Bishop's Run

by B. D. Gates

  Seems Dr. Biggs was considering starting her own softball team.

  We exited out the fire door, unlocked during business hours, so that Dr. Biggs could show me the outside runs and a really cool feature that she was proud to demonstrate. The roof over the outside part of the kennels was retractable. "Sun is just as important to an animal as it is to people," she said, as she spun the rod that pulled the roof back. "They get depressed when they don't get any, just like us." She smiled at me, and I smiled back.

  This was a vet that was in it for the animals, and it was evident in the way she treated them. "The majority of our day-to-day operations is grooming and preventive medicine," she continued. "I expect my staff to love animals, first and foremost, and to at least tolerate people if they can't love them. You will be working in the back of the hospital, feeding, cleaning kennels, and helping the groomers with whatever they need. Should you be called up front, you will handle yourself in a professional manner, and take care of whatever business you have been called up for."

  Had she seen my eye roll?

  Dr. Biggs continued. "You will be replacing a young girl who just left us to attend vet school in North Carolina." This obviously made Dr. Biggs proud. "I will pay you what I paid her, eight dollars an hour, forty hours a week, twelve dollars an hour for four hours on every fourth weekend, Saturdays and Sundays, for feeding and cleaning out the kennels. You'll have the Friday off before the weekend you work, to keep you at forty hours."

  We started back towards the front, the return trip going twice as fast. Dr. Biggs stopped at the supply room, walked to a massive two-door cabinet, and pulled open the doors. "Your wrist. Think you will have any problems with it?" she asked, head buried in the shelves.

  "No, ma'am, I don't think it will be an issue. I only have to wear this splint another few weeks, then I'm done," I replied.

  "Good," announced Dr. Biggs, as she straightened up, a blue pack in her hand.

  "You wear medium, right?" she asked, holding out the package.

  "Medium?" I asked, not quite sure what we were discussing, exactly.

  "T-shirts, sweats..." Dr. Biggs offered.

  "Oh, yeah, medium, that's right, okay, yes, I wear medium," I confirmed.

  "So, these are your scrubs, there are three pairs in there. Athletic shoes are fine, but you'll also need some Wellingtons for hosing down the kennels. We have some older pairs that you can use until you can get your own." We walked back into the exam room we'd started out in.

  "Do you have any questions?"

  Unfortunately, I did not, which is usually bad during an interview, but this was not a difficult job and the tour explained everything. Dr. Biggs did not seem disappointed when I replied, "No ma'am, I don't. You've been quite clear," as we walked back into the reception area.

  "Very good. You start on Monday. The office opens at eight, but you need to be here by 7:30 to start feeding and watering, and prepping any animals due to be discharged. I'll give you a copy of the schedule and a key for weekends then. And Lisa," Dr. Biggs added, smiling, as I turned to go, "you're going to be just fine."

  I smiled back. For the first time in a good while, I felt the same way.

  5

  "Well, I think you're going to enjoy working for Dr. Biggs," said Tess, as I rejoined her in the Crown Vic and told her I'd been hired. "She's well-liked and respected here in Tenley, and she runs a good practice."

  I wanted to add, "and she's one of my people," but I didn't. I don't out people in general, or people who've managed to establish themselves in a good position in the community in particular.

  We turned onto Main Street and headed toward what I presumed to be downtown. I had been in Tenley for nearly six weeks now, but I hadn't seen anything of it until Tess had taken me to my appointment with the Ortho doc. Looking around as she drove, I was taken by the quaintness of it all. Passing a town commons shaded by massive oak trees, noting the manicured lawns and smattering of statues, a large white gazebo in its center, I was reminded that I was far from home, Baltimore being the large, bustling city that it is.

  There was no sense of urgency here. People walked the sidewalks at a saunter, waving or nodding at friends and acquaintances, meeting their eyes as they passed. This certainly was the opposite end of the spectrum from Baltimore. Would I be able to 'hide in plain sight' here? Or would I stick out like a sore thumb?

  Tess' phone buzzed just as we passed the front of what I assumed was the Town Hall, given that it was a large red brick building with white columns in the center of town, dwarfing the small post office next to it.

  "Hayes," she answered. She listened, then wrote an address on a pad attached to the dash. She clicked off, then looked over at me.

  "Need to be anywhere in the next hour or so?" she asked.

  Well, hell, she should know, she'd been directing my life for the past month.

  "No," I replied, "nowhere."

  "Okay, you're coming with me."

  Um. Okay. I nodded.

  She turned at the next intersection and circled the block, then took us back through town, headed west towards Whitmore. I knew this only because I quickly read the highway signs as we blew past them, Tess pushing the Crown Vic up to seventy miles per hour with ease. Within about ten minutes, we turned off the highway and onto a dirt drive heading towards a rather large farmhouse with several outbuildings. A couple 'good ole boys' met the car as we reached the top of the drive. Tess pulled to a stop and rolled down her window. One of the old fellas, probably the farm owner, stood next to the car.

  "Hey, Waylon, what's up?" asked Tess.

  "Had a break-in out in one of my buildings, Tess," he said, nodding towards three squat white-washed barns behind and to the left of the farmhouse. "Need to file a report, they got a new generator and some tractor parts. Whyte and Fowler just got here a few minutes ago, they're already out there." He pointed towards the dirt path that wound around past the house towards the barns.

  Tess nodded, powered up the window as she turned the vehicle onto the path and drove around to the barns, pulling up behind Whyte and Fowler's unmarked Crown Vic. She put the vehicle in park, then got out.

  "Stay in the car," she said to me, then opened the trunk, grabbed her gear bag, and walked off towards the third building behind the first two.

  With the car windows up, the air inside was getting a little stuffy. After about ten minutes or so, I got out, made my way towards the buildings. It was a pretty day, and I had been house-bound for over a month, so it seemed like a good time for a walk.

  I came up on the detectives just as Tess was taking pictures of a tire track. A yellow flag was inserted next to the impressions left behind. There was another yellow marker by the door. I watched where I was walking, just in case I ran across something they'd missed, and I stopped next to the side of the first building, away from where the officers were working.

  "It takes three detectives to work a shed break-in?" I asked facetiously.

  "Well, well, well, look who's out and about today," exclaimed Whyte. "Joe, look who's here!"

  Fowler turned his broad, six-foot frame towards where Whyte was looking. I smiled and gave a little wave.

  "I'll be damned! How ya doin', kid?" Fowler was from a town just outside of Newark in New Jersey, but his wife was from Tenley. He was a beat cop and she was a nurse in one of New York City's emergency rooms when they met, a not-so-unusual pairing of couples, where one would be in law enforcement, or was an EMT or fire fighter, and the other would be medical, such as a nurse or a tech of some sort. Not too many people outside of those jobs understand the stress of the work and the shift hours involved.

  "I'm good, guys, good to see you," I replied, smiling.

  Tess looked up from the viewfinder, a scowl on her face, her lips pulled in a thin line. "I told you to stay in the car."

  "Well, next time, crack a window," I replied. "Geez, Detective, when did we get married? 'Cuz you've got that whole 'angry-wifey' look down."

  With
their eyes wide, both Whyte and Fowler snorted but held back their outright laughing. The look on Tess's face flattened even more, and I saw her jaw flex as her eyes narrowed. I decided I was a little too close to her, so I walked over to the opposite side of the building and leaned against the wall, staying out of her way and out of her reach.

  It didn't take long for them to finish processing the scene, then Tess stopped at the farmhouse on our way out to give Waylon an update and to tell him that he could pick up his report tomorrow afternoon down at City Hall. She'd left the camera on the seat between us. I picked it up, looked at it. It was digital, so I turned it on and started scrolling through the photos on the memory card. There were a number of other photos, apparently from other burglaries as well. I was intent on looking at those when I came across one that was not of a burglary.

  It was a girl, lying in a bed. I looked more closely, zoomed the photo to get a better view. She looked like hell, with sunken, hollow eyes, her right arm casted.

  Realization tore through me just as Tess got back into the car. I sat there holding the camera, staring at the photo. Tess looked over as she buckled up.

  "Geezus, Bishop, stop playing with my damn equipment," she said, as she reached over and took the camera out of my hands. As she prepared to turn it off, she looked down at the photo on the digital screen.

  "Oh, god..." she said as she recognized the snap. She glanced over at me. "Dammit..." She turned it off, then tucked it inside the front pocket of her jump bag.

  I kept my head down, didn't say anything. My mouth was too dry.

  The trip back downtown was quiet. As we rolled down the highway, I recalled the struggle to overcome my circumstances, how I would have never done as well so quickly if Tess had not been so observant and so kind. The home health nurses had brought in styrofoam-packed plates of food cooked by the local hospital, but it was bland and overcooked before it was ever transported to the carriage house. It was even worse when it was reheated in the microwave and I couldn't stomach more than a bite or two before I'd pushed the plate away.

  After about a week, I was seen by another nurse who'd begun bringing in vanilla milkshakes, and I would consume one or two a day. They were mostly cold comfort to me, I really couldn't taste them any more than I could taste the food, but I could usually finish them without any problem. One night, though, after I'd drunk the evening shake, I was restless and couldn't get comfortable as I sat on the couch in the living room, Tess on the other end, watching.

  "You okay?" she had asked.

  "Yeah...no." I'd replied.

  "Are you in pain?"

  "No...no...I think I'm still hungry."

  Tess had blinked, a little wide-eyed. Considering that this was the longest conversation we'd ever had, it may have surprised her.

  "Do you know what you might be hungry for?"

  "No. Not really. Something...soft, maybe?"

  Tess had nodded, gotten up and gone into the kitchen. I could hear her knocking around in the refrigerator, followed by the cracking of eggs and then whisking.

  She was making scrambled eggs.

  My 'go-to' food.

  In a few short minutes, she returned and helped me make my way into the kitchen. On the table was a small plate of the eggs, a piece of toast, and a short glass of milk. My girls had followed us and were sitting next to the table, noses up at the smell of the fresh-cooked food. I sat down and picked up the fork in my left hand, my dominant right arm casted and useless.

  I had only fair control using my left hand, but I managed to stab the eggs and get them to my mouth without losing much. They were delicious, perfectly cooked, and I sighed with pleasure. Tess looked on as I made quick work of the meal. It was just what I needed.

  "Thank you," I said when I'd finished, as I pushed back from the table.

  "You're welcome," she practically whispered back, taking my now-empty plate and glass to the sink. "Anytime," she added, over her shoulder as she started the water. "Not a problem."

  More evenings meals followed, all with foods freshly prepared by Tess. We began having dinner together at the table, me with whatever she cooked or heated up for me, she with take-out that she'd purchased on her way to the carriage house, until one evening, I looked at her burger over my soup.

  "Want to try it?" she had asked.

  The smell of it was so compelling, I had nodded, and she cut it into halves, then quarters, and offered me the plate. I took a piece, bit into it and relished the taste. I think I may have hummed a bit.

  "Good?"

  I'd nodded, still chewing. She offered another bite. I took it. Quickly.

  The next evening, I had a hamburger for dinner. And french fries. I slept the best sleep I'd had in a long time that night.

  Tess pulled into the parking lot behind the Town Hall, pulled into the space that was reserved for her vehicle and shut off the engine. We sat for a minute, not speaking.

  "Bishop, I took pictures of you the night you arrived, to document your appearance, in case...in case we needed them. We didn't...we didn't know who, or what we were dealing with, and I wanted to be able to...identify you, if we needed to."

  I nodded. I understood. I'd just had no idea of what I looked like when I'd first arrived, barely two weeks after taking that beating, and I had been stunned by my appearance.

  "You're better, Bishop, now, a lot better," she said, earnestly, looking at me from the other side of the seat.

  I nodded again. I was better, there was no doubt. Tess had seen to that.

  "Tess," I whispered. "If I've never said it before, I'm saying it now. Thank you for taking care of me."

  She merely nodded, her lips in a small smile as she reached over and patted my knee before opening her door.

  As I followed her towards the back entrance, a bell began to toll. I paused and listened to the sound, taken with the resonance as it bounced around the buildings, wondering how many years it had announced the hours, how many people had marked their day by it. Tess had opened the door, then turned and looked at me, concern on her face.

  "You coming?"

  I gave her a nod. "Yeah, on your six."

  We walked on into the hall, the heels of Tess' boots tapping out her steps, my sneaks squeaking on the freshly-waxed linoleum. Just before three halls joined at the front center of the building, forming a 'T,' we hooked a right and entered through a door marked by a hanging double-sided 'Police Department' sign. Upon entering, there was no mistaking that we were, indeed, in a police department.

  "Afternoon, George," said Tess, as we passed the Desk Sergeant, a burly fellow sitting behind bullet-proof glass as he shuffled a thick stack of papers. George looked up as I passed by while he buzzed us through the bullet-proof glass door. I nodded. George grunted in return. His form of 'hello?'

  Moving through a narrow hallway, we turned again, another right, into a large open room I quickly recognized as the bullpen. A couple of the fellows looked up and smiled as Tess walked in. I just bet their days were brightened considerably whenever she entered the room. Their smiles, however, turned quizzical when they got a look at me. I suspected few of them had ever laid eyes on a full-blown dyke. I smiled and gave a quick wave as we walked towards the back right corner of the room to what I correctly presumed was Tess' desk. They all nodded back, one even gave an uncertain wave in return.

  "Have a seat," Detective Hayes directed, as she pointed to the chair next to her desk. I was definitely in her house now. I sat down. "I'm going to talk to the Captain about getting some transportation for you."

  She left me sitting there, with my back to the room, an uncomfortable position for me in any situation. I did the only thing I could. I stood up and spun the chair around to face the bullpen. The officers looked up as I sat back down, puzzled expressions passing between them.

  Whyte entered the room, smiling, heading in my direction. I stood up as he reached Tess's desk and he handed me some folded money just as Tess returned from the Captain's office.


  "You realize that was my lunch money for the week," he said in a low, conspiratorial voice, grinning.

  "Well, now, you just couldn't believe I had that third king" I said, my voice low as well, as I smiled in turn.

  Whyte grinned, shook his head, then patted me on the shoulder while Fowler, now back at his desk, shook his head as well, and they both nodded and smiled at Tess, who returned the same in kind as she made her way across the room.

  "You have a fan club," she said as she sat down behind her desk. In turning my chair to face the room, I had set it in such a way that Tess and I were now practically sitting side-by-side. She was shaking her head, and I noted a smirk on her lips. "You took their lunch money?" she asked, very quietly, as she looked at me, then realized we were sitting nearly shoulder-to-shoulder.

  "Yeah, they're good guys, terrible card players." I whispered to her, catching her glare at my rearranging her furniture in her absence. I stood up and gave my chair a quarter turn, so that I could still see the room.

  Tess shook her head, a small smile on her lips as she rolled her eyes. "I thought that was where you got the money for lunch the other day."

  "Yep. Like I said, fair and square."

  "You know, gambling is illegal."

  I sighed. I just could not win with her. "I know, Detective, I know, but then I paid for your lunch with my 'ill-gotten gains.' So, yes, I won some money playing cards, but I then bought lunch for you, an officer of the law, so I'd say it all evened out."

  She shook her head again. There was another small smile to go with it. "Have you always been able to talk your way out of trouble?"

  I didn't answer that. I considered it a purely rhetorical question.