Marisa’s father said, “They just had the news on over here. You got that bastard, huh?”
“Could I see her?”
Nicky Tulli twisted his chin and bottom lip upward. “Yeah, why not, go ahead. Doctor said we could.” He pointed and twirled a finger back at his family. “We just came out of there, but they could squeeze you in, I’m sure.” He nudged Steel in the room’s direction.
Steel headed there, and the muscles and nerves that had just untangled stiffened back up as if he was battling a cold wind in the middle of December.
He slowly spun the metal doorknob and walked inside. A round, short, middle-aged woman in green scrubs and red hair blocked Steel’s view of Marisa as she leaned over her bed and adjusted some tubes and bags next to it. She swiveled her head. “You’re visiting?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve got about five minutes. She’s got to rest, sir.”
“You got it.”
The woman tossed a pair of gloves into a red trashcan, which was used for medical waste, faked a smile, and then walked out. Steel waited until the door clicked shut. Machines surrounded Marisa and beeped in rhythm. He turned to one of them and watched green squiggly lines twitch on a black screen. Bags filled with fluids released themselves into her through tubes attached to both arms. A stale scent of cleaning chemicals and medicine hung in the air. Steel shivered at the machines beeping, the sounds that determined life or death, and the noise leaked a cool layer of sweat over his cold forearms.
He turned his attention to Marisa. A white linen sheet lay under her arms, bandages were wrapped around her wrists, and strips of white tape held tubes in place. Her head was turned left, and her hair lay on that side. She slept, her eyes closed and lips pressed together, and the blanket moved up and down with each breath. Steel’s head ached at the sight. He didn’t know whether to vomit, fight back tears, or collapse.
He gripped a visitor’s chair and slid it by her bedside, then sat, watched her rest, and looked up at the ceiling at whatever deity was up there and asked it to watch over her. He reached out and slid his hands over her smooth hand, marveling at how beautiful she still looked, even after surgery and lying in a hospital bed.
“Marisa,” he said and put his head down. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He fought back warm tears, cleared his throat. “I feel responsible for this. I should’ve protected you. I should’ve looked into this thing more.” He stopped talking, thought for a moment, and then continued, “If I…I would trade places with you in a second. We haven’t known one another that long, but I have a feeling about this…it’s real. I’ve never cared about anyone like I care about you.” He squeezed her hand, and a tear trickled down to his lips. In seconds, a few more followed as if all his pain and loneliness throughout the years was releasing itself. “You’re gonna pull through this, and I’ll be right here waiting for you when you do,” he said, sniffing back the tears.
He flinched after hearing two quick knocks on the door and watched it open inch by inch. The red-headed nurse peeked in and said, “Another minute, sir, and the doctor will be in.”
“Thank you.” He waited until the door closed again and then took Marisa’s hand in his own and rose from his seat.
Steel’s fingers warmed from a tug, followed by a squeeze. His stomach tumbled over like a wave in the ocean at high tide, and the back of his head tingled, the tingle shooting down his back and arms. He spun his head toward Marisa, and she moved hers in his direction and grimaced.
Steel let go and held up both palms. “Just relax…don’t move around.”
Marisa struggled and barely lifted a hand and weakly tossed it forward. She spoke just above a whisper, “Ah, forget them. I’m fine.” She attempted a chuckle, but it didn’t produce much sound, then coughed, and it looked painful. He half-smiled at her to make her feel better, and she squinted before staring her brown eyes into his own. She curled her first two fingers toward herself.
He leaned over her.
“You…really…mean…all…that, what you just said?” Steel got closer and whispered in her ear, “Every word.”
Marisa managed a smile, but it was only enough to reveal a thin white line of her teeth. She waved him closer and puckered her lips as they quivered. Steel could tell it was a struggle for her. He bent down and met her lips. The kiss soothed his anxiety momentarily, and he hoped it soothed hers.
“The nurse is kicking me out. I’ll be back here tomorrow,” he said, his face still within six inches of hers.
“You better be,” she whispered, then turned her head, closed her eyes, and smiled to herself.
Steel slid his hand across hers once more and gazed at her for a few seconds before leaving the room.
He checked back with her family in the waiting area, told them what to expect from the police department, and informed them that he planned to visit daily. Afterward, he headed for the exits, his emotions mixed—joy, anger, sadness, disappointment, love. But his feelings didn’t seem to matter as much as a simple fact: Marisa was going to pull through.
48
Steel left the lobby of Thomas Jefferson University Hospital and stepped back outside. He took in the fading rays of sunshine of the late afternoon, which still glimmered but hid behind the tall office buildings of Center City Philadelphia. The air smelled like it always did in Center City in the summertime—a mixture of pollen, smoke from restaurant kitchens’ grills, and hot car fumes.
He walked north, heading for Market Street. By the time he made it up to Twelfth, he stopped on the corner, next to the Hard Rock Café, and just people-watched. He glanced at all the safe, protected members of society as they walked by him and laughed and conversed with one another, entering and exiting restaurants, bars, and clothing stores. His blood, sweat, and tears were their security and freedom, and he knew he’d have it no other way.
He started up the street again, strolling the Center City blocks, in the direction of City Hall. Over the course of the day, the world through his eyes was pure hell—chaotic and unpredictable. But the world around him as he walked—horns honking, pedestrians scurrying about, street lights flashing, lovers hand-in-hand, families dining out, street performers break-dancing and strumming guitars—carried on as usual.
His extremities had all but given up on him, each step like a walk through a foot of snow. Every emotion was shot; he couldn’t feel or react to anything. Stress wiped him out almost to the point of numbness; he couldn’t even feel the sunshine beating on his face and neck, although it was subtle and in transition to dusk.
After two more blocks, he stood just across the street from City Hall, pressed a foot against a brick wall, and leaned back, the other foot holding his balance on the ground. Crowds of people swept past and went about their day. No one paid him any mind. He realized he was in a familiar place he had been throughout his life: alone. He had always told others that some things never change, that people never change, that life is hard and brutal and unfair and then you die. That’s it, no point to it. But he was beginning to see things differently, beginning to see that maybe he’d been wrong, because he was hopeful, something he had never been prior to this moment. Things would change for him in the near future; he knew it, sensed it, as if the universe was whispering in his ear.
He had worn shades to the sunshine of life for years, had tinted his reality, the darkness familiar, comfortable. But as he stood, he was ready to remove the barriers, open his eyes and see the brightness of life he had been so afraid to see. He told himself that from this moment on, he wouldn’t waste any time because he realized nothing was guaranteed. So he’d live, pursue instead of avoid. He’d open himself up, see if life would embrace him for it; he’d take that risk. He knew he had to drop that self-imposed burden he had carried around for years and figured why let it weigh him down any longer.
Almost losing Marisa had reminded him of something he’d always known deep down in his heart but had never realized until life had re
vealed it to him: don’t take anything for granted, make the most of what life has given you, and cherish what you already have. Life had treated him like the ocean at times, knocking him down, leaving a salty taste in his mouth. But that would change. He’d ride the wave longer, swim sideways if he had to. He’d worried for years about all the what-ifs but now realized he had missed out on many what-could-have-beens. But that wouldn’t be the case any longer, not with Marisa, at least. His perception of life had been the same for a long time: pessimistic. But when things had changed suddenly, it’d forced him to look around, to think differently. He now understood that to let the past dictate the future was self-destructive—a sure road to failure.
Steel didn’t want to hit the snooze button on life any longer. Why risk missing the train? But he knew a train often stopped, though, before it reached its destination. He guessed people were the same in that regard and noted that he’d keep moving forward, make the necessary stops through life’s journey to reach his own goals, enjoy the journey along the way.
Steel had made up an analogy about life a while back but hadn’t been able to use it until he’d lived it. He’d say that life was a gumball machine at the mall and that every time frame or season of life was a new gumball, full of flavor. But eventually the flavor would fade, and if people refused to move on to the next season’s gumball, they might get stuck with that stale taste forever. A new season awaited him—life full of flavor again.
A brief, cool breeze swept past him and soothed his skin and was a relief from the hell he’d experienced that afternoon. Marisa’s smile passed through his mind, and he breathed a sigh of relief that she was going to be okay—that she wasn’t going to get the bagpipes and ceremony. Steel had another ceremony in mind, but down the road, and just for the two of them. He smiled at that thought but also reminded himself that love at first sight wasn’t that far-fetched; however, if someone had told him that before meeting Marisa, he would’ve disagreed.
He wandered over and crossed the street, dodging headlights and horns in two separate lanes, heading for City Hall. The sun had turned orange, yellow residue fading, and began lowering, making way for a navy blue night sky. He pressed his shoe heels against the pavement, just in front of City Hall, his hands on his hips and head slightly raised toward the tip of the building.
He thought back over the actions of Mike and of Hitchy and Venice and Hector and Knee and felt no satisfaction at the job he had done. In his mind, he hadn’t done enough. And the reality of his job set in—that no matter how many cases he solved, no matter how much crime he stopped, crime would never fully subside, humans would always treat one another poorly at times, the world wouldn’t ever be perfect. His job would never fully be finished. He might have temporarily turned a black cloud into a gray one for the city of Philadelphia, but evil would always lurk in the world.
He stared hard at City Hall, at its old-world French Second Empire architectural design. With all the history attached to the old building. As it stood as the tallest masonry building in the world, held up by brick, limestone, granite and marble. White-gray edges and hundreds of sculptures of people and animals attached to it poking through the darkening sky.
He raised his eyes and centered in on the central tower rising above the height of the rest of the building, at a symbol synonymous with Philadelphia: a thirty-seven feet tall, twenty-seven ton bronze statue of William Penn.
Steel lowered his eyes to the entrance on the ground and thought how City Hall housed Philadelphia’s three branches of government, the Executive Branch, Legislative Branch, and Judicial Branch.
The building’s front doors triggered a memory, and he closed his eyes. He pictured himself, dressed in his police uniform, just a scared young officer fresh out the Academy reporting to City Hall on his first day on the job. Before that day, he had served his country as a marine, and then after, he had done the same as a police officer.
As he stood there as a detective, worn and exhausted, he knew one thing: he’d done the best he could.
He opened his eyes just as street lights flickered over the streets of Center City Philadelphia.
Steel shook his head to himself.
“I could sure use a fuckin’ cigar.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank my editor, Rob Bignell: Inventing Reality Editing Service—http: //inventingreality.4t.com/editingservices.html
Special thanks to Brittany Clarke: Cornershopediting.net
Thank you to Janet Ramondetta: www.myfriendjanet.com
Thanks to Robert Morales for designing the book cover image: robdraws.blogspot.com
Thank you to the loyal readers of the Benny Steel series; your feedback has been invaluable to me.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
STEVEN GROSSO is the author of three mystery novels set in Philadelphia, and other fiction and non-fiction books. He was born and raised in South Philadelphia, where he still lives. All of his books are available from Amazon.com and other retailers.
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