by Susan Sey
Nixie sighed, then hauled herself out of the chair and dropped the registration form into the box labeled Diseased.
Regina sat up and wiped at the corners of her mouth with the hem of her shirt. “Well what do you know? I feel better. Thank you, Merciful Jesus!”
“Praise be,” Nixie said. She grabbed a pink bucket and let herself into the waiting room. “Okay, let’s get you comfortable, Ms. Wilks.”
She planted the woman in the row of chairs she’d mentally designated Upchuck Alley, handed her the bucket and a Dixie cup of water. She was filling the mop pail when Erik came into the reception area and fished a form out of the pending files. He got halfway to the door before his nose twitched and his eyes went unfocused.
“Whoa, that’s ripe. One got away from you, huh, princess?”
“Princess?”
“You said I couldn’t speak of you in the third person anymore.”
“So I get a patronizing nickname?”
“Until you start catching the pukers ahead of time, yeah.”
Nixie shrugged. “Beware the sudden blank look.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” He held open the door and she aimed the mop bucket and its three functional wheels toward it. “How do you like the job so far?”
She thought of Regina Wilks humming Swing Low, Sweet Chariot and imploring the good lord for release from gastrointestinal distress. “It has its moments.”
Erik shook his head and called his patient. Nixie attacked the remains of Regina’s last meal with a stringy mop, but stopped when a car jammed on its brakes in the street outside. She saw it through the glass front doors, something from the bygone era of vehicles the size of ocean liners. It laid waste to a stubby tree and landed on the sidewalk, two wheels on the curb, two in the street. The back door opened and two bodies bounced onto the sidewalk. The car fish-tailed away from the curb before they’d even stopped rolling.
“Oh Christ,” she heard Erik say. “Not another one.” He flew past her, and Nixie followed without thought. A wail rose on the cold night air, brittle with grief and rage. Nixie had heard women make that cry over their wounded men in more countries and more languages than she’d care to count. It always sounded exactly the same.
She shoved through the doors. A woman was on her knees on the pavement, struggling to pull a man into her lap. It was hard to tell at first who was bleeding. Blood was everywhere, a bright, vivid red against their white t-shirts, the metallic scent of it heavy on air already laced with panic. The woman rocked on her knees. The man’s arms dangled limply to the bloody concrete.
“What happened?” Erik asked, his voice brisk and utterly calm as he plucked the man from the girl’s arms and laid him out on the sidewalk.
“He’s shot, oh my God, oh my God, he’s shot!” The woman lunged for the man again, tried to drag him back into her arms. Nixie hooked both hands through the woman’s elbow and yanked back hard. They both went down on their butts on the frozen sidewalk.
“Let the doctor work, okay?” Nixie said, wrapping both arms around the woman. The girl, really. She couldn’t be more than sixteen, Nixie thought as she rocked her, the embrace as much about restraint as comfort. The girl thrashed for a moment or two, then crumpled into Nixie’s arms.
Erik took the man’s blood-soaked t-shirt in both hands and ripped it in two right down the center. The girl made a low, keening cry at the sight of two ugly holes in her boyfriend’s chest, each pulsing a dark rivulet of blood down his ribs. Snow floated down, touched the man’s face, his hands
“What happened, honey?” Nixie asked her.
“He’s fucking shot is what happened!” She rocked back and forth in Nixie’s arms, shaking so hard Nixie could feel it in her teeth. “They just drove around and around, waiting for him to fucking die. They finally shoved us out here. Oh God, oh God, is he dead?”
“No.” Erik rolled the man carefully to his side. “No exit wounds,” he said, his face grim. He tore the T-shirt into two pieces, fashioned them into pads and pressed them hard against the bullet holes.
Mary Jane crashed through the door and stopped short. “What happened?”
“Homeboy ambulance,” Erik said.
“911?” she asked.
“Not yet,” Erik replied.
“I’ll do it.”
“Double GSW to the chest,” he told her. “No exit wounds, thready pulse. Lost a lot of blood.” He glanced at the pad of t-shirt under his hand. It was already black with blood. “Damn it. Bring me a pressure wrap and a shitload of five by nines when you come back.”
“Right.” She disappeared into the clinic.
“What’s his name?” Nixie asked the girl in her arms.
“DeShawn.” She wiped a sleeve across her face, smearing away the blood and tears and snot.
“Is he your boyfriend?”
“Yeah. We’re having a baby.”
Nixie’s heart didn’t break. She’d heard this story too many times for that. It took a hard hit, though. Nice dent. “Congratulations. When?”
“Summer, I think.”
“You’ll want to be seen by the doctors here as soon as you can,” Nixie said. “Find out for sure.”
The young man’s eyelids twitched and he coughed up some pink foam.
“Oh my God, oh Jesus, is he dying?” The girl shrank against Nixie’s chest and they both held their breath. Mary Jane and one of the nurses burst through the door. The nurse flapped open a blanket over the man’s legs while Mary Jane snapped on a pair of rubber gloves. She handed a second pair to Erik and went to her knees beside the bleeding man. “CPR?”
He shook his head once. The look he gave Mary Jane said don’t bother. “Still breathing on his own for the moment.”
The girl shuddered in Nixie’s arms. “Is he going to die?” she whispered.
“I don’t know, honey.” Nixie held the girl tighter. She strained her ears for the wail of a siren, heard nothing but the whisper of falling snow.
Erik accepted a wad of gauze from the nurse. He laid it on top of the soaked t-shirt bandage and pressed hard. The bleeding man coughed again, bringing up more pink foam. This time his eyelids cracked open and he said, “Jass.”
The girl shrank against Nixie. “Oh God oh God oh God,” she said.
“Jass?” One hand twitched, seeking.
“Is that you?” Nixie asked the girl. “You’re Jass?”
She nodded, but pushed her heels against the sidewalk to put more distance between herself and death. Nixie had seen that before, too. If I don’t look, it’s not happening. If I don’t see it, it can’t be real, right?
Nixie grabbed a handful of Jass’ collar and hauled her to the man’s side. “She’s here, DeShawn. Jass is right here.”
She took his hand and put it in Jass’. Jass tried to pull away, her eyes rolling with terror. Nixie took the girl’s face in both hands and brought it to hers. She didn’t want her to see the blood, the doctors, the limp hand searching for her own. She wanted Jass to look only at her.
“Listen to me,” she said, her voice fierce. “Listen, right now. Are you listening?”
Jass blinked, focused.
“Tell him you love him,” Nixie told her. “Tell him he’s fine.”
“He is?”
“No. He’s dying.”
Jass jerked as if Nixie had slapped her. Her hands came up to claw at Nixie’s, but Nixie wouldn’t let go. She kept Jass’ face between her bloody hands and kept talking.
“Tell him you love him. Tell him it’s all going to be all right. You tell him everything he needs to know if you never talk to him again, you understand? Right now. Do this now or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. This is the father of your baby. If you love him, tell him.”
Jass stared at her, her cheeks wet. She was shaking so hard her teeth chattered.
“Tell him!” Nixie roared the words and it seemed to shatter Jass’ paralysis. She bobbed her head and didn’t resist when Nixie turned her toward her
dying boyfriend and put his weakly seeking hand in hers. This time, the girl gripped it hard in both her own and brought it to her cheek.
“DeShawn, baby, I love you. You’re going to be okay. The doctors are taking care of you. It’s all going to be okay.”
Nixie sat back on her heels behind the girl, her dirty hands splayed on the knees of her jeans. DeShawn tried to smile, but it wavered and became a choked sob.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered. “So sorry.” His eyes closed, two tears slipped down cheeks that were still so young and soft that Nixie’s heart took another dent.
“Don’t you leave me,” Jass said, bending to put her face against his. “Don’t you dare die. I need you. I can’t do this. Not without you. Come on, baby.” She was sobbing, great, wracking, open-mouthed sobs, but DeShawn didn’t open his eyes again.
“Nixie?”
She shifted her eyes to Erik, found him looking at her with something new in his face. “We need to do CPR now.”
Nixie nodded. The shriek of a distant siren finally sounded as Nixie pulled Jass away from DeShawn. His hand fell to the frozen sidewalk and laid there, as if already dead. Jass stumbled at the sight of it, a moan of terrified anguish escaping her. Nixie opened her arms. Jass went into them and crumpled. Mary Jane and Erik worked together with wordless efficiency, breathing for DeShawn until the ambulance arrived.
After DeShawn had been loaded, Jass followed his gurney into the rear doors of the ambulance. She was silent, her eyes wide and blank. Nixie, Erik and Mary Jane all stayed on the sidewalk until it was out of sight. Nixie looked down. There was blood on her jeans, on her shirt. Erik and Mary Jane had it on their hands, on their knees, on their white coats.
Nobody said anything. Mary Jane finally turned and walked back inside the building. Nixie shoved her hands into her pockets.
“I’m sorry,” Erik said.
“For what?” Nixie didn’t look at him.
“I’m sorry this happened.” He went to push his hands through his hair, but even when he snapped off his gloves, his hands were still bloody. He shook his head and slipped them into the pockets of his ruined coat instead. “I wanted you to get a good taste of what we do here, but I didn’t mean this.”
Nixie smiled, though she still didn’t look at him. “You think that was my first gun shot wound? You think that’s the first time I’ve walked a woman through saying goodbye to the father of her babies?”
“No,” he said. “No, I guess not.”
She blew out a breath and it hung like smoke in the cold air. “At least nobody took pictures,” she said. “That’s a step in the right direction.”
“You did good work tonight, Nixie.”
She finally looked at him. He was staring down into the street, snow flakes on his hair and shoulders. “And that was a big surprise to you.” She waited for a response but none came. “I’m not quitting, Erik.”
He glanced at her, his eyes very blue and searching in the glare of the street light. “Why not?”
“I find mopping unexpectedly fulfilling.”
“Come on, Nixie.”
I like surprising you. Nixie didn’t know how much of it was him and how much was finally impressing somebody after years of having her work taken as the least she could do. But she’d earned his respect tonight and she had a feeling it wasn’t an easy thing to do.
“It fits. This place and what I know how to do. They go unexpectedly well together.” She lifted one hand, let it drop. She knew she wasn’t explaining very well but she didn’t entirely understand it herself. “Plus, I do like the mopping. See you inside.”
CHAPTER SIX
It was too quiet, and Nixie didn’t like it. She’d perched on the edge of the Wanda divot most of the next afternoon and aside from a few reporters who’d disappeared after Nixie gave them a couple snaps, she’d seen a whopping total of three people come through the doors. Something wasn’t right. It felt unnaturally hushed, like when a predator’s shadow falls over a field and all the small, furry things go silent.
Nixie wasn’t the only one feeling that way, either. Not from what she could gather. Mary Jane walked through the deserted waiting room for the hundredth time and peered out into the street. Nixie got to her feet and went to stand behind her shoulder. She looked where the doctor looked, seeing over the woman easily. Maybe Mary Jane had been short and round in high school, but now she was just curvy and petite. With perfectly behaved blonde hair and everything. She was the ideal complement to Erik’s large Nordic Vikingness. Throw in a common cause and the easy affection Nixie saw in every exchange between them and Nixie couldn’t help a twinge of curiosity.
Exactly how close were Mary Jane and Erik?
None of my business, Nixie reminded herself. And not what she’d come over to ask about.
“What’s going on tonight?” she asked. Mary Jane didn’t turn away from the falling night. “I have snacks, hand sanitizer and an extra change of clothes right down to the underwear in my back pack. I’m wearing shoes I can hose down.”
She stuck out a foot. Her clogs were, indeed, made out of recycled tires and looked like it. Not flattering, but waterproof, as advertised. And eco friendly. “I’m totally prepared for mayhem, but it’s all High Noon out there.”
“High Noon?”
Nixie shrugged. “I think so. I’ve never seen the movie myself, but I have this impression of silent streets and tumble weeds and the locals hiding out under their kitchen tables while waiting for the gunslingers to open fire.”
Mary Jane stared at her. “You got this from having not seen a movie?”
Nixie smiled. “I’m imaginative. I didn’t have a TV growing up. So, really, what’s the deal? Did the flu cure itself since yesterday? Was there a toxic spill last night? Was there a comet? Is everybody a zombie?”
“I would never have guessed you didn’t have TV.”
Nixie leaned around her to peer into the empty street. “What are you looking for out there?”
“You know that boy who died last night?”
“DeShawn?”
“Yeah. He was a well-placed member of the Yard crew.”
Nixie frowned. “He was a lawn mower?”
“No.” Mary Jane rubbed her forehead and laughed. “No, the Yard is a gang. They call them crews here, and they’re very neighborhood specific. The Yard is from up on the River, near the Naval Ship Yard. DeShawn was a pretty influential member. His girlfriend was from down here. And by down here, I mean all of a mile and a half south.”
Nixie nodded. “Oh. A Montague-Capulet thing.”
“Right. Star crossed lovers. Anyway, word on the street is that the Dog Crew--that would be our local crew--took exception to DeShawn poaching their women.”
“So they shot him,” Nixie finished for her. “And now all the Capulets are hot to kill the Montagues and cover themselves with bloody glory?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Mary Jane turned back to the rapidly darkening street. “You’ll probably be glad for those shoes later. I keep telling him we’re not an ER, but the kids come anyway.”
Nixie frowned. “Him?”
“What?”
“You said you keep telling him. Who’s him?”
“Oh.” She fluttered a hand then stuck it in the pocket of her white coat. “Sorry. I meant them. I keep telling them, all the kids who roll their buddies out of the cars on the sidewalk for us to patch up. We’re not an ER and bringing them to us when they need one is the next thing to letting them bleed out in the back seat. Every time we treat one of them without reporting it we’re putting our funding, meager though it is, on the line. It’s like they don’t hear me. They just keep coming.”
“Why don’t you report it?”
“Sometimes I do. Whenever I have to call an ambulance or the morgue. But I’d rather lose the clinic than let a kid die because his buddies are worried about the consequences of dropping him off here.”
Nixie nodded. “I can understand that.” She looked at
the skinny tree lying on the sidewalk, all that was left of last night’s violence. She didn’t like seeing it there. It reminded her how indelible chance was. Sometimes things happened and there was no fixing them. You could only go forward.
Mary Jane seemed to read her thoughts. “I liked that tree. I planted it myself.”
“I’m sorry,” Nixie said, touching the woman’s shoulder. Mary Jane shrugged, whether to brush off the sympathy or Nixie’s hand she didn’t know. Nixie let her hand fall away. Mary Jane turned and walked back to the treatment rooms. Nixie stood a few minutes more, while the sky deepened from periwinkle to slate. Nobody was coming. The street was empty. Nixie made a decision.
Within ten minutes, she was outside under the yellow glow of the street light with a shovel she’d found in the mop closet. She attacked the dingy patch of dirt where the tree had been trying to grow, but it was frozen solid. This was a job for a jack hammer. Possibly dynamite.
“Now I’ve seen everything.”
Nixie turned and found Erik strolling up the sidewalk toward the clinic, hands in pockets, his jacket open to the snapping wind. He looked large and completely at home in the cold that had Nixie’s eyes watering and her hands close to frozen. He was smiling at her. No, laughing. His blue eyes were alight with merriment and he made a show of looking over both shoulders.
“No press in sight, but the princess is digging a hole. What’s this all about? A new neighborhood well?”
He smiled at her and Nixie felt it all the way to the tips of her frozen fingers. Oh no, she told herself. She was not developing a crush on her potential best friend’s potential boyfriend. She jabbed her shovel at the dirt again. It bounced off.
“I’m trying to get this tree out of here.” She put all her weight on the handle of the shovel and tried to force it into the ground. She didn’t make a dent.
“Why?”
Nixie stuck her hands into her armpits and looked at him. “You’re huge,” she said. “You try.”
