Shattered Glass

by Dani Alexander

  “Come get me tomorrow.” I used Cai’s cell to text Darryl, ordering him to meet me out front with the car. I handed the phone back to my partner and then I hobbled off the gurney and toward an exit.

  I couldn’t remember the nurse’s name from Wednesday, but I recognized the voice as it chased after me. “Officer Glass? Detective?” She caught me at the automatic doors. They slid open and then closed.

  “Got a ride to catch.”

  “You need your stitches replaced and your nose reset.”

  “Lady, what I need is a bath, to sleep a year, and about a bottle of Vicodin. What I want, and what I’m going to get, is a ride to St. Mark’s hospital.”

  She looked about to argue and then took a deep breath. “At least let me get you into some scrubs. Your wound is probably going to get infected.”

  I looked down at my tux. My shirt was grey, the jacket was grey, and everything was damp with blood and ashwater. I laughed. Ow. No laughing. Laughing bad. “Gimme the scrubs.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Thinking About Anything But Peter

  “You look like shit,” Darryl greeted when I carefully folded into the passenger seat of my car. “We should get you to a hospital.”

  I stared blankly at his grin. If the smile had actually reached his eyes, I might have been tempted to offer a sarcastic rejoinder. “Just drive.” I flipped the visor open and examined my face. I looked like a bruise with three lips. Closing the visor in disgust, I fingered the butterfly stitches holding my bottom lip together.

  “Cai’s okay,” Darryl announced.

  “Good.” Right then I cared about Peter, not Cai.

  “Your cop partner is cool.”

  “Yeah.” I couldn’t summon the strength to talk. I wanted to tell him that I needed silence, but I figured he needed to talk. Maybe talking would keep my mind off Peter.

  Darryl opened his mouth, took a quick breath and then held it. His mouth closed again. He reopened it and blurted out a quick, “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. I didn’t find him. And before you ask, I don’t know who did.”

  “Just take the freakin’ gratitude, dickwad.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, fighting a smile.

  “They tried to take my cell phone.”

  “Evidence.”

  “Fuck them and the evidence they rode in on. Rosa couldn’t call me.”

  “Did she?”

  He shook his head. “Zhavra did. Peter’s mom,” he elaborated at my confused look. “He’s out of surgery.”

  “And?”

  “She hung up. She doesn’t like me.”

  “Do you get along with anyone?”

  “Men.”

  “And Peter thinks I’m the misogynist,” I muttered. “We’ll find out about Peter in a few minutes.” I turned off the air conditioning and rolled my window down.

  The wind felt good on my face. I tipped my head back and closed my eyes. Images of Peter from this morning flickered against the screen of my lids. His subtle smile. The tease of his ass before he’d shut the bathroom door. A glimpse of the weird flat portion of his hair where he’d slept on it. I was grateful when Darryl turned on the radio and pulled me out of my mental slideshow. We rode the remaining ten minutes with The Who, The Clash and Lynyrd Skynyrd.

  Great. Now I Hate Hospitals

  Darryl turned off the car in the middle of Free Bird’s guitar riff. The hospital loomed a half block from our spot in visitor parking. I wasn’t looking forward to the trek there, short as it was. Darryl seemed even more reluctant.

  He pulled the car keys into his lap and fiddled with them while staring straight ahead at the hospital. “Coming?” I asked. He said nothing. “Poor choice of words.”

  “I hate hospitals.” He brought his thumb up to his mouth and began chewing zealously at the nail.

  “It’s a building with people. Nothing to be afraid of.”

  “It’s the only place in the world where there’s a reminder about what being gay means.” He spit out a piece of nail, selecting another digit for oral attack. “You know that super old game show with like doors you get to choose?” He didn’t wait for a response. “It’s like that. Behind door one, we have people with AIDS. Behind door two, a bunch of babies and married people.” He looked at me. “Door three? That’s where Nurse Bitch is stationed, programmed to ask, ‘Are you a family member?’ You know what my favorite is?”

  I was too tired to get into what being gay meant. I’d been avoiding this very conversation for weeks. “This is perfect timing for this discussion. No, really. It is. Perfect.”

  “My favorite is the signs. You know the ‘give blood’ signs. Except we can’t give blood. Because we’re gay. And apparently, we’re all tainted. Like breeders don’t have HIV?”

  “Know what else is in there?” I asked when he finally let me get a word in. “Peter. So take your fingers out of your mouth, get your perky ass out of the car and trail your pixie dust through those automatic doors. Okay, Tinkerbelle?”

  “If you hadn’t said the ass bit, they’d have to reset your nose again.”

  “They haven’t set my nose yet, and why do you think I led with the perky ass part? I can’t figure out why everyone unloads on me—everyone except the one person I want to. Christ, if Peter was this forthcoming, we’d probably be arguing a lot less.” I got out of the car and slammed the door, limping away without checking if Darryl was following.

  He caught up with me a few seconds later. “Honey, I wouldn’t worry about Peter opening you up.” The gesture he made was so obscene, I barely kept my ass cheeks from clenching.

  “Nice. Thanks for that.” I rolled my eyes.

  He laid another lovely statement on me as the automatic doors opened. “You should know, Peter’s mother is an evangelical who thinks I’m going to hell because I suck dick.”

  “I don’t think I count. I’ve only done it that one time.”

  Good Doggy

  Zhavra Dyachenko’s cheeks were flushed, and her mouth was rapidly moving. I couldn’t hear through the glass, which probably meant the doors were too thick—or she was whispering irately.

  Across from her, Darryl flipped up his middle finger and shoved it close to her nose.

  Between them both, Peter rested silently on his hospital bed. Though they definitely shared the same DNA—red hair, fair skin, pointed features—today it would be difficult to tell that Zhavra was his mother from Peter’s drawn face and sallow coloring.

  “Would you like some coffee, Glass?”

  I didn’t look at Officer Hutcherson. My attention was riveted to the ICU room, where Peter slept off his anesthesia. “Given up calling me ‘sir’?”

  “I’m off duty.”

  I couldn’t look away. If I did, Peter would die. I was suddenly sure of it. Even blinking seemed a betrayal. It was useless to try to stop the inevitable. Bodies don’t respond to superstitions. Bodies work on automation. My eyes watered from the strain. Finally, my lids ticked down, pushing the tears out.

  “Were you there when he was brought out of surgery?” I asked.

  “Haven’t left his side. As instructed. Canadian citizenry would only be interesting for a few days.”

  My smile was feeble. “The doctors wouldn’t give information to a nonfamily member. Other than twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Did you hear anything?” Zhavra had been less than helpful.

  I registered the sound of paper rustling and imagined Hutcherson was reading from his notebook. “Bullet went through bowel. They repaired the damage, but there’s a high risk of infection.” He paused. “Someone’d better go break them up before the blond pops her one.”

  “Thanks. For everything. You should head home.”

  “I have some paperwork to do at the station.” It was an offer more than a statement. The implied ‘if you need me’ eliciting a nod from me.

  “I might take you up on that,” I murmured, then opened the sliding glass door and stepped inside the ICU room.


  Peter’s mother turned on me before the door closed. “You are not welcome here.”

  “You said that the first time you kicked me out. So I thought I’d give you some time to reconsider.” I took a seat near the bed. Her seat. It was petty. I was petty. “Then, while I was having my nose set, I thought to myself, ‘what a great hospital. I bet they could use a million dollars.’ Guess what? They did!”

  Darryl laughed and flopped in a nearby chair.

  “I am still his mother,” she said staunchly.

  “Yeah? Good luck with that. I’m still rich.”

  Until he took my hand, I hadn’t realized Peter had woken up. We all went silent. He opened his eyes slowly and met mine.

  “Your nose,” he whispered.

  “Petya. Sweet boy.” His mother combed her fingers through his hair as she kissed his forehead.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Darryl squeeze Peter’s knee.

  Peter’s eyes never moved from mine. I couldn’t speak. “Hey, mamma,” he said with a barely there smile. My throat closed on an emotional swallow. His lids fluttered, then lowered and his breathing once again slowed.

  For the next seven hours, we sat in silence. The nurses came and went way too often. Darryl occasionally left to call and update Cai and Rosa. Not that there was much to update. Peter woke up three times besides the nurses visits. The longest was two minutes. Each time he asked for water. We gave him ice shavings, and he slipped into sleep again. So did I at some point.

  I awoke to a tingling sensation spilling over my scalp. Peeling my eyes open, I blinked a few times at the blur of shadows. Fingers spread into my hair, curled up and then radiated outward again. I tilted my face from my crossed-arms pillow and gave Peter a bleary smile. His hand slipped along my cheek and fell to the bed softly.

  “They broke your nose?”

  “It might be an improvement.” I stretched and yawned. “Been awake long?”

  “Few minutes.” He turned his head. I twisted mine to follow his stare. Darryl was curled and snoring on the floor. Zhavra was missing.

  I took his hand and brought his attention back to me while I played with his fingers. “Cai’s safe.”

  “I know. Darryl told me a while ago.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Sleepy.”

  “Sleep helps with that.”

  “Going to sleep in a second.” His turn to yawn, though he winced at the end of it. There was a long pause after I threaded our fingers together. “Austin?”

  “Yeah, Peter Rabbit?”

  “Kiss me goodnight?”

  “No,” I said, studying our joined hands.

  “C’mon.”

  The strange foreboding crept over me again. That a kiss was his way of saying goodbye. And if I pressed my lips against his, I’d catch his last breath. I pushed the selfish thoughts away. Leaning up, I braced my hands near his shoulders and let the heat of him draw me close.

  He smelled of antiseptic and sweat, and the weird hospital scent that clung to the sick. “Your breath reeks.” I grazed his lips with mine. His fingers touched my thigh. My heart wrecked into my ribcage. I dusted his mouth with another kiss and felt him sigh against me.

  “I’m not dying.” He wet his lips, his tongue inadvertently brushing against my mouth.

  “Oh, good, because I’m not into necrophilia, but all that could change.” I tugged the hair over his forehead and licked the taste of him off my upper lip. “Want me to go get your mother?”

  “Stay.”

  “Arf,” I said softly. He fell asleep with a smile. I was sure that was the most useful thing I’d done all day.

  Running On Empty

  I was pulled out of my vigil a few hours later and taken to the station to give my recorded statement. There, I learned Frank, Del and Dave were exchanging information for protective custody. After leaving the interview room, a crutch-wielding Luis filled me in on the details that Internal Affairs had refused to divulge to me.

  “You look like you’re on your last leg, partner.”

  “Get it all out, Glass.” He sat his butt on the corner of my desk, leaned his crutches against the arm of my chair and exhaled with an almost pleading look to the ceiling.

  “I’m done,” I said, resting back in my chair. I wasn’t feeling very witty. What I did feel was conflicted between wanting to be with Peter and resolving the case.

  Luis tossed a paper-stuffed file on the desk. “The plastic melted around everything like a seal. Some smoke and water damage, but the passport numbers were salvageable.”

  “Nothing but passports?” Frowning, I waded through the stack of photocopies from the files.

  “Just passports,” Luis confirmed.

  I drew one of the papers from the pile. A pretty girl with shiny lips and glossy hair stared back at me. “Catarina Perez? I know that name.”

  “That’s because she’s Carlos Jiménez’s niece. The one who went missing and started that war I mentioned.”

  “Oh, shit, yeah. I thought it was a rival cartel that took her.” The Jiménez cartel was relatively new, making a name for itself quickly. Too quickly to suit the older cartels. The logical leap was that a rival cartel snatched the girl. The war that ensued made headlines even up here in Colorado. “So what? Alvarado took her?”

  “Alvarado, Joe and Leila were bringing in cash and drugs for the Jiménez cartel. The money was being laundered through various hands, each taking a percentage. The illegals were the side business.”

  “Alvarado figured while he was making trips to Mexico, he’d pad his pockets.”

  “You must be loads of fun with twenty questions. Go ahead if you got all the answers.”

  “I have been told it’s annoying to play it with me.” I checked the other papers, no other names jumped out at me. “Okay, I’m stumped. They’re bringing in illegals as a side business. How does she fit in?”

  “Alvarado was bringing in five, six illegals a month. Each paid five thousand dollars—one way or another—for forged green cards.”

  “Dench handled forging papers,” I guessed.

  “With help from an ex-cop who worked in immigration. He was picked up last night.”

  “Twenty-five grand a month isn’t much when split up.”

  “Which is why Alvarado got even greedier, making more trips. Too many for the immigration connection to keep up with. Alvarado set up a safe house for those waiting for papers—the ones that couldn’t pay up front went to work for him or were sold.”

  “Or their kids were sold,” I added. I turned the sheet of paper with Catarina’s picture to him. “She paid up front?”

  “Partially. Ran away three days after her Quinceañera with a boyfriend the father didn’t approve of. Used three grand in gifts from family to pay her and the boyfriend’s way across. They all found out who she was later. After.”

  “After what?”

  “After she was raped and murdered in the whorehouse Alvarado put her in.”

  “Jesus,” I whispered. “No wonder they needed that paper trail destroyed. Jiménez would do worse than kill them when he found out. Why the hell didn’t they get rid of the papers?”

  He pointed to the folder. “Dench handled all the paperwork. Leila Alvarado found out about the girl’s death. She started killing everyone who could link the missing girl with their operation. The other seven people in that file are buried somewhere unknown, along with the girl. Dench had a strike of conscience. He tucked evidence in two safety deposit boxes. If he handed over Peter’s box it meant jail time. The second kid’s box was a death sentence for everyone involved. Buchanan thinks he keeled over from the stress. By then he had hidden both sets of passports.”

  “Until Peter dredges some of them up, minus the most important evidence.”

  Luis grunted his agreement. “Del and Frank see Alvarado in custody, they watch the interview tape and see that he’s ready to deal.”

  “They had to get rid of him,” I finished. “So how’d
they set up Cai?”

  “They went after Alvarado. In an effort to save himself, he tells them that your boy has the passports.”

  “Peter, not boy,” I corrected offhandedly. It was getting uncomfortable that people were describing him as a boy. Even if to Luis I was a kid.

  “Leila offs Alvarado, and that’s when Nikolaj comes back to the house. Probably to off Alvarado himself. Now they have a witness, but the boy takes off before they can take care of him.”

  “They don’t know who he is and can’t ask Alvarado because he’s dead,” I guessed.

  “Yep. Nikolaj ran out of the house, so he was nice and visible to all the neighborhood, but none of them recognized him. Then you come into the station and ID him. They know who the kid is now, but they also know you’re involved with Peter. So, instead of going after Peter directly, they decide they do two things. Get you off the case somehow and then use Nikolaj as leverage. They arrest the kid. Then comes a second problem”

  “Cai’s figured out that there’s one more safety deposit box that no one knows about but him.” If I wasn’t so anxious to get out of there, at this point I could have made a crack about how good things do come from fucking with witnesses. But I was tired and all I wanted to do was go back to the hospital.

  “Nikolaj tells them he has the evidence," Luis continued, “But he’s in custody. And then Peter goes straight to you when the kid is arrested. Next thing they know, the kid is at your house and guarded by the FBI. They can’t get to him. They can’t get to the brother. Until the kid leaves to see his shrink.”

  I knew the rest. “Were all of them involved?” I didn’t want to hear that Dave had been involved in this disgusting event. Everything I believed in the world would have come crashing down on me if I learned he was capable of this monstrousness.

  “You want to know about Buchanan?” Luis asked. I kept eye contact and waited, angrily contorting a paperclip during the interim. Luis pulled a package of Mexican taffy out of his pocket and offered it to me. I chose a green one and stabbed the pointy end of the paper clip viciously into it. “Haven’t heard his whole story,” my partner continued. “From what I hear, he was funneling money only. They didn’t tell him about the girl’s death or the illegals until after you got suspended.”