by Don Weston
“How long have I been here?” My brain bounced around the room trying to follow his words and make sense of them.
“I make it three days including today,” Doctor Hoffman said. “We kept you pretty doped up. A bullet nicked your left lung, collapsing it. We had to insert a chest tube in your lung to inflate it with negative pressure. After we made sure all of the blood and other fluids were removed, we covered the area where the tube was inserted with an occlusive dressing to prevent any air from reentering your lung.”
“Thanks,” I said, and drifted off again. When I woke up the third time, the doctors and nurses were gone and my brothers sat in chairs around my bed.
“Why aren’t you guys working?” I said.
“We took leave,” Dag said. “We’ve been here by your side all this time.”
“Well, who in the hell has been arresting all the crooks out there if you guys are off the job?” I struggled to push myself upright and felt pain in my chest. “Did any of you deadbeats find out who shot me?” I thought it was sweet they worried about me so, but I wouldn’t let them know it. Those goofballs just sat there and grinned.
“The investigators got a couple of leads, but they went cold,” Darrin said. “They’re still trying to track your would-be killers down.”
“I suppose you’re waiting for me to get better and go get them for you.”
They grinned.
“Well, I’m not so sure I want to. I had a lot of time to think about things during my unconsciousness, and I think maybe God has other plans for me. I think maybe he’s trying to tell me to slow down.”
Darrin frowned “Are you okay? You aren’t talking like yourself. Maybe you have some brain damage. You must have hit your head pretty hard when you fell.”
“Do I sound like I’ve got brain damage?”
“How would we know the difference?” he said, and they all laughed. “But seriously, it’s not like you to turn the other cheek. Are you sure you feel okay?”
“I think so,” I said.
“Your heart stopped twice,” Jason said. “You actually were dead for a while.”
“Then my psychic was right.”
“Psychic?” Jason said.
“Yeah. She said I’d stumble onto a murder, but she didn’t say it would be mine.”
“The bullets just missed your heart,” Darrin said. “One punctured a lung and the other one cruised around missing any vital organs. The lung injury and loss of blood almost did you in.”
Seeing God had changed me. I know Dag said he was a homeless person but to me he was God. I felt like maybe he didn’t want me to do this P.I. stuff anymore. Dealing with the dregs of humanity had somehow lost its appeal. But I didn’t like the idea of someone out there hunting for me, and I knew the only way I could quit this racket would be to find the person or persons responsible for wanting me dead before they found me. And I had an obligation to a couple of clients before I could retire and get a real job and maybe someday have a family.
“I’m going to stay in bed and be good for one week,” I said. “Then I’m going hunting for the people who did this to me.”
I gave my brothers, who now seemed to think that maybe I was okay, a description of the three guys who set me up and then chased them out so I could get some rest. I talked tough, but I felt like crap.
I woke up the following morning in a regular hospital room. The attendants transferred me from ICU some time during the night. They drugged me so I couldn’t put up much of a fight when they jostled me around.
I was cross and bitchy and hungry. I told the day nurse I was famished, but she wanted me to wait for a doctor to say it was okay to eat solids. I told her I was going to get up, disconnect all my tubes and hustle my butt down to the cafeteria if she didn’t bring me a steak or hamburger or something I could get my teeth into. Of course, it was a lie. My butt wouldn’t be going anywhere for a couple of days, at least. She shook her head at me and walked away.
I had practiced a vegan lifestyle for a while before my near-death experience, but after nearly dying without benefit of meat or dairy products ever crossing my lips again, I decided to make an exception. It might be a permanent exception.
Quite a few people stopped by to see me, including a bunch of the cops I used to work with. Some of them I hadn’t seen for several months. A few others, not since I quit the force. I was doubly humbled because I didn’t think any of these people were my friends any longer.
Lt. Steve Thomas dropped by the day after I regained consciousness. Steve is built thick and muscular. He has a square jaw, fleeting smile, brown hair and bright blue eyes. We used to be partners when I was on the force and we’re still friends. Truth be known, I still have a crush on him.
He leaned over me with that stupid I told you so grin to show me I screwed up. Only this time there was some kind of warmth behind it. “How you feeling, kid?”
“I’ve been better. What little food I’ve had is bland and the coffee Dag snuck in tastes like they used the grounds I threw out the morning I was shot. Jeez, I hope you brought me something.”
His eyebrows arched a bit and his grin widened. He pulled a paper bag into my view and I saw a familiar grease stain.
“You didn’t,” I said.
“As a matter of fact, I did. I got the feeling the nurses wouldn’t approve, so I tucked it inside my jacket.” He opened the bag.
“Mmm. A bacon maple bar, a chocolate Voodoo doll, cake doughnuts with Captain Crunch and Froot Loops on them, and lemon chiffon crullers. Voodoo Doughnuts.”
“Damn right. I had to stand in line for twenty-five minutes out on the sidewalk after I stopped off at Starbucks and picked you up a Cinnamon Spice Mocha.”
He lifted a liter-sized container of my favorite hot drink from a Starbucks bag. “It might not be too hot by now.”
“Double shot Espresso. You know me too well.” I took a hit from the coffee. “I haven’t eaten real solid food in four days.”
He opened the doughnut bag and started to pick through it. I snatched it away quicker than a bear with his paw stuck in a bee hive and winced at the pain surge in my chest.
“That’s mine. Go get your own.”
“I’ll bring you some more the day-after-tomorrow if you’re good.”
“You darn well better bring me some first thing tomorrow morning if you know what’s good for you.”
We laughed. I relented and let him have a cruller. We attempted small talk but neither of us is good at intimacy. Eventually Steve sobered up and directed his comments at a wall.
“You know, you aren’t out of the woods yet,” he said. “I’m worried about you.”
“The Doc said I’m doing fine. I passed almost all of their tests. He said I’ll be out in a week or two if I’m a good patient.” Steve nodded slowly. “So, I asked, ‘how long if I don’t follow orders, Doc? Cause I’m kind of headstrong that way.’”
“I’m not talking about your health. Someone tried to kill you, and they might try again.”
“I’ve got open cases I have to get back to,” I said. “I don’t get paid for lying around.”
“Dammit, someone put a professional hit out on you. These guys won’t stop until you’re dead. I think you should forget your cases and take a vacation until we catch these killers.”
“I don’t think they’re pros,” I said, ignoring the suggestion. “A pro would have given me a head shot to be sure. They’re amateurs and that might say something about whoever hired them. Besides, you and I both know the cops will never find these guys unless they give themselves up or get picked up in a traffic stop.”
“That’s not fair. Half the department is hunting them now that we have your descriptions to go on. Even though you’re private now, you’re still a cop to most of us. And it’s not safe for you until we find them. Why do you think your brothers have been by your side the last three days?”
“Double time and a half?” I sassed.
“Because they’re worried the assass
ins might try and finish the job,” Steve said. “They took turns guarding you around the clock.”
“Well, they can go back to their own lives now.”
“Don’t be rash. The department doesn’t have the manpower to stick a guard outside your door twenty-four-seven. I’ll bet whoever shot you is checking and hoping you would take a turn for the worse. Now that you’re back with the living, the pressure is on them to finish the job. Why don’t you go visit your aunt in Tacoma?”
“I’m telling you, I can take care of myself,” I said. The frown on his mug told me he wasn’t buying it. I pulled a Glock 22 from under my pillow and nodded toward it.
“Where in the Hell did you get that?” he said.
“Darrin gave it me for protection. When I chased them out yesterday he came back with it a few minutes later.”
“You’ve been armed ever since you woke up?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s unnerving because I never know when someone is going to come in and start moving me around. I don’t want to blow a hole in some orderly by mistake. I’m lucky I didn’t shoot anyone last night when they moved my bed from the ICU because I don’t remember a thing.”
“I’ll bring you another one if they take it away.” He was serious.
“Bring me something bigger. This has good stopping power, but I want something that says, bang, you’re no longer on this earth.”
“I could bring a sawed-off shotgun.” It was his attempt at sarcasm, but he changed the subject when he saw me nodding. “Speaking of arsenals,” he said, “Angel should be by a bit later. She said she had some errands to do.”
Angel is no angel. My diminutive brunette secretary stands five-foot-one in high heels, dresses like a hooker, and has too many tattoos. She also carries at least three guns on her person at all times. She gave up smoking a few years ago and walks around with a permanent space between two fingers on her left hand where a cigarette rested for 10 years. When she’s nervous she takes a phantom puff.
“How’s she been?” I asked.
“I only saw her for a minute this morning, but I’d say she’s up to three packs a day if she still smoked.”
“It must be hard on her running the business while I’ve been incapacitated.”
“Yeah, about that.” Steve stared at the wall again.
“What’s wrong?” I tried to sit up.
“Ah, I got some bad news for you.” He took a long time in the windup to throw me the knuckleball.
“You know that jerk Johnson who was suing you? The judge finally ruled yesterday. He’s awarded Johnson one and a half million dollars.”
“What?” It felt like I ripped a stitch when I lurched at the news.
“How did the city let that happen?” I said. Slowly the truly bad news slipped up on me like flesh-eating bacteria. “Don’t tell me they cut a deal with Chris The Creep.”
“I’m sorry, Billie. They said you were off duty when it happened, and claimed they fired you because you weren’t following departmental procedure.”
“The liars. I quit!”
“Rather than be terminated,” he reminded me. “The city agreed to pay five hundred thousand dollars and left you owing the rest.”
“But why didn’t they wait for me?”
“The Creep’s lawyer said the trial could be delayed indefinitely and the plaintiff needed his due process. I think he was afraid you would die before the judge ruled.”
I threw my bed sheets off. “I would have if it meant that creep couldn’t collect. I’ll give him his due process right up his keister.”
“You can’t get out of bed. You’re in no condition.”
I hate it when Steve’s right. I had no sooner gotten my weight on my feet when my legs quivered like Jell-O. My gut argued with that doughnut and coffee, and my head spun. Steve lifted my traumatized legs up onto the bed, one at a time, and eased me back onto my pillow. After a couple of deep breaths, I relaxed.
“How did Angel take it?”
“The judge froze all your assets. Angel’s a nervous wreck. I think she’s planning to use some of her own money.”
It took a while but Steve finally calmed me down.
“I’ll see you in the morning with some more doughnuts,” he said.
“Forget the doughnuts.” I tightened the grip on my Glock. “Could you bring Chris The Creep instead? Maybe you could get him a day pass. Tell the authorities the court wants to rule on one of his many motions. Oh, and if it’s not too much trouble, maybe you could encourage that city lawyer and my former union rep to drop by since I’m not well enough to call on them.”
“Oh Shit.” Steve kicked at the floor. “Chris Johnson got out the day before you were shot. I only heard second-hand, but I think he won an appeal on the burglary charge. I guess the D.A. doesn’t want to put the city through the cost of another trial. He’s out walking around now.”
I screamed into my pillow. Steve left abruptly after making some awkward apologies. I needed to get out of this business and maybe I was getting some help. The forces all seemed to be against me. I had no money, very little health insurance and apparently no rights.
I fell asleep and had sweet dreams about shooting my gun at the firing range. Instead of targets, I sighted down the barrel at Chris The Creep, the judge who ruled against me, the city lawyer, and my former union rep. I was in heaven until my dream was hijacked by the face of the little man who put me in the hospital. Then I was in purgatory.
Chapter 3
I spent the rest of the morning being poked at by nurses and doctors and blowing into a plastic tube to make a gauge rise. It reminded me of hitting the gong with a sledge hammer at the carnival, only with a punctured lung this was much harder.
Doctor Hoffman also scheduled an EEG to make sure all my brain synapses fired correctly. The handsome doctor wanted to make sure I hadn’t suffered any brain injury or concussion when my head bounced on the warehouse concrete floor. But the good doctor couldn’t stay and chat so I rolled over, tired from all the activity, and dreamt the Doc and Steve arm wrestled to see who would take me out for dinner.
Angel showed up soon after my nap, dressed nice and cheery in a thin white blouse with a black lacy bra underneath. At least, I told her she looked nice. Her ensemble included a blue miniskirt, about ten years too young for her and red spiked heels. She applied her makeup liberally, her lips painted bold red, and her hair was pumped up like some model in the magazine Seventeen, with lots of rebellious curls. Did I mention Angel’s a fashion-disaster? The girl has no taste and I think she might be color blind.
“Good morning,” she said, and moved in for a careful hug. “Gee, it’s great to see you awake. I’ve been here every day except yesterday when you woke up. I was in court trying to keep Chris The Creep from getting your money. And last night they said you were resting. Did Steve give you the bad news?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t take his news very well,” I said.
“That bottom feeder,” she said, and took a puff of her phantom cigarette.
“How did The Creep get sprung already?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I didn’t even know he was out until I saw him in court yesterday.” Angel brushed some unruly black bangs from her eyes.
“He killed that little old lady when he burgled her house,” Angel said.
“At least he did call for help,” I said. “That’s how he got caught.”
“I didn’t say he was smart,” Angel said. “I guess they took that into account, and I hear that lawyer of his is really good. Of course, he can afford the guy because of his settlement with the city and his lawsuit against you.”
“Ohhh. . . I don’t have a million dollars.”
“You don’t have to come up with the whole amount,” Angel said
“I don’t?”
“No. Your liability insurance covers up to five hundred thousand dollars. That leaves only a half million for you to pay.”
“Are you trying to cheer me up?”
&nb
sp; “Well, yeah . . .”
She continued cheering me up by telling me the judge had frozen my bank accounts and appointed a trustee to go over my assets, sell my property, and pay The Creep off. She also told me my attorney had already filed an appeal so my beautiful Victorian house in the high rent district of Northwest 23rd Avenue, left to me by my favorite Uncle, was safe for the time being.
“How are we paying the bills?” I asked.
“I planned to use some of my money from my Christmas savings.”
I shook my head and regretted it instantly. My temple throbbed so I settled into my pillow for refuge.
“I want you to go to my place and take down the shower curtain rod in my bathroom,” I said. “Open the end closest to the showerhead. It’s got one of those plastic stoppers that come off. The tube is hollow.”
“Yes?”
“There should be some money rolled up inside. Hundred-dollar bills. I’ve been putting them in there one or two at a time for years. I’ll bet there’s a couple thousand dollars by now. It was a forced savings plan. Once I got the little buggers in there, I couldn’t reach them to get them out.”
Angel grimaced.
“What?” I said. “I don’t trust banks. Use the money for operating expenses.”
“How am I supposed to get the bills out of the shower rod?” Angel asked.
“That’s your problem. All I know is a coat hanger just pushes them further inside.”
“I’ll stop by the hardware store and get a pipe cutter,” she said.
“A what?”
“It’s a little gizmo like a clamp with a blade that makes circles around the pipe until it cuts through.
“Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Possibly because you aren’t very mechanically minded,” Angel said.
She leaned over and gave me a hug. I smelled like antiseptic hospital sheets and stale coffee and she of garish and overpowering perfume, but it felt good to hug someone again.
“Well, isn’t that sweet. The two buddies in a clinch. Hey, are you two Lesbos? We should get together and have a threesome at my place.”
I cast my eyes up to the unctuous face of the newly sprung Chris Johnson. He wore a pair of Calvin Klein blue jeans, a beige form-fitting knit shirt, and a cheesy smile.
