by Jamie Hill
"Brain damage? Oh my God." He collapsed back against the bed.
Mel wiped her eyes and blew her nose into a tissue. "We just have to wait and see. Thank God, you're all right. A fractured bone in your forearm, and a mild concussion. It might not feel like it right now, but you were lucky."
Brady glanced down at the arm he couldn't move, his left, fortunately. It was already in a thick plaster cast. "Lucky, yeah," he mumbled. He remembered Costa and felt a twinge of guilt, but couldn't focus on it. Something Mel said troubled him. "Some dumbass changing a CD?"
"What?" She blinked, and then seemed to understand. "Oh, the guy who caused the accident? Yeah." She pulled a small notebook from her pocket and flipped through it. "Xavier Tesco. He was very cooperative with the police. Felt like hell about the whole thing."
"Bullshit!" Brady snarled. "He purposely ran us off the road. He had a gun pointed at us, for Christ's sake!"
"A gun?" Mel looked skeptical. "Brady, this guy was just driving down the road. There was nothing to indicate—"
He shook his head vehemently. He might be foggy, but the events prior to the accident were crystal clear. "No, ma'am. He was trying to drive us off the road. He bumped us twice from the rear, and I got a good look at his face. When he pulled back the second time, he nudged alongside us and rammed his front fender into the driver's side of the Explorer. Evidence on the vehicles should have shown that."
She looked at her notebook. "He told the officers at the scene he already had front fender damage. And the last I heard, Joey's Explorer hadn't been brought up out of the river, yet."
Brady gazed at her insistently. "He had a gun, Mel. It was pointed right at us. That's why I wasn't wearing my seatbelt. I'd removed my weapon in case I had to return fire."
She shook her head. "No weapons recovered from the scene, his or yours. Yours is probably at the bottom of the river."
"His too." Brady narrowed his eyes. "Fucker probably threw it in. Look, Mel. I've seen this guy on a couple occasions in the past few weeks. Two different times when I was out with Gina Morris. I think he was following us—or me."
"Really?" Her interest perked up. "We should take a closer look at Mr. Tesco, then. He might be on the payroll at East Asian Imports. Maybe Moretti had him keeping an eye on his little girl."
"Or Moreno, on his sister." Brady realized what Mel said and scowled. "I guess you heard. I suppose everybody knows by now."
She shrugged. "In some ways, Wichita is a small town. It doesn't matter, Brady. Nobody thinks anything less of you. Even the best of us gets played every once in a while."
"People think she was playing me?" He hadn't focused on the idea that Gina had been using him for information, but it was always there, in the deep recesses of his mind.
Mel shrugged again.
Brady turned his face away. "Maybe she was. Who knows?"
The door opened and the nurse returned with a sandy-haired, middle-aged man in a white coat. "Detective Marshall, I'm Dr. Stevens. I'm glad to see you're finally awake."
"What about my partner? Is Costa awake yet?"
The doctor's eyes darkened much like Mel's had. "He's not my patient, but no. He's still out of it."
Brady realized that if Costa wasn't this guy's patient yet the doc knew his condition, Joey must really be in bad shape. He tried to shift positions but it was difficult with one hand, and suddenly, his whole body felt achy. "Ugh," he grunted.
"I'm going to examine you real quickly." Stevens pulled out his stethoscope.
Mel rose, reaching out to squeeze Brady's good hand on the way. "I'll shove off for now. You, take it easy. Get some rest. Do what these good people tell you."
He caught her eye. "Mel. Look into this Tesco guy. I'm telling you, this was not an accident."
"I will. I'll be in touch. Any message for the masses downstairs?"
He rubbed his forehead. Fifty cops milling around in the lobby, waiting for news. He'd been there, when other cops had been seriously injured or killed. There was nothing to be done, but people needed to feel like they were doing something. He gazed back at Mel. "Tell them thanks for coming, but they should go home. Costa and I will be fine."
She smiled. "Whatever you say, hero."
He pointed a finger at her. "Don't even start that with me."
Mel laughed and waved, then walked out the door.
Stevens listened to Brady's lungs and heartbeat while the nurse took his vitals. "The media's calling you that," she said. "It's all over the internet and the evening papers."
"Shit," Brady grumbled. "I could accept it a lot easier if Joe was awake and okay."
The doctor stepped back and looked at him. "He wouldn't be here at all, if it weren't for you. At least, he has a shot."
"I guess." Brady rubbed his forehead again.
"How's the pain?" Stevens asked. "Head, arm, anywhere?"
"Dull. Not bad. Kind of achy all over."
"You have a concussion and a non-displaced fracture of your radius, the small bone that runs along the inside of your forearm here." He dragged a finger along Brady's cast. "The fracture is stable, which means the bones aren't out of alignment. We were able to cast it, and hopefully, with some physical therapy, you'll be good as new in a few months."
"Months?" Brady looked at the cast.
"Six weeks in the plaster, but you'll be a little weak when it comes off. It'll take some time to build the arm back up to full strength, but I'm confident you'll make a full recovery."
Brady nodded, relieved. "What do we do about the concussion?"
"Not much. We'll monitor you here overnight, and provided you're feeling okay in the morning, we'll cut you lose. Get plenty of bed rest and keep the stress low for a couple of weeks."
Brady eyed him skeptically. "You know many cops who live low-stress lives?"
"Yeah. One." The doctor poked him in the chest. "For the next two weeks, anyway. You were in a serious accident, Brady. You're lucky we're having this conversation. I want you to do what I'm telling you. No work, no strenuous physical activity. Walk on a treadmill if you want, but otherwise take it easy. Eat, sleep, and relax. Doctor's orders. Got that?"
"I got it."
Steven's patted Brady's leg with his chart and handed the paperwork to the nurse. "Lucky," he mouthed to Brady, and smiled as he walked out.
"So very lucky," Brady repeated, already tired of hearing what good fortune he had.
The nurse smiled. "Can I bring you anything? Are you hungry?"
"No," he replied truthfully. "I just want to sleep."
"Go ahead. Just know that we have to wake you every couple of hours because of the concussion. We'll try to be gentle." Her eyes twinkled.
Is she flirting with me? His gaze settled on her left hand. No ring. Twinges of pain prodded him and he remembered why he was there. "Sure. No problem."
She adjusted his pillow and pulled up his covers. "My name's Amanda. If you need anything at all, press this button." She pointed to the panel on the side of the bed.
"Thanks." Brady closed his eyes and heard Amanda leave. He settled into the pillow and smiled. I still got it. His last thought before he drifted off to sleep was maybe life does go on after a breakup.
* * * *
Brady called Jack later than evening, and his friend offered to pick him up the next day and take him home. There were a few reporters at the hospital and one at his house, but Jack shooed them away.
"I can't believe I'm news." Brady tossed his jacket on the sofa and went into the kitchen for a drink.
Jack set the bag of hospital stuff on the counter. "Slow week for the papers. It's a toss-up between you and the backed up sewer at the Town East mall. You definitely smell better."
Brady grinned at him. "Good to know. Thanks. Hey, and thanks for running me home."
Jack began pulling Brady's things from the bag. "That's what I'm here for, buddy. Oops, going to need a new phone." He set the wet cell phone on the counter.
"Great," Brady muttered.<
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Jack removed Brady's water-logged wallet. "Hmm, and a few other essential items. Driver's license is plastic, it looks okay."
"Fuck." Brady thumbed through the contents, some of which were ruined. "Guess I can work on this while I'm sidelined for the next two weeks. Shield looks fine." Seeing his badge reminded him of something, and he looked Jack in the eye. "I've never lost a weapon before. Wonder what the protocol is on that?"
"Talk to Forrest, he'll fix you up. They might still find it in the river, but you'll need a new one."
"Yeah, I've got to talk to him anyway about this 'two weeks' nonsense."
"It's not nonsense, Brady. Your welfare is more important than any case—especially this one, which seems detrimental to your health at the moment. Xavier Tesco running you off the road is an unlikely coincidence."
"No shit. And now, with Costa in the shape he's in, I'm itching to get back into this case and find out exactly what East Asian Imports is trying to hide."
"No, no, no!" Jack insisted. "Let Mel and the others take the reins on this thing. It's gotten personal, Brady, and that's never a good thing. For your own sanity and not to mention your personal safety, you need to step back, now."
Brady's chest ached. He couldn't tell if it was his broken heart or wounded body doing the loudest complaining. Probably both. He looked at Jack sadly. "Did you step back when Crystal and Devon got kidnapped? I seem to recall that being personal for you, Jack."
His friend's eyes clouded. "I was an idiot. Don't be an idiot, Brady. I almost got you and I both killed. This accident was bad enough. I don't want to see anything else happen to you."
"Yeah, I'm not sure I can take much more right now." Brady's voice cracked. He dropped onto a counter stool and hung his head dejectedly.
Jack clasped his shoulder. "I'm sorry, man. You know how sorry I am."
"I still miss her," Brady said quietly.
"I know. That's why this whole thing is so horrible."
"It's going to get better, right?"
"Sure it is." Jack squeezed. "Like everything, it just takes time."
Brady inhaled and blew it out slowly, steadying himself. "Time, I got. Nothing but time."
Jack chuckled. "You lucky son-of-a-bitch. I've got a sales meeting in thirty minutes. I can come back tonight after work, though."
"Nah, I'll be fine. Go home, be with your family."
"I'll call you later to make sure." Jack insisted.
"I'll be here." Brady glanced up at him and smiled.
Jack nodded and left.
Before Brady got caught up in self-pity, dwelling on what a lucky son-of-a-bitch he was, he phoned his lieutenant.
"Good to hear from you Marshall. I wanted to make it up to the hospital to see you last night, but I was hung up in meetings. When I called about coming up today, I found out they'd sent you home."
"Yeah, I just got here. No problem, sir. I'm fine. Broken arm and banged up. The doc says I should take a couple weeks, but I was thinking. If you could have someone bring me the files on this case, I could go through them from here."
"I'll do no such thing, you stupid ass. I talked to the doctor myself, and he ordered two weeks bed rest for you. You can either follow those orders yourself, or I can send some uniforms over there to see that you comply. That might get kind of expensive, and I doubt the commissioner would approve, but I'd let you explain that to him."
"You talked to the doctor?" Brady was surprised and a little touched.
"You think I wouldn't? Two of my best detectives get hurt; I want to know the scoop. I'm in contact with Costa's doctor, too. He's going to notify me when there's any change."
"Damn it," Brady muttered, thinking of his partner.
"Listen you moron, you did everything you could without getting yourself killed. If Costa pulls through this, he has you to thank for his life. If—God forbid—he doesn't, you can rest easy knowing you did what you needed to do. No one could have done more. Except maybe Superman. Oh, sorry to burst your bubble, Marshall! You thought you were Superman, didn't ya?"
Brady snorted. "Ah, hell no, sir. I can't seem to do much of anything right these days."
"Marshall, even Superman runs into patches of Kryptonite every now and then. He gets past them. You will, too. Just take it easy for now. The docs are taking care of Costa, and we're on this case. Curtis and Stone are investigating the Tesco connection."
"Good." He was glad he didn't have to explain that whole mess again.
"Internal affairs wants to talk to you when you get back. Nothing to worry about, just an official statement about the accident for the record. Oh, and Marshall? I'll have the requisition to get you a new sidearm. I'd get one for you, but I thought you might like to pick it out."
"Thanks, Lieutenant." Brady breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe everything is going to be okay.
He got a bite to eat and was just settling into his easy chair when the phone rang. Gina? He reached for the receiver, scolding his juvenile eagerness at the same time. "Marshall."
"Detective Marshall, this is Rose Costa."
"Rose! Hey. Has there been any change?"
"No, nothing yet. I heard you'd been released today and I wanted to call and thank you for what you did for Joey."
"I didn't do anything. I didn't do enough, anyway. There's no need to thank me."
"Of course, there is. My husband is here, right now, because of you. Our family is all here, praying for his recovery. We have a big family, Detective. Lots of prayers. God will hear us."
"I hope so, Rose. I really, really hope so. Joe's a good man. I'm proud to call him my partner."
"That means so much to both of us. I should go. I just wanted to touch base with you."
"Thanks for calling. Please let me know if there's any change."
"Of course I will. Dio ti benedica. God Bless you, Brady Marshall." She disconnected the call.
God Bless you. He replaced the receiver and thought about that for a moment. He'd never been particularly religious. His mother went to church and dragged him along until he was old enough to say he'd rather not go. No reason, really. He simply wanted to spend time how he saw fit, rather than one hour in church each week praying. It made him feel lazy and shallow, which wasn't a particularly good feeling.
He straightened his shoulders and raised his head. I'm not lazy anymore. Three years as a fireman with several awards of merit under his belt, followed by twelve years with the W.P.D., and more awards, citations and commendations. You can't be lazy and achieve a resume like that.
Shallow? Now, shallow was another story. He'd played the field plenty before Gina came along, never paying much attention to people or things that didn't interest him. Polite, yet aloof. Smart, yet casting an air of little boy goofiness that some women seemed to love. What a fool. Thank God, Gina came along and changed all that.
Brady slammed his good hand on the arm of the chair. Why does she have to flit through my mind every five minutes? He decided to take a nap so he could forget Gina, forget Costa, and hopefully forget the pathetic, self-pitying emotions flooding through him.
On the way to the bedroom he glanced outside and spotted a news truck on the street. "What are they waiting for?" Deep down, he knew. When something happened to Joey, either good or bad, they'd be there to break the news to him. He'd be damned if he'd let them.
* * * *
Brady tossed and turned in bed. Gina was there, kissing his lips, so real he could almost taste her. Gina, rising above him as they made love, with the finest sheen of perspiration on her upper lip. The sexy sway of her hips, and the way the butterfly tattoo graced the small of her back so perfectly. Opening his eyes, he gathered his bearings before rolling out of bed and stomping back out to the living room. He wasn't sure if he'd actually fallen asleep, but his mind overflowed with dreams—or daydreams—of Gina.
Disgusted with himself, he reached for the TV remote. There has to be some way to get her out of my head. Maybe a ballgame.
He'd
just gotten settled in his chair when the doorbell rang, and he grew disgruntled all over again. "If this is one of those damned reporters…" His heart leapt at the possibility of a change in Joey's condition. Would the news people hear about it before Rose got the chance to call? He flung open the door and stopped in his tracks when he saw Gina standing there.
"Hi Brady," she said softly, and then noticed his cast. "Oh, your arm! Are you all right?"
"No, I'm not all right," he snarled in reply. "That fucking Xavier Tesco ran us off the road into the river. I barely made it out alive. My partner is fighting for his life right now in the I.C.U. So, no, Genevesia, everything is not all right."
She glanced around. "Can I come in so we can talk about this, please?"
"I don't think that's a great idea."
"Just for a few minutes. Brady, please." Her eyes reflected the pleading in her voice.
He shuffled back and motioned her in.
Gina stepped inside.
He closed the door. Averting his eyes from the sway of her hips as she walked, he sat in his chair and motioned to the sofa for her.
"Do you have any other injuries?" she asked timidly.
"A concussion, but that's just my brain. Nothing I use very much."
She exhaled with exasperation. "Brady, look. I'm sorry this happened to you and Joey. Really, extremely sorry. But if you think my family had something to do with it—"
He snorted in disbelief. "If I think? Are you serious, or are you abso-fricking-lutely insane? Tesco has worked for your father for as long as Jack can remember, which I'm assuming is pretty fucking long. You're suggesting he accidently ran into our vehicle on the same day we began a full-out investigation of the Moretti family?" Anger rose inside him until he shook. He looked at the ceiling and tried to gather some composure. "That's fucking brilliant, Gina. The coincidence to end all coincidences."
Her face reddened. "You have every right to be angry about what happened. It sucks, and it sucks worse that Joey's in such bad shape. If I could do anything to change what happened, I'd do it in a heartbeat."