Table Of ContentThe Arranger
L.J. Sellers
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
The Arranger
L.J. Sellers
Chapter 1
Sat., May 6, 2023, 11:37 a.m.
Lara Evans attached the LifePac and hit the man with two hundred joules of
electrical current. His eyes popped open, his pulse stabilized, and piss flooded
his sweatpants. Terrific. He would live long enough to regret cutting off two
fingers in an attempt to collect disability funds. She cauterized his bloody
stumps and watched him breathe for a few minutes. Gangrene or sepsis might
kill him eventually, but she’d done all she could. Lara stepped back from the
sweat-soaked couch and packed up her equipment.
“You’re taking him to the hospital, aren’t you?” The man’s wife grabbed
Lara’s arm, her bony fingers pulsing with misery.
“You said he didn’t have a med card.”
“If you leave him in the twenty-foot zone, they have to treat him.”
“I’m sorry, but I could lose my license if I do.” Lara shoved the portable
defib into its pouch and strapped the pack around her waist. She had to carry it in
public at all times, the privilege of having a freelance paramedic license. With
the growing doctor shortage, anyone with medical skills was fully utilized.
“He has heart disease and needs an artery vac. This was our chance for
treatment.”
“Oh crap.” Lara hated this aspect of her job. “Do you have a car?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll help you get him into the vehicle, but you have to drive him.”
Lara hurried to her med van and hauled out the wheeled gurney she rarely
used. She and the gaunt wife struggled to get the now-conscious but heavyset
man onto the gurney, then into their small car.
“When you get to the hospital, pull him out, honk the horn and drive away.”
Lara gave her a grim smile. “Good luck.” Walking away from the noncs, as non-
covered citizens were called, never got easier, but she dwelled on it less now.
She’d once been a homicide detective, a job that had toughened her for the new
world.
She started toward her van and her iCom beeped. Another 909 emergency.
The location appeared on her screen in map form, a secluded home only a half
mile away. Lara acknowledged the assignment with a push of her thumb and ran
to her vehicle. Her body hummed with adrenaline as she raced up City View.
What would it be this time? The neighborhood was probably too upscale for
something like a gunshot wound or a domestic dispute with knife injuries. Lara
scowled. She hoped it wasn’t another VEx accident with a chubby middle-aged
woman trying to improve her health with virtual exercise. Someone had called
for a freelance paramed instead of an ambulance, so it could be anything.
Lara loved these moments-rushing to a scene, not knowing what chaos she
would encounter. In some ways, it was better than being a police officer because
she kept on the move and did a lot less paperwork. She missed the authority of
the badge though. She’d liked having people pay attention and feel nervous
when she approached. It beat the hell out of her current personal life: a forty-
two-year-old woman with no partner, no children, no power.
Lara turned on Ridgemont, located the street number, and drove through the
open gate. The house sat at the end of a long drive, behind a tall screen of
Sequoias. A black compact car soaked up sun in the driveway. The summer heat
settled in earlier every year. She parked next to the empty vehicle and glanced at
her Taser on the passenger’s seat. The weapon was bulky to carry, but some
neighborhoods and situations required it. Lara determined this wasn’t one of
them. She touched the 9-millimeter in her shoulder holster as she climbed out.
The gun went everywhere she did, but for most volatile situations, she preferred
the Taser. Less blood, noise, and risk.
As Lara moved toward the house, the front doors burst open and a man
barreled out. Behind him, a giant black dog noisily gave chase. Lara
backpedaled toward the med van to get out of their way.
The running man raised his arm and aimed a gun at her. Lara dropped to the
asphalt as he fired. She rolled and pulled her weapon, but his footsteps kept
going and a second shot didn’t come. A car door opened, the engine cranked
over, and he raced down the driveway. Still facedown, Lara let out her breath. As
she stood, the dog turned back and charged into the house.
What now? The person who’d made the emergency call had likely been
shot and still needed medical attention. Heart thumping, Lara glanced down the
driveway and watched the black sedan turn left on the road. Her muscles
unclenched and she decided to enter the home and check out the situation. She
grabbed her Taser and tucked it into her waistband in case the dog turned on her.
As she hurried up the walkway, she made a mental note of what she’d seen
of the assailant: five-ten, lean, dirty blond, thirty-something, and a squarish face.
Lara slowed and moved cautiously through the open front door, weapon ready.
The big house was quiet and she crept through, taking in details. High ceilings,
open floor plan, and two additional exits that she could see. One leading to the
garage from the kitchen, the other into a lush side yard. No people, no black dog.
She made her way down the hall to a room near the end. Weapon raised, she
entered a bedroom. A large man, wearing only black leather chaps, lay on the
floor on his back. Blood had soaked into the pale-blue rug under him and
sprayed the white satin sheets on the bed. A familiar salty smell mingled with the
wet metallic of the blood. As she stepped toward the victim, Lara recognized the
scent: a mix of sweat and semen.
She slipped off her medpack and knelt down. She heard shallow breathing
and saw that he’d been shot in the shoulder. The black dog lay nearby,
whimpering and watching her. “Good dog. You stay.”
The man opened his eyes. “Thank god.” The dog started to get up, but
victim snapped his fingers and it lay back down.
Lara began to pull out supplies. “You need the ER. Why didn’t you call for
a regular ambulance?”
“It’s personal. I don’t want to report this.”
Lara groaned, not caring that he heard. She should have left after the
jackass shot at her. It was too late now. She couldn’t walk away from a bleeder.
Lara lifted his shoulder to see if the bullet had gone through. He moaned and
squeezed her wrist. The exit hole was twice the size of the entry wound and
bleeding heavily, but at least she wouldn’t have to dig out the bullet. She laid his
shoulder back to the floor. “What’s your name?”
“Thaddeus Morton.”
Lara froze. “The federal employment commissioner?”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be Washington D.C.? Overseeing the Gauntlet?”
“I’m flying out tomorrow morning-if I don’t bleed to death.”
“Is this your house? I thought you moved to the capital.”
“I kept my home here and a friend house-sits for me. I come back whenever
I can.” He grimaced as he talked.
Lara bit back another question and focused on her task. She grabbed a
packet of gunshot gauze, a new product designed to fill such a wound and slowly
dissolve as the tissue around it healed. A Chicago ER doctor had invented the
gauze soon after the dark shift, as she called it. The Supreme Court had struck
down a series of gun control laws and now weapons were everywhere. So were
gunshot wounds. An entire industry had sprung up to treat them.
“We need to roll you over so I can bandage the exit wound.” Lara gave him
her best smile, which wasn’t much. “This will hurt.”
“Do you have pain meds?”
“I’m not licensed for them. You know how the DEA is.”
Lara cauterized the major bleeders with a C-laser, sprayed the wound with
antibacterial, then packed it with gauze. The white material soaked with blood
before she could get the skin-sealing bandage in place. The sealer, as medics
called it, had biologic properties that bonded with tissue.
She taped a padded exterior bandage in place and asked, “Who shot you,
and why don’t you want to report it?”
“My lover.” He paused. “Going public was a political career killer even
before the new Congress made homosexual acts illegal. Not that I’m gay. I’m
bisexual.”
Lara didn’t give a rip about his sexual practices, but she watched his face
for signs of lying, a habit from her detective days. She saw none. “What makes
you think I’ll consider not reporting this? I could lose my license.”
“Because I’m the employment commissioner and you’re a contestant in the
Gauntlet. I can help you if you help me.”
Lara’s pulse quickened. What was he saying? “Did you ask for me when
you called the Paramed Service?”
“I didn’t have time. But I hoped it would be you.” Morton spoke softly, then
waited.
Lara’s mind raced. The employment commissioner oversaw the contest,
now in its third year, and he would rule on any situations that required a
judgment call. He could disqualify any competitor too, including her.
Lara was torn. Her desire to win the Gauntlet was like a tumor growing
inside her. Oregon desperately needed the grant money and the jobs that would
be awarded to the winner’s state-and she needed a reason to keep getting up
every day. Yet having the contest handed to her was not what she had in mind. “I
don’t want to win except on my own merit.” She almost regretted the words as
soon as they left her mouth.
“Be more specific.” He sat up and she noticed that he was attractive in a
pretty-boy way with dark wavy hair and high cheekbones. She’d only seen the
commissioner a few times on the news, and the camera had not flattered him.
Still, he was almost fifty and the black leather gear he was sporting made her a
little sad for him.
“I don’t want your help. I want to win clean.”
“Could I interest you in some cash?”
Lara laughed. “Taking a bribe for not reporting this incident would be
worse than simply not logging the GSW.” She began to pack her medical
supplies.
“Tell me what you want. I can’t let this incident reach the police or the
media.”
“Your boyfriend is a menace. He shot at me on his way out and should
probably be locked up.”
Morton’s eyes widened. “Oh shit. I’m so sorry.” He scooted to the bed and
leaned against it. “He’s having a bad reaction to some medication. He’s not
usually like this.” The commissioner’s gaze slid away and Lara sensed he’d just
lied to her.
“Does he have a criminal record?”
“No. He’s never hurt anyone before. He discovered I cheated on him and
freaked out. Shooting at you was just a leftover emotional reaction. He’ll calm
down and be fine.”
“I want his name. For my own protection.”
Morton hesitated. “Richard Bremmer, but please don’t report this. I’ll lose
my federal position.” He locked into her eyes. “And everything that goes with
it.”
Lara wanted to get the hell out. After a quick look at the dog, which hadn’t
moved since Morton snapped his fingers, she slipped her gun back into its
holster and stood to leave.
“Are you going to report this?”
“I don’t know yet.”
In the van, she accessed her call log on her iCom and stared at the cursor,
which was waiting for her to speak or type something. Crap . She was required
to report the GSW, so that was the safest thing to do. If she lost her paramedic
license, she’d be scrambling to find work like millions of others. She couldn’t go
through that nightmare again. After leaving the police department, she’d been
unemployed for years. Then the gun laws loosened and health insurance got
scarce, so paramedics were suddenly in demand.
Yet, if she reported the incident, Thaddeus Morton would be investigated
and likely removed from overseeing the Gauntlet. His last act as commissioner
might be to disqualify her. If she kept his secret and he stayed on as a judge, he
would owe her, and it couldn’t hurt to have someone in her corner while she
competed.
If she brought home a grant, co-funded by AmGo and the federal
government, Oregon would have money to spend on jobs and social programs.
AmGo would build a facility in Eugene that employed thousands. Teachers and
police officers would go back to work. Not her, of course. She had burned that
bridge thoroughly. Still, she was a cop at heart and she hated the way law
enforcement had been crippled by the never-ending recession. Most departments
now only investigated violent crimes, and detectives had a couple of days to
track leads. After that, the case went into the cold file and they moved on. It was
shameful. So many victims with no one held accountable.
Lara slammed out of the van and ran back into the house. Morton had
changed into jeans and opened a suitcase on the bed. He jumped like a startled
cat when she burst into the room.
“How is the first section of the contest structured this year?” The Gauntlet
had five phases that changed annually, and the details were kept secret until the
program went live.
“It’s an elevated maze.”
Lara made a quick mental assessment. “I’d like to be paired against
someone tall and female.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Beyond that, I intend to kick ass on my own.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“I hope your accidental shoulder wound heals quickly.” Lara bolted from
the room before he could say anything else. No promises had been exchanged,
but she felt a little dirty anyway.
Chapter 2
Lara parked her rig and hustled up the exterior stairs. On the drive home,
she’d heard a storm warning on the radio and the winds were picking up already.
Her apartment sat above her landlady’s oversized garage and she’d chosen it for
the privacy. In real-estate terms, it was considered a studio even though her bed
and dresser were in an alcove partitioned with heavy curtains. Not that the
privacy mattered. The only company she ever had was her landlady, a recluse
writer who lived online, but came over every once in a while when she needed
Lara’s help with something.
Lara set the perimeter alarm, then unloaded her medpack and Taser into the
trunk by the door. She changed into a t-shirt but left the Kel-Tec strapped in
place. She liked the weight and comfort of it against her side. The weapon was
even more effective than meds at keeping her anxiety to a low murmur. She
resisted the temptation to sit down at the NetCom and conduct a quick search for
Richard Bremmer. Her flight left at noon from Portland the next day, and she
still needed to finish packing for the week-long contest. She’d finally broken
down and bought new athletic clothes in bright colors because almost everything
she owned was black or brown and wouldn’t look good on camera. She’d chosen
water-repellent material on the assumption that she’d have to swim in at least
one phase of the contest.
Her biggest challenge for now was to make everything fit into one suitcase.
The “single checked bag and single small carryon” rule had been in place with
the airlines since 2013 when lighter loads and less fuel became a mandate. Since
then, fuel prices had risen even more, driving the price of plane tickets even
higher. So many people had quit flying that hundreds of airports had closed,
including the one in Eugene.
The wind howled outside her windows and the tall pine trees swayed. Lara
worried the storm might cause damage at the Maryland airport and delay her
flight. It was tornado season in the Midwest and a twister could cause the airline
to reroute her flight. That was the worst risk of flying now-sudden, powerful
storms.
When Lara finally had everything squeezed into her suitcase, she went to
her desk and began the search she’d wanted to conduct since leaving the
commissioner’s house. With a few clicks and a password, she opened the Eugene
PD’s citizen database. Her best friend was still a detective with the department,
and he let her use his password to access information. Sometimes she looked up
