Attending Physician

  I knelt in the doorway to my private office, weeping. The pain was bigger than any I’d ever known. On the other hand, no one had ever hit my face like that, not even the crazy alcoholic stepfathers I was cursed to endure.

  The two men clunked in, chains on their boots rattling. One of them—Mutt, Jeff, I didn’t know which—said, “Better get that girl some ice or she gonna be in bad shape, and soon.”

  “Go right ahead, nursie,” said Eli. “Take care of our hostess.”

  The man approached me gently. “That door had to hurt, lady,” he said softly. “Let’s get you some ice for that. Where is the kitchen?”

  Ellie pointed down the hall. He reached down and lifted me by the elbows. I was shaking with pain and shock. “C’mon, lady,” he said, supporting me and giving me the strength to walk down the hallway with him.

  He set me at the kitchen table in Raven’s chair from the night before, and that gave me some strength. Then he grabbed a dishtowel, did something with his phone, and went to get ice from the small freezer above the fridge.

  “Lady?” he said.

  I paid attention to him but said nothing.

  “Hammer?”

  “On the bottom shelf by that door,” I pointed.

  He attacked the ice as if it had offended him. In a few quick strokes, it definitely became crushed ice. He put it in a plastic bag, and handed it to me wrapped in a clean dishtowel. “Best put it over the whole side of your face.”

  I laid it gingerly against my eye. The cool spelled relief. Hopefully, numbness would follow.

  “Don’t like it when a man roughs up a little lady like you,” he said gently. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t let him hurt you no more.”

  “Thanks,” I said tentatively, loath to trust my safety to this gentle giant but aware that I didn’t have many options.

  “Done playin’ nursie?” Eli’s voice boomed loudly in my wooden kitchen.

  “Yeah,” grunted my bodyguard. “Don’t like it when you rough up a girl, Eli,” he said bravely.

  “Tough titties,” said Eli, in my estimation raring to prove his alpha status. “She’s nothin’.”

  “Yeah, but she is to Ellie.”

  “Ellie ain’t nothin’ neither,” said Eli.

  “Oh yes, I am,” she declared defensively, “and I am gonna make your life miz-er-a-ble if you don’t gimme what you guaranteed me this minute, big boy.”

  He slammed his hand on my kitchen counter.

  “Quitcher whinin’, bitch. You’ll get it when I say you’ll get it!”

  “Geoff,” Ellie wailed, “help me. I gotta have it now,” her voice rose to a shriek, the sound echoing off the perfect acoustics.

  “Mutt, give her some junk,” Geoff called.

  Biker thug #3 joined us in the kitchen, and I watched, feeling the blood drain out of my face, as both he and Ellie shot up using the same needle. Geoff passed. Eli said he’d take care of himself. My kitchen felt contaminated.

  The tension fell off Ellie as the drug hit her brain; its path was visible.

  “Ellie,” I tried, “what do you want, dear? Why are these men here?”

  “We need a place to meet with some people.”

  “Why did you pick here?” I asked.

  “None of your fuckin’ business, bitch,” swore Eli.

  “Actually, this is my home. I own this property, and you made it my fuckin’ business,” I quoted him back to himself, “when you invaded it and hurt me.”

  “Our business is in Somerville,” Ellie explained.

  The door buzzed. My eyes, or, I should say, eye landed on the red vintage kitchen clock. Six on the dot. Oh Goddess, I thought, please, please, please don’t let it be Raven.

  “Get that,” ordered Eli. Geoff went to obey.

  A man in a beautiful bespoke suit walked into my flat alone. He spoke to Geoff with some kind of an accent. Eli disappeared with him into my front room. Mutt went through the kitchen to the back door, and down the stairs.

  I began to pray for the other owners in the building.

  Mutt came up with four briefcases. He brought them into the front room. Geoff came back into the kitchen, and I didn’t know where Ellie had disappeared.

  “What are they doing, Geoff?” I asked softly.

  “Making a new distribution agreement.”

  “Are those four briefcases full of ...?” I let it trail off.

  “Smack,” he recited liturgy, “horse, H, junk, hero, dragon, shall I go on, lady?”

  “Jesus, no,” I breathed. “Jesus, Mary, Joseph and all the saints, angels, and martyrs.”

  Geoff crossed himself. “You can say that again, lady.”

  “Geoff, when the police ask me, I’ll do what I can to protect you. You’re being very kind.”

  He smirked at me sardonically. “Kinder would have been to stop that door and that asshat from hitting your face.”

  “Point taken,” I smiled, or tried. Hard to do with a broken cheekbone. Very.

  Chapter 24

  Eli and El Jefe, as I’d taken to calling him in my mind, were taking their sweet time to get their business done.

  “Don’t get impatient,” Geoff told me, “the longer it takes, the better.”

  “Oh?” I said.

  “Can’t explain,” he slowed me down.

  “I’ll take your word for it,” I said. “Possible to have some more ice? This is pretty much H2O.”

  “You betcha, lady,” he winked, and rose to take care of it.

  The door buzzed again.

  “Grand Central Station,” I muttered.

  “Thank God,” said Geoff, grinning full-out at me. He handed me the ice. “Not long now, lady.”

  I didn’t get his meaning.

  Mutt lumbered to the door in slow motion as I’d seen the very high do in other circumstances. Geoff pushed him into the loo—we heard a great `ooof’ as he slammed into the sink vanity—made three giant leaps to press the buzzer, and raced to open the door in one fluid motion. The doorman ballet, I thought. Bizarre where the mind goes when threatened.

  My eyes, uh, eye, landed on the clock again, a few minutes to seven. I was definitely late for my date, and my favorite cornflower blue sweater sported drops of blood. Was my eye bleeding? And another thing I realized: my date was also definitely late for me. Where the hell was she? I didn’t have the gumption for dudgeon at that point, high or low.

  They kept coming through the door, stealth silently. Cop after cop after cop after cop entered my house, arrested Eli and El Jefe with barely a fight. Geoff rounded up Mutt and Ellie, and had them taken away, too. I sat stone still at my kitchen table peering around a plastic bag of ice in a dishtowel, wondering at how quickly the Universe can shift.

  Eventually, although I’m sure it couldn’t have been too much later, one of the persons in blue detached themselves from the team and came to stand in the doorway of my kitchen. The moment she doffed her hat she was obviously a she.

  “Dr. Spencer?” she called across the center island. “Ma’am?”

  I focused my good eye on her. “Yes?” I said.

  “Are you alright?”

  Removing the ice, I asked, “Do I look alright, officer?”

  She winced. I guessed not.

  “Detective,” she corrected me.

  “Forgive me,” I answered, “detective ...?”

  “Terry Bradford.”

  My brain clicked and clacked and delivered, “Not Angie’s Terry?”

  She gaped at me, totally surprised. “Um, yeah,” she said. “I called Raven, and told her to wait till she heard from me.”

  “I think, Detective,” I said ruefully, “that date night is out for this evening. Wouldn’t you say?”

  “Probably, ma’am,” she agreed. “May I ask you some questions while we wait for Raven?”

  “You don’t have to wait with me, Detective,” I assured her.

  “Oh yes, I do, ma’am. Raven will put my ass in a sling—for a long time—if I don’t.”
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  I bet she would, I thought.

  “Okay,” I said, “then I guess you do. How’d you like to make us some tea?”

  “Be glad to, ma’am. I’ll put the water on and make my guys leave me a vehicle, then I’ll be back.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure, Dr. Spencer.”

  “Detective,” I said, “um, Terry, I think you can call me Verity.”

  She blushed. So cute.

  “Verity.”

  As she turned her back I began to feel the shock again, and started to shake. She passed Geoff in the doorway to the kitchen. He came and knelt in front of me, this big, burly man who had tried to tell me that he’d make everything okay. He clasped my hand, and literally absorbed some of the shock.

  “You were so brave, lady,” he said gently, pushing my hair back from my face. “So brave.” I started to speak, but he stopped me. “Listen, Dr. Spencer, I’m a cop. I been through this. Listen, and listen good. Get some help. Don’t let your girl leave you alone tonight or any of the nights to come for a while. This might haunt you.” He stood and added, “And we’ll keep hunting the bad guys.”

  “Geoff, is that your real name?”

  “It is,” he smiled down at me, “with a G.”

  “I’ll call your supervisor, and tell him how wonderful you were with me—in your undercover persona.”

  “Her,” he said.

  “Her,” I copied him. “Thanks. Thanks so much.”

  “Geoff, I’ve got her,” said Terry, coming into the kitchen. “I’ll wait till Raven gets here. It may take a while.”

  “Good, ma’am. I’ll go start the paperwork, shall I?” He grimaced.

  “The scourge of police work,” she commiserated.

  “Don’t I know it!” He crossed himself again. “That’s one brave lady,” he saluted me, did a crisp about-face and forward marched himself out of my flat.

  The teakettle whistled a happy tune. It seemed incongruous in the context of my purloined household.

  “The pot’s on the shelf above the sink,” I spoke to Terry’s back.

  “Pot?” she inquired.

  “Tea ... pot?” I nudged her.

  Her face registered what I’d meant and quirked a smile. Terry was a cop through and through—she had flipped immediately to marijuana. None to be had in my house.

  She’d also been expecting two Lipton teabags in two mugs. Not the way I do tea. I coached her through the obviously foreign ritual. It gave us something to focus on other than what had happened to me, and in my sacred space, my home, which is what I needed to feel any sense of restoration of normalcy.

  When all was said and done and steeping—and yes, for inquiring minds, I’d had her make better than sex—which made her blush tower over mine. How nice not to be the best at something I fought so hard to control, mind you, failing every single time.

  Terry said, “Verity, I need to hear from you what happened.”

  “I know,” I said exhaling hard. “I’m working up to it.” I glanced at her and batted my one good eye. “Can we wait for tea, detective?”

  Fortunately for me, she chuckled. “You can’t be that broken if you can bat your eyelashes at me.”

  “A lame attempt,” I hung my head sadly. “Only half my eyelashes could get it up.”

  “No worries,” she patted my shoulder. “You’ll be back to your full complement in a couple days, doc.”

  “I hope so,” I murmured.

  Then the door buzzed and I jumped clear out of my skin.

  “Whoa, Verity.” She pressed her hand to my shoulder to ground me. “It’s probably only Raven.”

  I started to shake like an off-the-chart earthquake. “G-g-go get the door,” I stammered. The front door buzzed again and sounded pissed off.

  “Can you hear her impatience?” Terry asked. “I can.” She shook her head. “Man, my ass is totally grass,” floated toward me as I watched her walk the long hallway.

  When you live in half a house, the rooms come off a long hallway. Mine had been painted taxicab yellow when I moved in. The previous owners were Brazilian, and apparently, the color was meant for foyers and welcoming in Brazil. I’d loved it and thought it welcoming as well, so I’d left the brilliant, warm shade.

  Chapter 25

  Raven vibrated with impatience and, was it ... jealousy?, from all the way down the hall. I was shaking too badly to stand. She glanced at me to reassure herself that I was there, and then she stood nose to hairline with Terry in the front hall. Terry positioned herself facing away from me so I didn’t have a chance to track whatever she said to Raven.

  I closed my one unharmed eye, and breathed to calm myself. No question, I faced a distinct probability that Raven would way over-react and become a one-butch 24/7 protective detail for me, and that wouldn’t work for either of us long-term.

  I registered a shift in the atmosphere with my body before it hit my mind.

  Raven said, “Baby.”

  I opened my eye to her kneeling in front of me, approaching me like a traumatized animal, which, on one level, I suppose I was.

  “Raven,” I reported dutifully, surprised at how calm she was.

  “May I touch you?” she asked.

  I nodded, my throat instantly full of the tears that had been lurking, waiting for a safe space to release. Raven was definitely that, and the tears began to spill silently down my cheeks. Raven reached back into her left pocket—yes, I had frisson of yummy butch—and handed me an ironed cotton handkerchief with her initial embroidered on it. I mopped my one good eye.

  “Raven?” asked Terry hopefully. “You want to pour the tea?”

  I smiled. I could hear the don’t-make-me-do-this-part in Terry’s voice.

  “Tea, baby?” she said.

  “Yes, please, sir,” I said quietly.

  Terry muttered, “Cool.”

  Raven poured the blessed tea. The steam rising from the cup caressed my face and was easeful. I sat still and breathed some more. Raven and Terry consulted one another, about what I wasn’t able to hear, but I did realize as they talked that I’d also wanted to tell my story only once, and that meant I’d delayed to wait for Raven as well as the comfort of tea. Smart me. The minute I had that thought, I felt better.

  “Terry,” I said. “I’m ready to talk.”

  Then I began to shake again, quake may be more accurate. I spilled my tea on the placemat. I couldn’t get it to my mouth.

  “Can we move this conversation?” Raven asked Terry abruptly.

  “Yep, where?”

  “Baby? Verity?” I met her eyes. “Were they in the living room?”

  I shook my head rather than try to speak.

  “I’m going to carry you into the living room, okay, beautiful?” I yessed her. “We can have this conversation in an invasion-free room. Deal?”

  That sounded like a good idea. They hadn’t been in my bedroom either. Or on the porch. So I had three free, if you will, spaces that had no memories of my assailants. Good deal.

  “Organize the tea, Ter,” she commanded. “The tray is on the floor next to the fridge.”

  Raven set me down near to the corner of the L-shaped sofa, draped the pink and red chenille blanket I’d bought in New Mexico over me, and slid herself into the corner, sliding me toward her body by my waist. I was snugly held in her strong arms, and my diaphragm released at last so I took a deep, deep breath for the first time in hours.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Just before nine,” Raven spoke gently. “Why?”

  “Because that’s the first deep breath I’ve been able to take in four hours, and I wondered how long it had been,” I replied. “Terry, thanks for letting me wait till Raven got here.”

  “Sure, as if I had a choice,” she muttered under her breath.

  “No, I meant it,” I said. “I didn’t realize it but I only want to do this once, so much better for me for you both to hear it at the same time.”

  “Cool,” she said, g
lancing at Raven. She gentled her voice, and her intensity, and asked, “Will you tell me what happened, Verity?” Raven tightened her arms.

  “Yes,” I said simply. Then I became aware that my cellphone was ringing insistently somewhere in the house, and it had been for some time. “Can you put your hands on my phone and see who keeps calling before we start?”

  “It’ll be in her studio,” Raven told Terry, “the front room, where she does therapy.”

  Terry trotted off. Raven kissed my hairline on the side without the ice pack. “Baby,” she said again. Her heart was in her voice. “I am so glad you’re alright.”

  “Well,” I said, twisting to see her, “maybe not exactly alright yet, but I will be no doubt.”

  Terry walked in and started to hand me the phone.

  “Check the call log for me please,” I instructed.

  “Wow. One, two, three ... nine calls from a law firm,” she said whistling. “Are you in trouble?”

  “No,” I said, “that’s Ellie’s father. I’d better call him.”

  “Now?” growled Raven.

  “Now,” I said. “He’s panicked and needs to know where his daughter is.” My sense of uber-responsibility to my patients kicked in. Twenty years is long enough to form a habit.

  “Hit call back on one of those messages please,” I told Terry, “and hand me the phone.”

  “Mr. Hanrahan,” I began, and the man came at me roaring through the phone. I jerked it away from my ear. We heard him loud and clear. He screamed, hollered, and yelled what an idiot I was and why hadn’t I done what he’d told me to do, and what was the matter with me, and he was suing my ass to take away my license. I kept trying.

  “Mr. Hanrahan, I had no choice—” I began again.

  He kept yelling. I finally got that he was considering making a run for a judge’s bench in the next election cycle, and that an arrest of his daughter wouldn’t flatter his record, which was why he was so rabid over my choice not to call him. He’d wanted to deal with this privately, although, truth be told, he hadn’t explicitly said that.