Page 9 of No Mistake

“You don’t want to do that. I need you to come with me.” He dropped the light tone, and instead pitched his voice low and serious. Chloe’s face paled.

“No. Go away or I’ll scream, I mean it.” She pushed on the door trying to close it.

Ricardo kicked at it, easily breaking the safety chain. Chloe stumbled back, sheer terror on her face.

“Don't make this difficult. I just need you to help a friend of mine. That’s all.”

Chloe backed further away from him, scrambling across the sofa. As she reached for her phone, Ricardo was on top of her in an instant, knocking it to the floor. Chloe lashed out, kicking and punching. She caught him in the groin. He cursed, momentarily releasing his grip. She jumped up. Not quick enough. Ricardo stuck out his leg and tripped her. She slammed into the side table before crashing to the floor. The table and lamp went with her, glass shards raining down. He slapped her hard across the face, then kicked her twice in the stomach before grabbing a handful of hair and jerking her head back. She screamed. He pulled his gun from his waistband and pressed it to her temple. Chloe froze.

He hissed, “You will do exactly what I say, or I will fucking kill you. Understand?”

Chloe nodded; eyes wide. Keeping his grip on her hair, Ricardo yanked her to her feet.

“I’m going to let go, but if you try to run, or scream, you’ll die right here. Slowly.” He released her. Chloe stayed quiet; her eyes fixed on the gun. She was shaking, eyes wet. Terrified.

“We’re going to leave and go to my car. You’ll walk calmly beside me. Any sudden moves, I’ll break your arm.” He tucked the gun back in his pants and took her elbow, steering her out the door. Ricardo watched for cameras, kept his head down, and guided Chloe to the parking lot.

Once inside the car, he zip-tied her hands, then started the engine. “What will you need to patch up a gunshot wound?”

She looked at him wide-eyed.

“Gunshot wound. What do you need?” Ricardo shouted, losing his patience.

“I... I... don’t...I’m a resident.”

“Well, you’re it, so tell me what you need. I won't ask you again.”

“OK... er... gauze... knife... tweezers... pain meds. Where was he shot?”

“Leg, I think. Do you have supplies here?”

Chloe shook her head. Ricardo cursed, shoved the car in gear and screeched out of the parking lot. Then he made a call through Bluetooth.

“How is he?”

“Alive, but bad. There’s a lot of blood. It won’t stop and he’s gray. I mean really gray.”

“I’m on my way with a doctor. One of you needs to go get medical supplies.” He glanced at Chloe. “Tell him what you need.”

Chloe shook her head. “I... I don’t... he might need surgery.”

“Don't piss me off. Tell him what you need now.” He pulled the gun from his waistband, pressed it to her side, glancing between her and the road.

She listed off a number of items.

“You got that?” Ricardo asked.

“Yeah, got it. Not sure he’s going to last that long.”

“He cannot die. He dies, it’s on you,” Ricardo spat. Luis Vitelli could not die.

“Get a towel and put pressure on the wound,” Chloe said. “Where is the wound?”

“Thigh.”

“You have to slow the blood loss down. Press as hard as you can. If you have a belt, tie it tight around his leg above the wound.” Ricardo glanced her way, surprised. Her doctor ethic must be overtaking her fear.

“Do as she says and send Diego to get the supplies.” Ricardo ended the call.

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