CHAPTER
34
Patrick didn't think the man in uniform was a cop. There had been plenty of cops in the mall. From what he remembered, all of them had their guns drawn and their badges displayed prominently, strapped to a thigh, tacked to a vest. One even had his fastened to the side of his knit stocking cap. This guy didn't have a badge. Just a uniform and an embroidered name tag that read FRANK. Patrick guessed security. Was he with the fake paramedic guy? How hard was it to get a uniform? He wondered if his name was really even Frank.
One thing for certain, the guy was big, burly, solid. One side of his jaw looked crooked. He looked like the type of guy you could hit and he'd never even feel it. He reminded Patrick of a bully who picked on him in junior high. He'd gotten plenty of blackened eyes and bloodied lips. This guy towered over Patrick, too. But maybe he wasn't so fast. And if he didn't have a gun?
"Just think it's odd," Frank said. He had an accent, but not a Minnesota accent. More like Brooklyn which only increased Patrick's paranoia. "Why you coming out the side door like you're sneaking off?"
"It was the first door I came to."
"You get hurt?" He pointed to the blood on Patrick's sleeve. He hadn't realized it was there.
He glanced up at Frank, gauging what direction to go with this guy.
"Yeah, but they patched me up."
"You look a little bit woozy, yet. Might not wanna be slipping out the back until you have all your wits about you."
Okay, maybe Frank was a good guy. That was the downside of not trusting people. Sometimes good guys slipped through the cracks and you didn't recognize them.
"Actually, I was looking for my girlfriend," Patrick confessed. "She got hurt, too. I'm hoping she didn't go wandering out into the cold. Did you see anybody else come out this door?"
Frank stared at him hard. Had Patrick been wrong about him? He glanced around the parking lot and shook his head.
"Some commotion going on around front. Nobody back here." Then he grinned at Patrick, coffee-stained teeth, a gap between the front two. "Just you." Despite the grin he was still examining Patrick. "They found another bomber." His eyes stayed firmly planted on Patrick, watching for his reaction.
"Another??" Patrick asked.
"Out in the parking lot," he continued, warming his gloved hands together in front of him, as if to show Patrick how huge his hands were. "Asked us to keep a lookout for any others."
"Oh man, I can't believe there're more." Patrick grabbed at his arm as if it suddenly hurt. "Haven't they done enough damage?" Then he rubbed at his eyes as if they were starting to blur. "You know, you're right. I probably should go back in. I don't feel so good."
"What about your girlfriend?" Frank wasn't convinced.
Patrick shrugged and continued to hold his arm right over the stain of Rebecca's blood. "Maybe she didn't come this way. You said you didn't see anybody else. She's probably still inside looking for me."
He turned to go back into the hotel.
"Hey, kid," Frank said and Patrick winced.
He stopped. The door was so close, about five steps away. Maybe he should just make a run for it. But what if the door was locked from the outside?
When he glanced back, Frank had a long nightstick in his huge gloved hand, slapping it against his other hand. Where the hell did that come from?
"Don't go sneaking out any back doors anymore, okay?" Frank told him. "Everyone's a little on edge right now. You know what I mean?"
He flipped a switch. The nightstick was actually a long-handled flashlight. And then Frank turned, shined a tunnel of light in front of him and left into the dark.
Patrick took a couple of gulps of cold air. Paranoid. He was too damned paranoid. He went back into the hotel. Rebecca had to be inside somewhere.