Page 36 of All The Things: The Last Thing He Needs Omnibus

Collin pointed at the screen in answer. Tommy looked at an aerial view shot from a helicopter with a bold caption under it that said “Breaking News” in bright red letters. Cop cars and aid units were scattered all over the road, people being wheeled away on stretchers, some in body bags.

The news cut to the anchor desk, and an old man with a bad comb-over and a striped tie was making the announcement. “From what we can gather so far, the shooting started about seven fifteen this evening. It began when police investigated what they thought was a domestic disturbance near the lot of abandoned buildings on the corner of Houser and Pine.” He cleared his throat and glanced at the monitor behind him before turning his face back to the camera. “The first officers on the scene were trying to break up the argument when one of the suspects opened fire. Things degraded quickly from there.”

The newscaster paused again and put his hand to his ear over what Tommy assumed was an earpiece.

Mike pointed at the screen again. “Is one of those guys Bobby?”

Tommy squinted at the picture. “Can’t tell from here. He’ll call us when he can.”

Tommy tried to sound unworried, but he knew he failed. His heart was pounding in his chest so hard it felt like a sledgehammer against his ribs. The anchor looked at the camera again and it felt like Tommy’s heart suddenly stopped beating altogether. He wondered, somewhere in the back of his mind, if that was even possible. If someone could get news so bad they could drop over dead from the shock and the pain of it.

It felt possible to him in that moment.

“We’ve got confirmation now. There were in fact four wounded officers at the scene. Two are still in critical condition at this time. Eight civilians have been injured as well. Most are in stable condition, though there was at least one fatality. Names of the injured and dead are not being released to the public. The police are now stating that this was, as we were wondering, gang related.

“We will resume regular broadcasting now, but keep your channels set to KWRH for more breaking news and be sure to catch our News at Eleven for more details of tonight’s shooting, as well as this week’s forecast.”

Tommy couldn’t believe the guy was smiling at him. Smiling like he’d just announced a set of lottery winners. Smiling like the ground under Tommy’s feet hadn’t shifted.

He felt Colleen’s hand on his shoulder. He could hear her voice, but the words didn’t make much sense: “Maybe we can call the hospital, or…?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered as he raked his hand through his hair. “I don’t have a fucking clue what to do. I….” Some part of his brain kicked in, and he grabbed his phone, punching in Bobby’s number on autopilot. It went straight to voice mail. “Christ!”

He threw his phone across the room and didn’t even think to be grateful when it didn’t break into pieces against the wall.

Carrie had curled herself into a little ball on the floor in front of the couch. She had silent tears streaming down her face, and she rocked herself like she’d done when she was little and had a nightmare. Tommy knew he should get down there, hold her, make her feel better, but he still couldn’t think. Everything was moving in slow motion. All he had was a jumble of problems with no clear solution. His whole life was problems with no answers, but this? This was throwing him for a loop so hard, he didn’t know if he’d come back from it.

Davey sat down next to Carrie and put his arm around her shoulder. He kissed her head and told her, “I’m sure he’s fine. Bobby’s always careful.”

She nodded her head in response, but didn’t look like she believed him. Her eyes were shining and full of fear when she looked up to Tommy. “Go find out, Tommy. Please?”

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and nodded his head. “Okay, Carrie. I’ll go down to the hospital and see what I can find out, all right?”

Carrie ran her arm across her face, wiping up snot and tears with her sleeve. Her lip was still quivering, but she wouldn’t let another tear fall. He had to hand it to her, she was an O’Shea through and through. “Okay, Tommy.”

He felt Colleen press the car keys into the palm of his hand, but he didn’t even glance at her as he headed for the door.

The car didn’t want to start at first. It chugged and hissed and sounded like it might not make it through the night, let alone the rest of the year. Tommy stopped trying for a minute. He dropped his head to the steering wheel and did something he hadn’t done in nearly twenty years. He prayed. Not a soft prayer, not a gentle request for help. Tommy’s prayer was full of rage and anger and hate for a God he didn’t think existed. Because if God was real, if there was anything out there that was supposed to look after him and his family, they were falling down on the job. To Tommy, God was worse, a bigger betrayer than his own father.

“Come on, you son of a bitch!” he yelled so loud and so hard his throat felt raw. “You start this fucking car right fucking now!” He pounded his hand on the steering wheel until he thought he might break his bones. “If you ever give me one fucking thing in my whole miserable life, give me this!”

He let out another strangled scream and he could feel the hot spike of tears building behind his eyes, but he tried the car again. Miraculously—or, more likely, coincidentally—the car roared to life, and Tommy tore out of the driveway like a demon nipped at his shadow.

The emergency room was worse than he’d ever seen it. Every corner of the waiting room was filled with people crying, wringing their hands, and talking in urgent whispers. Doctors and nurses were moving through the corridors like Olympic sprinters, and the line for the front desk was so deep with concerned people, Tommy couldn’t count them all.

He stood there, with his fingernails cutting into the palms of his hands because his fists were too tight, for at least a half hour. He ran through his mental list of contacts, trying to think of anyone he knew who might be able to get information faster. There was no one. Anyone in his life, his friends, his neighbors, were no help for something like this. If he needed a handgun, if he needed an ounce of weed or, hell, even heroin, he knew a guy who knew a guy. If he needed a bail bondsman or a fake ID, he could make a call and have a few options in ten minutes. He could probably even find someone in the morning to take a look at his car who would barter or do it for next to nothing. But this? He had to stand and wait and hope like everyone else in the world.

When he got to the front of the line, the woman in pink scrubs behind the desk looked like she was about six hours past her break time with no relief in sight. He tried to settle himself and not take anything out on her, but his fuse was cut short. “Hi, I’m here to check on someone,” he said, trying to take the edge out of his voice.

“Name?” She only glanced at him before looking back at her computer screen.

“Bobby, uh, Robert McAlister.”

She typed quickly and hit the enter button about eight times before looking up at Tommy again. “Are you family?”

“I….” He thought about just lying to her and saying yes. What could they do? How were they supposed to prove it if he wasn’t? But in the end, he said, “Uh, no, just a friend.”

She let out a heavy sigh and recited what she’d probably had to say a thousand times already that night. “I’m sorry, sir, I’m not allowed to release any information to anyone unless they’re family.”

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