Cited to Death

by Meg Perry

  The rustling of the papers was making enough noise that the guy apparently hadn't heard us approach at all. I raised the shotgun, ready. Pete whispered, "Now." I racked the gun. The guy dropped his flashlight and yelled, "Shit! Don't shoot!"

  Pete flipped the light on. "Hands up! Get on your knees! On the floor! Down! Now! Hands behind your head!" He charged down the stairs, gun in front of him. "Get the fuck down on the fucking floor right now! On your face! Hands behind your head!" I followed him down the stairs, shotgun tucked against my shoulder. The burglar was on the floor, repeating like a mantra, "Don'tshootme don'tshootme don'tshootme..."

  Pete reached him. "Shut up. If you piss on my floor, I will shoot you."

  "Okay! Okay!" The guy did sound terrified. Pete looked up at me. "Get the duct tape. It's in the ottoman."

  Who keeps duct tape in their ottoman? But there it was. "Tear off some pieces. Keep them coming." I handed the first one to Pete. He taped the guy's fingers together first, then pulled the guy's hands behind his back and taped his wrists together. Then his ankles, then he rolled the guy over.

  "You recognize this guy?"

  "Unh unh. Bud c’odes same.”

  "How about that." Pete stood back, but kept the Glock aimed at the guy. I didn't lower the shotgun either. He looked over at me and grinned. "Nice work, pardner. Call 911 and we'll get this turkey roasted."

  I laughed. This was nuts. I got the phone and dialed.

  It only took the Santa Monica police about three minutes to get to the house. In that three minutes, the guy kept babbling, and Pete kept telling him to shut up. He sure looked like the bulkier of the two guys who had attacked me. Pete had the door open when the police arrived, and they promptly arrested the guy. He'd broken the window with a tire iron, but had left it outside. Not a very good burglar.

  The Santa Monica cops heard the story, then called West LA. Tim and a detective named Pinter arrived and discussed jurisdiction with the Santa Monica cops for a while, then hauled the guy away after everyone took statements from Pete and me. Pete called his insurance company and the Santa Monica police gave him the name of someone to call to board up the window. They stayed until he arrived. The window was boarded up, the house was secured, and everyone left. It was 4:30 am.

  Thursday, June 7

  When I woke up again, it was 9:30. I could hear muffled voices coming from downstairs. I didn't want to move, but my bladder wouldn't take no for an answer. I rolled to my side and groaned at the ache in my abs. I laid in that position for a minute, waiting for the ache to fade. When it did, I swung my legs off the bed and pushed myself into a sitting position. Shit. Everything hurt. My head started throbbing again, and I realized that I could barely see. My left eye was swollen shut and my right was narrowed to a slit. My whole face hurt in addition to the pain in my head, and my left arm ached from the tetanus shot. I held onto the nightstand as I put my weight on my feet, then straightened up. Now I was dizzy too. Great. I stood still for a minute until the dizziness passed, then staggered into the bathroom.

  When I went downstairs, Tim, Kevin, and Pete were all in the living room, drinking coffee and talking. They looked up as I eased myself downstairs.

  Pete said, "Oh my God." Kevin gasped. Tim said, "Dude. You look like shit."

  I still couldn't open my jaw much. "Danks. I'm 'ware of dad."

  Pete stood up as I sat. "Can you eat anything? Do you need a pain pill?"

  "Unh unh 'n' mmm hmm."

  "I'm gonna make you a milkshake." He ran up to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water, a straw, and an oxycodone. I swallowed the pill. Pete headed back up the stairs and started banging around in the kitchen.

  Tim said, "We were just filling Pete in on our perp. When the guy found out he'd committed felony assault on a cop's brother, he nearly pissed his pants. He told us everything he knows, which wasn't much."

  "He was one dad hid me?"

  Kevin chimed in. "No. He was the guy who held you back while the second guy hit you. He's a small-time burglar with a long sheet, and he was also the guy who broke into our place."

  Tim continued. "He was hired by the guy who hit you. He only knows the guy's first name, which is Ed. Maybe. And he doesn't know who hired Ed, although he knows someone did. Ed was following someone else's orders."

  Kevin laughed. “He’s in the running for dumbest criminal of the year. He was supposed to take your computer bag with him when they ran off after beating you up. He had to come back here because he’d left it behind.”

  Pete appeared with a huge glass full of chocolate shake. I stuck my straw in and took a sip. It was heavenly. "Danks. So good."

  Pete sat down next to me. "I called your supervisor this morning and told her what happened. She was appropriately horrified and said to take as much time as you need."

  "Mmf. I forgod 'boud work."

  "Well, I had to call in for myself, so it occurred to me to call in for you, too." He settled back and gestured to Tim. "Go on."

  "There's not much else to it. He couldn't give us a much better description than you had of this Ed guy. White, medium height, medium build, brown hair, no scars, marks or tattoos that he could see. He did swear that he didn't know anything about messing with your office or computer, and I believe him. This guy's not smart enough to be a hacker."

  Kevin looked grim. "So we're not much further along now than we were."

  "But we've made a little progress. And that's better than nothing, which is what we had before." Tim stood up. "I'm going to take some pictures of you, if you don't mind, while you look your worst. We can use them as evidence in our case against this guy's accomplice when we find him."

  I shrugged. "'Kay."

  He took several pictures of my face from every angle imaginable. He also took pictures of the bruises on my abs and ribs, which had bloomed up nicely. He finished up and stepped back. "Okay. The robbery guys are still talking to our bad guy, but I don't think there's anything else he can tell us. But if there is, I'll let you know." He smiled at me sympathetically. "We'll figure all this out. No worries."

  Kevin reached out and hugged me gently. "Please behave. Do what Pete tells you to do. Okay? Please?"

  "Mmm hmm. Don' dell Dad."

  "Oh, hell no. I'm gonna tell him we got the guy that broke into our place, and that's all." Kevin stepped back, but kept his hands on my shoulders. "I'll talk to you later."

  "'Kay."

  We saw them off. I sank back down onto the sofa and picked up my shake. The oxycodone was starting to help, and my head wasn't pounding as hard.

  Pete sat down with me. "They're coming to fix the window this afternoon." He brushed my hair back from my forehead. "You really do look awful. I’m gonna clean up the kitchen.” He went up the stairs.

  I drank more shake and set it on the ottoman, within reach. I leaned back and was overcome with a wave of emotion and exhaustion. I was beaten. They, whoever they were, had beaten me up, burned all my stuff, hacked my computer, and disabled my car. They'd succeeded in disabling me. I'd thought it was an intellectual puzzle that I could handle on my own. I was wrong.

  The pain was messing with my emotions. Tears started leaking out of my eyes and running across the cuts on my cheekbones. It stung.

  "Ow."

  Pete had gone into the kitchen when Kevin and Tim had left. Now he looked down at me and didn't like what he saw. He hurried down the stairs and sat down next to me. "What's wrong?"

  "Everyding." I lifted my t-shirt to dab at my eyes. "Ow."

  Pete didn't say anything. He scooted over and wrapped his arms around me.

  Oh my God. I needed this. I needed him. I cried harder. It hurt my ribs and abs, too. "Ow, ow, ow."

  To his credit, Pete didn't laugh. He just hugged me and rubbed my back. It was soothing. I calmed down a little bit and tried to regroup. "Sorry. Sorry."

  "It's okay." Pete moved back a bit and pulled a tissue from the box on the ottoman, then started patting my face gently, drying it. "It's oka
y. Everything you've been through, you deserve a good cry. Most guys would have been on their knees long before this."

  "Huh." I took the tissue from him and wiped my nose. "Don' know 'boud dad."

  "I do." Pete brushed my hair off my forehead. "You're a tough guy. You come from a family of tough guys. There isn't anyone I'd rather have at my back in any situation than you. Or Kevin."

  I shook my head. "'M nod Kebin."

  Pete smiled. "No, you're not, and thank God for that, right?"

  I laughed a little and shook my head again.

  "Really." Pete was serious again. "Kevin's bigger than you, and he's obviously been trained as a cop, but you and he are made out of the same stuff. The right stuff, if you want to coin a phrase."

  I leaned back and sighed. "'D he ever dell you 'boud our name?"

  "Nope. What about it?"

  "Brodie. Comes from Bridei." I spelled it for him. "Kings of the Pic’s in Scodlan’. Seben ob 'em. Warriors."

  Pete grinned. "I'm not surprised. Warrior kings, eh? Very cool."

  I sniffled a little.

  "And their California descendants are warriors, too, right? Warriors for truth and justice."

  "Heh." I looked away from him. "But dis dime id's nod workin’."

  "Sure it is." Pete handed me the milkshake I'd abandoned on the ottoman. "You've uncovered the truth. Justice is going to take a little longer this time, that's all. But we'll get it. We'll get them, whoever them is."

  I looked back at him. "You dink?"

  "Yep. Because now we know what they're trying to hide." Pete smiled at me again. "But we're not going to do it today, right?"

  I shook my head. "Need do do somedhin' else today."

  Pete frowned. "You are not going anywhere or doing anything. You're going to sit here and drink milkshakes and take naps. End of discussion."

  "Nod somedhin' like dad." I looked at him, at this guy that I needed. He wanted me at his back; I needed him at mine. "'Boud us."

  Pete looked wary. "Us? As in...us?"

  "Mmm hmm." I took his hand. "Been ‘dupid. Dryin' to be ‘lone. Not leddin' anyone close. Afraid of you."

  That surprised him. "Afraid of me? Why the hell would you be afraid of me?"

  I swallowed. "Only one able to hurd me."

  His surprised expression melted into sadness. "Oh, honey. I would never do that. I would never..." He sniffed a little himself. "When we were together before, it was the best time of my life. But you weren't in the same place then, and then Luke reappeared...and it seemed like you were pulling away from me, and I felt like I owed it to Luke to give that relationship another try. But when that didn't work, I didn't want anyone else - just you. I guess I've been waiting for you to come to your senses..." He laughed a little. "I wish it hadn't taken a major disaster for that to happen, but I'll take what I can get."

  I shook my head. "Didn' want to get hurd. Didn' wanna need anyone. First time wid you I was fallin' for you doo and god afraid. W'en Luke came back id solved da’ for me. Daded a lot of od'er people to nod dink ‘boud you." I looked at his hand, holding mine. It looked right.

  I leaned back on the pillows. “Sorry for bein’ so s’ubborn. Wasdin’ so mush dime.”

  Pete stroked the palm of my hand with his thumb. It was weirdly soothing. “No apology necessary. As soon as you can move again, we’re gonna make up for lost time.”

  I laughed, and it hurt. “Ow.”

  That made him laugh. He let go of my hand and got up. “Time for more drugs for you.” He checked my glass. “And a fresh milkshake.” He went to the kitchen.

  In spite of my injuries, I felt lucky. I’d been given a second chance. Now I just had to make sure I didn’t mess it up.

  At some point in the early afternoon, Pete got a call and spent several minutes on the phone, mostly saying "Yeah" and "Okay" and "Huh." When he hung up, he told me, "We've got a summit meeting tomorrow morning at West LA Division. Tim, Kevin, your UCLA computer crimes guy, a couple of Wilshire detectives, and the LAPD liaison to HALT. They haven't gotten anything else out of the guy who broke in here, and they believe that he doesn't know anything else. Still no idea who his accomplice was. The UCLA cop - what's his name?"

  "Roger Blake."

  "Right, Blake. He and the head of your IT department were able to figure out who was sabotaging your computer."

  That made me sit up and take notice. "Whoa. Who was id?"

  "The guy who was supposedly fixing the computer. Andy Mitchell."

  My jaw dropped, even though it hurt. "You're shidding me."

  "Nope. He's said he was paid to do it, but he’s lawyered up and won't say anything about who paid him or why."

  "D'ad's jus' bizarre." I couldn't believe it. "I can' believe id."

  "I know. I'm not sure how they figured it out, I guess they'll say tomorrow. Tim did say that Andy installed a keystroke logger on your computer the first time he was in your office supposedly fixing it. From that, they were able to tell what your friend Diane was doing on your computer."

  "Wha’?"

  "Snooping in your email. The West Hollywood sheriff’s deputies picked her up early this morning. UCLA is going to charge her with unauthorized access to the university network, or something like that."

  "Oh my God. She'll lose her zhob."

  "Maybe. She should have thought of that before she got stupid."

  "Yeah." I was having trouble dredging up much sympathy for Diane. "She owes me a 'pology."

  "Big time."

  Talking about email made me think of checking mine. I got Pete to set up my laptop for me and logged on. There was only one thing of interest. An email from Ben Goldstein.

  Dr. Brodie,

  I have come across a note that Dan left for me in which he suggests that you might be able to help me answer some of the questions that he left for me. I would like to meet with you in person, at a place of your choosing. Please.

  Thank you,

  Ben Goldstein

  I showed it to Pete. "Whad do you dink?"

  "Well, he did say please." Pete frowned. "It sounds like he's worried about something. He may be innocent in this and trying to figure out what's going on himself."

  "Do you dink I should dalk to him?"

  "I think we should talk to him. You're not doing anything by yourself that's remotely related to your fraud case."

  I nodded. I would have argued with him if I'd been healthy, but... "Where?"

  "Here."

  I was surprised. "But den he'll know where we live. If he's one of de bad guys."

  Pete laughed. "Hon, if he's one of the bad guys, he already knows where we live."

  True.

  "Okay. Dis evening?"

  "Sure."

  Ben's phone number was at the bottom of his email. I called him. He said, "What's wrong with your voice?"

  "I got socked in de jaw las' nighd. S'ill hurds do dalk."

  "Wow." He paused. "I don't want to talk about any of this on the phone, or anywhere near my office. Can I come to your place?"

  I gave him directions. If he did already know where we lived, he was doing a good job of acting like he didn't. I hung up and looked at Pete. "Seben o'clock."

  I spent the rest of the day alternating between dozing, drinking soup and milkshakes, and watching old movies. Pete alternated between doing laundry, fixing me soup and milkshakes, and grading papers. At precisely 7:00, the doorbell rang.

  Pete answered the door. Ben was still wearing an expensive suit, but his tie was askew and he looked rumpled and tired. He introduced himself to Pete, then came in and got his first glimpse of my face. "Holy mother of God! You didn't just get socked in the jaw!"

  I shook my head.

  "What the hell happened?"

  Pete gave him a severely abridged version. Ben couldn't stop staring. If he was faking surprise, he was doing a fabulous job. He sat on the chair next to the new window; Pete sat down on the sofa next to me. Pete started the conversation. "So, Dan left you a no
te."