Mark Taylor: Genesis (Prequel in the Mark Taylor Series)

by M. P. McDonald

  “No. Not that I can remember. Why?”

  She wasn’t sure if she should bring it up. By Phillips own admission, he had been working this area for a few months. Taylor could have been observing. He could have seen the scar and added that detail to try to give his story the ring of credibility. “Nothing. Just wondered.”

  For now, she would keep Taylor’s tip to herself until she had a chance to question him further. Dan had stepped aside when the paramedics arrived and was now asking anyone in the crowd if they had witnessed the shooting. Jessica watched as Taylor was loaded into the ambulance and then joined her partner.

  Mark hobbled from the bathroom to the chair in the corner of the hospital room. He leaned the cane the physical therapist had given him against the arm of the chair and sat back with a sigh. Lunch would be coming soon, and if he was lucky, he would only have two more hospital meals to contend with before he was discharged tomorrow. He had never been a patient before and vowed he never would be again. The food sucked, and they didn’t let you sleep for more than an hour at a time without coming in to poke you with various objects like a needle or thermometer. He picked at the piece of gauze taped to the inside of his elbow. When he had finally been alert enough to hear the doctor’s verdict on his injury, he had been told that he had lost about forty percent of the blood in his body as the bullet had nicked the femoral artery. They had pumped him full of fluids and transfused multiple units of blood, so he couldn’t understand why were they so eager to extract more every day.

  At a light knock on his door, he looked up from his arm, half-expecting that his thoughts had conjured up a lab tech with a syringe at the ready. Instead, Jessica Bishop stood in the doorway.

  “May I come in?”

  Surprised, Mark nodded. “Uh, yeah, sure. Come on in, Jes—uh, Detective.” He took a peek down to his lap to make sure everything was covered. The hospital gown was a little short and the nurse said she hadn’t been able to find any pajama bottoms for him. A drain dangled from the bulky bandage around his thigh and the bulb was partially full of a thin bloody discharge. He tugged the gown down to cover it.

  Her cheeks were flushed beneath a golden tan and he realized she was as uncomfortable with his state of undress as he was.

  “Sorry. I would have called first, but I didn’t want to disturb you.” She gave a vague wave over her shoulder to the hallway. “When I got here I checked at the nurse’s station and they said you were awake.”

  “No, it’s fine.” He tried not to look at the blanket draped across his bed. If only he could reach it and spread it across his lap.

  Her olive blouse, made out of some kind of silky looking stuff, was long-sleeved, but she rubbed her hands up and down her arms and gave a shiver. “It’s kind of chilly in here. Can I get you a blanket?”

  Mark almost laughed out loud even as he felt his cheeks burn. “That would be great. There’s one right there, if you don’t mind.”

  She handed it to him and then examined a couple of flower arrangements on his windowsill while he covered himself. Feeling more secure, but also like an eighty-year old invalid, Mark cleared his throat. “So, um, I take it you’re not here just to visit me.”

  Her fingers lingered on the petals of a daisy as she turned to him. “I’m afraid not.”

  A stab of disappointment caught him by surprise. Of course. She was here officially.

  “Do you feel up to answering some questions regarding the shooting?”

  Now he felt even more like an invalid. “Up to it? Sure. I’m fine,” he lied. His pain meds had just about worn off and he had been up and moving all morning, including his longest session of physical therapy yet, but he straightened, and rolled his shoulders to ease the tension.

  “Good. I have to ask how you really knew about the shooting. Had you been spying on the undercover cop?”

  So much for his attempt to relax. His muscles tightened. “No. I told you. I was just there taking photos of the projects. You know I’m a photographer and with Cabrini being torn down a bit at a time, I just wanted to get it on film while I still had the chance.”

  “The cop who was working that operation isn’t buying that story and he’s angry at your interference.” She paused, her gaze sliding away for a split second before landing on him again. A shadow of guilt or regret lingered in them as she said, “He wants charges brought against you. He’s convinced that you blew his cover on purpose.”

  “Blew his cover?” Mark shook his head, incredulous at the accusation. “I wasn’t trying to blow his cover. I was trying…I succeeded in saving his life.”

  “So you say. For all he knows, you stopped him from making the deal or identifying the shooter in the car. He doesn’t know if he was set-up by the drug dealer he’s trying to bring down, or if it was a rival gang trying to get rid of the competition.”

  Mark rubbed a hand down his face, suddenly weary. “Look, I’m sorry if I screwed up whatever it was he was doing. I went there with the plan of just trying to warn him, but everything happened so fast, I just…just reacted. I still don’t understand how I blew his cover, but if I did, that wasn’t my intention.”

  Jessica crossed her arms and leaned against the sill. “Was it one of your premonitions?”

  Warily, he nodded. “You could say that.”

  She blew out a breath, sending a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail flying up, and he watched mesmerized as it settled back against her cheek before she said, “I believe you. I have no idea why, but I do.”

  “Really?” His weariness lifted a degree.

  She raised her hand, palm facing him in a stop motion. “Don’t sound so surprised or relieved. I believe that you just reacted and didn’t intend to blow his cover. I questioned some witnesses and a boy remembers you taking pictures the day before, so that part of your story checks out, but I’m just a little suspicious as to your motives for being there in the first place. Without any other proof, I guess I’m just going to have to write up my report with the information you gave me.”

  Swallowing hard, Mark tried to smile. “Thanks. I appreciate that.” He didn’t want to push his luck, but he had one problem that had just occurred to him that morning. “Can I ask a favor?”

  “Sure. You can ask, but I can’t promise I can fulfill it.” Her smile softened the statement.

  “Well, nobody seems to know where my car is. I had parked my Jeep a few blocks away, and now it’s gone.”

  “Ah…it’s probably been towed somewhere.” She reached into the pocket of her jacket and withdrew a pen and small notepad. “Here, write the make and license plate number if you know it. I’ll check at the impound lots and let you know. I can’t promise that they’ll drop any charges though.”

  Mark jotted them down, and held the pad out to her. “Here. And thanks.”

  She nodded and then pointed with her chin towards his leg. “So, what’s the prognosis?”

  “Full recovery.” He grinned. When he had been in the ER, he had been pretty out of it from shock and whatever meds they had given him, but he remembered the surgeon mentioning a possibility that he could lose the leg. After surgery, he had awakened terrified his leg was gone. He hadn’t been able to feel past the bandages and didn’t trust the sensation of his toes wiggling. He’d heard of phantom pains in amputated limbs. His leg had been elevated and he hadn’t even been able to touch it with his other foot. It wasn’t until the next morning when his leg had been uncovered and he was able to sit up a little and see his toes that he had believed the doctor that his leg was still attached.

  Jessica smiled. “Glad to hear it.”

  The grin slipped a little when their eyes met and held. She dipped her head and he swore her cheeks pinked. Did they still have a connection? He felt it, but if she had, she didn’t let it show as she pushed off the sill, smoothing her blouse and tucking a little fabric into the waistband. “Well, I guess I’ll let you get some rest. You’re looking a little pale.”

  Her comment about his la
ck of color killed any fantasy that she had felt anything other than maybe a passing worry that he might pass out any instant. “I’m fine, but I hope I cleared up any questions you had, Detective.”

  “Detective? Reverting to formality?”

  “It seems appropriate.”

  She paused as she turned toward the door. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mark. I’m just trying to do my job.”

  He nodded.

  “If I think of anything more, I’ll be in touch.” She raised an eyebrow and the corner of her mouth turned up. “Or if you decide you know something you haven’t mentioned, feel free to contact me.”

  It was hard to stay angry when she looked at him like that and he felt a grin tugging at his mouth.

  After Jessica left, Mark took a few bites of his lunch and then rested, not awakening until mid-afternoon when his parents came by to visit. He was glad they had missed the detective’s visit. All his parents knew was that he had been caught in a drive-by shooting. The doctors hadn’t known all the details, and as far as Mark was aware, the police hadn’t said anything to his parents, as his folks had nothing to do with the shooting. He was sure his father would have grilled him in front of Jessica if he had been present.

  His mom leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Hey, hon. How are you feeling?”

  Finding the bed controls, Mark raised the head until he was sitting almost straight up. “Great.” The rest had restored his energy. He gingerly moved to sit on the side of the bed. “I feel like taking a walk. You guys want to come?”

  His father nodded, but added, “You two go ahead. I saw your doctor out at the desk and I wanted to ask him a few things.”

  Mark didn’t have a good reason to object, but part of him resented his father grilling the doc about his care. As far as he was concerned, the surgeon had performed a miracle in saving both his life and his leg. “Dad, don’t piss off my doctor by questioning everything. You know he did a fantastic job.”

  His dad’s eyes widened as he spread his hand over his chest. “I’m not going to question him. I’m just going to suggest a few things he might want to consider in the future when he’s presented a case like yours. You know I interned at Cook County, right? You don’t spend time there and not learn about gunshot wounds.”

  His mother gave his dad one of her looks. Even though she spoke in a calm tone, she was annoyed. “Gene, you have trotted out that tidbit of information at least a dozen times since we’ve been here. Mark’s doctor is a busy man—just like you are when you’re making your patient rounds.” The annoyance melted and she smiled and brushed her hand across his father’s hand, twining her fingers in his. “Come walk with us.”

  Although he appeared torn, Mark’s dad finally nodded. “Fine, but I’m going to speak to him before Mark is discharged.” He turned to Mark and asked, “By the way, have they told you when that would be?” Before Mark could reply, his father said, “I should find the doc and ask how Mark’s labs are and if his white count is still up. If it isn’t, a course of oral antibiotics would be appropriate.”

  Mark rolled his eyes. “Look, Dad, my doctor is doing a fine job. I’d appreciate it if you stayed out of it.” He leaned forward and snagged the cane from where he had propped it against the bedside table. As he positioned it to stand, he caught his dad’s stunned expression. He hadn’t intended to hurt his dad’s feelings. Guilt heated his face. “Sorry, Dad. It’s just that I can take care of my own health.” In the process of standing, Mark couldn’t speak for a moment and stood, catching his breath and waiting for the wave of pain to pass. As he became accustomed to it, he finally let out the breath. He opened his mouth to thank his dad for the concern, but before he could, his dad spoke.

  His arms crossed and his face was hard as stone, he said, “Really? So you’re on top of everything?”

  On top of everything? What the hell was he talking about? Why did he always have to use that tone? The tone that said Mark was an idiot.

  “Yeah. I think I am. The doctor said I’m making a remarkable recovery so I don’t need you butting in. I can take care of myself.”

  “I have to wonder about that. You seem to make a lot of bad choices.”

  “Excuse me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He straightened as much as he could.

  His dad swept a hand towards the cane. “You chose to take pictures in a gang infested neighborhood. Did you really think that was a good idea?”

  Jaw clenched, Mark fought the impulse to give up his secret. His dad wouldn’t understand. Prophetic dreams? Yeah, right. He wasn’t going to open himself up to that ridicule. Even with the photos, his dad would scoff in disbelief and probably accuse him of manipulating the photo on his computer. If by some wild chance he believed everything, he’d advise Mark to turn the camera over to the police and then suggest that if he wanted to play at being a superhero, he should have become a doctor—like him.

  Tension thickened the air as he locked eyes with his father.

  His mom cleared her throat and moved to retrieve a bag off a chair beside the bed. “I almost forgot, Mark. I brought you the clothes you asked for plus I included a pair of sweatpants. They should fit over the bandage.”

  Mark tore his attention from his dad and attempted to smile to show his appreciation. “Thanks, Mom. That’s great. In fact, if you help me get them over my foot, I’d like to wear them now.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Mark limped across the loft and fished the phone out of the sofa cushions. The sound of the ringing had been so muffled, he wasn’t sure what it was at first.

  “Hello?”

  He hadn’t had time to look at the caller ID before picking up as it had taken him about five rings to answer and voicemail would pick up before the sixth.

  “Hello, Mark? This is Jessica Bishop…Detective Bishop.”

  He smiled at the clarification, as if he knew some other Jessica Bishop. “Hello, Detective. Sorry I never called you back, but I couldn’t think of anything new to add to what I had already told you.”

  “Oh no, that’s not what I was calling about. I was just wondering how you were doing.”

  A warm glow of pleasure sparked in his chest. “I’m doing great. I even ditched the cane a few days ago.”

  “That’s wonderful. Glad to hear it. Do you have to go to physical therapy or anything?”

  Mark eased down onto the sofa, bringing his injured leg up, trying to bite back the grunt of discomfort the action caused. “Yeah, I go every other day.”

  “I see…”

  An awkward silence followed and Mark wracked his mind for something to say to fill it. “Hey, I never heard back about that undercover cop. Is he still going to press charges against me?” The worry had nagged at him ever since she had mentioned it when she had been at the hospital.

  There was a pause and Mark held his breath, awaiting the worst.

  “No…I don’t think so. I haven’t heard anything since right after you were shot. I think he was just frustrated. I honestly don’t think he had a case against you anyway. You didn’t break any laws since you were on a public sidewalk, and in spite of what you told me before, we couldn’t find any proof that you intentionally blew his cover.”

  “No, I didn’t. I just wanted to save his life.”

  She cleared her throat. “Yeah, well that opens another can of worms that I don’t care to deal with right now. We’re going to say you made a lucky guess, okay?”

  Mark grinned. He could handle that. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Great. Did you get your car back okay?”

  “Yeah, thanks for the help on that. It cost me a few hundred, but the Chicago PD waived the parking tickets. I had to pay for the towing and storage though. My parents picked it up for me.”

  “Great. Are they there helping you?”

  “They were, but they went home yesterday. My father had some patients he really needed to see this week.”

  “Ah, so he’s a physician?”

  “Yeah.”<
br />
  “Okay, well, um, do you need anything? It must be hard getting around right now.”

  His mother had stocked his fridge and cupboards, so he didn’t need anything, but he wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity. “Well, actually, there is one thing I could use.”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Toothpaste.” Mark closed his eyes and shook his head. It had been the first thing to come to his mind and he had just blurted it out. He had a whole tube of the stuff in the bathroom, but now she was going to think he was sitting here with plaque-coated teeth.

  She laughed. “Toothpaste? Any particular brand?”

  “No, just something minty.” As if ninety-nine percent of them weren’t minty. Another brilliant answer. He was on a roll.

  “Okay. One tube of minty toothpaste. Got it. I hope this isn’t a toothpaste emergency or anything, because I just remembered I have to run by my sister’s house tonight, but I’m off tomorrow, so I could come by about mid-morning.”

  “Tomorrow is fine. I’ll…I’ll just give the tube I have another squeeze up from the bottom. I’m sure there’s enough to get by.” He didn’t want her to think he was skipping on brushing or anything. He gave her his address and told her to buzz and to give him a little time to get to the buzzer.

  After hanging up, he almost did a jig — he would have if he had been able to. Instead, he made do with a fist pump.

  Mark leaned on the refrigerator door searching for something he could offer Jessica when she arrived. Milk. No. Beer. Nope, it was too early and it didn’t feel right. Orange juice? Nah. Well, he could offer it as a last resort, but it wasn’t something someone sat around sipping. Ah! Pay dirt. A small pitcher of iced tea hid behind the gallon of milk. His mom loved the stuff and must have made it before they left. He wasn’t much of an iced tea drinker, but he was glad to have it on hand. He slid open the lunch meat drawer. Turkey and pastrami. He spotted some bagged greens in the bottom drawer. He didn’t know why he was wondering about all this. It wasn’t like she mentioned staying for lunch. In all likelihood, she would drop off the toothpaste and leave.