Starrell pulled open the door to the second floor. He looked both ways: no men in suits. He ran to the right. He felt the blood speeding through his body. His legs kept pumping. Like a fucking machine, he told himself. He brushed by two orderlies and an old man using a walker. He thought he heard the door to the stairwell bang open. There was more yelling. Don’t look back, he told himself. Only suckers do.

He turned a corner. Another long corridor. Shit, shit, shit, he said to himself. How the fuck do I get out? He ran its length and entered another stairwell. The basement, he thought. Maybe a parking garage. Keep on going down. He jumped the first flight. Hit the landing. Jumped the next flight.

“Fuck!” he shouted. A metal gate blocked access to the stairs leading to the lower levels. “To get to the parking levels,” a sign read, “use the stairwell at the western end of the corridor.” He pulled on the gate. It was locked. He heard the door to the second floor slam open. He burst into the hallway and ran.

He raced by visitors and patients. He shoved aside two children holding flowers. He thought he was running toward the entrance. But he had lost his sense of direction. He couldn’t feel his legs. Just blast by those Secret Service dudes, he told himself. Like through the backfield. The motherfuckers are right around the comer. Fuckin’ party time, Starrell said to himself.

He rounded the corner and saw the front entrance to the hospital. And six suits between him and the door. They were coming his way. There were shouts behind him.

I am fucked, he thought. Super-fucked. He remembered a coach from a long time ago: Keep that C of G low,’cause, you ain’t going down, if you’re already down. Starrell lowered his head and tried to find more strength in his legs.

Then the world exploded. There was a crash. Glass was flying. Several suits dropped to the ground. An ambulance had driven right through the front doors and into the lobby. An alarm went off. A siren started up. People were screaming. The ambulance skidded toward the reception desk. Nurses were running to get out of its path.

Starrell looked up. Willie was in the ambulance, waving at him from the passenger side and shouting something. Starrell spotted two suits coming toward him, but other people were in the way. He pushed bodies aside and leaped over one of the suits on the floor.

He could hear Willie’s voice. “Move it, man! Move it!”

There was one more suit. Starrell saw a gun. He heard several shots. He saw the suit go down. He wondered if he was too pumped to feel a bullet. He then noticed Anjean leaning over Willie, holding a gun.

“Fuckin’ shit,” Starrell said and sprinted toward the ambulance.