by A. J. Downey
***
Two hours later the couch was lined up to go out the door and there were three trash bags sitting on it, ready to go down to the dumpster in the alley. Backdraft wasn’t a happy camper, but he’d gotten here just in time to help me out with the trash haul and hadn’t had to deal with the joy that’d been scrubbing blood and dried wine out of the hardwood floor on hands and knees. The stains were still super apparent, but nothing short of pulling up and laying new boards was going to help that.
“You ready?” he demanded.
“Yeah.”
“One, two, three; lift!”
We wrestled the damn couch, a real nice silvery microfiber that looked like suede, out to the alley. We set it down by the dumpster. We looked at each other, chests heaving and arms burning and Backdraft asked, “This ain’t just about feeling sorry for a victim, is it? You like her, don’t you?”
“Be lying if I denied it.” I said.
“Didn’t you date this bitch a few years back?”
“One, she’s not a bitch and two, yeah, yeah we dated.”
“Well then what happened?”
I shrugged, “It just didn’t work out.” He gave me a look like seriously, and I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t like it was some epic fucking romance or anything. It was three and a half dates and none of them made it past first base.”
“Dude, all that tells me is that you seriously suck at sealing the deal.” I turned and he followed as we made our way back into the building and up to Chrissy’s floor.
“Wasn’t like that, either. Chrissy’s a classy girl. Not some ‘one and done’ type deal. At the time I really was hoping we’d reconnect when we were both in a better position.”
“You could have had her in multiple positions if you’d tried harder,” he cracked and I shook my head.
“You may be all about the Holster Humpers, and Badge Bunnies but that’s not my thing.”
He frowned and shook his head, “It was fun while it lasted, but I’m pretty much over it, now.”
“What’s going on with you?” I demanded and he sighed, and leaned back against the brick wall of the building next door to Chrissy’s.
“Shit’s going sideways with Torrid,” he said and didn’t sound happy about it. I searched his face and asked, “Sideways how, exactly?”
“Same shit, different day… I work too much, I’m never home. We’re always broke, and somehow that’s my fault. You know, typical couples crap. What else you need me for?”
It wasn’t ‘typical couples crap,’ we all liked Torrid enough, but she was a high maintenance bitch and Backdraft needed someone decidedly less so. He wasn’t suited for an alpha female, being too damn alpha himself. He needed someone decidedly more submissive, but it wasn’t my place to tell him something he already knew.
I shook my head and said, “That’s it, man.”
“Seriously? You called me down here just to move a couch and three bags of trash?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought you needed help cleaning up, I thought there was more.”
“No, man. I just needed a hand with the couch. Too awkward to get it on my own.”
“Shit, I take back every curse I uttered when I hung up the phone,” he said. I laughed and he asked skeptically, “You need anything else?”
“No, man. Get out of here.” I pushed off the wall of Chrissy’s apartment building and opened up my arms. We bear hugged and slapped each other on the backs.
“Sweet, call me anytime if it’s going to be like that,” he declared and I nodded.
“I’m holding you to that, asshole.”
We clasped hands and bumped shoulders, slapping each other on the back in a manly hug one more time.
“See you around, brother.”
“Keep the shiny side up, man.”
He turned around and I watched the emblem on the back of his cut, our club’s colors; fade into the dark. It made me smile every time I saw it. Most people wouldn’t get it, but the ‘Young’ in my road name totally did. We were a real life pack of superheroes when you thought about it, and every time I watched one of my brothers’ walk away, I saw that shield and that knight’s piece with the rays coming off of it and thought to myself that it was just our team’s emblem.
I loved being a cop. I didn’t always love what came with it, the suffering, the broken, and the violence, but I loved being a part of the solution to it all. I wouldn’t trade that part for the world.
I looked at Chrissy’s suddenly empty living room and sighed. Her laptop was on the coffee table along with its charger, plugged in off to the side and fully charged. I think that was our first clue that this whole thing hadn’t been a robbery. Well, that, and the fact that there was way too much media attention surrounding Chrissy and coincidences were pretty few and far between when it came to police work. Usually the most obvious answer was the answer. Occam’s razor totally applying. That was the philosophic principle that if two options presented themselves, it was usually the simpler of the two that was the answer. The more assumptions you had to make, the less likely that was to be the answer.
Take Chrissy’s place, for instance. It was neat and clean, dusted and everything orderly that hadn’t been fucked up after the whole having her shit kicked in. Nothing was out of place, simple deduction being that no robbery had occurred and the gunman was legitimately here to kill her. Sami Lynn Hayworth may have been the first one shot, but that was because she’d been in a direct line of sight to the front door, Chrissy’s position in the apartment hadn’t been.
I could make other, subtler deductions about Chrissy’s lifestyle and tastes based on what was present. She didn’t have a cable box. That meant one of two things. Either she wasn’t much of a TV watcher or she was too busy with work to bother with owning cable. The latter was definitely the simpler answer because of the stack of movies on top of the Blu-ray player and the fact that there was a Netflix emblem on the Blu-ray’s remote.
I felt a little like a creeper going through her little one bedroom, but I located her tablet and her kindle and had my curiosity resolved as to why she needed both. The kindle wasn’t one of those ones that could double as a tablet. Instead, it was one of those weird ones that looked like a printed page. A pair of reading glasses were perched forlornly on the edge and it struck me.
I was in Chrissy’s home. Going through her belongings and yeah it was to help her, but this moment deserved so much of my attention and care. This was a total invasion of her privacy which had already been violated on so many levels, first by that asshole, and then by me and CSU. Now, here I was again for a different reason, but damn. I needed to do everything here with respect.
I opened closets and looked for a bag to put it all in and I came up with a big beach tote. I wondered then if it was something she liked to do. Judging by the wear on the buttons of her kindle, she liked to read. There was a light dusting of sand in the bottom of the bag and I suddenly had an image of her on a beach somewhere, lounging back in a chair, painted toes digging into the sand. It was a nice image, sun gleaming on her skin, bringing out those Italian roots and kissing it with that olive tone most women dropped serious dough at a tanning salon for.
“Shit, McCormick. You have one hell of an active imagination.” I said to myself on a sigh.
As much as I both did and didn’t want to, I went through her drawers and found her some of her own things. Underthings, a nice set of pajamas in a silvery satin, top and bottoms. They were one of those sets that looked like – and felt like – expensive shit. I folded them with care and found another set just beneath them in a burgundy. I packed those, too. I skipped the skimpier lacey things and tried to get my mind out of the gutter but it was hard.
Chrissy Franco looked like a younger version of Monica Bellucci. All large dark eyes, high cheekbones and those lips that begged to be kissed. Though I’d never gotten to see under her pencil skirts and satin blouses, the way the material had clung to her figure left all the right thi
ngs to the imagination but left no doubt that the body under them was straight bangin’. It’d been such a bitch not taking her up on the offer of a one night stand on our last date, and I’d kicked myself for it a lot over the last few years, but still, I stood by what I’d said.
Christina Marie Franco was a woman who deserved way better than that, and I wasn’t going to be that guy.
I pulled the shit together that I thought she would need along with the items she’d requested and made sure that everything was good. Satisfied, I took the bag and items out to the living room, made sure the bag was packed tight enough and wound her laptop cord up and stashed both the laptop itself and the cord in the top of the tote and with a last look around, scooped up her purse and her keys and went out the front door, locking it up tight.
I went down to the super’s apartment to give him the keys and he scowled at me.
“Those are hers, you’re going to see her ain’t ‘cha?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Then what’re you tryin’ to hand ‘em to me fer?”
He slammed the door in my face and I had to laugh a little. Sometimes the people in this city were, well, they were just something else.
I stashed things between the two hard sided saddlebags on my bike and tried to decide if I wanted to swing by the hospital, or just head home. It’d been a long fucking day, so I went with home over the hospital for now. I mean, I had said I would bring her what she’d asked for tomorrow when I’d seen her, except in about an hour and a half more, it would be tomorrow.
I rode across the bay bridge, locked the bike in the garage, and called it good for tonight. I’d gone above and beyond, it was true, but then again, Chrissy wasn’t just any vic, either. I needed to quit lying to myself that I would do this for anybody because it straight up wasn’t true.
Here was to second chances and all of that.
Chapter 8
Chrissy
Nearly a week had passed since Tony had brought me some things from my apartment. It’d been a brief visit. He’d caught another case and I had been disappointed. I hadn’t seen him much since, but he had called more than a few times to check and see how I was doing.
It was more than I could say for my coworkers at the firm. I hadn’t received so much as an email from any of them and when I had called to sort out how much sick leave and vacation I had accrued, to see if it would cover the long road to recovery ahead of me, it had been all business with the woman in HR.
I didn’t feel like a valued employee at all, just another number, a statistic… a nobody.
Three light raps fell on the open door to my room and I turned my head carefully. It was getting easier, the motion not pulling as badly, or sending that jolt of agony through my back and out my chest from where I’d been shot.
I was even able to somewhat hobble to the bathroom nearly on my own with the use of a cane, now. Still had to have someone spot me, but it was better than the humiliation of a Foley catheter and bedpans.
I frowned but more in curiosity at who was at my door…
“Mr. Parnell, what are you doing here?”
Damien Parnell was one of the fiercest ADA’s Indigo City’s District Attorney’s office had ever had. He had the highest conviction rates that the city had ever seen and I’d once put a dent in it, so I was surprised to see him here. I mean, he hadn’t taken the loss I’d handed him exceptionally well at the time, so…
“Thought I would come to check on you, I have to say, as far as adversaries in the courtroom go, you have to be one of my all-time favorites.”
“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow and clasped my hands in my lap after laying my tablet on the top of my tray table. My one arm was still in a sling, and would be for a long time to come, but sometimes supporting that hand gently with the other eased some of the pain.
“I hope these aren’t totally unwelcome.” He pulled a bouquet of light pink roses out from behind his back and I smiled.
“As long as you aren’t hitting on me, I think we’ll be fine.”
“Can’t make any promises,” he said with a wink and smiled. I smiled, too and felt my body ease at his gentle teasing.
He took the vase that the bouquet from the firm had come in and stuck it under the sink’s faucet, turning the tap. The flowers the firm had sent had died in like three days, despite my day nurse’s attention and care. Poor Pasquale had tried everything to make the blossoms last, but for some reason, they just didn’t.
The roses that Damian Parnell was unwrapping seemed to be much heartier, and came with a plant food packet that he added to the water.
“They’re really beautiful, thank you.”
“No problem,” he said, pulling up a chair. “Now really, how have you been holding up?”
“I wish I could say I’ve been doing alright, but it’s hard.”
“I can’t even imagine,” he said, his shrewd, dark eyes traveling over my face.
I pressed my lips together and nodded, “Has something else come up? Has the investigation started moving again?” I asked.
He looked solemn and shook his head. “No, I wish I had something else to report on that front, but I don’t. I’ve been… in touch, with the detectives working your case, but there’s been no movement yet. Nothing new has come up. Still, I’ve taken a vested interest.”
“Why?” I asked and he gave me a crooked smile.
“Because like it or not, you’re one of the good ones Ms. Franco. You give your clients a zealous defense, but not once have I seen you play dirty or underhanded in order to secure the win. There are some of us out here who admire you for that.”
“Oh,” I murmured, taken aback. I didn’t think anyone had anything positive to say about me. Not anymore.
“That and I think it would be remiss of me not to take a vested interest in your case. Not when it’s suddenly become acceptable to shoot the lawyers when the outcome of a case is less than what was desired. It’s anathema to the entire purpose of even having a criminal justice system, don’t you think?”
I went to nod and stopped myself just in time, though the motion was growing easier. “I have to entirely agree with that point, counselor.”
He smiled and his dark eyes sparkled. “I really do wish you a speedy recovery,” he said gently and stood up.
“Thank you,” I said, trying not to choke up. It was nice that he’d stopped in, but I found myself sorry that he had to apparently go so soon.
I’d only had a scant few other times that anyone had come to visit me aside from Tony, one of them had been last week. Sami’s brother and her parents had come to see me after her funeral. Her mom and dad had apologized to me for not coming sooner and I still couldn’t get my head around that. Them. Apologizing. To me. After what I’d done… calling Sami, telling her all about it; not telling her to stay away until things had calmed down.
It was all my fault, and I’d broken down, told them as much, but they wouldn’t hear anything of it. They refused to heap anymore blame on me that I hadn’t already buried myself under. They’d told me that they had tried to come once before, right away while I’d been in ICU, but that they hadn’t been permitted to see me as they weren’t family. Tony hadn’t been family either, but he had the grace of his badge to open doors for him.
I’d told them I was so sorry that I had been the one to have lived and I had instantly felt bad at the devastation in Janine’s bright blue eyes. She had been a second mother to me for a lot of years, and when my mother and father had died, they’d instantly taken me in as one of their own.
Bob and Janine Hayworth had given me a stern lecture after that, and their son, David, Sami’s older brother had been the one to stop them. They’d promised to come back and see me and I believed them, but I also knew we all needed some more time.
“I should really get going,” Prosecutor Parnell said. “You look really tired.”
I nodded and said, “I am, a little but really, thank you for coming. It means a lot.”
&nb
sp; He nodded, “Get well soon, I’d like to see you back in the courtroom.”
“I’ll see you there,” I said and forced a smile when I honestly just felt like crying again.
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
He winked and headed out of my hospital room door, pausing in the doorway and suddenly reaching for the handle.
I heard him ask, “And who might you be?” as he shut the door and heard a shouted, “Hey!” before something out in the hallway crashed.
The crashing sound made me jump slightly which sent pain rattling down my nerve endings. I sat frozen, heartrate elevating, breath crushed from my lungs with fear as I waited, waited, waited.
Finally, the door to my room opened and Pasquale breezed in like nothing had happened out there.
“What was that?” I asked.
“What was what?” he asked smiling.
“That crash, and who was Parnell talking to?”
“Parnell?”
“The man, the visitor who just left my room.”
Pasquale shook his head and looked at me as if confused, but I could tell he was lying. He held out a paper cup filled with my midday dose of pain pills and antibiotics and waited for me to take them. I stared at him past the cup and he sighed, shoulders dropping.
“I don’t know, and honestly, it’s nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about. That fine ass detective that keeps coming around here has had a guard on your door for a while now, all of them wearing the same motorcycle jackets he does. I don’t think they’re all cops, but I could be wrong.”
“What?” I asked, and I could feel the color drain from my face.
“Look, sunshine,” Pasquale said, and I stared up at him. “You’re fine. That man is totally sprung on you and I could really use the eye candy, like that fine specimen of a man that came in here just now, around here. So please, please don’t chase the parade of beefcake away.”
I started to shake my head, the muscle pulling, so I stopped.
“I can’t… I mean I won’t.”
Pasquale looked me over and sighed. He was the best nurse, and dare I say, had become almost a close friend over the time he’d been caring for me. He was sweet, and vibrant, and apparently a drag queen during his off hours, but all that left me, was seriously dying to see his show.
