The Sergeant, rebuffed at every turn, loaded his ass up in his unmarked car and sped off to the hospital. His men weren’t at Porter. They weren’t at The Medical Center at Aurora. The University Hospital hadn’t seen them. The longer he looked the farther afield he got.Hospitals are like Faraday Cages. There are masses of copper wires, copper pipe, grounded metal studs and rebar, oxygen piping and sundry articles demanded by city, state and Federal regulations that the cop two-way radios of the day didn’t work inside. The Sergeant was at a loss until ... their work having been completely frustrated by bureaucrats ... and lack of warrants ... that they returned to their squad car and called in.“Where are you?” he enquired.“At the hospital,” was the response.“Which one?”“Head Trauma Center,” spoke the radio.“Why there?”“The first responders took the victim to the closest...”“Which victim? The girl or the guy?”“Both.”Wendy fretted.David had no idea.The voices in his head couldn’t. .." Samantha stammered. She turned to Cynthia, no doubt hoping to find someone to back her up, "and you're okay with this? With him just going back and forth between the two of us?" I never made an assumption about what we were," Cynthia raised both hands, "Jackson's fun to talk to and he's a good lay, we never put expectations on each other beyond that. Although," she reached forward and grabbed Jackson's spoon, pointing it menacingly at Jackson, "last month when I needed help cleaning the capacity core on your cruiser, and you said 'oh I've got physical training to catch up on', I swear to god if you blew me off to get some action from her..."Jackson grinned, "Actual PT, I swear," he said, truthfully, "I like to think I'm a little more respectful than ditching one of you for the other." Cynthia used the spoon to steal a bite of chocolate paste from his plate, and he didn't stop her. Samantha seemed completely out of her element and bewildered, but she wasn't leaving. His CPU stopped.
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