Come Out Tonight Read Online Free Page B

I’m giving this my full attention.   Can we meet?   Do you think you’ll be able to fly in?” I asked.   “I’m sure you’ll want to see your daughter, and we could use some background information on Sherry.”
    “Of course,” Dr. Pollack said.   “We’ll make reservations right away on the red eye flight to New York .”
    “But Phil,” I heard in the background.
    “If you give me a flight number, someone can pick you up,” I offered.
    “No, no need at all, detective.   We’ll see you at the hospital tomorrow morning.   Good bye.”
     
*      *     *
     
    The next morning I slept in till eight. The only red eye flight I had found coming into New York from LA was an Air Tran stopping in Atlanta and getting in eight thirty at LaGuardia.   Figuring on no delay, no baggage, and no trouble picking up a cab, they could theoretically be at the hospital by nine thirty.   I took a shower, dressed, and reckoned I could grab a coffee at the Starbucks at 168 th and Broadway.    I’d planned on taking the Q train to 42 nd Street and catching the Seventh Avenue local to 168 th , saving the precinct a few dollars.   But by the time I was ready, it was near nine, and I knew I’d have to ditch the Starbucks and grab a cab.
    Unfortunately, by the time I got downstairs there was a steady drizzle along with a gusty wind.   Pedestrians had their umbrellas unfurled, and the cabs were all whizzing past, lights off, none stopping.   I pulled my rain hood up a notch tighter, and walked down to the light at 64 th .   I stood there steadfast with my right arm out like a Nazi salute while cabs continued to speed past until the light changed, and they had to stop.   Four cars down was a northbound cab, light off, but no passenger inside as far as I could see. I ran over and wrenched the door open.
    “I’m off-duty,” the cabby announced, not looking back.   I stood steadfast in the threshold, drenched, rivulets running off my hood until he looked back at me.   After a moment of standoff, he waved me in.   “Where to?” he sighed.   
    “ St. Vincent ’s Hospital,” I said, closing the door. He stepped on the gas and set off into the wet street, past the dozens of people with their umbrellas blown inside out, waiting in puddles for cabs that wouldn’t stop.
    I walked into Sherry’s hospital room at 9:27, surprised to find that Dr. and Mrs. Pollack were already there.   Their flight had either been early, or the cab driver had wings on his wheels.   Or, perhaps, who knows, maybe they had hired a private plane.   I hadn’t considered that before, but from what I had found by googling Phillip Pollack, he was one of the most highly regarded plastic surgeons in the country.   Most likely money would be no object if he decided to speed to his daughter’s bedside.
    They didn’t notice me at first, hunched over Sherry’s bed as they both were.   There was some s niffling, nose blowing, muffled whispers.  
    “Sherry!   Sherry Darling!   Look, Phil. She turned toward me!   I think she hears us!”
    “Don’t be silly, Rhonda.   She’s in a coma.”
    “There, see?   She just recognized your voice.”
    “You’re jumping to conclusions.”
    “I’m not jumping to conclusions, Phil.   A mother knows,” Rhonda said, touching her daughter’s pale cheek.
    “Sherry?   Sherry?” her father said.   Long pause.   “Forget it, Rhonda.   She can’t hear us.   Let’s go get a cup of coffee.”
    I cleared my throat, and they turned toward me.   I walked toward them, hand out.
    “Hello, Dr. Pollack.   Mrs. Pollack.   I’m Detective Sirken,” I said.   “Sorry to have to meet under these….”
    “It can’t be helped,” Phillip Pollack replied, shaking my hand.   He was powerfully built; with graying hair and steel blue eyes that seemed to take my measure in a single scan.
    Behind him, beautifully dressed but with eyes rimmed in red, Rhonda stood holding the limp hand of her