Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Wrath of Isis
Page 119
“That smells wonderful,” Dan said as the cook pulled back the cover over the tray. The cook nodded and scurried away while Becky eagerly waited for Dan to take a bite. He stuck his fork in one of the cooked snails and smiled as he chewed. “Tastes even better.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Becky said as she took a nibble of her veal parmesan.
“So what’s the occasion?”
“Does there have to be an occasion to have a nice dinner?”
“Not really.”
She knew she should jump in to tell him what she wanted to say, but she still couldn’t bring herself to do it. She stuffed another forkful of veal into her mouth and cursed her cowardice. Tell him! she screamed to herself.
“Have you talked to Emma since the party?” Dan asked. “I tried to call her at the museum, but her secretary said she wasn’t feeling well. Must be tough for her, remembering what happened to her baby.”
“There’s actually some good news on that front.” Becky tried to stop herself, but blurted out, “She thinks her baby is alive. In Russia.”
“Russia? How would Louise get there?”
“Someone at the hospital switched Louise and put her on the black market.” Becky figured this was close enough to the truth that it wasn’t really a lie. “A lot of rich folks would pay a pretty penny to have a genius’s kid.”
“That’s amazing. What’s she going to do?”
“She’s going over to Russia.” Becky paused for a moment as she thought up a lie. “She’s going to the embassy over there to work with the authorities to get her back.”
“I can’t believe it. It seems like something out of a soap opera.”
“I know.” Becky shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She took a deep breath as she finally worked up the courage to spit out, “If she does find Louise, I was thinking that maybe the time would be right for you and I—”
She couldn’t finish the thought, but Dan nodded as he chewed thoughtfully on a snail. “You want to have a baby too,” he said.
“Yes.”
He set down his fork and looked at his half-empty plate. “I guess it’s not surprising.”
“You don’t, do you?”
“I don’t know. It’s a really big step.”
“No it’s not!” She got up from her chair to squat down beside him and took his hand. “If we love each other, why should we be afraid to create something that’s a symbol of that love?” When he still said nothing, she let his hand go. “Unless you don’t really love me. Unless you think I’m some girl you’re fucking, the chick you picked up on the rebound.”
“It’s not like that.” Finally he turned to look her in the eye. “I do love you Becky. That’s why I’m afraid that I’d hurt you—and the baby.”
“Hurt me? How?”
He gestured at the nearly endless dining room around them. “I don’t want to be like my father.”
“Is that all you’re afraid of? I don’t want to be like my mother either. We don’t have to be. We can be the kind of parents we always wanted.” She took his hand again and squeezed it. “You’re the sweetest, most caring man I know. You’re going to be a great father. And I’ve practically raised three kids already, so I know I’m going to be a great mother.”
“Would you mind if I take some time to think about it?”
“Sure.” She checked her watch. “I’ve got to get to the council meeting anyway. When I get back, we can talk some more.”
“Thanks.” They kissed on the lips, but she felt something distant about Dan’s kiss, as if he wasn’t entirely there. Maybe he wouldn’t be here at all when she came back from the meeting.
“I love you,” she said before she left.
“I love you too,” he said in a way that left room for doubt.
***
The public meetings were always the worst. Especially public meetings when it involved cutbacks. Even worse when those cutbacks were schools. As she settled into her seat behind city council president Napier, Becky could already see the line of angry parents behind the microphone set up in the aisle.
At least there weren’t as many cameras present for this meeting. The capture of Don Vendetta and bombshell that she would be charged with Federal tax evasion had diverted most of the media’s attention from the meeting. That didn’t mean the parents of children whose schools were going to be closed would be any quieter. If anything they would make more noise to try to get on the eleven o’clock news or front page of the papers.
Napier of course looked completely at ease. She had been in city politics for thirty years, long enough to be able to handle these sort of meetings. When Becky had asked her about the wisdom of a public meeting, Napier had said, “I’m sure you’ll be worried enough for both of us.”
Becky’s entire job anymore was to worry. As Napier’s chief of staff, she was the worrywart-in-chief. There were bills that needed read, public appearances to book, the latest poll numbers to study, and correspondence from constituents to answer. Much of this could be delegated to the rest of the staff, but the buck stopped with Becky; she would be the one who would get thrown to the media jackals for any screw-ups while Napier pleaded ignorance.
While she tried to worry about a meeting that was bound to get ugly, she thought about her conversation with Dan. She could understand his reluctance to have a child given his upbringing, much as she’d had reservations given her own background. She had wrestled with this concern for weeks and gained ten pounds in the process. Unable to talk about it with Emma for obvious reasons, she finally went to her youngest sister Bambi, the one she was still on speaking terms with. Bambi still lived in the trailer they’d grown up in—the trailer that had been Hell on Earth when their mother was still around—while she went to nursing school.
Because of this, Becky asked to meet her at a McDonald’s down the road, where they ate Quarter Pounders—two in Becky’s case—and made small talk. Becky had finished one sandwich before she got to the heart of the matter. “After that bitch finally took off, do you think I did OK by you guys? I didn’t screw you guys up—more so, I mean—did I?”
“No, of course not. Why do you ask?”
“It’s that I was thinking about having a kid of my own, but I want to be a good mother. Not like that bitch.”
“You’ll be a great mother,” Bambi said.
“I doubt Brandi would agree.”
“Brandi’s always been ornery. You know that.”
“Yeah, you’re right about that.” Becky chewed on a handful of lukewarm French fries, still unable to shake the worry.
Bambi finally reached across the table to take her hand in a rare display of sisterly affection. “Becky, you’re not like her at all. You’ve always been gentle and kind and caring. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Thanks.” They had parted with a hug; Bambi offered to help in any way she could. This meeting assuaged Becky’s doubts enough that she felt confident to move forward. She wondered who Dan might talk to at this moment to try to erase his own doubts that he would end up like his father.
Napier gaveled the meeting to order and Becky tried to keep her attention focused on the proceedings. The people in line to speak fidgeted anxiously while the secretary read the minutes from the previous meeting and the council disposed of old business. One woman in line seemed more anxious than the rest; her fingers kneaded the handbag she carried in front of her. The woman especially stood out with her blond hair and pale skin in contrast to the blacks and Latinos who made up the rest of the line.
Something about this woman didn’t sit right with Becky. She kept her eyes on the woman as Napier called for new business and a black woman took to the microphone to say, “Where my children supposed to go to school if you all close them all down?”
This was a question Becky had prepared Napier for; she had assembled a list of nearby schools that would accept those from closed schools. “How am I going to get them to these schools?” the black woman demanded.
The next person’s questions were similar, enough that Becky let her attention float back to the blond woman in line. She wore a Rampart State sweatshirt and blue jeans, but there was something wrong about these. As the woman shuffled forward, Becky finally realized the clothes seemed too new, the jeans still stiff and sweatshirt unwrinkled. The woman’s eyebrows were plucked perfectly and her makeup conspicuously subtle. She looked more like an actress playing an ordinary woman than an actual ordinary woman.
Becky kept her eyes riveted on the woman as she finally got her chance to approach the microphone. The woman’s manicured fingers dug into the purse as she stepped up to the microphone. Becky saw a glint of something silver.
Before she knew what she was doing, Becky was out of her chair. She reached Napier as the blond woman shouted, “Free Don Vendetta!”
Becky leaned down and used her shoulder like a linebacker to knock Napier aside to the floor. As her boss tumbled out of her chair, Becky heard the boom of a gun. An instant later she too fell to the floor, backwards in her case. She landed on her rear end and stared down in shock to see blood spreading across the front of her blouse.
She heard the screams of bystanders, but these sounds seemed as if they came from a well hundreds of miles deep into the earth. Her vision dimmed while the blood continued to ooze from the wound. She stared at it in fascination, as if it came from somebody else. She heard someone call her name, but couldn’t open her mouth to speak.
There was no life flashing before her eyes, only the thought that she was about to die. Who would take care of Dan then? And Emma? And Emma’s little girl? How would they all get on without her?
***
Even before she opened her eyes, Becky knew she was in the hospital from the beeping and hissing of machines, but more importantly there was the smell. She’d spent enough hours in the hospital when Louise was born to recognize that antiseptic odor that clung to everything around her.
She finally opened her eyes, but didn’t try to sit up yet. While her body always felt heavy, now it felt as if she were buried in concrete. Her head didn’t feel any better so she couldn’t bring herself to lift her neck to see more than a patch of white ceiling tile. Her mouth had gone completely dry, her tongue nothing more than sandpaper in her mouth.
At least she was alive. The last thing she remembered was blood gushing from a wound in her chest thanks to the assassin at the meeting. An assassin who worked for Don Vendetta. Had they caught the woman yet? Had she shot anyone else after Becky? What about Napier? She really should get on a phone to contact the office, to get a situation report.
She willed her left arm to move; she flailed it around until she found a button to press. With a sigh she let her arm drop to hang over the side of the bed. She couldn’t muster the strength to bring it back to her side. The nurse could take care of that or they could leave it there.
It wasn’t a nurse who came into the room. Becky heard the door open and then Dr. Pavelski say, “I knew it would take more than a bullet to keep you down.”
Becky tried to say something, but her mouth was too dry. She felt a straw in her mouth and pulled at it with her lips. Cool water flowed into her mouth; she continued to suck from the straw until there was nothing left. “Thanks,” she said.
“You’re welcome.” Dr. Pavelski’s face appeared over Becky. “I’d raise the bed but you need to stay flat until the incision heals.”
“What happened?”
“You were shot.”
“I know. I meant after that.”
“The killer jumped out a window and escaped. The police are looking for her.”
“Did she hit anyone else?”
“No, just you. Ms. Napier is fine. She’s in the lobby with the others.” Dr. Pavelski smiled at her. “You’re a hero, Becky.”
“Whoopee.” Since she’d already been the Scarlet Knight for a brief time, she had gotten her fill of heroism already. Mostly it left you broken and sore. “Can I see Dan?”
“In a few minutes. We need to talk about something.”
“What?”
“The bullet didn’t hit anything vital. You’re very lucky that way. A half-inch to the right and you would have gotten some unintentional stomach stapling.”
“So I’m going to be fine?”
“Yes. You should make a full recovery.” Dr. Pavelski continued to smile, but her eyes belied the grin.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
The doctor’s smile faded. “Like I said, nothing vital was hit. Nothing that you need to live—”
“Just get to the point already!”
“There was some damage to your uterus. We had to do an emergency hysterectomy. I’m sorry, Becky.”
Becky closed her eyes and held back a scream. She didn’t have Emma’s encyclopedic knowledge of medicine, but she knew what a hysterectomy meant. It meant she would never be able to carry a child now. She could never have a baby of her own. “Get out.”
“Look, Becky, it’s not all bad news. We were able to save some of your eggs. I had them put into storage. You and Dan could still make a baby.”
“In a test tube? Is that what you’re saying?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes, but it would still be your child.”
“But I wouldn’t carry it. I wouldn’t give birth to it. All I’d be doing was donating some DNA to it.”
“Becky—”
“Get out.”
“I know you’re upset—”
“Get out!”
“All right. I’ll be back later to check on you. I’ll send Dan in for a couple of minutes.”
Becky imagined Dan would take her hand and squeeze it. He’d smile tenderly at her and kiss her gently on the lips. Like Dr. Pavelski he’d try to put a positive spin on everything. She was still alive. She might still be able to conceive a child with one of her frozen eggs. Everything wasn’t lost, he would tell her. “I don’t want to see him,” she said.
“Becky—”
“Just leave me alone. Tell everyone to go home. I don’t want their pity. Or yours.”
“They’ve been here for twelve hours: Dan, Ms. Napier, and Megan. They’re very worried about you.”
Becky supposed it was another silver lining that so few of her friends were around at the moment to mourn her. Emma, Aggie, and Akako had enough to worry about with their children—something she wouldn’t have to worry about now. She pressed her eyes tightly shut to keep from crying as she’d learned to do when her mother used to lock her in the furnace closet and threaten to tan her hide bloody if she cried. That evil bitch had given birth to four children—that Becky knew of—while she would never get to have one.
“Just leave me alone,” she said. “Tell everyone to leave me alone.”
“Becky—”
“I need some time to think.”
She felt Dr. Pavelski’s hand touch hers, the doctor’s skin cold and dry. “If that’s what you want. You get some rest and later I’ll have the nurse bring you something to eat. If you start feeling pain, press the call button and we’ll give you some medication. All right?”
“Sure,” Becky said, but she knew there was no medication for the pain she felt—that she would experience for the rest of her life.
Chapter 13
As part of her new role as Captain Donovan’s go-fer, Amanda was getting coffee when another news story finally bumped Don Vendetta from the headlines. When she saw the “Breaking News” alert on the screen, Amanda assumed it would be more “news” about the Vendetta case, which so far had amounted to reporters and pundits spinning rumors as an excuse to show the same clips of the don by the booking desk with Amanda next to her; Amanda looked like someone in an al-Qaeda video about to get her head chopped off. As it turned out, the breaking news was much worse.
“We’re getting reports of shots fired at a city council me
eting,” the anchorman said. He put a finger to the microphone in his ear. “I’m receiving word that we have exclusive footage from inside the council chambers.”
The anchor went on to warn viewers about the disturbing nature of the scene. Amanda snorted at this, but a moment later her entire body turned numb. The cups of coffee fell from her hands to spill on her feet, not that she noticed. “Jesus Christ,” she finally whispered.
The footage was shaky, but there was no mistaking Becky Beech. Amanda wasn’t as close to Becky as Megan, but they’d met a number of times, more than enough to recognize Becky as the fat woman who shoved Councilwoman Napier out of her chair a moment before the shot rang out. Amanda couldn’t see what happened to Becky as everyone began to get out of their seats to rush for the exits. She breathed a sigh of relief when the anchorman said the woman in the video had been rushed to the hospital.
Three seconds later, Amanda’s cell phone rang; the ring tone indicated it was Megan. Her friend’s voice sounded as if she’d run up five flights of stairs. “Amanda…oh my God! Becky—” A wheeze punctuated the end of this. While Amanda couldn’t see Megan, she knew her friend was in the beginnings of a severe asthma attack.
“Megan, calm down. Relax and focus on your breathing,” Amanda said. It had been two years since Amanda had last gone through this with Megan. Then it had been when Dr. Earl’s baby died. Now it was Becky being shot. “Do you have your inhaler?”
“Yes.”
“Take a few shots of that and relax.”
“But—”
“Becky wouldn’t want you to die worrying about her.” Amanda waited until she heard the hiss of the inhaler in the background. “I want you to stay right there and try to stay calm. I’ll find out where they’re taking her.”
“OK…thanks.”
“I’ll call you back soon.”
To find information on Becky proved to be more of a challenge than she thought. She tried to call the precinct for that area, but the lines were already jammed. Amanda ran down the hall to the traffic division office where she had briefly worked. She found her old sergeant still at his desk.