Stone Cribs: A Smokey Dalton Novel

by Kris Nelscott

  “She was hemorrhaging,” I said quietly.

  Johnson turned toward me, his eyes empty. Then he blinked and the cop returned to them. “Did they treat her?”

  “They tried all the tricks,” Laura said. “They were going to refuse until she told them who did the abortion. I’m not sure she was coherent enough to understand.”

  “Laura fought them,” I said. “She threatened them with all kinds of things and they listened.”

  Johnson looked at her, then nodded. “Good work.”

  “They’re probably going to charge her with participating in an illegal operation,” Laura said. “You’re going to have to do something to make the charges go away.”

  “I can do that,” Johnson said. He didn’t seem shocked by any of this. Apparently I was the only one who didn’t know how hospitals responded to women having trouble with an abortion. I also hadn’t realized until this night how dangerous taking a woman who was miscarrying to a hospital could be.

  “That’s not the worst of it,” Laura said, and paused. Johnson leaned away from Laura, but Marvella held his hands even tighter. He clearly wasn’t ready for worse news.

  Then the door hit me in the back. I turned, saw the doctor that Laura had been fighting with.

  He didn’t look so strong now. His lab coat was covered with blood, and there were strain lines around his mouth.

  I stepped aside so that he could enter. No one protested, so I figured it was all right.

  He turned to Laura. “May I talk to you, Miss Hathaway?”

  “It’s all right,” she said. “This is the girl’s family. You can talk in front of them.”

  He shoved the door closed and stepped around me like I was a dangerous animal. “How are you all related?”

  “I’m her husband,” Johnson said before anyone could stop him.

  “And I’m her cousin,” Marvella said.

  I said nothing. I assumed the doctor remembered me from earlier. If he didn’t, he could ask.

  Instead he ran his hand through his hair. It was even more tousled than before. The gesture made him seem young and tired.

  “I’m going to be honest with you,” he said. “It was touch-and-go for most of the surgery. I really thought I was going to lose her on the table.”

  Johnson pulled Marvella closer. She moved to the couch and put an arm around his back. It seemed, at that moment, like she needed the hug as much as he did.

  “She lost a lot of blood and—” the doctor turned toward Laura “—I want the name of the butcher who mutilated her. He didn’t know a curette from a steak knife. He—.”

  Laura put a hand up, pointing toward the others. Johnson had gone so gray I thought he was going to faint. Marvella’s mouth was open in horror.

  The doctor remembered who he was talking to then. Apparently he had gained a lot of respect for Laura, because until that moment, he had been treating her like an equal.

  “She was pretty cut up,” the doctor said, turning back toward Johnson and Marvella. “I had to do a full hysterectomy and believe me, I wouldn’t have in her condition if I didn’t think it was warranted.”

  “A full…?” Johnson’s voice trailed off.

  “But she’s made it through the surgery, which is a victory all by itself. She still has a fever and she’s very weak. She’s not waking up, which is not a surprise given the amount of trauma she’s suffered. Sometimes the body uses a light coma as a way to promote healing. We’ll be monitoring her, so that we’ll be alert to any change.”

  “She’s alive?” Marvella asked, as if all of the information had confused her on that point.

  “Yes,” the doctor said. “But the next few days are critical. We’re going to do what we can, but I’m not making any promises.”

  “What are her chances?” Laura asked.

  The doctor shrugged. “A hundred percent better than they were two hours ago,” he said. “But other than that, I can’t tell you. Most women wouldn’t have made it here, let alone survived the surgery. What we have to watch out for now is infection. We’re giving her penicillin, since I’m pretty sure an infection started in all that tissue the butcher left, but whether she gets better is up to her.”

  “Can I see her?” Johnson asked.

  “Not yet,” the doctor said. “She’s in post-op, and she will be all night. The best thing you can do is go home, get some rest, and come back in the morning.”

  Johnson stood, gave Laura a sideways look, then walked toward the doctor. The doctor looked up at Johnson as if he were a curiosity.

  “There’re a few things I need to talk to you about,” Johnson said. “I’m a cop, and I just found out—”

  “Miss Hathaway already discussed it with me,” the doctor said. “The medical chart is simply going to list this as a traumatic pregnancy. She won’t face any criminal proceedings.”

  “Damn right,” Johnson said.

  The doctor straightened. He wiped his hands on his lab coat and faced Johnson.

  “I don’t know you,” the doctor said. “And I’m not inclined to help people commit crimes. You say you’re a police officer, and so what I just told you could get me in trouble—”

  “It won’t,” Johnson said. “All I was going to do was ask if you’d make sure no one hears about this. I don’t want Val up on charges.”

  “I’ve already discussed this with Miss Hathaway,” the doctor said. “I’m doing this as a favor to Miss Hathaway. You’re lucky that she found your wife. Miss Hathaway’s a courageous lady who knows more than she should about these things.”

  Laura’s cheeks were red. Johnson didn’t even look at her, but I did, and so did the doctor. He gave her a small nod and smile. She truly had gained his respect.

  Then he turned his attention back to Johnson. “I am going to tell you something though, because I can’t live with myself if I don’t.”

  I positioned myself closer to Johnson. I didn’t like the doctor’s tone. This wasn’t going to be about medicine now.

  “Your wife is going to suffer a lot for this,” the doctor said, “but she brought it upon herself. If she had made a sensible decision, none of this would have happened.”

  Johnson made a low sound in the back of his throat, almost a growl. I moved a little closer, ready to step in if Johnson grabbed the doctor.

  But the doctor didn’t move. He stayed toe-to-toe with Johnson, which I might not have done, given the look on Johnson’s face.

  “If you truly are a cop,” the doctor said, “then I’m risking everything doing this for you and for Miss Hathaway. So I want some consideration in return.”

  Johnson studied him, but said nothing.

  “First,” the doctor said, “I want you to find the butcher who did this. I want you to put him out of business, and I want you to let me know that you did it. He shouldn’t be loose on the streets. None of these people should, and you know it.”

  “If you take these people away,” Laura said quietly, “then women will just do it themselves.”

  The doctor glared at her. “Better that you women take responsibility for your own actions and—”

  Johnson’s growl turned into a roar. He grabbed the doctor by the shoulders and shoved him against the glass. I threaded my arms through Johnson’s and tried to pull him back.

  But he was too strong for me. I couldn’t move him. The anger that had been building in him all night was coming out at this doctor. I was afraid Johnson might beat him up, and then we’d all go to jail.

  “He saved her life, Truman,” I said. “Let him go.”

  The doctor put his hands on Johnson’s, tugging futilely.

  “You stupid ass, Truman,” Marvella said. “Let go.”

  Johnson’s eyes narrowed. I felt his muscles move beneath mine as his hand tightened. Then he let go.

  The doctor reached for the door, but Johnson blocked it. He peered down at the doctor, and I prepared myself for more.

  Instead, Johnson spoke in his low cop voice.

>   “Maybe you don’t understand,” Johnson said. “Val’s the most responsible person I know.”

  “I wasn’t implying—”

  “Yes, you were,” Johnson said. “You were very clear. You think Val’s as low as some asshole out there who kills for money. You think she did this as a form of birth control. My Val’s not like that. Do you understand?”

  The doctor nodded, but the expression in his eyes didn’t change. He was just placating Johnson.

  Johnson saw it too. “You treat her like a human being, or I swear to God, you’ll regret that you ever met me.”

  “Truman, you’re not helping.” I pulled him backward, hitting the couch with my knees. I would have lost my balance if Johnson hadn’t been so determined to threaten the doctor.

  The doctor reached for the door again, only this time Laura’s hand covered his.

  He glared at her.

  “I’ve just about had enough, Miss Hathaway,” he said, his voice shaking. So Johnson had scared him after all.

  “A piece of information,” she said as if the doctor hadn’t spoken, “so that you’ll understand why the detective here got so upset at you.”

  The doctor’s jaw worked, but he didn’t say anything. He started to pull the door open, but Laura shoved it shut.

  “You see, you saying that about responsibility, it was enough to make anyone angry.” Laura’s voice was cold. “It wasn’t Valentina’s behavior that caused her pregnancy. She was raped, doctor, and she was only doing what she thought was best.”

  He looked at Laura. She removed her hand from his. Then his mouth thinned.

  I braced myself.

  “I don’t care how she got pregnant,” the doctor said. “That wasn’t what I was talking about. She could have given the child up instead of mutilating herself.”

  Laura’s eyes widened in surprise. She glanced at me, and I knew what she was thinking. She was going to tell him about the benefit, about the thousand children who couldn’t find homes.

  But the doctor wasn’t going to stay in the room any longer. He pushed the door open and as he stepped through, he glared at Johnson, Marvella, and me.

  “The thing about you people,” he said, clearly not meaning us individually, instead meaning black people—God, how I hated that phrase—“is that you will never, ever understand there are better ways to take care of unwanted children.”

  I was glad I still had a grip on Johnson because he lunged for the door again. Laura blocked him as the doctor shoved the door closed. Johnson slammed into Laura—not full force, because I was holding him back—but enough to hurt her.

  She slid down and Johnson, realizing what he had done, reached for her. Laura shook her head, keeping one hand up, holding him away from her.

  I yanked him aside and was about to shove him into the couch when I saw his face. It was devastated. His eyes filled with tears.

  I brought my arm down, then patted him on the shoulder.

  He blinked, bowed his head, and moved away from me. Marvella still sat on the couch, and he sank down beside her. She put her arms around him and rocked him as if he were a baby.

  I reached for Laura, helping her up. Color was coming back into her face.

  “You all right?” I asked.

  “Fine,” she said, and wheezed. “Stupid of me to get in the way.”

  “Stupid of that doctor to bait Truman,” I said.

  “Dr. Rothstein was just mad because he hasn’t been in control since we arrived.” Laura sat on the side of the couch. She wrapped her arm around her stomach and took a deep breath.

  “Does that mean we have to keep an eye on him?” I asked.

  “I’ll check in,” she said. “He’s not going to be primary anyway after this. Her regular doctor should take over if she has one.”

  I looked at Marvella. She was patting Johnson on the back and still rocking him, but her gaze met mine. She had heard every word.

  “Will your friend Jetten take this case?” I asked her.

  She nodded.

  “Do you want us to stay?”

  She mouthed “no,” and then added a silent “thank you.”

  “You know where we’ll be,” I said, then took Laura’s free arm and helped her up. She wobbled a little as she stood, then she took another deep breath.

  We started out the door.

  “Laura?” Marvella spoke.

  We both turned.

  “I owe you an apology.”

  Laura shook head. “Past is past,” she said. “Just let us know what happens here.”

  They studied each other for a moment. Then Marvella smiled at her—a real smile, for the very first time since they had met.

  “Thanks,” Marvella said.

  “Don’t mention it,” Laura said, and led me out of the room.

  SIX

  THE CAR stank of blood.

  We got in and Laura scooted down on the seat, leaned her head on the leather, and closed her eyes. I drove the four blocks home, not knowing what to say.

  It was almost 2 A.M., and the romantic evening we had planned on was no longer possible. The benefit felt like it had happened days ago. I was tired and so, obviously, was she.

  I pulled up in front of the apartment building. I dug in my pocket for my keys and couldn’t find them. Laura watched me for a moment, then gave me a sleepy smile.

  “I still have your keys,” she said.

  I had forgotten I had given them to her. Everything had happened so quickly. All that had been on my mind once I had established that Marvella wasn’t in her apartment and wounded was to get Valentina some help.

  “Why don’t you go on up,” I said. “I’ll be there in a while.”

  Laura frowned. “What are you going to do?”

  “Wipe down the car. We can’t let it stay like this. It’s already bad enough.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll pay someone to clean it, Smokey.”

  “It’ll only take a minute.”

  “No.” She took the keys out of my hand. “Let’s just go inside.”

  I sat there for a moment, knowing that I should ignore her and just take care of it. I would save her a lot of money, and probably keep the seats from permanent ruin.

  But it had been a long day after a long and stressful week, and I didn’t want to spend the next hour cleaning up someone else’s blood. Besides, I had to get up in less than five hours so that I could take Jimmy and the Grimshaw children to school.

  After the week Jimmy had had, I wasn’t going to miss that.

  I sighed, opened my door, and got out. The wind had died down, and the night, though cool, was no longer cold. Laura got out as well, closed her car door, and walked toward me. Somewhere along the way, she had lost her coat.

  She slipped her arm in mine, and together we walked up my sidewalk, bruised and bloodied, not the well-dressed couple who had made me so nervous earlier.

  The front door was still propped open, and this time, I didn’t pull it closed. We walked up the steps together. Someone had cleaned off our bloody footprints. The hall had the sharp scent of pine cleaner.

  Someone had also closed Marvella’s door and latched it. The people in this building did not socialize, but we did watch out for one another.

  I liked the community, and felt it was important, not just for me, but for Jimmy.

  When we reached my apartment, Laura leaned against the wall as I unlocked the three deadbolts. I opened the door, and as we stepped inside, I flicked on the overhead light. The apartment was neater than usual—I had cleaned up the night before—but looked as dumpy as ever. Paint peeled on the walls, and the carpet was threadbare.

  The back of the couch served as a dividing line between the half-kitchen and the living room. The kitchen table that stood off to our right also created a block between the kitchen and living room.

  I had bought an Easter lily the day before, and placed it in the center of the table. The lily didn’t brighten the room like I had hoped. Instead, it made the place
smell like a funeral parlor. Still, the odor of fresh flowers was better than the apartment’s usual smell—dirty dishes, stale milk, and unwashed clothes. Living with an eleven-year-old, even one as well behaved as Jimmy, left a lot to be desired.

  Laura closed the door behind us and, to my surprise, walked into the half-kitchen. She opened the cupboard to the right of the sink, and removed two tumblers.

  I hung my stained suit coat on the coat rack. I had moved the coat rack to the left side of the door after Christmas, since that corner looked bare without the tree. It was awkward, though. My instinct was still to take off a coat and hang it beside the table.

  Laura stretched and opened the cupboard above the stove. That was where I kept my hard liquor, such as it was. I had some expensive bourbon, which Laura’s attorney, Drew McMillan, had given me at Christmas, and a bit of whiskey for Franklin Grimshaw. I also kept some scotch that I had won at a raffle in February.

  Laura grabbed the bourbon, then looked at me, as if waiting for me to tell her to put it back. I didn’t. If ever we needed a nightcap, tonight was the night.

  She poured three fingers’ worth into each tumbler, then handed me one. The glass was warm. She led me to the couch, and we sat, blood-covered shoes on the scarred coffee table, staring at the silent television set.

  “I thought you were going to fall asleep before we even got home,” I said to her.

  She took a tentative sip from her glass, then licked her lips. “I’m too wound up.”

  I slipped my arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She leaned on me. Her muscles were tense. Her back felt like it was made of steel.

  “You impressed me back there,” I said. “I had no idea what was going on and you just took charge.”

  “It’s becoming a habit.” Her comment was dismissive. She didn’t want to talk about the evening.

  I did. “How did you know what to do?”

  “Smokey.” She shook her head.

  The tight feeling in my stomach grew. “It’s all right. Whatever happened to you—”