Smoke and Mirrors

by Lillian T. MacGowan

  He cut her off. “Jen. Listen.”

  She stopped and huffed but stayed quiet.

  “Jennifer.” He looked at her like she was a bit thick. “Please.” He crossed his arms. “I am a doctor. And I was his doctor. You think I didn’t check his chart?”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “I have his entire blood chemistry memorized. He was slightly anemic for a few weeks, but other than that, there’s nothing there.” He gave her a stern look but then took a breath. “And I get tested every six months since—for years.”

  She frowned, surprised. “You do?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why so often?” she asked, then grimaced a bit.

  Naim took a sip of coffee to buy some time. “I give blood a lot, weird things happen at the clinic and the ER, and just habit I suppose.” He didn’t really look at her, and she let it go.

  “Okay. But did you at least discuss it?”

  “Well, no. We need to do that; you’re right. I mean, I know everything is fine, but it’s still a conversation we should responsibly have.”

  “Yes. Yes, it is,” she snipped. “You are a physician and a grown-up, so you shoul—oh, shit.” She flailed again, startled.

  “The hell? Are you okay?”

  “Yes, yes. I just forgot.” She got up and scurried out of the kitchen, Naim trailing behind her, confused and concerned.

  She went into the living room, yelling at Deck and Keller to turn the TV down and leave each other alone as they fought, head smacking each other over the remote.

  “Jen?” Naim leaned against the couch, and Deck turned around, knelt on a cushion, and cuddled him, his head on Naim’s belly. Naim looked down at him, smiled, and petted his head.

  Jen was rustling through a shopping bag she’d brought.

  “Oh, yeah, babe. I was gonna ask you about that,” Keller said, his gaze glued to the television.

  “When? After we left?” She shook her head, and he glanced at her adoringly. Naim made a face. There was way too much mush in this flat. Jen finally found what she wanted in the giant bag and stood triumphantly. “Here. Happy birthday.” She handed Naim a small, beautifully wrapped package and kissed his cheek, avoiding Deck’s head as it popped up from Naim’s belly.

  “Wait, what? What birthday? What?” Deck panicked. “I thought you said—”

  Naim stopped him. “No, Deck. No.” He turned to Jen. “Jen, I love you, but this is totally unnecessary. We’ve talked about this.”

  “And I told you…” She hesitated and glanced at Deck.

  Naim’s face softened as he looked down at Deck, still kneeling backward on the couch, still looking panicked. “It’s okay, Jen. It’s okay. But this is not.” He held up the package.

  “What’s going on?” Deck howled.

  Naim glanced down at him again and sighed. “There has to be a date of birth for me—for papers and identification and so on, right?” Deck nodded, eyes wide and serious. “Standard procedure with ICM is to assign all unknowns January first. It just makes the most sense as a starting point.”

  Deck blinked and squinted. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. I don’t like that you have a sort-of birthday and you didn’t tell me so I could throw a huge, obnoxious surprise party and embarrass you and buy you anything you want, even a pony, and then we could get really drunk and have sloppy sex somewhere totally inappropriate.” Naim went to interrupt him, but Deck ranted on, angry and choking up.

  “I don’t like that you didn’t know when you actual birthday is and you don’t even know how Goddamn old you are. No fucking wonder— Goddamn it. Fuck.”

  Jen looked at Deck, startled but a smile twitching at her lips. “I’m with you Deck. We fight about this every single year. He hates it, but I don’t care.” She shrugged.

  Deck looked back to Naim, pulling him close again. “You really don’t like it?” he asked, sounding sad and angry.

  Naim sighed, embarrassed, annoyed, and touched by them both, and looked to Jen, then down at Deck. “It’s not my birthday,” he huffed.

  “Told you,” Keller muttered, never looking away from the game.

  “You, shush.”

  Keller sighed heavily and turned from the sofa. “Just take the gift, Moreau. You know she won’t let up, and she’ll use anything as an excuse to spoil you.”

  “I wanna spoil you,” Deck cried.

  “Do you see what you’ve done?” Naim glowered at Jen.

  “Me?” She blinked innocently and giggled. “It’s not my fault that you’re just so damn loveable.” She winked and he glared.

  Deck looked up at him, sweet, sad, loving, and blissful.

  Chapter Twelve

  “How in the holy hell did that happen?” Laura cocked her head at the remnants of Deck’s iPhone, which consisted of little more than a case so badly cracked that the decorative cat only had one eye, no tail, and some guts; Deck was really hoping they could put the SIM card back together.

  “Um. It fell.”

  “Out of an airplane?” Laura frowned at the mangled corpse.

  “Off my balcony,” Naim answered. “Then a car ran it over.”

  “Deck. How the hell did your phone go over Naim’s balcony? Is this why you didn’t answer my fifteen calls and texts?” Laura made a face at him as they waited for an Apple store person to help them.

  “I was busy. And it was bothering me. Ya know, if you call and text someone three thousand fucking times and they don’t respond, then maybe they’re fucking busy. With stuff.”

  “Well, maybe if someone calls and texts you three thousand fucking times, it might be fucking important, so stuff will just have to wait.” She gave him a dirty look. “You totally threw it over, didn’t you?”

  Deck ignored her, turning his back to try to get the attention of someone in the store.

  “He threw it.” Naim nodded. “Why didn’t you try to get me sooner?”

  “I did.” She glared. “You didn’t answer either.”

  Naim paused for a second and looked at his feet. “Right. Sorry. I, um, I didn’t have my phone. On me.”

  Laura finally smiled. “S’okay. At least you would have answered.” She shot Deck a sneer, and he continued to ignore her, waving at an Apple store guy.

  The young man sauntered over, smiling. “Hi there. I’m Trevor. Thanks for coming in today. How can I—Oh, wow.” Deck shoved the mangled bits of phone at him.

  “Yeah, this doesn’t work anymore.”

  Laura dropped her elbows onto a counter and her face into her arms. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Her voice came muffled from her coat sleeves. Naim fussed with the new iPad release.

  “It, uh, yeah. I guess not.” Trevor frowned at the scraps in Deck’s hand. “What, uh, what was it?”

  “iPhone 5. I have the SIM card, though. Here.” Deck picked three tiny pieces of unrecognizable stuff from the bits in his hand and showed them to Trevor.

  “M-hm.” Trevor nodded.

  “Oh my God, Deck.” Laura dragged herself up from the counter and groaned like she was in pain. “Just get a new damn phone, you idiot. There’s nothing left to save. The phone is dead, man. Dead I tell you.” She turned to Naim. “You’re a doctor. Will you please tell him?”

  “It’s dead, cupcake. I called it over an hour ago,” he said softly. “Acceptance is the first step to healing.” He took Deck’s hand gently.

  Trevor waited quietly, unfazed.

  “But…what about the SIM card?” Deck frowned over the pieces in Trevor’s hand. “I have everything in there. I need that stuff.” He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he was sentimental as hell, and he really wanted to keep the first texts he and Naim had ever exchanged.

  “I, uh. I don’t think that’s actually part of the SIM card, sir.” Trevor picked a small piece up and investigated it. “It looks like it might be the cat’s other eye.”

  Laura’s head went back down, and Naim tried not to laugh. “He needs a new one, if you don’t mind.” N
aim looked at the pile of bits between Trevor and Deck. “And can you dispose of, the remains? Do you do that?”

  “Oh yes. Yes of course. We can provide a…dignified end to the…yeah.” Trevor was on board, but only to a certain extent.

  “Give him the rest of it, Deck.”

  “Are you going to charge me for the new one?”

  Laura’s head came up again. “You threw it. Over a third-floor balcony.”

  Trevor squinted.

  “And then it got run over,” Naim explained. “By a ’79 Buick Opel.”

  “Of course.” Trevor nodded. “They’re notoriously heavy cars.”

  “Yeah, who was that?” Deck turned to Naim. “They parked on your street. They ran my phone over. The driver should pay for it.”

  Laura gritted her teeth. “Dekker.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  “That was Miss Vernique. She lives two doors down from me and is an 87-year-old retired school lunch lady.” As Naim spoke, he took his own phone out, pulled up his contacts, and shoved it toward Deck. “Would you like to ring her and let her know she’s to pay for your iPhone?”

  Deck pulled back, startled. “Wow.” He eyeballed Naim. “You can be”—Naim’s expression didn’t change—“mean.” Deck frowned.

  “I can’t take this anymore,” Laura grumbled. “Trevor, yes, he wants a new phone. Can you grab that for him, please?” She then turned to Deck. “And yes, asshole. Yes. You are going to pay for it.” Finally, she turned to Naim. “And you! You stop…whatever. Being mean. I don’t care. I just want to go.” Trevor scurried off, and Deck was about to say something, but Naim poked him.

  “I did not work on New Year’s Day and take first watch for today to stand around the goddamn Apple store with you two idiots.”

  “Hey.” Naim frowned, a little hurt.

  “I’m sorry, Naim, but I called you guys because it’s important.” She grunted. “I know you have a few days off, and you two want to spend that time together doing stuff.” She made a face at Deck. “But there are things that still have to be dealt with.” Despite the early disappearance of the guests of honor, Peyton’s party had been a blowout, and two days later Laura was still hungover.

  “You’re right, Laura. I’m sorry.” Naim put a hand on her arm. “I’m sure you have better things to do with your time. Tell us what’s going on.”

  “It better—” Deck started to grouse, and Naim gave him a jab in the back. Deck grunted. Shit, Naim was strong.

  Laura took a deep breath. “Thank you.” She nodded graciously at Naim. “I called because I got some news. Big news, I think.”

  “What? What happened?” Deck immediately shut down big-baby mode.

  “Well, I took the end of last week and the beginning of this one off work, so I didn’t find out about it until I got in yesterday—”

  “What, Laura?” Deck interrupted, and Naim sighed heavily.

  “Will you—GOD,” she snarled and threw her hands up. “Apparently—”

  “All right then, I have you all set up and almost ready to go.” Trevor reappeared, and Laura dropped her head back with a noise of extreme pain.

  Naim cringed and touched her hand reluctantly. “Thank you, yes. Same number and everything?” he asked Trevor.

  “It will be. I just need to get some information from you, and we’ll be set.” Trevor looked curiously at Laura whose head lolled back, and she whimpered.

  “Take care of this please? Be quick, okay.” Naim had taken Deck’s hand again and given it a squeeze.

  He and Trevor stepped to the side. “Are you hungry, Laura? Will that help?” Naim asked, feeling bad for their mild douchery.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I need to eat. And I need Deck to shut up.” She lifted her head. “He’s just… God.”

  “Yeah. Sometimes he really can be.” Naim shrugged. “But you know he means well. I mean his heart is in the right place. He’s just a pain in the ass sometimes.”

  Laura almost laughed, and Naim frowned for a second, then laughed too. “I’m the expert all of a sudden, right. And you’ve known him how long? Seven years?”

  “Seven loooong years.” She nodded. “But you know him in a very different way than I do—”

  “Laura!”

  “Oh jeez.” She made a face. “That’s not what I meant. Just, you know, more…more personal,” she stammered. “Ugh. You know what I mean. I need food.”

  “Of course. As soon as he’s done, we can grab a sandwich or something. You said you have to work tonight too?” he asked, checking his watch. “Doesn’t first watch start in a few hours?”

  “Yeah.” She perked up at the promise of food. “But I need to talk to you guys first. More you than him.” She pointed her chin at Deck. “But I know he’ll lose his shit if he’s not included. Which is why I called him thirty-seven times.”

  “Why? What’s going on?” Naim frowned

  She sighed. “Let’s wait until he’s done. I’m a cop. I get paid to repeat myself all the time.” She leaned heavily against the counter.

  They waited silently for a minute, and Naim went back to fiddling with the iPad. “I’m being a raving succubitch, aren’t I?” Laura asked him, breaking the silence.

  Naim turned to her, smiling. “No. You’re not. A bit touchy, yeah, but not a…succu…bitch?”

  “I’m sorry. I really am.” She met his eyes and cringed. “I’m still kind of hungover.”

  “Why did you work New Year’s Day anyway? I thought you had enough seniority to avoid those shifts?” He frowned.

  “I got a call before the party. I was actually going to talk to you guys there, but you left so suddenly.” She managed a small chuckle at that, and Naim glanced away. “I took the shift because I wanted to get involved in what was going on, but we’ll talk about—Finally. God.” She griped at Deck, who moved back toward them.

  “Hey, ya know it turns out I can just download everything,” Deck started.

  “Talk and walk, Deck. Let’s talk and walk,” Naim interrupted, taking his arm and heading for the door.

  “Seriously.” Deck looked down at him with a pouty face. “Mean.”

  Once they were settled into the plastic orange booth with three tremendous hoagies spread out in front of them, Laura explained.

  “So…” She sighed at her sandwich. “I have some pretty big news on Azhar Doheany.”

  “The fuck is that?” Deck asked, chewing.

  Naim gave him a gentle poke with his elbow. “Play-Doh. His real name is Azhar Doheany, right?” He looked to Laura for confirmation, and she nodded, her mouth full.

  Deck looked at him. “Really? That’s his name?”

  Naim nodded, directing himself to Laura. “We were at the park the other day. Quadir told us he was arrested again?”

  “Yeah.” Deck grinned around his food. “B and E. Made my day.”

  “Well, yeah. Sort of.” Laura frowned at her hoagie.

  “The fuck do you mean sort of? How is someone sort of arrested when they’re out on fucking bail and get nailed for a fucking B and E?”

  Naim put a hand on Deck’s knee to try and still him.

  “Oh, Jesus.” Laura practically snarled. “He’s on watch and guarded, but we can’t technically arrest him until he’s conscious. Okay? God.” She huffed more and didn’t elaborate

  “The fuck? Now what—”

  “Deck.” Naim squeezed his knee. “Shut up, and let her tell us.”

  Deck curled his lip but shut up, and Laura threw Naim a grateful look as she bit into her sandwich again.

  “He was breaking into an office downtown.” She spoke around a mouthful. “The owner happened to be there after hours and has a carry/conceal. He shot Doheany when he saw that he was armed.”

  Deck blinked, and Naim frowned. “How…? What…?” Deck frowned too. “I mean, I don’t like the kid but shot?”

  “Hit him in the chest,” Laura said, sipping her Coke. “Collapsed a lung and missed his heart by about half a god
damn millimeter.”

  “Half a millimeter?” Naim exclaimed.

  “Well, close enough,” she mumbled.

  Deck started, then blinked and frowned more. The irony wasn’t lost on anyone.

  “And it’s justified because they found a firearm on him?” Naim asked, suspicious and a little more nauseated than he wanted to admit. Guns hadn’t been a part of his life in France, but knives had. So had breaking and entering, theft of any and all kinds, and impotent rage that manifested itself in the hatred and easy mistreatment of anyone he felt like aiming it toward.

  As much as he wanted to be useful to kids like Kiara, Melvin, or Darnell, he identified the most with Play-Doh.

  Because the kid had burned down his clinic.

  “Yeah.” Laura looked at him curiously. “Unis got there about the same time as the bus. They found the piece right next to his hand just as they started working on him.” Laura glanced at Deck, who had stopped eating and glared at the sandwich in his hands. Naim didn’t bother to pretend like he was still eating. “Serial filed off, etcetera,” Laura continued. “Same old story.”

  No one said anything for a minute. Deck and Naim struggled with conflicted feelings, each for his own reasons.

  Naim just stared at his hands—the hands of a surgeon—and felt like a fraud. He thought about the thick scar that ran across the left side of his back, into his armpit and along his tricep, that he’d told Deck was the result of an accident.

  “Wait.” Deck frowned harder. “What the fuck kind of downtown-office type has a carry/conceal? Those guys are all office geeks.”

  “The kind that’s shady as fuck.” Laura shrugged. “We have plenty of those, Deck. Don’t kid yourself about downtown-office types.” She bit off another mouthful of her hoagie. “God, you’re such a blue-collar snob.” She chewed vigorously.

  “I am not.” He petted his classy hotshot surgeon boyfriend’s beautiful black head and made a face at Laura. “But you’re saying this guy didn’t just have a carry/conceal. He actually fucking shot someone. And it sounds like he didn’t exactly hesitate.” He started to realize this upset him more as it got more suspicious. “The fuck kind of downtown-office anybody doesn’t even blink before putting a bullet in someone?”