The Daughter She Used To Be

by Rosalind Noonan

  She braced for more muckraking but found only an image of Peyton, the photo that showed the lines of his broad forehead and the slight droop of the right side of his mouth. And those sad eyes, always the sad eyes that spoke of persecution.

  The news brief said that Peyton Curtis had been moved from Sing Sing Prison to a Westchester County hospital due to a debilitating high fever. A prison official revealed that Curtis was suffering from a Group A strep infection so severe that it could not be treated in the prison infirmary. Doctors had diagnosed Curtis with streptococcal toxic shock, which could cause fever, rash, severe pain, dizziness, confusion, and even death. Currently Curtis was under guard, listed in critical condition.

  Wow. The news piece was vague about Curtis’s chances of recovery.

  She mulled it over as she poured two mugs of coffee and brought the tray into the bedroom. “Rise and shine! I got coffee and some strange news.”

  Keesh made a growling sound that was kind of sexy, then sat up. He propped up some pillows and scooted back so that he was leaning against the headboard. “Coffee first.”

  “We can multitask.” She placed the tray on the nightstand beside him and handed him a mug. “I just read online that Curtis got moved to the hospital,” she said, then shared the details of the article.

  “A strep infection. Like a strep throat?” Keesh held a hot mug in both hands as he considered. The sight of him bare-chested in her bed, with the comforter pulled up to his navel, made Bernie feel sort of like she’d won the lottery. “It can kill you, if it goes untreated.”

  She sat beside him on the bed, pushing against his knees. “I looked it up on Web MD, and it sounds serious. What if it kills Curtis?”

  “Well, it could.” He took a sip of coffee. “Honestly, I have mixed feelings about that. Maybe that would be for the best.” When she started to object he raised a hand. “I know you’ve been working hard to save his life, but you’ve been trying to save him from the executioner. The inhumanity of man against man. I get that. And I think it’s going to make a huge impression on Brendan’s kids when they learn what you did.”

  “I hope so. For a while there I couldn’t step foot in my parents’ house. It was like I was the criminal.”

  “You took a stand against your father, and I know it wasn’t easy.” He reached forward, moved her hair aside, and toyed with the gold chain around her neck. It tickled a little as the St. Bernadette medal lifted from between her breasts.

  “But now ...” He leaned forward to kiss the side of her neck. “It might be better if this infection, or whatever it is, just takes Curtis away. It would end pain and misery for so many people.” He turned down the collar of her robe and trailed his lips lower to the sensitive nook on her shoulder.

  Bernie sighed. “Are you trying to get me off topic? Because it’s working.”

  “Good. But at this point it’s out of our hands, right? If Curtis’s case goes to trial, we’ll be spectators at three manslaughter trials, and you know it’s a costly, clunky process. The wheels of justice are slow and squeaky. In need of oil and bearings.”

  “I’ve seen that firsthand.”

  “And with your brother being one of the victims, it’s going to be exceedingly painful.”

  She bunched the hem of her robe in her hands. “I know that.”

  “I’m just saying, I wouldn’t be upset if the hand of God intervened and took this criminal case off the dockets.”

  He put his mug down and slid his arms around her waist. “So. Why don’t you let me offer some serious distraction?”

  Coming from Keesh, it seems like an exceedingly romantic question.

  She covered his hands with hers, then fell back across the mattress. “Distraction, please.”

  Chapter 53

  “Wake up, bro. Wake up and get your ass out of that bed.”

  “Shut up, Darnell.” His eyes still closed, Peyton twisted and tried to turn over, but the binding on his right wrist yanked tight. Darnell was always waking him up, telling him he was a lazy-ass mo-fo. Darnell didn’t care that he was sick in the hospital with a fever that fried his brain and made every muscle in his body ache.

  Peyton hated it when Darnell came to visit, scolding him like an old woman. “You ain’t my mama,” Peyton said.

  “Get up and get going. You got a plan? ’Cause now you see it’s more than Marino that’s trying to fry your ass. Your angel is in thick with him. Related to him. They family. And you, thinking she was gon’ save your ass.”

  Damned if Darnell wasn’t right about that.

  She had lied to him, pretending to be his angel when all the time she was in deep with Marino. She was probably in with old St. Peter, too, though she had stopped him from shooting Peyton. Why’d she do that? Peyton couldn’t figure it.

  “What are you, Einstein or something? Don’t think about these things too much,” Darnell told him. “You know what you gotta do.”

  Darnell was right on that. Peyton knew what to do, and now that he was waking up he realized he was better. Not cured, but definitely better. His shoulder and chest were still sore, but he wasn’t burning hot anymore.

  Shifting in the bed, Peyton let his eyes open a slit. Nobody in the room. He tried to sit up a little and realized that only one of his cuffs was fastened, so he had the use of one hand. Some aid or nurse must have screwed up.

  With his free hand he unfastened the right side and tried to figure a way out of here. He couldn’t just walk out, ’cause there was a prison guard right outside the door.

  He wondered if the doctors knew that his fever had broken. Probably. They’d be shipping him back to prison soon. He had to make a move before that.

  But how?

  Something quick and quiet. Quick and quiet. He looked around the room for possibilities till his eyes lit on a metal stand holding a plastic bag of fluid going into his arm.

  A heavy metal stand.

  Checking the door, he got up on his knees in bed and gave it a try. A gut-buster. But if he unhooked the bag of liquid, the top part of the post separated from the rest.

  Nice.

  He slid it under the sheet, keeping the top within reach. The metal was cold against his bare leg, but it was good to know it was there.

  He was ready.

  “You awake?” The man in navy scrubs came in wheeling a cart. “I’m Bert, your night nurse.”

  The image was hazy because Peyton’s eyes were barely cracked open.

  “Open your mouth, please. I need your temperature.”

  Peyton let his jaw drop so Bert could shove the stick in. Otherwise he kept still while the man held onto his wrist and the cuff squeezed his arm for blood pressure and whatnot.

  But as soon as Bert went back to the cart to record all that stuff, Peyton came alive.

  His fingers closed over the metal bar in his bed and his muscles tensed.

  One quick hit on the head; that was what Darnell told him to do.

  Bert looked down at the cart, humming something as he let out a breath.

  Now.

  Peyton sprang up like a ninja, the bar in his hands. In one move he lunged, dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed, and swung that bar like A-Rod going for a home run.

  The metal hit the night nurse’s head with a thud. Bert crumpled forward, down to the floor.

  Thanks for going down quiet, Bert.

  Peyton shoved the bar onto the bed. He tore back the tape on his arm and lifted out the needle. Thank the Lord he was done with the torture here.

  He climbed off the bed and started working the dark blue scrubs off the man. The pants weren’t so hard to peel off, but it wasn’t easy to get a shirt over a man’s head when he couldn’t lift his arms. The scrubs were a little baggy for Peyton, but the white Air Jordans were a good fit. “What, you shooting hoops during break?” Peyton asked Bert.

  Curtis wished for a hat or hood or something to hide his face. His hands trembled as he reached for the cart and headed out the door. He kept a dead exp
ression as he pushed it past the cop outside his room.

  Would the guard notice that a white man had walked in and a black brother was walking out?

  With measured steps, Curtis moved down the hall, trying to keep his strides even to cover up the limp. When he looked in the reflective glass on the other side of the hall, he saw the prison guard with his head down, reading a magazine. The guard didn’t even notice.

  Curtis punched the button to open the double doors at the end of the hall. They opened, easy as one, two, three. Biting the side of his cheek to keep from grinning, he pushed his cart into the next corridor and followed the buzzing white fluorescent lights to freedom.

  Chapter 54

  Everywhere Bernie turned, the alarm was sounding: suspected cop killer on the loose.

  Indigo, Elijah, and their girls had moved in with Indigo’s mother, Tiana. The accommodations were tight, sleeping bags and a shower schedule for the one bathroom. “But we’re not taking any chances,” Indigo had told Bernie. “I started wearing my nine millimeter when I leave the house. The physical therapists don’t want to see it, but it makes me feel better to have some line of defense.”

  The media had reported that cops were on a citywide alert. At roll call sergeants warned their personnel to be on the lookout. Cops in the five bureaus and all departments in the tristate area memorized the pedigree information for Peyton Curtis.

  At the coffee shop, Sully was ready.

  “That’s not a myth you know, about criminals returning to the scene of the crime,” Sully told Bernie and Keesh, who had met her there Tuesday morning on his way home from a night shift.

  “Arsonists return a lot,” Sully went on. “I think to check out their handiwork. Serial killers are known for it, too. They derive some sick pleasure out of reliving the crime.”

  Perched on a stool, Bernie let her eyes skim the line of customers at the kidney-shaped counter. Personally, she felt more uncomfortable about what had transpired here than the prospect of Peyton Curtis returning. “Wouldn’t it be kind of stupid for him to return here?” she asked.

  “You’re giving him a lot of credit,” Keesh said. “Criminals aren’t as intelligent as people tend to think.”

  “Well, if he does come back, this time, this time I’ll be here, loaded for bear,” Sully said, patting the bulk under his shirt at his waistband.

  “What about you?” Keesh said to Bernie. “I’m worried about him coming after you. You’re one of the few women he had any dealings with while he was locked up.”

  Bernie shook her head. “I don’t think so. Laurence called me with the same concern, but I don’t see why Curtis would target me. From everything he told us, it was Marino he hated. That’s where the police should be looking. Midtown South, where Tony works, or wherever he’s living these days.”

  “But what would you do?” Keesh pressed her. “What if you opened your door to find Curtis there?”

  “Keesh ... he doesn’t have my address. My phone isn’t even listed in the directory.”

  “You need to be careful, darlin’.” Sully put his hand on her shoulder. “You can’t be too careful with a psycho like this.”

  Bernie didn’t see Curtis as a psycho or a sociopath. In all the interviews, he had not seemed devious. Borderline, maybe, but what did any of them really know about his mental state? When Sully was called over to the counter, Bernie cast a disapproving scowl on Keesh. “See what you did? You’ve got my father riled now. He’s going to lock me up in my old bedroom and take away the key. I’ll be like Rapunzel, unfurling my hair out the window so you can climb in and visit.”

  “Sounds kind of hot,” Keesh said with a grin. “But this is serious biz, Bernie. Why don’t you pack a bag and come stay with me awhile?” He put a hand on her knee. “Come home with me now.”

  “Keesh ...” She cocked her head to the side, flicking her eyes over to make sure her dad wasn’t listening in. “Honey, I’d like nothing more than to share your bed for the next few weeks. But may I point out that you’re not even going to be home nights this week? You’ve got the night shift in the Complaint Room all week, right?”

  He groaned. “Right.”

  “You’ll be sleeping all day and I’ll just disturb you if I’m there. I want to use this time to clean my apartment, clear out my closets. I’m going to run every day, look for a job. I might even paint. And I’ve got Chuck and Candy right upstairs if I need anything. I’ll be fine.”

  “You could stay with your parents,” he suggested.

  “One word: Rapunzel.”

  “Stay with Sarah?”

  “I don’t want to freak her out. You’re overreacting. And if you don’t cool it, you’re going to have my father in a tizzy.”

  Keesh looked over at Sully, who was showing the new guy how to ring up a gift card. “Men like Sully don’t do tizzies. They put their daughter’s boyfriend under a white light and sweat confessions out of him.” He squinted. “How’d I do? Do you think he likes me?”

  She slid off the stool. “Sure. You guys will be fishing together in no time.”

  “Sully fishes?”

  Bernie laughed, shaking her head.

  As they left, she glanced back at the cops talking over coffee. An older couple sat reading the paper, a mom fed her toddler son Cheerios, and two men were engaged in a game of checkers. Bernie smiled, warmed by the sight. There was healing going on here. It was good that her father had reopened Sully’s Cup.

  Chapter 55

  It was late Thursday morning when Sully tucked the bag of twenties into an empty canister in the storeroom and returned to the front of the shop. He had decided not to make bank deposits during shop hours anymore. That was his commitment to himself and his staff when he reopened the shop. He was going to be here during business hours, every day.

  It was the least he could do, if the shop had his name on it. If something went down again, he would damn well be in the thick of it.

  He returned to his usual spot behind the till and the servers, the nook with bags of coffee beans decoratively lined up on shelves. With his bum back, leaning beat sitting, and from here, he could see it all.

  Two undercovers sat at the deuce by the restaurant. There were three uniforms, one online and the other two standing by the bar. They faced inside the shop, keeping watch on the other customers as they talked casually. About a dozen regular customers were in the shop, some settled in, others were just here to grab and go.

  They had come back. The cops, the workers, even the retired people in the neighborhood who had made a stop at Sully’s Cup part of their routine, had returned for their daily cup. That made Sully’s heart swell. It felt good to know that you mattered, that you were doing something that mattered to people.

  They were good people, his fellow New Yorkers. People always bitched and moaned about how harsh and uncaring they were, but those were people who didn’t understand the heartbeat of New York. Yeah, this city had a pulse, a quick one at that. But anyone who could step lively, take care of business, and have a sense of humor would be just fine here.

  Over at the machines, a new kid was foaming milk for lattes. Mike Willis was Sully’s first male employee, and so far, it had been almost a week now, he seemed to be keeping up with the gals. Mike was a student at Queens College, but Sully liked the fact that he was six-two and African-American. Let the media get ahold of that. Calling his family racist. Deplorable.

  But besides that, Sully figured that Mike’s appearance might be a good robbery deterrent.

  He shifted and scratched the back of his head. Of course, the racist comment had been directed at Tony, and Sully couldn’t vouch for his son-in-law. Not a hundred percent. Truth be told, he was glad Mary Kate was making a move away from Tony Marino. A certain amount of ambition was a good thing in a young cop. But Tony was older now, and his unfulfilled ambitions had soured into a sick lust for the gold shield. Add to that the fact that Tony didn’t always give everybody a fair shake. It might not have been corruptio
n, per se, but it wasn’t a quality Sully liked to see in a cop.

  How far had Tony gone with Curtis? Sully didn’t know. And though nobody was a fan of Internal Affairs, Sully believed that a cop who was doing the wrong thing needed to be weeded out. No question about that.

  On a few occasions Sully had taken him aside to discuss the issue of integrity, but Tony didn’t want to hear it. No, sir, Tony thought he had it all figured out.

  Until now, of course. Through MK, Sully had heard that Tony was not happy to be the subject of an internal investigation. And now that Curtis had slipped away from the hospital, Tony actually had the gall to ask for police protection—a grown man with a licensed weapon and the brotherhood of NYPD backing him up. What a pansy.

  Only a few pastries remained in the glass case, and Sully was eyeing one of the almond croissants. He had a weakness for those things. If no one snatched the last ones up by noon, he’d indulge in one as a part of his lunch.

  A flicker of movement beyond the shop window caught his attention, and Sully glanced up from the pastry case to see someone standing at the glass, staring in.

  African-American, male, wearing a hood despite the sunny day.

  Don’t go jumping to conclusions, he told himself. We’ll have no racial profiling here.

  Sully didn’t move as he studied the face, comparing it to the face engraved in his mind from news photos, etched in his memory like the Shroud of Turin. Broad forehead. Mouth drooped on right side. Same nose.