by Rick Murcer
“What the hell’s going on? I thought I saw . . . heard . . .”
Standing, Dean moved closer and touched her arm. “You can relax. I had your back—and the rest of you—so you could take a nap, remember? There’s no ass to kick just now.” He grinned. “Unless you wanted to help me practice some wrestling moves I learned from the professionals on TV.”
Slowly she dropped her hands and then hung her head. So this is what it had come to? Nightmares for dreams, hell for hope. How could she actually have fallen asleep in one of these God-forsaken rooms? It looked like Manny was right again: exhaustion, upon occasion, could be an ally. But tonight it served as an enemy and an ally.
Clucking her tongue, she shook her head, going over the nightmare in her mind. To her surprise, she remembered it vividly. Not like those dreams that faded quickly upon awakening. She touched her neck just to make perfectly sure Garity’s hand wasn’t still there. It wasn’t. And what about Manny? His look. His voice. What the hell did that mean? Sophie sighed. What did anything mean when the good folks of this world did all of the suffering?
Dean moved closer and wrapped his long, furry arm around her shoulder. “Bad one, huh?”
She nodded. “One of the worst. Maybe I need to get out of this business. I remember once, when we were all on an excursion on that ugly-ass cruise we took a couple of years ago, that the guide talked about buying an island. I think it was about fourteen million. That would be a nice place to get away from this shit.”
“Only fourteen mil? I’ve got a few bucks in my retirement account but you’d be about thirteen nine short.”
Her gaze lingered for an extra moment on Dean’s face. She couldn’t help thinking about her attraction to him, paisley beanie and all. It was growing, no question. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he worshipped her. How many women had that going for them?
“I’ll keep that in mind. And what the hell are you grinning about? Manny could be dead in that operating room right now.”
“He could be, but he’s—”
“I still don’t know why they waited seven weeks to do this freaking surgery. I’m tired of dumbass medical double-talk. Manny would be too. If he could, he would tell them to go right in, and if God wanted him to stay here, he would; and if not, he’d see us later. Am I right?”
“Hey. None of us wanted to wait this thing out. But the doctors know what they’re doing. At least they thought he was stable enough to fly to Lansing, coma and all. And besides, Sophie. He’s—”
He stopped talking as she quickly turned her head. Signal: Ignoring you now. She didn’t care for what Dean might be trying to tell her.
“And another thing,” she said. “They need to have showers in this place. I smell like road kill.”
Dean clutched her close to his chest, his face two inches from hers. She took in the faint aroma of mint on his breath. Better yet, the other scent. The one that was him.
“I must be sicker than I thought because I like how you smell. But listen to me, okay?” said Dean.
“That grabbing, pushy approach doesn’t usually work for me but, maybe, in your case . . . uh, you didn’t grope me when I was sleeping, did you?”
“Only once, when you asked me to. But listen to me.”
“Damn it. How thick are you? I don’t want to hear what—”
“Manny’s out of surgery.”
His eyes sparkled as her mouth dropped open. “What? When did that happen?”
“About two hours ago. I didn’t want to wake you. I mean, you’re borderline crazy because of the sleep deprivation . . . well, not just because of that, but it pushed you close to a padded cell.”
“So?”
Dean bowed his head. “Well, ah, he’s—”
Putting her hand over his lips, she shook her head. “Don’t tell me. I want to see for myself, either way.”
Releasing his bear hug, Dean stepped back. “Makes perfect sense. Let’s get this over with.”
She nodded, feeling more than uneasy. A glance around the waiting room led to a scowl. “Where’s everyone else?”
“They’re already saying their . . . well, they’re all in the room where they took him after surgery.”
More and more, she hated how this was feeling. But what else was new?
He led her through two white-washed doors and then they were standing in front of a brushed aluminum door that had no label. She felt like Dorothy in Oz.
“Ready?” asked Dean.
“No, but let’s do it.”
He thumped the automatic door opener, clutched her hand, and led her through.
CHAPTER-9
His eyes followed Sophie as she shuffled to the foot of the steel bed. She turned her head to one side and then the other. An instant later, her tears—flowing liked he’d never imagined they could—ran in tiny rivulets down her tired face. Sophie’s eyes were focused. He knew that she was trying to gain control over the thrashing in her chest. He was doing the same. But he bet his hurt more.
“Hey, Sophie. Good to see you, girl,” whispered Manny.
“Manny? Is that really you?”
Manny listened to Sophie’s voice, quivering ever so slightly, and smiled. It sounded like a song, one of the best he’d heard. And that was a hell of a question she’d just asked, wasn’t it? Was he himself? Would he ever be?
He glanced around the room. Chloe and Jen were on his right, both clutching his arm. Alex Downs and Josh Corner flanked his left, their tears nearly dry now. “Well, if it’s not me, how do we have the same friends and family?”
His diminutive partner walked unsteadily across the floor, never taking her eyes from his face, brushed past Chloe, then bent down and kissed him on the forehead. “I’m the smartass in this crew and don’t forget it,” she said. “So just answer the question.”
“Yes ma’am. It’s me. Manfred Robert Williams. At least that’s what my ID says.”
Sophie wiped at her cheeks. “Close enough for me. And don’t be doing this again. I WILL smack you around if you ever scare me, us, like that again. It ain’t right.”
“Deal. Not that much fun anyway. Especially the whole let’s take the broken knife out of your chest game.”
She smiled and started to step away, hurried back and hugged him, moving the wires and tubes aside to get a better grip. He clutched her with his right hand. “I guess God wants me to keep your ass in line a while longer,” he whispered.
“Smart God,” she choked, hugging him again before she moved back beside Dean.
Manny closed his eyes, took in a labored breath and then opened them. “Hey Dean. The tuque says your sense of style’s still intact. And I trust you kept her together while I was . . . away.”
Dean’s expression answered his question.
“Right, I forgot this is Sophie we’re talking about,” said Manny softly.
“Uh, I’m still here, men,” she said, grinning.
Silence settled into the room. There were moments when quiet could be a curse, an evil alternative spawned from Hell itself, or an incredible blessing. Manny supposed those extremes had to do with the road one was traveling, intentional or not. Looking around the room again, he fixed his gaze on Chloe and Jen, and then voted for the blessing. Heaven was a wonderful place—Louise had said as much in that dream that would always be a part of them—but he wasn’t ready to go, just yet. It occurred to him that he was, maybe, needed here. How could that be bad, in any light?
A few minutes later, Sophie broke the silence. “So what’s the deal? When can you come out and play?”
“Let me answer that,” said Josh, his blue eyes shining.
“Okay by me. When you’re done, I’ll be taking another nap,” said Manny. He was starting to wear down, but the doctors had been very encouraging.
“Don’t think I missed that look in your eyes, Agent. You’re not getting out of here until they say you can,” said Josh.
“What look?”
Josh ignored him. Manny smiled again.
>
“As you all know, the tip of the knife broke off a centimeter from his heart. So when they removed the knife, that part was still there. That’s why the surgery was so dangerous.”
“We know that,” said Alex.
“True. But you didn’t know that the coma was induced to minimize the risk of it breaking loose and getting caught somewhere in his blood stream. Anyway, that’s why they waited so long to remove Garity’s honeymoon gift.”
“Bastard,” whispered Chloe.
“Bastard is right,” said Jen.
“Hey. Watch your language. I didn’t teach you that,” said Manny.
“No. But Sophie always says that—”
“That’s enough girls,” said Sophie. “Um. Go on, Josh.”
“As much as I’d like to hear about Sophie’s grammar lessons, I’ll take her off the hook, for now. Once the medical team got him stabilized to their satisfaction, they went to work and obviously it came off well.”
“Again, how long?” asked Sophie.
“The chief surgeon said that since he was in such good shape, and the surgery was a bit less invasive than they’d originally thought, and barring any complications like infections, and if he avoids heavy lifting, and has no sex with Chloe for one year, he should be ready to go in a couple of weeks or so.”
“What did ya say, man, about the sex? I didn’t hear the doctor say anything like that.” With a look of puzzlement, Chloe glared at Josh. Then realization set in and she broke into a beautiful grin that forced Manny to fall in love with her again.
“I’m just messing with you,” said Josh.
The laughs echoing through the large recovery room made it feel more like a holiday gathering with family than a hospital stay. Manny felt what was left of the fearful tension that had been reaching for them all vacate the premises. One more hurdle cleared.
“I owe ya one, Corner. At least one,” said Chloe, a shade of red coloring her cheeks.
Manny fixed his eyes on his wife. She had lost a few pounds and her face was a touch gaunt. Yet she was as beautiful and desirable to him as the day they’d met. Maybe more so. He found himself thanking God that Josh had been messing with her. The extra color suited her.
“Anyway, Manny should be out of here in a week to ten days, then another two or three weeks at home, depending on how fast he heals. All in all, not a bad recovery prognosis,” finished Josh.
“Awesome to hear. Now maybe I can get back to work and clear up seven weeks of backlog thanks to your little vacation,” said Alex, rubbing his gloved hand.
“Duly noted. By the way, how’s the hand doing?”
Alex shrugged. “Not exactly like I wanted, but I’ll show you what’s coming after you get your strength up. It’s kind of cool.”
“Cool isn’t the right word,” said Dean. “It’s more like the coolest thing ever.” There was no mistaking the geek in his voice.
“Looking forward to seeing what you’ve got.”
The door swung open and a stocky, black-suited FBI agent motioned to the head of BAU. Josh went out the door and, before it had closed completely, he was back in the room wearing that look that Manny knew well. The shit had hit the fan.
Managing another deep breath, Manny raised himself a little higher in the bed. “Was that about Garity?”
Josh nodded and then did a double-take. “How did you know about him? You’ve been pretty much out this whole time.”
“I’ll tell you later. So, what’s going on?”
“Just when I think you’re in the dark, you’re not,” said Josh, shaking his head back and forth.
His eyes circling his team, Josh spoke softly. “Garity's body was discovered washed up on a beach in North Carolina.”
CHAPTER-10
J.R. Saylor looked the new girl up and down, rubbing his neck. He must be crazy. Crazy as a shit house rat, his old grandma used to say. But then again, he was okay with crazy, wasn’t he? Hell, they all said he was, even from the minute he’d quit school and joined the Army. He remembered how happy his dad had been when he brought home the paperwork from the recruiter. He never saw the old man sign his name so fast in his life. Thinking back, if he’d been in his dad’s place, he might have signed it even faster. Not that he’d ever gotten into any serious trouble. Well, except for the time he and his buddies decided to “harvest” a few gardens and then tried to sell the tomatoes and cukes at their very own roadside stand. Man. What an ass-warming that one had been.
Running his left hand over his stubbled cheek, he scanned her again. Yep. A sure-fire mistake. She had a limp and wore a glove over her left hand. He hadn’t asked. If he had, he might have gotten a lawsuit from one of those damned liberal left-wing organizations that cared more about discrimination than letting a man make a dollar. One more reason this country was going to hell in a handbasket.
Glancing down past his greasy apron that bulged significantly at the waist, he fixed his gaze on his right leg, or where his right leg had been. He had his own reasons for not asking and mostly it had to do with not giving a shit about what was under the glove. He knew how people treated folks that had a limb missing or just a good old-fashioned limp. Still to this day, he hated that feeling but had grown to tolerate it. People couldn’t help how they were, mostly.
The explosion that had taken the leg while serving his country still talked to him on those nights when nothing could keep the demons away. Still, he’d do it all over again. There is no land like the good old USA, no matter what problems existed and who caused them.
J.R. shifted his weight and, for the third time, shook his head. Crazy. Plumb-ass loony tunes. But who knew for sure? Maybe she could do it. He had. He’d taken advantage of the chance old Jack Crane had given him all those years ago. Now he owned his own place and was making a good living too.
“Why do you keep shaking your head, Mr. Saylor?”
“Cuz I must be nuts to think you can do this job. Maybe I’m getting soft. I hear that happens when you turn sixty and lose your hair.” His voice, gruff from a lifetime of cigars and liquor, came out like a growl.
“I can do it,” she answered softly.
“Really? Like I told you yesterday. My regulars—and yes, J.R.’s Place right here in Kure Beach, North Carolina, has regulars—won’t cotton to no cold eggs and empty coffee cups. No matter how purty you are. At least you got that going for ya. But no one ever kept their job in this place with just good looks . . . ‘cept me.”
The beginnings of a grin formed at the corners of her mouth, which added to her beauty. The girl isn’t just purty. Could be downright gorgeous if she wanted to be.
He frowned and her smile vanished. “For a minute there, I thought you was going to think Old J.R. wasn’t cute. That’s the second rule. The first is I’m that always right, and if you have any more questions see the second rule. Got that?”
“Yes sir, I got that.”
“Just make damn sure you do. I ain’t got no patience to mother your little ass.”
She’d stiffened when he said ‘mother,’ then it was gone. Probably just his imagination. He was trying to scare her and maybe it had worked. But, then again, he’d been around a few of the scarin’ kind and she didn’t seem to fit.
The alarm behind him went off. Six thirty a.m. and time to open the front door. Another day, another dollar, he hoped.
“Lily A. Cruz, are ya ready to get to work?”
“Right now? This morning? Don’t I train first?”
Throwing his head back, he laughed. This could be fun. “Darlin’, this is one of them OTJ training programs the liberals hate. The aprons are over in that there closet, and there’s a stack of order pads and a box of pens.”
Sweeping his arm over the smallish room with four blue booths and twelve tables, he laughed again.
“That there is your training room. The only other schoolin’ tool you get is my left boot up your ass if you don’t move quick enough. Any more questions?”
Lily shrugged. “I guess
not. But what happens if I make a mistake or upset one of the customers?”
“We’ll deal with it when it happens. The second time, you get a butt reamin’. The third time, I reckon I’ll need some new help. But as long as you hustle ass and do your best, we’ll be good to go. Besides, there’s worse things than making a mistake in a diner. I mean, you don’t look like no bank robber or serial killer or something, now do ya?”
His new waitress gave him her biggest, most beautiful smile to date. “No sir, Mr. Saylor. I don’t. I certainly don’t.”
CHAPTER-11
The medical team had booted out his friends and family . . . but Manny had asked Alex to stay, despite the RN’s protest.
“I need five minutes with him, then you can do your worst," he’d said. After a few more warnings, the nurse gave in, like she really had a choice in the matter. He respected her knowledge and authority, only there were more important things from time-to-time. The doctors were going to let him rest a few hours and then take him for his first walk. Manny closed his eyes and again marveled at how far the world of medicine had advanced over the last twenty years. Waiting a few hours after chest surgery to begin a patient’s walking routine was unheard of back then. It was a normal practice these days, however. They wanted the healing process to begin as soon as possible, not to mention alleviating insurance troubles for keeping a patient too long. In that vein, it seemed that money still made the world go round, even in Lansing, Michigan.
Alex sat in the chair beside Manny, unconsciously rubbing his hand. “What’s up?” he asked.
But Manny was sure his longtime friend already knew what was up. “I just wanted to see how things really were with you and the hand.”
“Yeah, I figured that.”
“So?”
The CSI shrugged. “They thought the reattachment would work, but there were too many damaged nerves and, after a few days, they took it off. I guess, in a way, I was lucky. The hand got terribly messed up and couldn’t be saved. The reattachment process helped to speed up the healing. So, as of last week, the stub looked good enough to put on the temporary prosthetic.”