He’d been drunk since the battle, or perhaps just before it began. Olaf chuckled. Life was good. He’d answered the call for battle, summoning a large force of Vikings to his command. They’d fought well and the battle had been won. The southerners had fought just as well, but only the living enjoyed the spoils. Did these Christian men fight on in this Heaven they believed in? A young woman, comely enough and about the same age as his daughter Ingrid, sat down upon his knee and handed Olaf a horn of mead. He gave her a smile and a squeeze, then took a long drink. Times were good, although if all-seeing Ingrid spotted this maiden with him she’d fall upon him harder than the worst winter storm. Thankfully, her back was to them and she was far across the celebration in this southern king’s castle. Instead, Gunderr the Lucky approached him. ‘Begone, girl! Olaf and I have something to discuss,’ the leader of the Viking force commanded. He sat down heavily beside his old friend. The maiden. . it’s not necessary. I don’t even need to go to the hospital. I’m fine.”“It’s our call, Ms. Stafford.”“Fine. Then take me.”“Yes, Miss.”“Judy, call my mom, please. Tell her I’ll be at Rampart and not to worry, I’m fine. You understand?”“Sure, Pats, no problem. I won’t alarm her. No drama, promise. And I’ll be right behind you.”“Thanks.” She looked around for him, but, there was no sign. The gurney was raised, like on TV and she was wheeled out.As soon as he’d been able to assure his immediate safety by instituting defensive, instead of offensive self defense tactics Jack assessed the situation.She was talking, thank Christ. He’d backed off enough to get his bearings and an arc of safety.“You stupid ass, you. I know, I know.” Jack cursed himself, aloud.“Should we call the police?” Jack heard that once, then again and again.“No!” That voice. That raspy voice cut through the throng of people and noise.“No! Nobody call the police. I don’t want that. Leave him alone, please. It’s not his.
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