Breathless, she asks, “It’s a get-well card. We all signed it. Mister, will you give it to her?”
Her face looks desperate, and her words trip over each other as she shoves bags into our car. “It’s horrible what happened, please tell her we’re all pulling for her. Make sure she gets it,” she screams after us.
My ears ring from the teeny-bopper screams as we pull into traffic. “Remind me never to go through the drive-thru with you again. That was weird.”
Maybe not for Justice, who’s used to living in the shade of the beautiful people he rubs elbows with, but it is to me. I’m more of a behind the scenes guy but even he agrees.
“It was. Especially since they didn’t make us pay.”
I look behind, expecting a horde of teens to be chasing us.
“It’s all clear,” I say.
Ten minutes later, Justice signals a left turn.
Perplexed, I ask. “Wait. That’s the ER. Didn’t Uncle Tommy say she was in some psychiatric facility?”
He takes the turn. “Apparently, they’re having a hard time trying to find a facility that’s A. willing to take her and B. has the security to manage her. No takers yet. Promises must be full.”
“Just like my arms. Don’t worry, Justice. I’ve got it,” I say as I juggle the food and make sure my door is locked.
Jogging to catch up I ask, “How do you know all that?”
“A kid I play racquetball with works here as an EMT. Cody’s my hook up. Said they’ve got her in a private room, with one security guard at the door, while they wait for the psych team to come and evaluate her. A thousand dollars-each-gets us in the door. But if any of her team is worth their salt, we might not even make it to her room. One busybody assistant sounds the alarm, and we could end up in county by nightfall. Harassment, invasion of privacy. Who knows.” He says. “But you should know the risk.”
I nod and avoid looking directly into any security cameras we pass.
Justice stops to send a text outside the ER waiting room, and I can’t help it. Same as a car accident, I’ve gotta look.
It’s just as I expected. A percolating pot of misery, with bandaged heads, ice-bags on knees, coughing kids, wheezy old men, and in the midst of all the suffering, a little boy happily wheelies around his very pregnant mother as she breathes through a contraction.
Justice grabs my arm. “Not there. Come on, this way.”
And then he’s walking, making quick lefts and rights as he follows the directions on his phone. I might have the connections in Vegas, but Justice definitely has L.A. covered. Careful not to spill the shakes, I follow through a web of corridors until we arrive at double doors that clearly state. Authorized Personnel Only.
Justice sends another text and waits.
I know this place. It’s the inner workings of the hospital. A laundry basket the size of a Volkswagen-overflowing with suspiciously stained linens-sits next to a service elevator. A row of broken gurneys, marked, do no use, line the wall.
Justice might know famous people, but he doesn’t know these kinds of people. The housekeepers and maintenance guys. Same as at my hotel, or anywhere. It’ll be the service workers that sense something amiss and sound the alarm. Coming down the corridor, I hear the tell-tale rattle of a squeaky wheel. “Hurry up!” I hiss.
It’s then that one of the steel doors is pushed opened from the inside. A bodybuilder with a gentleman’s haircut and bushy beard peeks his head around.
With an eye on our bags, he says. “In n out? Aw, you didn’t have too. Nah just kidding. I’m stuffed, had a burrito off the truck for lunch and my stomachs pissed. Come on.”
My brother offers a hurried introduction as we’re ushered in an alcove. It’s dark and quiet, with closed doors on either side.
“Doctor’s sleep quarters. Keep it down,” he whispers as we pass.
White coats in dry-cleaning bags hang on hooks by each door. Embossed gold plates beside the doors, but I skim them and forget them. It’s the traffic up ahead that worries me. I nudge Justice and he sees it too.
A flurry parade passes, nurses in colorful scrubs running to the next emergency. A school of white coats swims by, jotting notes on clipboards and I wonder how we won’t stick out like two sore thumbs. When Cody reaches the T and realizes we aren’t following, he turns back, face full of false reassurance. It’s probably the same way he looks when he’s reassuring dying patients. “Just walk with a purpose. It’s the wanderers the staff worry about. The guards on a cigarette break, so you’ve got at least fifteen minutes. Maybe thirty, that guy smokes like a chimney. Anyone comes in the room, skedaddle.”
He nods toward a group of nurses charting at the front desk. A few blush, but most ignore us completely.
He stops and motions down a back hall. “There, did what you asked, Justice. Now maybe you’ll let me in on those cushy jobs you keep giving the nurses?”
“I thought I just did.” Justice smiles and greases the kid’s palm.
“The pop princess isn’t on a hold yet. Shit keep that to yourselves,” Cody says with a grimace.
An overhead mic clicks on and a flirty voice fills the halls. “Cody Brown, Room 2. Cody Brown.”
“That’s Nurse Nina. I’ve hit that too many times to count, yet she still thinks it’s the cutest thing to give me all the ‘code browns’. Duty calls. Go.” He shoos us forward before disappearing down an intersecting corridor.
Down the hall on the left sits an empty folding chair, which sits in front of an open door. A Car Trader magazine opened to the monster truck section lays open on the chair, but that’s it.
No one’s around and I look at Justice. He sees the same thing. “Unbelievable. Where’s the bustle? The bevy of people working hard to fix this scandal?” He asks.
Beyond pissed, I say, “I was just thinking the same thing. Everyone on her payroll should be front row center. Protecting her when she’s down, instead they leave her exposed so guys like us can just waltz right in.” Disgusted, I’m breathing like a bull and Justice picks now to try to jam me up.
“That’s lucky for us.”
I stare down at his hand on my chest until he removes it. Maybe it’s the history with my dad that makes my brother repeat Uncle Tommy’s advice. “Word of advice? She’ll fuck anything that moves. Play dead.”
Before his words even register, I look through the open door, and that’s when I see her. Not a newspaper article or a billboard, but the real thing.
Left to fend for herself, bundled into a hospital bed with discarded restraints dangling from the metal frame. The open leather cuffs yawn menacingly, poor baby. Her only defense against the kind of people who would handcuff a poor, defenseless girl? The sheets tucked in tightly around her body. All that’s visible above the sheet is her head and two hands clutching the top of it. She looks so young, now I start to wonder about parents. “How old is she?” I ask.
Justice looks up and tries to figure it out. “According to Google, she’s played a fifteen-year-old on that show, Whimsy High, for I don’t know, eight years. You figure it out.”
I do. Twenty-three years on this Earth and not one person to stand vigil at her sickbed? Those must have been some lonely years.
One look at her face and I believe it. Eyes squeezed shut, there’s such a look of longing on her face. As if she didn’t know what she had when it was eating out of her hand and can’t for the life of her figure out how to coax it back. Poor sad, sweet girl.
Justice blocks my view. Takes one look at my face. Matching my own exasperation, he says, “Bro, did you hear what I said? Let me handle this.”
It’s no use trying to peer around him. He’s always made a better door than a window.
In a voice that leaves zero room for questioning. I say, “Stand down, Justice. I’ve got this.”
But as usual, he feels the need to handle me. “She’s a man-eater, Shame. Let me take it from here.”
And there’s that hand again, on my chest. But this time I grin. “
Man-eater. If she’s a buck twenty, I’d be surprised.”
“At least let me tell her about the contract. With the way you look now, one look at your face and she’d walk off with your dick in her hand.
But I’m not swayed.
“Enabler meet your new partaker,” he says and steps aside.
Hope this one ends better than the last.
Maybe he tries to reason some more, it’s safe to say that my smooth-talking brother did, but maybe not. He knows I’ve always been drawn to...complications. Either way, the only sound I hear is the pounding of my own blood when she’s in my sights.
My uncle was right. Life’s all about timing and mine is perfect. Without even the benefit of looking into her eyes, I know she’s up for a change, an awakening, an eye opening and with an absentee entourage like hers it looks like she needs a better class of friends, too. Who treats people like this? She’s a fucking pop star for Christ sake. Where’s all the flowers and good wishes?
With a cheer I don’t feel, I hold up the bag of burgers and say. “Brought some lunch. You hungry?”
Maybe a bit too friendly, but first impressions and all.
Chapter 10
NovaKain
Every other voice I’ve ignored in the past twenty-four-hours has been professional yet, detached.
“This is for your own good, Nova,” Is all I heard, as people in scrubs poked tubes into every single one of my orifices. Pronged tubes in my nostrils, Oxygen. Sharp needles pushed under my skin, for fluids. The worst? I shudder as I think of the garden hose that was shoved up my hoo-hah for urine.
“Jeez, buy a girl a drink first.” Which sounded tough in my head, but panties around my ankles as gloved fingers probed for the P spot? Scary as fuck.
“This will be cold,” she said, swabbing my delicates.
“You mean colder? Ow!”
“Okay, that’s it. Now you’re peeing. Good job!” The nurse proclaimed, clapping her gloved hands together.
Like I aced a pop quiz or something, but I took the pressure release in my pelvis as a good sign. Guess, I really needed to pee. Little did I know the real test was yet to come.
“It’s charcoal, that’s a good girl. Drink up!” The Pip-Pip Cheerio nurse went on to explain that it would dissolve any remaining pill fragments in my stomach.
“Will it whiten my teeth too?” I asked through a weak, blacked-tooth grin. Already feeling too sober for this shit, what started as cheeky in my head, came out sounding pitiful.
My stomach churned as I gag-swallowed the rest of what felt like a quart of oil. Only when the bottle was empty did I think to ask.
“How will they get out? The pills, I mean?”
“In your poop,” then she winked.
Which only exasperated me further. “Great. Can’t wait to see how that’s supposed to happen with me tied to this bed.”
In a singsong voice the nurse replied. “That’s what bedpans are for.”
But this new voice? Not detached like the others, no it’s very friendly and almost…flirty? A little too familiar, like he’s greeting a long-lost friend. Comforting, like the smooth sounds of elevator music, I’m drawn to it. That voice gets through when no other has. My poised muscles slowly begin to relax, and my jaws unclench.
I look toward the open door. Instead of the fat guard who picks his nose like it’s a tic, my exit is now blocked by two of the hottest mother fuckers I’ve ever seen, carrying takeout. Whether fans or fuckboys, these two are a most welcome diversion.
Please be a get-well strip-o-gram.
I was feeling despondent, where the fuck is everybody? It makes me feel more like myself to ask. “I’m sorry, my memories shot. Have we fucked?”
Stunned, they look at each other and I know they’re related and, that I’ve never met either one of them in my life. Who are they?
Feeling exposed, I pull my feet up under me and casually feel around in the covers. Neither man moves as I search the blankets for a call light. I’m not even afforded the simple luxury of calling for help in this place. Afraid I might hang myself, but not worried that I might oh, I don’t know, actually need assistance?
The fear that’s been clutching at me since I woke up tied down, latches on. “Then who are you? Coming in here…You two better not be press!”
The taller of the two men, dressed in business casual, on a Saturday, steps forward. With a straight face, he says, “I’m Shamus Malone, and no, we haven’t fucked. Not yet.”
Not yet. My head jerks up and the clench of my poor violated hoo-hah lets me know that you can poke a girl when she’s down, but she’s still in the game.
“What’s a hot guy like you doing in a place like this? Lost?” I ask and take a closer look.
I’ll be damned if he doesn’t look like a bodyguard. It’s just something about the way his muscles bulge through his jacket, maybe it’s the way he holds himself, as if he’s at a weigh-in instead of visiting hours.
He looks like the kind of guy that knows how to take care of things.
He walks over to the side of the bed and one’s things for sure. With a guy like that, I’d never need Yelp.
“Brought you a shake,” he says.
“Not Shamrock I hope, Shamus Malone.”
His laugh makes me smile. Hope my teeth aren’t still black.
“Nah, I can’t stand that mint crap. It’s Neapolitan. Didn’t know which flavor you liked, so I got them all,” he says. The smile he gives me is slow and simmering. And like we’ve known each other forever, he sits on the end of my bed and starts pulling out burgers.
Impressed, I take a sip. “Good answer. You get to stay, Shamus Malone. Your name reminds me of green shakes, Lucky Charms, and corned beef. And those green eyes with flecks of Leprechaun gold? Don’t get me started.”
With a cute shrug, he takes a bite out of a burger. Probably because I’m famished, I love the way he eats. Like it’s his last meal. Licking the special sauce from his lips, his fingertips. Am I still high right now?
The other one, hovers by the door in fuck me shades and tight jeans. But he’s not eating, just watching. Looking a little too suspicious for my taste.
“And what about you, sunglasses? You a cop? Cause you look like one. Am I under arrest officers?” I ask sweetly.
Shamus snorts. “He’s no cop. It’s the pants, I keep telling him. That’s my brother Justice.”
“They are a little tight, aren’t they?” I say before relishing the grilled onions, cheese, oh, it’s so good.
Harried, Justice says, “I can hear you two. Shamus, do you want to talk to her about something, cause the clock is ticking.” And he taps a very expensive watch.
Shamus, who’s watching me eat with interest, finishes his burger in two bites before looking at me with the most earnest eyes. Like he really believes in something.
Not me, I hope.
Not ready for whatever news they’re bringing, I beat him to the punch. “Want to hear a story?”
“I don’t know, what’s it about?” Justice asks.
“Sex, drugs, and rock n roll, interested? This is a cute little number I’ve titled, Them’s the Breaks.” With a wink, I say, “Here’s something you didn’t read about me in the papers.”
Without waiting for an answer, I pull the rich ivory envelope from beneath my pillow. The paper’s embossed with a shiny gold seal and feels plush. “This was hand-delivered earlier.” Before I begin, I clear my throat.
“Dear Miss Kain,
It is with our sincerest regret that we must inform you that your name has been removed from this year’s list of nominees. As you know, the Grammy’s are held in the highest esteem, with a stellar reputation and the board is not in the habit of recognizing singers who engage in illegal activities. We wish you well in all your endeavors and invite you to apply again for next year’s nominations once you’ve resolved your issues.
Sincerely Yours,
The Grammy Fucks.
I added that part,” I say.
Feeling deflated, I take a long sip from my shake.
“Wow, that’s sucks. Maybe it was the overdose?” Justice asks.
Shamus turns on him with a death stare.
“It’s okay, Shamus. I know I overdosed,” I say.
“Can they do that?” Shamus asks me.
There’s no pity in his voice, only outrage. Damn right, I think, let’s fight the system.
Then I remember, I don’t have a leg to stand on.
I nod and explain. “It’s like when you sprain a bone. Everyone says you should have broken it. Something about a clean break healing faster, I don’t know. The point is I overdosed but didn’t have the decency to die. Maybe it would’ve been better if I had,” my voice trails off.
“Don’t ever say that,” Shamus says. The sadness in his eyes is way out of character for a guy I just met, guess the old saying is true. Misery loves company.
My smile reflects the humiliation I’d felt. “No flowers, not even a card. Just this piece of shit judgment. Anyway, I’m sure they had a good laugh over it.”
The rooms too quiet. I can hear myself swallow. Both men watch as I pick at the burger, but it’s Shamus, my new friend that tries to cheer me up.
“I’m just gonna dive right in, Nova. Can I call you that?” He asks.
Giggling, I say, “Of course. We’re friends, right?”
“I hope so. I’ve got a casino with an empty stage and need a singer to fill it. I’d love for it to be you.”
Justice smacks a hand on his forehead. “I thought I was discussing the contract.”
The silly grin I’d been giving him turns into a frown. Dammit, I thought they just wanted to hang. Regretfully, I stuff the half-eaten burger back in the bag and ball up the top.
I look up at him, smiling down and this time, it’s me who’s all business. “You might not be the cops, but your circling just the same. You’ve got exactly five seconds before this whole hospital knows that NovaKain needs assistance,” I say.
Rock Bottom (The Handler Series Book 1) Page 8