keeping his finger still, keeping the pressure on.

“Well, there’s, like, a fucking hidden camera in the fucking walls, and the whole world has been watching this whole fucking thing. Andres is an ass. If we say fucking a lot, it will totally fucking piss them all off. They will wear out their fucking censor button.” Brett winked at the ceiling.

The other bomb squad member hadn’t said anything. He was focused on the device strapped to the gunman. He would refer to an iPad and then back to the wires.

Brett assessed Gage again and fixed the blanket protecting his neck. “You let me know if you have a fucking itch. I’ll scratch it for you. Though if you have a fucking wedgie, you’re on your own.”

Gage nodded and tried to smile. His hand was starting to shake.

“So, Larson, any clue?” Brett watched the bomb as well.

Larson’s voice was soothing and had a touch of a Southern accent in it. “No, I can’t decide if this guy was smart crazy or just crazy crazy.” Larson almost touched a wire and then pulled his hand away slowly. “How you fucking holdin’ up, Gage?” He watched Gage’s hand intently.

“I wish I could say fucking awesome, but I’m fucking not. I can’t make my fucking hand stop fucking shaking.” Gage took a deep breath and exhaled with purpose.

Larson placed a hand under Gage’s elbow to steady him and relieve some pressure. “You’re doing fucking great. This is not fucking fear but the exertion and fucking exhaustion.”

Larson’s touch seemed to calm the shaking a bit. The Southern man spoke to the ceiling. “Hey, send fucking Einstein in here with a few fucking containment shields. Looks like this thing’s getting fucking detonated tonight.”

When Milla came to at the hospital, it took her a minute to assess her situation. She had a nurse checking her fluid bag, which was attached to her IV.

“What’s going on?” She tried to sit up.

“Hi, nice to see you awake. How’s your pain?” The nurse had short hair and a huge smile.

Milla shook her head to clear the cobwebs. “Uh, my foot hurts. But it’s not as bad as it was. I have a headache, and I have to pee. How are Gage and Sydney?”

“Well, I can slide a bedpan under you or help you to the bathroom.”

Based on her response, it seemed the nurse had taken Milla’s sudden movement as a decision for the latter. She expertly maneuvered herself under Milla, trailing the IV pole like a sad dog.

“Well, I can’t say anything specifically, but one is still in the building with the bomb, and the other is in surgery and doing well, as far as I know.”

Milla spoke through the door when the nurse gave her a moment of privacy. “Gage isn’t out yet? How long have I been in here?”

“You were admitted to the hospital about an hour ago. We bandaged your foot and are waiting to see if they can find your toe. You’re on fluids and a few awesome painkillers. You want to see the progress of your friend?”

As Milla was tucked back into bed, she noticed the nurse’s hospital ID said Ann.

“Your parents are on their way. They’ve called every ten minutes or so. They’ll be so happy you’re awake.”

The phone next to Milla’s bed rang loudly. She jumped, and her IV needle shifted uncomfortably.

Ann answered. “Yes, ma’am. She’s right here. She looks great.” Ann passed the phone with an encouraging nod.

“Mom?” Milla watched as the TV displayed a very familiar room, but from a different angle.

“Oh, honey! I was worried sick! Your father and I are almost there.”

Milla heard her father yelling over her mother, “Baby girl! We’re almost there!”

“Run the light, Steve! Run it like a gazelle! Run the light!”

“Mom. Mom! Listen to me. Drive safely. I’m fine. I’m here.”

Milla wanted to comfort her parents more, but she was riveted to the TV, which Ann had flipped on. Now that she was able to stare at it, the room took shape. Gage was draped with a blanket and wearing a helmet. He was surrounded by two tense bomb squad guys. One held a wire clipper and the other wrapped Gage in a huge hug. The censor button beeped almost constantly, making the conversation unintelligible.

“We’re in the parking lot, honey! You’re my special girl! Honey! I love you!”

Milla hugged the phone to her chest as Ann aimed the remote at the TV.

“No, wait. Don’t change the channel!”

Larson had figured it out. Or so he said. Gage was just thankful the bomb guys hadn’t abandoned him. And they seemed pretty sure Larson could buy them some time after he snipped the wire. Brett and Larson didn’t seem worried, which had helped Gage hang on to the button. But he knew things weren’t exactly great when the guys had pounded fists with a look that clearly said
we’re fucked
.

The plan was simply to run. And running usually seemed easy, but right now his legs were locked up, and his bicep was burning. Still, Gage tried. “Listen, guys. Show me which fucking wire, and I’ll fucking cut it and run. No need for us all to take the same fucking lotto ticket.” He waited for a wire-cutting tutorial.

Brett smiled. “See, now I feel kind of fucking bad for telling my fucking girlfriend your dick was probably fucking small. She has your fucking picture fucking pasted on her fucking vibrator.”

Larson licked his lips as he settled a half-assed containment shield over the snoozing gunman’s torso. “Your fuckin’ girlfriend probably just fuckin’ dumped you for that fuckin’ remark.”

Brett laughed. “I bet she fucking did. Tits all right. We’re all going to blow our fucking balls off in a minute. Listen, ass nuzzler…” He touched Gage’s shoulder. “This is what we do for a fucking living. We never fucking leave until there’s no fucking bomb or a clear fucking countdown.”

Gage shook his head and took a deep breath.

“I did my fuckin’ best to jam this fucking freakshow,” Larson explained. “But this explosive is fucking improvised. We have to fucking run fast. I’m pretty sure if we get out of this fucking initial area we might be fucking okay.”

On the Internet, where hackers had the feed going without the interference of a censor button, Larson’s Southern accent had woman ripping off their panties and lighting them on fire. Twitter reflected the hostage room’s events with worldwide hashtags: #FUCKING was the first on the list. #Daxsonishot was the second. And the last two were #Greattits, which still lingered even though Milla was now absent, and #WTFTheDevilsFart, respectively.

After an improvised yoga class, where Brett asked Gage to move each of his limbs to make sure the blood was still flowing, it was almost go time. The men positioned themselves facing the door.

“On fucking three. Are you fucking bastards ready?” Brett grasped Gage under his sweaty armpits.

Larson had little excitement in his voice as he counted down: “Three…two…one…”

Chapter 12

Toes