CARL ARRIVED AT THE BOY'S BED, careful not to be seen by anyone. He felt very relieved to see the two murderers still there, handcuffed and lying on the cold floor, where he had ordered. Perhaps they were truly afraid of what might happen to them if they dared to leave. A slight smile was all Benedetti dared to show in relief.
— It's better if you stay there. — he said, satisfied.
He wondered whether it would really be wise to leave with the boy, but when he saw the cold gazes of the two enemies, he understood that the young man would not have another chance like that.
I need to get him out of here...!
He picked up the clothes he had left on the bed and approached the bedridden man's face to make sure he was awake. He forced a few pushes on his chin to wake him up. The rhythm of his breathing changed due to the discomfort, it was difficult, but he finally opened his eyes.
— Ah! Good! — exclaimed Benedetti with a placid smile. — He's not in a coma! I wouldn't know what to do...
The patient looked through his sleep-blurred eyes, and that was all the effort he could muster.
—What did you do to make them want to kill you like that, boy? — he asked thoughtfully.
The young man just closed his eyes again and continued his deep rest.
Benedetti removed the sheet and tried to dress him in something, using the clothes he had kept from the murderers. He was unable to do so, embarrassed and embarrassed by the stranger's nakedness. Finally, he rolled up the clothes and covered him again, laying them on the bed.
He could already hear murmurs coming from the hallways, which prompted him to continue with his plan. He pulled the stretcher that was in the corner of the room and, with some effort, laid the injured man on it, covering him and arranging his clothes in the corner, next to his feet. He concluded that the initial plan of making him walk like a healthy person would be terribly dangerous due to his injuries.
With a quick glance at the medical records, he verified what he had forgotten: the patient's name. Danny Martin was the baptism of the young man who was not even close to thirty years old and was already embracing death in so many different ways. He also saw, on a nearby table, an envelope with the words "belongings" written on it, already half-open, which suggested that the two killers might have tampered with it.
He looked at its contents and saw the boy's wallet, keys and a few papers, among other things. He was surprised to see the FBI credentials, which intrigued him greatly.
An FBI agent being targeted for assassination in a hospital bed?
Finally, he took everything and put it together with the stolen clothes he would take. The two men also had the profile of agents, but they did not carry any credentials or personal identification, which seemed curious to him.
The alarm went off. His attempt at the dumpster had turned into a fire. He looked through the door and saw nurses and doctors walking around in fear. He didn't hesitate, he unhooked the cables from the equipment that was monitoring the agent's condition and took only the IV, which was attached to the side. He looked at the two killers with contempt and pulled the stretcher out of the bed, heading towards the freight elevator. Someone passed by him in a hurry and, seeing him pushing the stretcher with the patient, gave him a strange, suspicious look, but he continued to act naturally and kept walking.
He took the elevator down, but not to the ground floor. He went straight to the underground parking lot. When he opened the elevator door, he looked around carefully before leaving with the stretcher and saw two nurses walking towards him.
Shit !
He whistled happily and left calmly. The two nurses, when they saw him leaving, dressed in a shirt and dress pants, looking as if he had spent a long day at work and still pushing the stretcher with an unconscious patient, were immediately startled.
— Hey! Who are you? What are you doing with the patient here in the parking lot? — one of them asked, with a tense look under his furrowed brow.
Benedetti took a deep breath and thought quickly.
Think, Carl, think!
Then he replied:
—Things are a little tense up there, boys. Looks like there's been a fire and everything. They stopped to look out and could hear the alarm blaring in the background.
—Isn't this the patient who was admitted tonight? — asked the other.
— Yes, it is him, but he will be transferred to another hospital. Since everything is crazy, they told me to bring him here and someone would know what to do...
—And where is the medical record? — asked the first one.
— That's right, the medical record... It must have been left in the room.
— What the hell! — one of them exclaimed indignantly. — I'm not telling you, Craig, this place is impossible to work with!
— I think I'll ask for a transfer — the other replied. — I'm going to the countryside, to that little town where my wife's family lives. See if I can get rid of all this stress here...
— At least if it's no different there, you'll be able to fish between shifts! — said the first one, walking towards the elevator.
— I'll go upstairs to get everything and you take him to the ambulance crew.
Benedetti watched the conversation thinking about what he would do to get rid of the nurse who had stayed with him.
"Come on," said the nurse, "let's get our boy to the ambulance."
They took a few steps, but before they could go to the right place, Benedetti glanced back at the elevator and saw that he had already gone up with the nurse; no one else was there at that moment. The man who accompanied him began to mumble about problems with his work at the hospital, but Carl Benedetti barely understood what he was saying, to which he replied:
— I'm sorry, friend.
— Sorry for what? — asked the man as he pushed the stretcher.
— For this reason.
The man barely had time to see what had hit him. Benedetti hit him in the back of the head with the butt of his revolver and tried to catch him when he fell to the ground. He pulled him to the corner and then ran, pushing the stretcher with the stunned boy to where his car was.