that a taxi meet him at the front entrance of the hospital in ten minutes.
“I need you to be on time,” Chambers said. “But I want you to wait for me in case I get delayed. If I’m not there, I’ll be on my way.”
After receiving assurances the driver would be given his instructions, he hung up.
Chambers quickly combed his fingers through his hair, then stepped out of the room. A couple of doctors were standing by the nurses’ station, signing patient charts. Except for an elderly woman shuffling along with an IV stand, the rest of the corridor was empty.
As he made his way down the hall, he felt a pulling sensation in his leg. The pain was still there, but it wasn’t as intense as he remembered. He made eye contact with one of the nurses and nodded, figuring that a direct approach would be less conspicuous than avoiding her gaze and appearing shifty. Once down the corridor, he pilfered a patient chart that was hanging in a wall receptacle and carried it with him into the elevator. He pretended to be absorbed in a printout of diagnostic test results as he descended the floors, the doors eventually opening at the main level.
He stepped out of the elevator with a doctor and a nurse. The physician headed left toward the emergency room, and the nurse matched him stride for stride in the direction of the front entrance. Through the clear glass doors, he saw the taxi pulling up to the curb. But he slowed his pace when he caught sight of the security guard stationed off to the right.
Chambers closed the patient chart, tucked it beneath his arm, and did his best to stride normally, and confidently, toward the doors. As he passed the guard, he threw a quick half smile at the man and continued on, out into the cold night air. With only a pair of hospital scrubs covering his skin, gooseflesh immediately popped out across his arms. He calmly sat down in the warm backseat of the cab and slammed the door shut.
“Okay, Doc, where are we going?” the driver asked. He had a walrus mustache and a dash of silver in his wavy black hair.
Realizing he had not formulated a plan, Chambers directed his gaze downward, toward the seat. He could ask for a Laundromat and hope that someone who happened to be of similar build was doing his laundry. Or, he could try to steal a pair of pants and a shirt from a store. Either way, there were risks.
“Where’s the nearest mall?” he asked.
The driver smiled. “Three blocks down. You didn’t need a cab to take you three blocks.”
“That’s okay. My car’s down and I don’t have long before I have to be... back in surgery.”
The cabbie nodded and pulled away from the curb. Chambers knew he did not have any money to pay for the ride—let alone to buy clothes with—but he did have one thing of value: appearance and presumption.
As the man pulled up in front of Macy’s, Chambers leaned across the bench seat and told him he would be back in fifteen minutes. The driver nodded and shifted the car into park as Chambers left the cab and headed into the mall.
He found a directory and quickly scanned the list of potential targets. He wanted a store that was large enough that he could put the clothing on without having to check into a fitting room suite, where an employee might be counting the number of items with which he entered—and exited.
Macy’s was his best bet. He strode into men’s casual wear and made a quick assessment of the available sales staff. One clerk was at the register with a customer and one was straightening and refolding clothing on a display. Since he was already somewhat conspicuous in hospital scrubs, he knew he needed to be fast and be out.
Surveying the display of Badge jeans, he picked a stonewashed pair—they’d be harder to tell new from used—and grabbed a 34 waist, hoping it would fit. He yanked off the large cardboard placards that were fastened to the rear pocket with clear nylon filament and bent down behind a rack that displayed
“I need you to be on time,” Chambers said. “But I want you to wait for me in case I get delayed. If I’m not there, I’ll be on my way.”
After receiving assurances the driver would be given his instructions, he hung up.
Chambers quickly combed his fingers through his hair, then stepped out of the room. A couple of doctors were standing by the nurses’ station, signing patient charts. Except for an elderly woman shuffling along with an IV stand, the rest of the corridor was empty.
As he made his way down the hall, he felt a pulling sensation in his leg. The pain was still there, but it wasn’t as intense as he remembered. He made eye contact with one of the nurses and nodded, figuring that a direct approach would be less conspicuous than avoiding her gaze and appearing shifty. Once down the corridor, he pilfered a patient chart that was hanging in a wall receptacle and carried it with him into the elevator. He pretended to be absorbed in a printout of diagnostic test results as he descended the floors, the doors eventually opening at the main level.
He stepped out of the elevator with a doctor and a nurse. The physician headed left toward the emergency room, and the nurse matched him stride for stride in the direction of the front entrance. Through the clear glass doors, he saw the taxi pulling up to the curb. But he slowed his pace when he caught sight of the security guard stationed off to the right.
Chambers closed the patient chart, tucked it beneath his arm, and did his best to stride normally, and confidently, toward the doors. As he passed the guard, he threw a quick half smile at the man and continued on, out into the cold night air. With only a pair of hospital scrubs covering his skin, gooseflesh immediately popped out across his arms. He calmly sat down in the warm backseat of the cab and slammed the door shut.
“Okay, Doc, where are we going?” the driver asked. He had a walrus mustache and a dash of silver in his wavy black hair.
Realizing he had not formulated a plan, Chambers directed his gaze downward, toward the seat. He could ask for a Laundromat and hope that someone who happened to be of similar build was doing his laundry. Or, he could try to steal a pair of pants and a shirt from a store. Either way, there were risks.
“Where’s the nearest mall?” he asked.
The driver smiled. “Three blocks down. You didn’t need a cab to take you three blocks.”
“That’s okay. My car’s down and I don’t have long before I have to be... back in surgery.”
The cabbie nodded and pulled away from the curb. Chambers knew he did not have any money to pay for the ride—let alone to buy clothes with—but he did have one thing of value: appearance and presumption.
As the man pulled up in front of Macy’s, Chambers leaned across the bench seat and told him he would be back in fifteen minutes. The driver nodded and shifted the car into park as Chambers left the cab and headed into the mall.
He found a directory and quickly scanned the list of potential targets. He wanted a store that was large enough that he could put the clothing on without having to check into a fitting room suite, where an employee might be counting the number of items with which he entered—and exited.
Macy’s was his best bet. He strode into men’s casual wear and made a quick assessment of the available sales staff. One clerk was at the register with a customer and one was straightening and refolding clothing on a display. Since he was already somewhat conspicuous in hospital scrubs, he knew he needed to be fast and be out.
Surveying the display of Badge jeans, he picked a stonewashed pair—they’d be harder to tell new from used—and grabbed a 34 waist, hoping it would fit. He yanked off the large cardboard placards that were fastened to the rear pocket with clear nylon filament and bent down behind a rack that displayed
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