Frisco's Kid

by Suzanne Brockmann

  He stayed silent, just waiting for her to go on.

  “I don’t think we should…I mean, I think it would be a mistake to…” She was blushing again.

  “Okay.” Frisco nodded. “That’s okay. I…I understand.” He couldn’t blame her. How could he blame her? She wasn’t the type who went for short-term ecstasy. If she played the game, it would be for keeps, and face it, he wasn’t a keeper. He was not the kind of man Mia would want to be saddled with for the rest of her life. She was so full of life, and he was forced to move so slowly. She was so complete; he was less than whole.

  “I should probably get home,” she said, starting to gather up her things.

  “We’ll walk you back,” he said quietly.

  “Oh, no—you don’t have to.”

  “Yeah, we do, okay?”

  She glanced up at him, and something she saw in his eyes or on his face made her know not to argue. “All right.”

  Frisco stood up, reaching for his cane. “Come on, Tash, let’s go into the water one last time and wash that ice cream off your face.”

  He tossed the unopened ice pop into a garbage can as he walked Natasha down to the ocean. He stared out at the water and tried his damnedest not to think about Mia as Tasha rinsed the last of her ice cream from her face and hands. But he couldn’t do it. He could still taste her, still feel her in his arms, still smell her spicy perfume.

  And for those moments that he’d kissed her, for those incredible few minutes that she’d been in his arms, for the first time since the last dose of heavy-duty pain medication had worn off five years ago, he’d actually forgotten about his injured knee.

  Natasha didn’t seem to notice the awkward silence. She chattered on, to Mia, to Frisco, to no one in particular. She sang snatches of songs and chanted bits of rhymes.

  Mia felt miserable. Rejection was never fun, from either the giving or the receiving end. She knew she’d hurt Frisco by backing away. But her worst mistake had been to let him kiss her in the first place.

  She wished she’d insisted that they take her car to the beach, rather than walk. Frisco was a master at hiding his pain, but she could tell from the subtle changes in the way he held himself and the way he breathed that he was hurting.

  Mia closed her eyes briefly, trying not to care, but she couldn’t. She did care. She cared far too much.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured to Frisco as Natasha skipped ahead of them, hopping over the cracks in the sidewalk.

  He turned and looked at her with those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through to her very soul. “You really are, aren’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m sorry, too,” he said quietly.

  “Frisco!” Natasha launched herself at him, nearly knocking him over.

  “Whoa!” he said, catching her in his left arm while he used his right to balance both of their weight with his cane. “What’s wrong, Tash?”

  The little girl had both of her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, and she was hiding her face in his T-shirt.

  “Tash, what’s going on?” Frisco asked again, but she didn’t move. Short of yanking the child away from himself, he couldn’t get her to release him.

  Mia crouched down next to the little girl. “Natasha, did something scare you?”

  She nodded yes.

  Mia pushed Tasha’s red curls back from her face. “Honey, what scared you?”

  Tasha lifted her head, looking at Mia with tear-filled eyes. “Dwayne,” she whispered. “I saw Dwayne.”

  Mia looked up at Frisco, frowning her confusion. “Who…?”

  “One of Sharon’s old boyfriends.” He pulled Natasha up and into his arms. “Tash, you probably just saw someone who reminded you of him.”

  Natasha shook her head emphatically as Mia stood up. “I saw Dwayne,” she said again, tears overflowing onto her cheeks and great gulping sobs making her nearly impossible to understand. “I saw him.”

  “What would he be doing here in San Felipe?” Frisco asked the little girl.

  “He’d be looking for Sharon Francisco,” a low voice drawled. “That’s what he’d be doing here.”

  Natasha was suddenly, instantly silent.

  Mia gazed at the man standing directly in front of them. He was a big man, taller and wider even than Frisco, but softer and heavily overweight. He was wearing a dark business suit that had to have been hand tailored to fit his girth, and lizard-skin boots that were buffed to a gleaming shine. His shirt was dark gray—a slightly lighter shade of the same black of his suit, and his tie was a color that fell somewhere between the two. His hair was thick and dark, and it tumbled forward into his eyes in a style reminiscent of Elvis Presley. His face was fifty pounds too heavy to be called handsome, with a distinctive hawklike nose and deep-set eyes that were now lost among the puffiness of his excess flesh.

  In one big, beefy hand, he held a switchblade knife that he opened and closed, opened and closed, with a rhythmic hiss of metal on metal.

  “My sister’s not here,” Frisco said evenly.

  Mia felt him touch her shoulder, and she turned toward him. His eyes never left Dwayne and the knife in the man’s right hand as he handed her Natasha. “Get behind me,” he murmured. “And start backing away.”

  “I can see that your sister’s not here,” the heavy man had a thick New Orleans accent. The gentlemanly old South politeness of his speech somehow made him seem all the more frightening. “But since you have the pleasure of her daughter’s company, I must assume you know of her whereabouts.”

  “Why don’t you leave me your phone number,” Frisco suggested, “and I’ll have her call you.”

  Dwayne flicked his knife open again, and this time he didn’t close it. “I’m afraid that’s unacceptable. You see, she owes me a great deal of money.” He smiled. “Of course, I could always take the child as collateral….”

  Frisco could still sense Mia’s presence behind him. He heard her sharp intake of breath. “Mia, take Tash into the deli on the corner and call the police,” he told her without turning around.

  He felt her hesitation and anxiety, felt the coolness of her fingers as she touched his arm. “Alan…”

  “Do it,” he said sharply.

  Mia began backing away. Her heart was pounding as she watched Frisco smile pleasantly at Dwayne, always keeping his eyes on that knife. “You know I’d die before I’d let you even touch the girl,” the former SEAL said matter-of-factly. Mia knew that what he said was true. She prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

  “Why don’t you just tell me where Sharon is?” Dwayne asked. “I’m not interested in beating the hell out of a poor, pathetic cripple, but I will if I have to.”

  “The same way you had to hit a five-year-old?” Frisco countered. Everything about him—his stance, his face, the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice—was deadly. Despite the cane in his hand, despite his injured knee, he looked anything but poor and pathetic.

  But Dwayne had a knife, and Frisco only had his cane—which he needed to use to support himself.

  Dwayne lunged at Frisco, and Mia turned and ran for the deli.

  Frisco saw Mia’s sudden movement from the corner of his eye. Thank God. It would be ten times easier to fight this enormous son of a bitch knowing that Mia and Tash were safe and out of the way.

  Dwayne lunged with the knife again, and Frisco sidestepped him, gritting his teeth against the sudden screaming pain as his knee was forced to twist and turn in ways that it no longer could. He used his cane and struck the heavyset man on the wrist, sending the sharp-bladed knife skittering into the street.

  He realized far too late that he had played right into Dwayne’s hand. With his cane up and in the air, he couldn’t use it to support himself. And Dwayne came at him again, spinning and turning with the graceful agility of a much smaller, lighter man. Frisco watched, almost in slow motion, as his opponent aimed a powerful karate kick directly at his injured knee.

  He saw it coming,
but as if he, too, were caught in slow motion, he couldn’t move out of the way.

  And then there was only pain. Sheer, blinding, excruciating pain. Frisco felt a hoarse cry rip from his throat as he went down, hard, onto the sidewalk. He fought the darkness that threatened to close in on him as he felt Dwayne’s foot connect violently with his side, this time damn near launching him into the air.

  Somehow he held on to the heavy man’s leg. Somehow he brought his own legs up and around, twisting and kicking and tripping, until Dwayne, too, fell onto the ground.

  There were no rules. One of Dwayne’s elbows landed squarely in Frisco’s face, and he felt his nose gush with blood. He struggled to keep the bigger man’s weight off of him, trying to keep Dwayne pinned as he hit him in the face again and again.

  Another, smaller man would’ve been knocked out, but Dwayne was like one of those pop-up punching bag dolls. He just kept coming. The son of a bitch went for his knee again. There was no way he could miss, and again pain ripped into Frisco like a freight train. He grabbed hold of Dwayne’s head and slammed it back against the sidewalk.

  There were sirens in the distance—Frisco heard them through waves of nausea and dizziness. The police were coming.

  Dwayne should have been out for the count, but he scrambled up and onto his feet.

  “You tell Sharon I want that money back,” he said through bruised and bleeding lips before he limped away.

  Frisco tried to go after him, but his knee crumbled beneath his weight, sending another wave of searing pain blasting through him. He felt himself retch and he pressed his cheek against the sidewalk to make the world stop spinning.

  A crowd had gathered, he suddenly realized. Someone pushed through the mob, running toward him. He tensed, moving quickly into a defensive position.

  “Yo, Lieutenant! Whoa, back off, Navy, it’s me, Thomas.”

  It was. It was Thomas. The kid crouched down next to Frisco on the sidewalk.

  “Who ran you over with a truck? My God…” Thomas stood up again, looking into the crowd. “Hey, someone call an ambulance for my friend! Now!”

  Frisco reached for Thomas.

  “Yeah, I’m here, man. I’m here, Frisco. I saw this big guy running away—he looked only a little bit better than you do,” Thomas told him. “What happened? You make some kind of uncalled-for fat joke?”

  “Mia,” Frisco rasped. “She’s got Natasha…at the deli. Stay with them…make sure they’re okay.”

  “You’re the one who looks like you need help—”

  “I’m fine,” Frisco ground out between clenched teeth. “If you won’t go to them, I will.” He searched for his cane. Where the hell was his cane? It was in the street. He crawled toward it, dragging his injured leg.

  “God,” Thomas said. His eyes were wide in amazement that Frisco could even move. For once he actually looked only eighteen years old. “You stay here, I’ll go find them. If it’s that important to you…”

  “Run,” Frisco told him.

  Thomas ran.

  9

  The hospital emergency room was crowded. Mia was ignored by the nurses at the front desk, so she finally gave up and simply walked into the back. She was stepped around, pushed past and nearly knocked over as she searched for Frisco.

  “Excuse me, I’m looking for—”

  “Not now, dear,” a nurse told her, briskly moving down the hallway.

  Mia heard him before she saw him. His voice was low, and his language was abominable. It was definitely Alan Francisco.

  She followed the sound of his voice into a big room that held six beds, all filled. He was sitting up, his right leg stretched out in front of him, his injured knee swollen and bruised. His T-shirt was covered with blood, he had a cut on his cheekbone directly underneath his right eye and his elbows and other knee looked abraded and raw.

  A doctor was examining his knee. “That hurt, too?” he asked, glancing up at Frisco.

  Yes, was the gist of the reply, minus all of the colorful superlatives. A new sheen of sweat had broken out on Frisco’s face, and he wiped at his upper lip with the back of one hand as he braced himself for the rest of the examination.

  “I thought you promised Tasha no more bad words.”

  Startled, he looked up, and directly into her eyes. “What are you doing here? Where’s Tash?”

  Mia had surprised him. And not pleasantly, either. She could see a myriad of emotions flicker across his face. Embarrassment. Shame. Humiliation. She knew he didn’t want her to see him like this, looking beaten and bloodied.

  “She’s with Thomas,” Mia told him. “I thought you might want…” What? She thought he might want a hand to hold? No, she already knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t need or want that. She shook her head. She’d come here purely for herself. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “Depends on your definition of the word,” he said. “In my book, it means I’m not dead.”

  “Excuse me, miss, but is Mr. Francisco a friend of yours?” It was the doctor. “Perhaps you’ll be able to convince him to take the pain medication we’ve offered him.”

  Mia shook her head. “No, I don’t think I’ll be able to do that. He’s extremely stubborn—and it’s Lieutenant, not Mr. If he’s decided that he doesn’t want it—”

  “Yes, he has decided he doesn’t want it,” Frisco interjected. “And he also hates being talked about as if he weren’t in the room, so do you mind…?”

  “The medication would make him rest much more comfortably—”

  “Look, all I want you to do is X-ray my damn knee and make sure it’s not broken. Do you think maybe you can do that?”

  “He’s a lieutenant in which organization?” the doctor asked Mia.

  “Please ask him directly,” she said. “Surely you can respect him and not talk over his head this way.”

  “I’m with the Navy SEALs—was with the SEALs,” Frisco said.

  The doctor snapped closed Frisco’s patient clipboard. “Perfect. I should have known. Nurse!” he shouted, already striding away. “Send this man to X-ray, and then arrange a transfer over to the VA facility up by the naval base….”

  Frisco was watching Mia, and when she turned to look at him, he gave her a half smile. “Thanks for trying.”

  “Why don’t you take the pain medicine?” she asked.

  “Because I don’t want to be stoned and drooling when Dwayne comes back for round two.”

  Mia couldn’t breathe. “Comes back?” she repeated. “Why? Who was he anyway? And what did he want?”

  Frisco shifted his weight, unable to keep from wincing. “Apparently my darling sister owes him some money.”

  “How much money?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” He shook his head. “I’m gonna pay Sharon a little visit in the morning—to hell with the detox center’s rules.”

  “When I saw that knife he was holding…” Mia’s voice shook and she stopped. She closed her eyes, willing back the sudden rush of tears. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been that scared. “I didn’t want to leave you there alone.”

  She opened her eyes to find him watching her, the expression on his face unreadable. “Didn’t you think I could take that guy and win?” he asked softly.

  She didn’t need to answer him—she knew he could read her reply in her eyes. She knew how painful it was for him to walk, even with a cane. She knew his limitations. How could he have taken on a man as big as Dwayne—a man who had a knife, as well—and not been hurt? And he had been hurt. Badly, it looked like.

  He laughed bitterly, looking away from her. “No wonder you damn near ran away from me on the beach. You don’t think I’m much of a man, do you?”

  Mia was shocked. “That’s not true! That’s not why—”

  “Time to go down to X-ray,” a nurse announced, pushing a wheelchair up to Frisco’s bed.

/>   Frisco didn’t wait for the nurse to help him. He lifted himself off the bed and lowered himself into the chair. He jostled his knee, and it had to have hurt like hell, but he didn’t say a word. When he looked up at Mia, though, she could see all of his pain in his eyes. “Just go home,” he said quietly.

  “They’re backed up down there—this could take a while, a few hours even,” the nurse informed Mia as she began pushing Frisco out of the room. “You can’t come with him, so you’ll just be sitting out in the waiting room. If you want to leave, he could call you when he’s done.”

  “No, thank you,” Mia said. She turned to Frisco. “Alan, you are so wrong about—”

  “Just go home,” he said again.

  “No,” she said. “No, I’m going to wait for you.”

  “Don’t,” he said. He glanced up at her just before the nurse pushed him out the door. “And don’t call me Alan.”

  Frisco rode in the wheelchair back to the ER lobby with his eyes closed. His X-rays had taken a few aeons longer than forever, and he had to believe Mia had given up on him and gone home.

  It was nearly eight o’clock at night. He was still supposed to meet with the doctor to talk about what his X-rays had shown. But he’d seen the film and already knew what the doctor was going to say. His knee wasn’t broken. It was bruised and inflamed. There may have been ligament damage, but it was hard to tell—his injury and all of his subsequent surgeries had left things looking pretty severely scrambled.

  The doctor was going to recommend shipping him over to the VA hospital for further consultation and possible treatment.

  But that was going to have to wait. He had Natasha at home to take care of, and some lunatic named Dwayne to deal with.

  “Where are you taking him?” It was Mia’s musical voice. She was still here, waiting for him, just as she’d said. Frisco didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. He kept his eyes closed, and tried not to care too much either way.

  “The doctor has to take a look at the X-rays,” the nurse told her. “We’re overcrowded tonight. Depending on how things go, it could be another five minutes or two hours.”