by Corey Brown
“I don’t have a gun. Hell, I just got out of the shower.”
“Do you understand?” Derek repeats.
“Yes,” Lucas hisses. “No surprises, I get it.”
Derek steps into the band of light stabbing out from the bathroom. The moment stretches out and the two men stare at each other. Until just now, Derek did not know Lucas was so tall, so big. But the difference in size is evident, Lucas towers over the lawman.
“I have to check for weapons,” Derek says.
“Fuck you, don’t touch me. Do you have a warrant?”
“We will get to that in a minute. Right now, I’m checking for weapons.”
“You touch me and I’ll----”
Lucas yelps as Derek jams his thumb into Lucas’s trapezius muscle. Gripping the lawyer’s arm, and in a fluid move, Derek spins him around, bumps each of his legs, kicking them apart and presses a hand between Lucas’s shoulders, shoving him against the wall.
Fairly certain Lucas does not have a concealed weapon, Derek’s efforts to find one are something less than sincere. Stepping back, Derek allows Lucas to face him. “Okay then,” Derek says. “Now we can talk.”
“That was uncalled for,” Lucas says. “Let me see your ID.”
Derek flips open his badge holder, waits the obligatory three seconds, then snaps the leather billfold shut.
“Beautiful,” Lucas says. “The Federal Government just got itself a lawsuit. I’m going to retire on this one.”
“Save it. I could care less about you, this is personal. Besides, when Detective Burnack is finished questioning his prime suspect in the murder of Marion Dubois, and that would be you, when Burnack is done with you, this little meeting won’t mean shit.”
It doesn’t matter if Lucas finds out Marion is not dead, Derek wants to push him off balance. But the statement does not quite have the impact Derek intends.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lucas says, his tone calm and relaxed.
“Yes, you do.” Derek nods toward the clothes piled on the sofa. “Why the disguise?”
“What? Those clothes? They’re old, I was thinking about dropping them off at Goodwill.”
“Where were you around Three o’clock today?”
“Come on, Agent Simmons, you’ve just informed me that I’m the primary suspect in a murder investigation and you expect me to answer questions without my attorney? You must think I’m a fool.”
“What happened to Todd, where is he?”
“Todd?”
“Yeah, your kid. Remember him?”
“Did Cody send you?” Lucas says. “I didn’t think the FBI ran errands for dipshits in the New Orleans Police Department.”
“Cute. Where’s Todd?”
“I don’t know.”
“Look, Mr. Kelly, that dipshit with the NOPD is a good friend of mine. His son----”
“My son,” Lucas interrupts, his tone sharp but not quite sincere. “Todd is my son.”
Derek shrugs. “You’re talking biology. Cody is more of a father than you could ever hope to be. And it’s a guarantee that if he’d been around today instead of you, Marion would be alive and Todd would be safe.”
Lucas raises his hands defensively. “Hey, I was nowhere near my place when Marion was shot.”
Looking confused, Derek frowns. It is an act, but in truth Derek is surprised, caught off guard by Kelly’s near confession of guilt.
Derek tilts his head, plays up the act and says, “I never said how Marion died or where she was killed. What makes you think it was at your house or that a firearm was used?”
“Uh…I…” Lucas swallows, recalibrates. “I didn’t say she was hurt at my house. All I said was that I was nowhere near my house when it happened. You said she was murdered, it’s a natural assumption that a gun was involved.”
Derek had to admit, the guy was good. There had been that moment when Lucas had faltered, but he had recovered nicely.
“Lucas,” Derek says, lowering his voice. “I know you were there when Marion was shot, I know you have some idea of what’s happened to Todd and I also know you ran like a spineless worm. And, despite the fact Todd is your own flesh and blood, I know you don’t give a shit about him. But Jamie and Cody are worried sick. Now, I’m here to help my friend find his boy. How about it, you gonna cooperate?”
Lucas swallows but it isn’t a nervous gesture, he seems relaxed. He squares his shoulders and with practiced deliberation, says, “You cannot prove that I had anything to do with Marion’s death or Todd’s disappearance. So why don’t you shove your accusations up your ass and stick walk-out of here?”
Derek raises his eyebrows and a dangerous look plays across his face. “I am going to find Todd,” he says. “One way or another I’ll find him. And if that means shooting off parts of your body for information then I will do just that.”
Lucas scowls. “Right, like you’re going to shoot me. You clown, this isn’t Hollywood, we both know that crap doesn’t happen in real life.”
Derek narrows his eyes and removes his Beretta 84 Cheetah. The move isn’t dramatic or showy but there is a point of hesitation, a moment of pause before Derek grabs Lucas by the wrist, pinning the back of his hand against the wall. Then Derek shoves the gun barrel into Lucas’s palm.
“Oh shit!” Lucas says, “What’re you doing?”
“You’re right, Mr. Kelly,” Derek says, sounding cool, on task. “This isn’t Hollywood but I really am going to put a hole in your hand if you don’t tell me where to find Todd.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“Not yet, but I’m getting there. So, how about it? Are you going to tell me where Todd is or do I have to persuade you?”
“Jesus,” Lucas says. “I don’t know, I swear I don’t know anything.”
Derek grimaces, pressing the gun just a bit harder. “Not good enough. Say goodbye to your hand.”
«»
Doctor Robiere stares at her patient. David Carlson should not be here, he should be in the morgue being dead like he was last night.
“Seventy-one degrees,” the tech calls out. “And drop---”
“I’m not losing him again,” Robiere snaps, her expression intense. She points at a nurse. “Start an IV. Normal saline, keep it between one hundred-six, and one hundred-nine degrees. That’s the window, not one degree higher or lower. Limit the rate to one seventy-five milliliters per hour, but not less than fifty.”
“Lord, I’m your servant,” Suzanne continues to pray. “Please hear my petition.”
“You,” Robiere says, pointing at another nurse. “Heat up some oxygen, same range as the IV. And get some more goddamned blankets.”
Suzanne flashes a look at Robiere, feeling pierced by the use of God’s name in that way. “David is at your mercy, Lord,” she says, a sting in her voice. “We’re all at your mercy. Lead me, lead the doctor. Give us all strength and guidance.”
The ER explodes to life. One nurse jabs a needle into David’s arm while another dashes off in search of blankets.
“Sixty-three degrees,” the technician says.
Doctor Robiere palms her forehead, rubs hard. “How is this possible?” She says. “How can this guy still be breathing at sixty-three degrees?” Robiere points at the body thermometer and says to the technician. “Replace your equipment, I want a fresh reading.”
“The gear is working.”
“Replace it anyway.”
Suzanne moves back, keeping out of the way, watching Robiere and her team work. But she continues her appeals to God. Mouthing them silently now, Suzanne’s words are fluid as often is the case when she falls deep into prayer. She can feel the spirit at work, moving through her, moving through the room. Feeling God’s hand, she prays more intensely.
Then, for no reason in particular, a nurse thumbs David’s eyelid to check his pupils. “Oh shit,” she gasps. “His eyes.”
Without knowing it, Suzanne stops praying.
“What’s
wrong?” Robiere says.
“His eyes are….” The nurse looks at the doctor, swallows so hard her throat jumps. “His eyes are gone.”
“What are you talking about?” Robiere removes a penlight from her lab coat and lifts one of David’s eyelids. A few yards away Suzanne watches, she sees Robiere straighten. Suzanne knows the nurse had been right.
“I don’t understand,” Robiere says in a low, shaky voice. “Freezing body temps, no eyes, what the hell is going on?”
A man from the admitting station calls out, “Doctor, we have an inbound. A middle-aged, Caucasian male—
“Not now,” Robiere barks. “This guy died once already, I will not lose him again.”
Catching herself, Robiere glances around at her staff, razor thin in number, all of whom are staring back, surprised by her sharp tone. She shakes her head, a proffered apology to everyone. Robiere is down two nurses who are out on maternity leave, another is on loan to the gunshot victim who just arrived and, for the coup de grâce, her second shift partner, a newbie doctor like herself, is out of commission, recovering from a urinary tract infection.
For two days Rose Robiere has been forced to play Superman, living on coffee, Doritos and a few hours of sleep. If I am Superman, Rose thinks, this job is Kryptonite. It’s too much, I can’t do this.
She shakes her head again. Robiere is not sure what she had in mind some ten years ago when she had enrolled in medical school, but this was definitely not it.
The doctor sighs, walks over to the admitting station. “Sorry, Tony,” she says. “I was out of line. Give it to me again.”
Tony, a man almost twice her age, takes Rose’s hand, holds it like she is his daughter. “Forget it, doc,” he says, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I understand.”
“Thanks,” Robiere says, the gratitude is genuine. “What’s on the way?”
“A middle-aged, Caucasian male, myocardial infarction. Paramedics have resuscitated him twice en route. They’re not sure if they can do it again.”
Frustrated, Robiere rubs the back of her neck and says, “Why here? Why not Tulane?”
“Power problems. For some reason, they can’t keep the lights on even with the generator. We’re the next available.”
Robiere thinks about Kryptonite again and decides it is everywhere, the whole goddamned building must be made of it. An image of New Orleans sheathed in that green stuff pops into her head and Robiere almost giggles but she breathes deep then says, “Okay, how soon?”
“Three minutes, probably less.”
Less than three minutes. Robiere considers her options, saying. “Okay, listen up. We have an inbound heart attack that’s in real trouble. We’ve got two minutes, be ready.”
There is a shift in the Emergency Room. The staff doesn’t exactly abandon David Carlson, but they seem to de-focus. He is no longer the center of attention.
Suzanne senses the change and watches Robiere as she turns away from the admitting station.
“What about David?” Suzanne says, moving to intercept Robiere.
The doctor’s body posture changes, a visual sigh. Robiere starts to respond, she waits, wants to tell Suzanne that there are other people, besides her brother, who need medical attention. Instead, Robiere says, “Look, I have no idea what is happening to your brother or why he isn’t dead.” She holds up her right hand, palm out. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean that the way it sounds. I’m glad he’s alive, I really am. But I just don’t know how to treat him. At the moment he seems to be stable and it will take some time before our warming techniques to begin working. If they work at all.”
Robiere checks her watch. “But in less than two minutes I’ll have a medical emergency that makes sense, one I think I know how to treat. And I have to give this new patient my full attention, just as I did, last night, with David. I’ll keep an eye on your brother, I promise. I don’t want to lose him any more than you do, but I have to take care of this inbound. I don’t have a choice.”
Suzanne starts to protest, saying, “But what if----?” She stops mid-sentence and looks at David. She feels like this second chance, this gift from God is being ignored, forgotten. Suzanne thinks about miracles and divine intervention, reminds herself that whatever God sets in motion, stays in motion. She swallows and says, “I understand.”
Doctor Robiere inhales, she is careful not to sound relieved, but does feel some measure of relief; if Suzanne Carlson is placated, that means one less distraction. “Why don’t you get some coffee?” Robiere says. “Have a seat in the waiting room.”
“I have to stay with David.”
Robiere shakes her head then says, “Things happen in here…trust me, you don’t want to see.”
“But I can’t leave him now.” Suzanne’s eyes mist over and her lip begins to tremble. “I’ve been through so much, can’t I just---” Her voice catches.
A siren whines in the distance, the ambulance is just blocks away. Robiere looks at Suzanne and feels a dual tug in her heart; she really does want David’s story to have a happy ending. Even more, she understands Suzanne’s desire to stay with her brother. Jesus, who wouldn’t? But Robiere is annoyed, too. Right now, she just doesn’t have time for tears.
“I’m sorry,” Robiere says, “I know you’re tired and you want to be with David, but it will be better if you go to the waiting room.”
Unexpectedly, another doctor, some stranger, appears at Suzanne’s side. He takes her elbow and says, “Come on, I’ll go with you.”
Suzanne looks at the man, her face contorting into an expression of pain. “But I need to stay with David.”
“You will be watching over him soon enough, I promise.”
“Thanks.”
It is a word spoken in unison; Suzanne and Rose Robiere say it at the same time. The two women look at each other, both knowing the other’s motivation behind the expression of gratitude.
Robiere starts to apologize but her expression grows puzzled, she stares at the other doctor and says, “Who are you?”
The other doctor, this stranger, looks back at Robiere and offers a bleak smile. “No one, a friend.”
Chapter 28
Cody, Jamie and Gus watch as a young woman tenuously threads her way to the far side of the waiting room. A doctor wearing yellow shoe covers walks with her, his hand intimately touching her back. Almost immediately Jamie recognizes the woman.
“Daddy,” Jamie says, angling her head toward the pair. “That’s Suzanne Carlson. What’s she doing back here?”
Gus looks in the direction his daughter has indicated. “Hey, yeah, I thought she was gone.”
They watch as Suzanne practically falls into one of the hard, plastic chairs, the doctor kneeling in front of her.
“I thought she’d left an hour ago,” Jamie observes.
“Almost two hours, now,” Gus says.
“Who did you say that was?” Cody says. “You know her?”
Jamie shakes her head. “We don’t really know her. We spoke briefly a few hours ago.”
“What’s her name?”
Jamie is put off by Cody’s tone. He sounds harsh and demanding. Jamie looks at him, deliberating if she should answer, when someone calls out.
All three turn to see Derek Simmons hurrying toward them. Behind him several ER staffers rush outside as a siren chokes off.
“Did you find Todd?” Jamie says, moving forward to meet Derek, her eyes becoming moist.
Derek’s pace falters and for a second he looks passed Jamie, looks at Cody.
“You didn’t find him,” Jamie says, stopping short.
Derek takes another tentative step then he stops, too. His shoulders sag. “No, I didn’t but I have a lead.”
Cody slips his arm over Jamie’s shoulder. Gus is only a step behind the two of them.
“What do you have?” Cody says.
“How’s Marion, any word?” Derek says.
Cody shakes his head. “No, nothing, she’s still in surgery. What
about Todd?”
The outside doors hiss open and the hospital staff members return with a lifeless body on a gurney. One nurse pushes another guides, someone else holds an oxygen mask in place.
“Let’s go, let’s get him in there,” one of them says.
Everyone watches as the patient is rolled into the emergency room. Everyone, except Suzanne Carlson.
Turning to Derek, Cody says, “You have a lead?”
Derek motions them to a more private spot. He looks at Jamie then at Gus and says, “I know this is family business but there’s a police investigation going on, too. I have to caution you not----”
“We got it,” Gus interrupts, his hands raised. “We ain’t talkin’ to nobody. And fuck your police investigation, what about our boy?”
Derek’s looks at Gus in surprise. He hadn’t expected such sharp words, had not expected the language. “Okay,” Derek says. “I caught up with Lucas in his office and he admitted to being at his condo when Marion was shot. Apparently, Marion came to the door and beat the shit out of Lucas.
“What?” Jamie says. “What do you mean?”
“Well. Lucas wasn’t real clear, he didn’t say why she did it but from what I understand, Marion slapped him silly.”
“She hit him?” Gus says. “Did that son of a bitch shoot her?”
“Lucas says no.”
“You believe him?” Cody says.
Derek draws a hand across his square chin, he looks troubled. “They found four casings from two different guns. Since Marion was shot twice, I assume two casings were from bullets fired at her. Lucas claims the other two hit him.”
Jamie’s eyes go wide, Cody’s do the opposite, his grow narrow. There is a moment of silence between the four of them. Jamie thinks about those two bullets ripping into her mother’s chest, tearing apart her body. Under other circumstances, Cody might have thought the same thing, but right now he is on cop autopilot. He is not considering the human element, he is thinking about human nature, the natural tendency to lie when caught in the act of wrong-doing. He is thinking about alibis.
