“Let’s go, asshole!” yelled Sue out the open window of her Audi. She had lingered too long at Sheila’s bedside at Good Samaritan and was running late.
Sue and Sheila’s unlikely friendship was bound by blood, specifically the blood of a would-be mugger Sheila had knocked out cold when he attempted to steal Sue’s Gucci handbag. Sheila had noticed the sketchy suspect on the security feed of the parking garage she managed and made it to Sue’s rescue just in time. While waiting for the police, the pair realized they shared an obsession with exercise and often met for smoothies after working out.
Sue missed their two-way conversations, but had to admit that Sheila, in her comatose state, was Sue’s dream therapist. No leading questions, no judgmental looks, only blissful silence while Sue talked and talked. And the doctors said Sheila could only benefit by hearing the familiar voices of friends and loved ones. It was a win-win situation. Today, in lieu of flowers, Sue had left Sheila a carton of her favorite cigarettes, Capri Menthols.
An old red Subaru sat at the intersection, giving everyone in the goddamn city the right-of-way. Eventually, the car turned the corner at a glacial pace, and Sue sped ahead, feeling a slight thrill as the sedan hit a small crater and briefly took flight. “Calm down, for the love of god. You’ll make it in time,” she spoke aloud to herself. As a birthday tradition, Sue was treating herself to a full regimen of treatments at the Relentless Rejuvenation Clinic, and she hated missing even a moment of the spa experience.
When Sue finally reached the entrance to the clinic’s parking garage, her back wheel hit another pothole. Distracted, she glanced over her shoulder, then quickly swung her attention forward when she heard the soft oof of her vehicle making contact with a living thing. The sound was distinct—a tell-tale whoosh of breath being forced from a body. She knew it too well. “Not again!” she wailed. Sue slammed on the brakes and sat stunned, her hands grasping the steering wheel tightly. Maybe it was a deer, she thought. She realized how unlikely that was in the very urban Alphabet District, and frantically considered the other possibilities—a giant squirrel or one of those sixty-pound raccoons people were always going on about. Please don’t let it be a dog, she prayed silently.
She opened the driver’s side door and stepped out, walking to the front of the vehicle. A small dent now marred the otherwise pristine bumper, which had been replaced since Sue’s encounter with the mayor’s awful daughter.
Doesn’t look too bad, she thought. Then she heard a groan coming from the sidewalk to her right.
A man lay on the concrete, covered in flowers and clutching his arm. He mumbled over and over, “He’s trying to kill me. He’s trying to kill me.” The man’s bright yellow sneakers looked disturbingly familiar.
Sue rushed over, ignoring the honks and curses as cars started to line up behind her. “Hey, it’s going to be okay,” she said, brushing the flowers away from the man’s face.
He looked up at her with eyes that turned from fear to joy, and then burst into tears. “Sue, is it really you? Am I dead? Are you an angel?”
Sue, suddenly feeling far less concerned, pulled away from her estranged husband. “George, why did you run into my car?”
George wiped his tears away with his good arm and started ranting. “This kid. He had a gun. He tried to kill me in the parking lot.” George pointed to the garage ramp. “We have to call the police.”
“George, don’t be an idiot. No one is trying to kill you. Except yourself, apparently. I’ll drive you to the emergency room.”
She helped George into the passenger seat and buckled him in, then got into her seat. As quickly as she dared, she took a right on Burnside, then barreled down Twenty-Third Avenue, honking at every pedestrian who dared to try and cross the street.
Finally they reached Good Samaritan, where she yanked the car into the ambulance lane and parked. She stepped out, then opened George’s door and let him lean heavily on her as he stumbled to his feet.
An orderly rushed from the Emergency Room entrance. “Ma’am, you can’t park here. This area is for emergency vehicles only,” he said.
Sue turned her fiery glare on the hapless orderly, pleased by how he shrank back in terror. “My husband was the victim of a hit-and-run, which qualifies as an emergency, which makes my car an emergency vehicle, right?”
The orderly gulped and said, “Well, no ma’am. Technically, it does not.”
“Well, what do I do about him?” she said, nodding toward George.
“I’ll fetch a wheelchair and we’ll get him right to the registration desk. Just give me a moment.”
George panicked and turned to Sue, “No. You can’t leave me. He could have followed me. He had a gun. A gun!”
“Do you see what I’m dealing with?” said Sue to the orderly. He’d reappeared with a wheelchair in record time. “He’s having some kind of emotional breakdown. Trust me, it’s not the first time. I need to stay with him. You park my car, I’ll take him inside.”
The orderly nervously looked back toward the Emergency Room doors.
“Please.”
“Fine.”
She tossed him the keys. Reaching into her wallet, she pulled out five twenties and handed them to him. “For your trouble. And please be careful with her. She’s temperamental like her mother.”