by KC Burn
“Davy Broussard, as I live and breathe,” an exaggeratedly flamboyant voice exclaimed.
Kurt twisted in his seat to see an impeccably dressed blond man in a suit. He was shorter than both Davy and Kurt, but he was so groomed and poised looking, he might have been modeling business suits rather than being a businessman.
“Jon!” Davy was unmistakably delighted. “How are you?”
“I’m good, hon, but I’d like to know who this hunk is.”
“Oh, right. Jon, this is….” Davy suddenly looked uncomfortable, out of practice introducing people to his friends.
“I’m Kurt, a friend of Davy’s.”
“Oh, a friend, you say.” Jon didn’t make the gesture, but there were air quotes around the word “friend.”
Kurt gave him the steely look he usually reserved for recalcitrant suspects. Didn’t do quite as much good as it did at the precinct, though.
“Well, Davy, honey, I’m glad to see you finally dumped that miserable Ben character.”
The words were like a slap across the face and they had to be immeasurably worse for Davy. A glance revealed Davy’s face paling ghost white then turning positively green before he bolted from the table in the direction of the restrooms.
“What the hell?” Jon lost his affected speech in his confusion.
Perhaps he hadn’t been intentionally malicious, as Kurt had first thought. Which was the only thing keeping Jon’s nose unbroken, but Kurt couldn’t keep his fist from clenching.
“What is the matter with you? Don’t you read the fucking papers? Watch the fucking news? Ben died in the line of duty about a month ago.”
The blond turned pasty white, too, and dropped into the bench seat Davy had vacated. Kurt signaled the waitress to bring the check. As soon as he paid, they’d be out of here.
“I didn’t know…,” Jon said faintly. “I mean….”
“How could you not know? It was all over the news.”
Jon clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “You mean, the guy in the explosion? That was Davy’s Ben?”
Leaning over the table, a sincere honest look in his eyes, Jon suddenly gave the impression of a young child playing dress-up.
“Seriously… Kurt, was it? I’ve been friends with Davy since high school, and I’ve never met Ben—I didn’t even know Ben’s last name. He never wanted to meet any of Davy’s friends, and I’ve seen a picture, but it was a long time ago. In the past five years Davy pretty much disappeared.”
Jon glanced down at his hands, then up again. “How’s he doing? Can I help?”
Now Kurt knew why Davy’s friends hadn’t been around for him. Davy sure as hell wouldn’t have called them. If Kurt hadn’t barged into his life like an ill-mannered brute, Davy wouldn’t have anyone aside from a sister going through a difficult pregnancy while her husband was overseas. He was tempted to tell Jon the isolation had gone both ways, but he had other concerns right now.
“Does Davy have your number?”
“He should, but just in case….” Jon handed over a business card. “Please, have him call.”
The bill arrived, and Kurt threw down some cash. Pocketing the card, he stood. “I’d better go check on him.”
“Okay, thanks. Tell Davy I’m sorry, please?”
“I will.” He made his way to the restroom where he found Davy pale, and drying his face with a paper towel.
“I’m sorry.” The quiet words were almost lost in the echoing cavern of the bathroom.
“Don’t be. It’s fine. I think I’d like to talk to you about your friends, but not now.” Kurt debated handing over the card or hanging on to it until he’d had a chance to recommend Davy see a counselor or psychologist. But friends were friends, and maybe having someone else to talk to would help. “Here, Jon left this for you. He apologized.”
Holding the card like it was fragile, Davy turned it over. “Oh. Jon got a promotion. That’s nice.”
Harsh, angry words welled up in Kurt’s throat, but speaking them would do no good. Because even though Davy clearly didn’t see it, he was a victim, not just a bereaved spouse. Instead, he inhaled deeply, almost coughing at the large infusion of chemical deodorizers in his lungs.
“C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”
A bit of color returned to Davy’s cheeks. “Is there a back door?”
“Yep.” Kurt could understand his need to hide today.
No matter how many times Kurt shuffled the files around on his desk, the piles weren’t getting any smaller. He’d have to actually do something with them for that to happen, but God, it sucked being trapped behind a desk. If his boss had anything to say about it, he’d be desk-bound for another couple of weeks until his new partner arrived. Which meant all the paperwork in the world to catch up on, and too much time to worry about Davy.
Which was stupid, really. He’d gotten used to seeing Davy daily while they were both off. It had been a long time since he hung out with a buddy that often—probably not since college. Going back to work had helped Davy more than Kurt had expected, but it exhausted him, too, which meant they’d watched a ballgame at Davy’s twice in the last two weeks, and both times he’d fallen asleep before the sixth inning. Kurt grimaced. Davy’d better have more stamina come hockey season, that’s for damned sure. He hadn’t even made good on his promise to cook for Kurt, but it wasn’t like Kurt couldn’t get home cooking. All he had to do was show up at his family’s pub or his mom’s kitchen.
“Hey, squirt.” Kurt’s brother, Ian, stood beside his desk.
“You can’t call me that, pipsqueak. You’re only one year older.” Kurt refrained from adding that he could take Ian down in mere seconds, because they both knew that was true. Their faces looked a lot alike, despite Ian’s dark hair and light blue eyes. But Ian was smaller than Kurt—shorter, not as broad and not as muscular. Never stopped Ian from teasing him, though.
“Whatever, squirt. You try anything and I’ll tell mom!” Ian winked, and Kurt rolled his eyes. Mike was twelve years older than Kurt, and already a teenager when Kurt began toddling after him. The diminutive name Mike had given him stuck, but that didn’t give Ian the right to call him the same name, dammit. Especially not at work. “What are you doing here?”
“Had a lunch meeting nearby, but it got canceled last minute. Since you’re still being a desk jockey, I thought you’d like to go to lunch.”
Ian’s gaze flickered over Ben’s empty desk before returning to Kurt. Kurt had been doing the same thing almost constantly since returning to work two weeks ago.
He wasn’t sure if Ian was lying about his meeting—he wouldn’t put it past any of his family to still be keeping tabs on him, but he and Ian had always been good friends as well as brothers.
“Sure, that’d be great.”
Kurt turned to the officer in the next bank of desks. “Hey, Christa.”
She faced him with a big smile. “Hey, Kurt. I guess this is one of your brothers.”
“Ian. We’re going out for lunch. Don’t think anyone will be looking for me, but just in case….”
“No problem. I’ll let ’em know if needed.”
“Thanks, Christa.”
Kurt’s hand hovered for a moment over his car keys, but there were plenty of places to eat within walking distance. He led Ian out of the station.
“You hitting that?” Ian asked.
“Hitting what?”
“That Christa chick. She’s totally into you.”
“Okay, one, she hates being called a chick, and she could punch you out as easily as I could. And two, no, she’s not.”
“Into you? Yes, she is.”
“Doesn’t matter.” God, it was hot outside, and a little early for this humidity. The smog hung over the city, giving the air a faintly acrid taste and a yellowish haze. Kurt peered both ways on the sidewalk, wondering which way to head.
“She’s cute.”
Thai. That’d be good. Ian liked Thai as much as he did. Kurt turned left, and they
started walking.
“Yeah, but if things didn’t work out, I’d have to see her every day.”
“Maybe I’ll ask for her number.”
Kurt shrugged. “If you want.” Given his brother’s track record, he’d have sex with any woman as long as she was breathing, and his flings never lasted more than a couple of days. But Christa could look after herself. Kurt was too picky, and Ian wasn’t picky enough; between the two of them, their mom despaired of either of them settling down.
The scent of lemongrass and curry wafted out of the open door. Kurt had been tempted to drag his brother to Lettie’s, but it wasn’t convenient, and he couldn’t nail down why he wanted to return. The food hadn’t been so fabulous that he felt he was missing out on his earlier aborted lunch. Besides, Thai was great.
His phone rang in the middle of lunch. Blinking, he noticed the caller ID said it was Davy—they rarely called each other, although he’d made sure to program Davy’s cell number in his phone. “I have to take this.”
Chewing, Ian waved him off.
Wending his way past tables out to the street, Kurt answered. “Hey, Davy. What’s up?”
“Hi, Kurt.” Davy’s voice was hesitant and upset, but not the way he’d been the day he’d called from that payphone. “Are you planning to stop by tonight?”
The Jays’ game was televised tonight, and Kurt had gotten into the habit of dropping by to watch it with Davy. He wasn’t sure how much Davy enjoyed watching baseball, but they both liked the company. Calling first wasn’t part of his MO. Most times, Davy was there, and despite not making official plans with Davy, he’d known he’d stop by.
“Yeah, I was, if I’m not needed for a case.” Kurt didn’t know how he was able to say that with a straight face. He wasn’t going to be needed for anything until he got off the fucking desk. But he had to pretend—this weird working half-life made him feel useless. He wasn’t helping anybody doing glorified busy-work.
“Okay, uh, good. Just wondering.”
“Did you have plans with someone? I can watch the game with my brothers.”
“No, no. I was just wondering about dinner. I’ll see you tonight.”
Davy disconnected the call, and Kurt spent a couple of seconds staring at his phone. Not for the first time, he wondered if Davy needed to talk to someone professional. Initially, he’d been so worried Davy was going to harm himself, then later, after he realized how badly Ben had fucked Davy up, well, Davy might need more help than just a supportive friend. And every odd, socially inept interaction only emphasized that. But he was hesitant to disrupt the fragile friendship, in case Davy took the suggestion the wrong way.
Chapter Five
The acrid smell of antiseptic burned in his nostrils but not strong enough to bury the underlying scent of death and bodily waste permeating Sunshine Manors. He’d never been in a place like this—Granny O’Donnell had died quick, without even an extended hospital stay, and people this close to death didn’t commit murder. Retirement homes were not the same as these types of long-term care facilities. Smelled like the damned morgue.
Kurt stood back and let Davy introduce himself to the receptionist. Davy had surprised him Friday with the request for his company, but now that he was here, he understood Davy’s reluctance to come alone. This was possibly the most depressing place he’d ever seen… or smelled.
An orderly approached the desk, and Davy turned back to him. “We’re ready.”
Kurt stepped closer and followed as the orderly led them through the reception area into a ward.
Some of the residents—primarily elderly—reached out to touch them as they walked by, others nodded sightlessly to invisible visitors, and still others spoke in eerie mumbles. It was astonishingly like walking through a prison, but these poor souls had been imprisoned by infirm bodies and unraveling brains.
They were led into a clean but spartan room with a single occupant in a recliner-style chair beside the bed. The woman in the chair bore no resemblance to the man Kurt had known.
“Hi, Mrs. Kaminski. It’s me, Davy. I brought Ben’s partner from work. His name is Kurt. We’re going to sit here and visit for a bit.” They settled into the two visitor chairs.
Mrs. Kaminski’s slack face gave no indication she’d heard a word. Her fingers weaved arcane patterns in the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
Davy continued to speak in a soothing monotone, and Kurt assumed it was similar to what he’d seen Ben do. What a shame Ben never introduced Davy to his mom before she lost all her faculties. Perhaps Davy’s voice would have brought her some peace.
The woman took them both by surprise by sitting upright in her chair and grabbing Davy’s forearm.
“Ben, Ben, I’m so glad to see you. Please take me home. I don’t like it here.”
Davy’s head swiveled between Kurt and Mrs. Kaminski, pain and panic visible in his eyes. Without knowing why it was the right thing to do, Kurt placed a hand on Davy’s shoulder. “Tell her what she wants to hear.”
“Uh… yeah… I’m here to take you home. Um. Mom. We’re just….” He looked to Kurt again, beseechingly.
“Keep going,” he whispered.
Davy’s voice firmed. “We’re just waiting for them to pack up your stuff.”
“Good. Good.” Mrs. Kaminski smiled, released Davy’s arm, and slumped back in her chair, fingers reaching for her blanket again.
Davy’s shoulders heaved as he drew in a few deep breaths. When he finally looked at Kurt, his eyes were wet, but he wasn’t crying. Kurt couldn’t imagine how hard that must have been, but two months after Ben’s death, time was starting to scab over Davy’s wounds.
“That’s enough for today, I think,” Kurt said.
“How did you know I should pretend?”
Kurt shrugged. “They said she didn’t have good days anymore, and you told me Ben hadn’t seen any lucid moments recently. Stood to reason that whatever was happening wasn’t going to last long.”
Once outside, Kurt breathed deeply, the smog-laced humid air refreshing after an hour inside Sunshine Manors.
Davy looked completely wrung out, and Kurt didn’t blame him one bit. The visit would have been hard enough without Mrs. K. mistaking Davy for Ben.
“How often did Ben visit?”
“Twice a month. He used to visit more, but once she stopped recognizing him, he wasn’t sure the visits helped.”
And even if Ben had been a dick about Davy, those visits had to have been painful. Kurt inhaled again. He’d seen worse in the line of duty, but it was still depressing, especially since there was little he could do to help.
“What about you?”
“I’ll try to keep to the same schedule.”
Kurt wasn’t surprised. Davy’s soft heart wouldn’t let him do any less, even if it had taken him this long to steel himself for the first visit.
“If you want me to come with you, let me know.”
Davy bit his lip and nodded, but he didn’t say anything. The drive home was silent, and afterwards, Kurt sought out his rambunctious, noisy family at Finn’s.
Monday morning, a huge dark-haired man followed Inspector Nadar out of his office toward Kurt’s desk.
“Kurt, this is Simon Trent, your new partner. Simon, this is Kurt O’Donnell.” The inspector pointed at Ben’s desk. “That’s your desk. Kurt can show you around the rest.”
Kurt stood and held out his hand to shake. Amazingly, he had to look up at Simon. And the man was big, not fat, just big. Probably four or five inches taller than Kurt’s own six feet.
“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. Tomorrow, you’re back on active duty.” Nadar retreated to his office.
Oh, thank God. Simon didn’t ask about the last statement, so Nadar must have filled him in about Kurt’s injuries.
“I’m sorry about your partner, man.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Kurt refrained from further comment. Increasingly, he had a hard time reconciling the partner he thought he�
�d known—the partner he’d lost in more ways than one—with the man he was coming to know and possibly dislike. Made him feel disloyal, which Kurt hated, so he didn’t want to dwell on it.
Instead, he changed the subject and gave Simon an overview of the basics he’d need.
“Ready to break for lunch?” Simon asked a few hours later. Kurt peered at him, wondering if this was yet another attempt to coddle the injured man, but then Simon’s stomach let out a loud rumble. Anyone that big had to stoke the engine regularly.
