by Nikki Wild
One of the best ways to dislocate a shoulder? Have someone yank your arm very, very hard.
But I was getting ahead of myself. It's just that I'd seen enough cases of a dislocated shoulder meaning more than just some playground mishap, it's where my mind went immediately. I knew Sinner would never hurt his daughter, though. I'd seen them together - the only way he would touch his daughter was with the kind of careful tenderness a giant man ought to treat a very small child. People could surprise you, sure, but I felt confident giving him the benefit of the doubt.
Because if he was hurting his daughter, what would that say about me, being all lovesick over him?
At any rate, I wasn't quite ready to walk into that room and look him in the eye and pretend like I wasn't mourning whatever we never had. But I was the only nurse on shift, so I didn't have a choice. Taking a deep breath, I left Jenny to her annoying smirk and went into exam room 3.
Well, call me stupid, but I was thrown for a complete loop when I saw a beautiful, blonde, buxom woman standing at Amy's side.
"Lu!" Amy looked a little worse for the wear, but she brightened up when she saw me. Her little voice had my eyes drawing away from the stately woman, my mind finally realizing that this must be Danielle - the mom. The ex. Great. She had to be gorgeous, didn't she?
You don't care, I chided myself. You know you don't care.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite little trooper!" I said brightly, putting the folder down and approaching the exam table.
"Who are you?" Danielle spat, voice all edge.
"Um," I said, noting the way Amy shrank at her mother's voice. "I'm Lucy, I'm a nurse."
I pointed to my name tag.
"How do you know my daughter? I've never seen you with Dr. Barton before," Danielle said, eyes narrowed.
"Lucy is my friend," Amy piped up, still looking shrunken but now reaching for my hand. "She's so nice, mama."
"Thank you, Amy," I said, giving her a warm smile. I looked back at Danielle, and my smile lost some of its warmth. "I saw Amy last time she was here. With strep."
"Lu and Daddy..."
Amy started to say something, her eyes still glued to me, but she stopped talking pretty quickly. Kids can pick up on things faster than we think. It was a bit late, though, and Danielle was narrowing her eyes. If she was a cat, she'd be arching her back and starting to spit.
"What she was going to say is that me and Sinner got into a little spat about smoking. Right, Amy?"
She looked relieved at my little white lie - I guessed that Danielle might be in the habit of grilling Amy about her father, something no child really enjoys. At any rate, Amy went along with me, nodding.
"I told him not to smoke around her," Danielle snapped.
"Oh, I don't think he does, it was a misunderstanding," I said, not sure why I felt the urge to defend him, when clearly my best bet in this scenario was to just wait for Dr. Barton and get out of there before making any more waves. Danielle certainly didn't appreciate my comment.
"So, little lady, what's the story with that," I said, pointing to her arm, which hung limply at her side. She was very purposefully avoiding any sort of motion on the left side of her body. Her cheeks bore signs of tears, but she had soldiered up and was taking it like a champ.
"I...uh..."
Oh, no. She had that look. That I'm-only-five-and-I'm-not-comfortable-lying-on-command-but-I-know-I-have-to look.
"She fell off the counter," Danielle interrupted. "She was trying to get..."
"I'm sorry," I said. "We usually like the child to answer in their own words."
Danielle looked ready to claw my eyes out. Well, fuck that - I wasn't gonna be daunted by some platinum-blonde bitch just because I had the hots for her baby daddy. I wouldn't let any other Mom run roughshod over my duties as a pediatric nurse, and I didn't plan on starting with her.
"You understand," I said before she could retort. I turned back to Amy, who looked downright terrified. "Go ahead, honey."
She just nodded her head up and down.
"Can you tell me what happened, Amy?" I asked, glancing towards the door and hoping Dr. Barton wouldn't be long.
"I fell," she said. "Off the...counter. I was being bad."
"You were being bad?" I asked. That was the only part of her story that was said with any confidence, and I felt a little sick hearing her say it. She nodded again, and I got the sense I wouldn't have much luck getting any more out of her. She looked at her mother, then down at her knees.
"I told you," Danielle spat. "She was reaching for the snacks and fell off the counter."
"Alright," I said. "I'm just doing my job. Now, I'm just going to take your temperature, okay Amy?"
She nodded, cheering up a little.
"Just like last time," I said, preparing the thermometer before holding it up to her ear. When it beeped, I checked it. "Oh my god, Amy! Do you know what this thermometer says?"
She looked at me, wide-eyed, and shook her head. Danielle looked disgusted.
"It says you're super cool!"
Amy giggled; not the big laugh I was hoping for, but it wasn't my best joke, very hit or miss.
"All good," I said, putting the thermometer to the side. I didn't have much else to do, since it was just a matter of resetting the shoulder and getting x-rays to make sure nothing was fractured. "Let me check on Dr. Barton, okay? Be right back."
Dr. Barton was just coming down the hallway when I went out to look for her, and I explained what I'd picked up from the quick interview. She looked troubled, even before I could voice my own concerns. When I did, she sighed.
"I hate this job sometimes," she said. "You looked at her file?"
I shook my head; I hadn't, not really. It was a little thick, but not much thicker than average.
"You should," Dr. Barton said. "When I'm done and she's on her way. This one's a repeat offender. Listen, we'll do an x-ray, so make sure Dina is ready to go, okay? We'll talk after."
Impatient, I grabbed our x-ray tech and helped her set up the lab room. When Amy came in, alone, she seemed disconcertingly familiar with the whole process. She was all wrapped up in a sling, and that seemed normal to her, too. My stomach just kept sinking lower and lower.
I gave Amy a big hug before she left. A hug that Danielle did not much appreciate, I could tell. Since they were the last patients of the day, the office cleared out quickly, with Jenny high-tailing it to get ready for a date and Dina the x-ray tech waving goodbye. Dr. Barton finished her notes while I made sure everything was tidy and ready for the next day; then she slipped me the file, a dire look on her face. I didn't really want to look. I wished she would just tell me...
"Listen," she said, picking up on my hesitation. "I don't know. You know how hard it is to tell. She's five years old, and ever since she was three, she's been in this office, or at the hospital, twenty-five times. That's twenty-five visits in two years. Not counting check-ups and vaccinations, I mean. Take away genuine illnesses, and we're still left with ten."
"What are those ten visits..."
"A lot like this one," Dr. Barton finished for me. Finally, I got up the nerve to start flipping through the folder. Sure enough, nestled among the usual childhood colds and chicken pox, there were more than a fair share of dislocations, fractures, and even a laceration or two.
Kids hurt themselves all the time. But this was unusual. Especially for a girl like Amy, who I happened to know wasn't the rough-and-tumble type. If it was a rambunctious little boy with three older brothers...that'd be a different story. But a girl whose favorite activity was quietly looking at picture books? Uh-uh. Unless Danielle mopped her floors with canola oil, or Amy was attending World Wrestling Foundation Kindergarten, there didn't seem to be any explanation for why a five-year-old girl would have such a harsh medical history.
"Jesus," I hissed, pushing the folder away. I didn't want to look at it anymore. It made me sick - really sick. God, I'd almost been involved with her father...which made me realize I h
ad to ask a very important question.
"Is it...uh...are both parents involved when she comes in for...those types of things?"
Dr. Barton shook her head, and a very selfish part of me was relieved.
"Just the mother," Dr. Barton said. "Actually, I rarely see the father. I know he gets occasional custody...I sure wish it was different, though."
"Yeah, but, occasional custody or not, how could he not be aware of this?" I asked, feeling myself getting angry without any justification for it. Who was I to judge Sinner for not seeing something that was damn near impossible to see? He got to be with Amy two weekends a month - that was it. He might know about the broken bones, but why should he ever find out about the dislocated shoulders, or the cuts, or the bruises that showed up sometimes during her physical exams - and always had such perfect explanations?
Dr. Barton shrugged.
"You get a kid who wants to make people happy, who'll keep her mothers' secrets..."
"Yeah, yeah," I said. "She didn't seem that good at lying today, but I guess she doesn't need to be, if he doesn't even know to ask the questions."
Dr. Barton shook her head and pulled the file back.
"But I don't understand," I said. "Don't you have to report it? If you suspect abuse, you're legally..."
"I know," Dr. Barton snapped. "Trust me, I know full well what I'm mandated to do. And I did it. I reported it to CPS. They didn't - couldn't - do anything. They couldn't even make a home visit, because their review of the evidence wasn't enough." She sighed again. Her tone was harsh but weary. "I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have spoken to you that way. It's just very frustrating."
"I understand," I said. I looked down at the folder again. "But...I think we should tell the father."
"If I ever saw him, I would."
That's right. The day Amy had come in, Dr. Barton hadn't been in. It was Dr. Solomon's show - and he was a great pediatrician, but he was also older than the hills, and wouldn't necessarily know her history well enough to bring it up.
"You can't get in touch with him?" I asked. If she can't, you can, a voice in my head chided. Well, duh, inner voice. But I didn't want to get in touch with him. Especially not about this.
"No contact information," she said. "Just the mother's. He's not even listed as an emergency contact. Must be some pretty bad blood..."
"But he brought her in last time," I said. "Surely he put down..."
"Listen," Dr. Barton said. "I know what you're getting at, and I've thought about it. A lot. But Danielle is this girl's primary caretaker, and if I brought my suspicions to her father, and he went after her mother...well, it might get even worse for her."
"How? How could it get worse?"
"I've been in this business longer than you," she said. "Trust me. Things get messy between the parents, things get worse for the kid."
I didn't believe that for one damn second. At least, not when it came to Sinner. If he thought Danielle was hurting his daughter, it wouldn't be messy. It'd be over.
Well, fuck. If Dr. Barton wasn't going to tell him, I would. He needed to know. I made the decision in all of two seconds, after which I said goodbye to Dr. Barton, got in my car, pulled out my phone and sent a text.
Chapter 13
Sinner
The kid on the corner had this long-ass coat, like he was trying to re-make The Matrix. The collar was turned up to cover half his acne-ridden face, brown eyes darting around above it, back and forth, back and forth. I knew why he was at that corner. And I knew what I had to do about it.
He heard my bike coming, and looked down the street in my direction. If he was at all smart, he'd start walking the opposite way. He wasn't. Poor little sucker just watched me, until I pulled up next to him. With his hands buried in his pockets, he started walking towards me.
Ducks in a barrel.
Once he was within reaching distance, and I grabbed that collar of his and yanked. He gave a shout, struggled backwards, trying to pull himself free. But I had a hundred pounds on him, and his feet dragged on the pavement as I pulled him up to meet me.
"What the fuck, man, let go of me, fuck man, what the..."
"Shut up," I said. "What're you doing here?"
"What? Man, I'm just waiting, I'm just chilling, okay? I'm not doing shit, okay? Let me go, man!"
"Yeah? Just waiting? Just chilling? Pretty cold out, I guess you're chilling hard. Hands up, kid. Out of the pockets."
His eyes went wide.
"You a cop? You gotta tell me if you're a cop, I ain't doing shit..."
"Take your hands out of your pockets," I said, enunciating.
"Gotta have a warrant..." He kept struggling.
"No, I don't," I said, finally standing up and pushing him back. He staggered on his feet for a second before falling onto his ass. His hands came out of his pockets. I stood over him, one hand on my gun. "I'm not a cop, I don't need shit."
He scrambled backwards, panic in his eyes, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. Dropping, I got my hand on his chest and pushed, crushing him against the pavement. He made a pained oof sound, the wind knocked out of him. With my free hand, I reached into his pocket. First the right, then the left. Empty. But my instinct was right; I knew it was. I ripped his dumb coat open, immediately seeing the inner pocket.
"Shit, please, man, just let me go, you can have it, alright? Just take it, I don't care, just take it..."
The powder wasn't anything to write home about. It might even have been some crushed-up Adderal instead of coke. But he was selling it in our territory, and we had a mountain of our own pilfered speed we needed to sell. Even a little competition was more competition than we needed.
"Where'd you get it, kid?" I asked, shoving it in his face. "Who's got you selling in our territory?"
"What? Man, nobody, I just picked it up in New York," he said, struggling. "I don't work for anyone!"
"You're telling me you didn't know this corner was spoken for?" I asked, spitting the words in his face.
"No, man, I swear, I just..."
Stupid little motherfucker. What was he even doing standing on a random corner? Probably saw it on TV and thought he'd look pretty cool, standing out there with his trench coat and his cut-rate speed.
"This is shit," I said, throwing the baggie in his face. "You want to sell around here, you get some decent shit, and you get it from us. Here..."
I reached into my back pocket, letting him lean up onto his elbows. He looked more than a little terrified. Probably taught the little punk a lesson. Probably taught him enough that I'd never see him again. He wouldn't come pick up some of our shit, he'd just go home to Mommy and Daddy and sell the crap wholesale to one of his college frat boy buddies. But I gave him the number anyway. If he called it, he'd get Split, who oversaw our dealers. Then he could sell on our turf all he wanted.
He took the paper. His fingers were shaking, and looked a little blue. It was damn near April, but it was still cold as shit. I stood up, blowing on my own fingers, getting cold just looking at him.
"Don't let me see you out here again unless you're selling what we want you to sell," I said. He was smart enough not to try and say some shit at my back, and I left him on the sidewalk, slowly getting to his feet and reconsidering the direction his life was going. I had a few hours of patrol left. He was the first thing I saw that I didn't like, and with any luck he'd be the last thing.
Usually, I enjoyed patrols. Unless you're with a prospect, you're riding alone. If you come across anything you can't handle, you keep your distance and call for backup. Within minutes, you've got a small army behind you. Some guys liked that. They liked roughing up kids like Neo back there. They liked intimidating wannabe badasses. They liked being a menace. They really liked leading the troops into battle, that was for sure.
I liked it when I didn't see a goddamn thing. I liked when I could spend a few hours just riding. Thinking and riding. Get my motor between my legs, ride out whatever was on my mind.
&nbs
p; But that day, I wasn't too keen on being alone. Not even on my bike. Because when I was alone, I couldn't get her out of my mind. She was like a goddamn parasite in there. And the way my pretty little Indian rumbled beneath me just reminded me of the way she'd shaken, vibrating like an engine as she came.
Shiiiiiit.
I couldn't remember feeling this way about Danielle, and she was the longest relationship I'd ever had - clocking in at all of three weeks. Then again, Danielle was a certifiable bitch. A fuckfairy with razor-sharp teeth. She bit and held on as long as she could, and when you finally shook her off she took a chunk out of you. I couldn't imagine Lucy was anything like that. Her name made my muscles tense. If I were to say it aloud, it'd only ever come out as a growl. She was hot as a ghost pepper and sweet as maple syrup. I wanted her so bad it hurt.
I didn't like any of that shit, but it didn't stop it from being true. What kind of asshole chooses to be all lovesick over some broad? But a woman like that will make an asshole out of any guy. Believe it, motherfuckers. Be careful when you meet a girl like that, because two days after you get inside her, you'll be pacing the room figuring out if it's too soon to call. Fucking hell.
And why couldn't I have her? Because my family did something shitty to hers? We stole their drugs. Well, why wouldn't we? It wasn't like they did a great job of keeping that speed safe. Army was on patrols, and he saw a car with its trunk open. An open trunk is as good an invitation as any to do some looking around. And wouldn't you know, Army found a good five pounds of coke right inside.
Now, what the fuck was he supposed to do, keep riding? Not our coke, not our business? Hell fucking no. Whoever it was that left that shit out in the open was the one who fucked up, not us. We were just playing by the same jungle rules as everyone else. Take what you can, burn what you can't.
He nearly got shot making off with it, too. In our own damn territory.
Now, I don't know if I would have done what Army did. I don't think he knew who he was stealing from, but that's just because of how young he was. Only people who did business like that in our area was the Bratva. Pretty little Lucy's family. As a rule, stealing from the Bratva wasn't a good idea.
