Ten Plagues

by Mary Nealy

  His thoughts seemed to shove the pastor out of the forefront of his thoughts. How had he survived in the Lighthouse Mission? He hadn’t done anything for himself in years. He never ate anywhere else, had no friends outside the mission. He’d lost all perspective.

  The doctor was with LaToya when they got to the hospital and a nurse said he’d be awhile so they should settle in. She also told them LaToya hadn’t shown any signs of regaining consciousness.

  “We’re wasting our time sleeping here.” Paul looked around the pretty waiting room. The hospital did its best to make it a nice place to wait through a bad time.

  But it was still a hospital waiting room.

  “I think I’ll go back to the mission to sleep.”

  Keren glared at him.

  “What?”

  “You’ve been Detective Morris all day. Can you give it a rest?”

  Paul smiled. “Give what a rest? What’s that mean?”

  Scowling, Keren said, “I’m going to go in first to see her.”

  “Why should you go? You don’t even know her.”

  “Then I’m going to sleep the whole rest of the night on that stupid couch and you can go in once an hour and hopefully spend some time trying to regain your sanity.”

  “Hey, I’m sane.”

  Keren arched a brow at him.

  “I just need some sleep so I can do my best to solve this crime.”

  “Good, shut up then, and get some sleep.” She jabbed her finger at the torture chamber that was almost his home. “Right there. You’re going to need it.”

  She stomped off, and Paul caught himself watching the way she moved. Not one single appropriate thought in his head.

  While he tried to get comfortable, Paul seriously considered leaving and sleeping at the mission. Even those beds were better than this lousy couch. He’d decide after he saw LaToya, but it felt right. Leaving, resting, was the best thing he could do to stop that lunatic Pravus.

  The next thing he knew, he was waking up.

  He ran his hand over his bristly face. He felt grungy and shabby and he was sick of it. “I’ve got to get a shave.”

  Instead of going to the mission, he decided he’d swing by the station house for a shave and shower. He could get the latest on the investigation. Maybe call the task force together to bat ideas around. He looked down at his ratty clothes and wondered how to get something clean and sharp. The press might be around. He could speed up this investigation if he slipped Caldwell’s name to the press.

  “I’m checking into a hotel for a few days just to get some decent sleep.” He spoke aloud just as he fully heard the bustle of the hospital around him and realized with a shock that it was morning. It brought him to his feet. He’d slept through the night. He hadn’t gone in to see LaToya once.

  The door to LaToya’s room swung open. Keren came out, tucking her cell phone in the pocket of her blazer. “You’re awake, good. Rosita just called. She’s on the way over. Manny’s escorting her. We can get into that lab supply store by eight.”

  He was embarrassed to have missed his turn visiting and let that twist around to annoyance. Keren could have awakened him. “We don’t need to wait for Rosita. What are the chances LaToya will wake up in the next few minutes?”

  Keren stared at him. “But Paul, you’ve been so insistent that she not be left alone.”

  Paul ran his hand over his face again and wondered what he looked like. She seemed to be looking at something she didn’t like.

  “The best thing we can do for LaToya is catch the man who did this.” He felt the cop in him talking. He fought it but couldn’t seem to quite get his head clear of that analytical coolness. “She won’t really be alone; there are doctors and nurses around. Let’s go.” Paul took a step toward the exit.

  “Just one stinking minute!”

  He turned back to her. “What? Let’s get going.”

  She stood militantly in front of LaToya’s door, with her hands planted firmly on her hips. Boy she was a feisty little thing. Cute, too.

  “We’re not leaving her here alone.”

  “Why don’t we see if we can get a police officer on her door?”

  “Because we’re trying to keep her low profile. We don’t want the fact that she lived to get out. Besides, you’re the one who didn’t want to leave your friend’s side.”

  “I’ve got a good feeling about today. I want to get going.” He pulled the keys out of his pocket and tossed them in the air. “We can get this guy before he does somebody else.”

  “Before he does somebody else?” Keren walked toward him with narrowed eyes. “That’s all you’ve got to say about this nut carving on a friend of yours? What is wrong with you? I’m standing here tied up in knots, expecting to hear word on Wilma any minute, and you’re tossing my car keys in the air as if you’re enjoying yourself.”

  Feeling wildly out of control and enjoying it, Paul tossed the keys again just to watch her fume. Keren didn’t disappoint him. She snatched them in midair. He took a half a step toward her and caught her hand. He pulled her closed fist up between them.

  “I’m driving, Keren.” He smirked as he pried her fingers open.

  Keren clamped her hand tightly closed. Paul pulled her closer until their tussling hands were the only thing keeping their bodies apart.

  He looked up from their impromptu wrestling match and noticed how rumpled and sleepy-eyed she was. “You know, you’re really cute when you’re mad.”

  Controlling all her fire would be a delicious pleasure. It churned him up inside until he hooked one hand around her waist, yanked her hard against him, and lowered his head to taste all that temper and spirit.

  She slammed her fist, complete with car keys, into his gut.

  With a grunt of pain, Paul stumbled backward. “Why’d you do that?”

  “Here’s a newsflash. I’m not cute when I’m mad. I’m mad when I’m mad!”

  “Pastor P, what’s going on?” Paul whirled around to see Rosita standing right behind him. Manny, who’d become her bodyguard the last few days, was at her side.

  Paul couldn’t gather his thoughts for a minute. He saw something in Manny’s eyes, a look of understanding. So he’d caught exactly what Paul had been thinking of when he’d leaned toward Keren.

  Manny arched a brow at Paul and gave him a smile of brotherhood. “Different rules for you and the lady cop than for me and Rosita, hey, Pastor P?”

  “LaToya still hasn’t come out of her coma.” Keren ignored Manny’s comment, all business. “We need to go. Thanks, both of you, for helping.”

  Paul thought Keren was walking out, but when she got to Manny, she stopped and stuck her face into his. “Pastor P is having a bad day, so, for a second, he forgot the rules. Forgetting the rules isn’t the same as them being different. I’m going to spend the next hour or so reminding him of the rules, because I never forget them and Rosita’s not going to, either. Then, when I’m done!” She stepped closer.

  “Reminding him!” She lifted her chin.

  “If he’s still alive!” Her nose almost touched Manny’s and Manny took a step back—smart man.

  “He’ll come back here and apologize for acting like a pig, when he’s supposed to be a pastor.”

  Manny held her gaze … he was a little braver from three steps away.

  Keren said through clenched teeth, “Anything about that you don’t understand, Manny?”

  Manny shrugged and said sheepishly, “Sorry, I was out of line.”

  Keren turned to Paul. “In the car! Now!” She stormed out of the hospital.

  Keren’s temper tantrum shocked Paul out of the strange mood he’d been in pretty much nonstop for the last two days. He couldn’t believe he’d grabbed her like that. He ran his hand over his face, through his hair, and brushed the lines of recently removed stitches. Then he started after her. He was so embarrassed at what Rosita had witnessed, that he knew he had to stop and take whatever humiliation was due him.

  He lo
oked, and she only seemed concerned, which was almost worse than if she’d been disgusted. He could lead someone into sin with his behavior.

  “I’m sorry, Rosita. This whole mess …” He waved his hand at LaToya’s room and looked at Rosita. Suddenly he realized that she had lived harder and seen more in her life than the most seasoned cop. “Rosie, do you ever relapse? Does it ever get hard to remember you’re a person of faith?”

  “It happens, Pastor P,” Rosita said kindly.

  “I’ve got to get out of this.” He looked in the direction Keren had gone. “I can’t deal with police work. It brings something out in me that I can’t seem to control. It’s a feeling of … of power, and I love it. It’s like a drug, and I’m high on it right now. I feel smarter than anyone else. I get smug and arrogant. Cocky. I think I’m a better cop than the real cops. I am better. I’m really good at this. But—” He shook his head, trying to clear it. “I need to get back to the Lighthouse.”

  “You can’t seal yourself in the mission and hide from the rest of the world,” Rosita said with a gentle smile.

  “Can living in a mission be hiding? I would have thought that was life at its toughest.”

  “It doesn’t count as tough unless it’s tough for you,” Rosie said simply. “It was like giving up letting guys slap me around. For me that was harder than kicking the crack. Weird, isn’t it?”

  All of Paul’s pastoral concern for Rosie flared to life. He watched her closely when he said, “But you did it. No man has slapped you since you found the Lord, has he?” He glanced at Manny.

  Manny raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me, man. I’m afraid of her.”

  Rosie flashed her thousand-watt smile at Manny. She turned back to Paul. “Manny’s good to me. It’s what I grew up with, watching men knock my mother around. They came after me, too, and so did Mama. It feels like love to me, how sick is that?”

  Manny rested a hand on the back of her neck. “It’s not love. You know that, right?”

  Nodding, Rosita leaned closer to Manny, and his hand dropped until his arm circled her waist.

  Paul wondered if there might be a wedding and they might let him perform it. The idea helped him get a better grip on the humble, faithful side of himself.

  “Maybe giving up the power of being a cop wasn’t so easy for you,” Rosita said. “Maybe you’re some kind of adrenaline junky. You just didn’t know it because you cut yourself off from it. And now this case—it’s like falling off the wagon.”

  “So what do I do?” Paul really hoped Rosita could tell him.

  She took on a glow. “I think it’s the same as drugs and booze, Pastor P. One day at a time. There’s no way out of this mess until it’s over.” Her glow faded and she looked at LaToya’s door. “So you don’t have any choice but to deal with it the best you can. You know, God is letting this unfold, with you in the middle, for a reason. Maybe it’s time you faced your old life.”

  Paul thought of how he’d grabbed Keren and the disrespectful way he’d treated her. She’d gone to her car and he knew she’d be waiting for him … waiting to take him apart.

  “And facing forward takes you straight into the angry clutches of Detective Collins,” Rosita said. “And by the way, anything she does to you … you deserve.”

  “Good luck, amigo,” Manny called after him.

  Keren kept both hands on the wheel to keep them off Paul’s throat as he slipped into the car beside her.

  “So, Stupidville just took a vote and you’re the new mayor?” Keren slammed her foot on the gas before he got the door closed.

  “It was a landslide.” Paul grappled for his seat belt, as if he suspected she had violent plans for his side of the car.

  “What’s the point of having a head if you’re not going to use it?” Keren left rubber behind on the pavement as she pulled out into the traffic.

  “I promise I’ll sit here quietly while you let me have it, even if it takes all day. I deserve every word of it.”

  “Don’t think you’re going to get out of this by being sorry and nice,” Keren snarled. “It won’t save you.”

  Paul sighed. “I’d hoped it would.”

  “I know this is hard for you.”

  “Please don’t start sounding like you feel sorry for me.” Paul waved her politeness away. “I woke up just as you came in, and it was like I—I sort of time traveled back to the days I was a cop. I’m awake now. I deserve scorn, contempt, rage, compound fractures. But I don’t deserve sympathy, and if you start being nice instead of crushing my out-of-control ego, I promise I’ll maul you again just to get your angry juices flowing.”

  She glanced over at that last bit, and his eyes weren’t really back to normal—there was still heat when he said he’d maul her. And plenty of cynicism. She did need to abuse him. It was the right thing to do.

  “I don’t know where to start.”

  Paul said, “Why don’t you start by telling me what I did to you that made you so mad at me in the first place. It wasn’t something like that was it?”

  Keren slammed her palm on the steering wheel. “Was there a time when you did things like that? You were married when you were on the force. Please don’t tell me you were that big of a slime. I don’t know if I could forgive you, even if God is up to it.”

  “No, I never cheated on my wife. But I sometimes … well, I didn’t always treat women with … well … respect. The thing is, there might be a few women who’d tell you I was kind of a … a …”

  “Jerk?” Keren supplied.

  “Well—”

  “Pig?” Keren wheeled around a corner.

  “Some of them might—”

  “Letch?” The back end of the car fishtailed.

  “I don’t think letch is—”

  “Scumball?” She straightened out and floored it.

  “Now, Keren, scumball seems a little—”

  “All of the above? You want to supply your own words?”

  “You’re doing fine. You don’t need my help.” Paul shrugged. “Anyway, I wasn’t unfaithful. Disrespect to women, yes, but I disrespected men, too. Nothing sexist about it. I was an equal opportunity, arrogant jerk. All my trouble with my wife was about how important my work was and how unimportant my family was.” Paul slid lower in the seat and she caught him taking a quick look at her.

  She clamped her mouth shut, trying to figure out whether to commiserate or go after him with her nightstick.

  “Aren’t you going to yell at me? Please don’t tell me you’re done, because I really can’t stand the guilt if you let me off the hook this easily.”

  “Okay, no problem.”

  Flinching, Paul said, “That was reverse psychology.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Tough luck. I guess the only reason I’d stop yelling at you would be because I decided you were hopeless. And I really don’t want to think that.”

  “Don’t give up on me.”

  “Now you’re being the kindhearted pastor again. Turn back into the cop so I can yell at him.”

  “I’m not brave enough to do that.”

  “This weird morphing thing you’ve been doing, into the cop you used to be, has to be an aberration.” Keren glanced at him, but mostly she watched the road. “Maybe tearing a strip off your hide will help you get a handle on it.”

  Paul squared his shoulders as if he were prepared to wave farewell to his hide.

  “How do you reconcile manhandling me, insulting me—’You’re pretty when you’re mad.’“ Her voice was pitched low,

  whiny, pure mockery of a man’s voice. “How do you go from urging O’Shea and me to call Juanita by her name, to referring to Wilma as a vic? What’s happening to you?”

  “I told you, anger is a sin I struggle with,” Paul said. “The last few days, I’ve been letting my anger rule me. And as my sin ruled my temper, it began to rule my life.”

  “That stunt this morning wasn’t anger, you moron! It was pure ego. Pure disrespect for me. Blaming
it on your temper is a cop-out, and I’m sick of hearing you make excuses!” Keren wheeled them around a corner and two wheels left the pavement. Paul didn’t suggest she slow down. She hoped it was because he was too scared.

  “Take some responsibility for your actions! You may need to come to terms with your temper. But I don’t think the battle you’re waging is with anger. There can be Christian strength in anger if you control it and express it justly.”

  “Not for me,” Paul insisted.

  Keren looked sideways at him and wondered how she could penetrate that thick skull. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to. This morning brought back all the hostile feelings she had for him. Even now, when he was more his normal self, she distrusted him. “That just sounds like stubbornness to me. I’m telling you, your anger isn’t the problem. You’re making excuses.”

  “It’s a doorway into sin.” Paul sat straighter in his seat.

  Keren slammed her fist against the steering wheel. “Not if you control it!”

  Paul turned on her and roared, “I can’t control it!”

  Keren slammed her foot on the brake and pulled the car into a parking space.

  “We don’t have time to stop the car and argue this out,” Paul growled. “We’ve got a murderer to catch.”

  “We’re there.” Keren shoved her car into PARK. She very deliberately took the keys out of the ignition and put them in her pocket.

  Paul looked at the building they were beside. “Oh. I thought you were stopping so you could concentrate on yelling at me.”

  “I don’t need to concentrate very hard to find stuff to yell at you about. I can drive at the same time.”

  Paul shrugged. “I’ve been making it easy for you.”

  “Amen to that.” Keren reached for the door.

  Paul grabbed her arm. The look Keren gave his hand left burn marks. He let her go. “I am sorry. I am. Really. I was so completely out of line that I can’t think of the words to express how much I regret what I did. And it wasn’t just disrespecting you. It was leaving you to watch LaToya. It was wanting Higgins to give me a sidearm last night. It was calling Wilma …” Paul dropped his face into his hands. “I actually said, ‘We can get this guy before he does somebody else.’ That makes me sick.”