The Second Girl(86)

After the officers take my information, I have them notify Davidson to respond. I also give them Miriam’s parents’ info, because she’s in their hands now. They should be the ones to call the parents. Fact is, I’m not feeling up to making the call myself.

I enter and talk to the receptionist at the counter. He advises me that the doctors are with her now and they’ll have information soon.

I go and find a seat near the window, next to a fake plant.

It doesn’t take long for Davidson to show up. He’s with Hawkins and Hernandez. When he’s done talking to one of the officers, they walk over. He shakes my hand and takes a seat beside me.

“How the hell did you find her?”

“Pounding the pavement, knocking on doors; one lead led to another.”

“What’s with the girl she was staying with?” Davidson asks.

“All I know is that’s where Miriam was staying, nothing else.”

“Good job,” Hawkins says.

“Goes without saying, Frankie,” Davidson adds.

I even get a smile from Hernandez.

Hawkins returns to the officers. I’m assuming to get more information from them.

“We need to head back, see how she’s doing, and talk to the doctors,” Davidson says.

“Let me know as soon as you can,” I say.

“Of course,” he says, and they walk back and through the double doors.

Detective Caine walks in about an hour later with Miriam’s mom and dad. Caine sees me and stops, but the mom and the dad are led back to the ICU by one of the other officers.

Caine approaches me.

“Davidson called me to let me know. I picked up the parents.”

“Hopefully she’ll be all right,” I say.

“I’m hopin’ that too. Mind if I sit and wait with you?”

“I’m tired, so don’t expect much.”

“I’d like to say that I read you wrong, and I apologize.”

“Cops should never apologize.”

“It’s okay if it’s to another cop.” He smiles.

That’s a nice compliment, but I don’t tell him. We sit quietly and wait together.

Officials start showing up, one after another. Even the chief and then, a few minutes after him, Wightman. Caine and I are sitting off to the side beside a few other people who are waiting around for their loved ones, so they don’t notice me. I’m thankful for that.

I’m starting to fade fast. Davidson and his two cohorts return. They brief the white shirts. A lot of eyes have probably been on Davidson for this one, including those of the chief himself. I never liked working under those conditions. The politics of the job can wear you down faster than the actual work. I’m grateful to not be a part of that anymore. Caine looks at me and offers his hand. I accept.

“I should probably see what’s going on,” he says, and after a hearty handshake he joins the team.

Miriam’s parents come out of the back. The chiefs, along with Wightman, walk up to greet them. They shake hands like good politicians should, and I take it that means she’ll be fine.

Davidson returns to me and confirms it.

“They’re going to admit her, but she should pull through,” he advises.

“Damn good to hear. Now, is there any way I can sneak outta here without those f*cks seeing me?”

“They’ve already seen you, but they’re busy taking all the credit so I don’t see why not.”

“They got their job to do.”

“We know better, though, and we’re the ones who matter, right?”

“Whatever it takes to keep them off my ass. That’s all I care about.”

“Well, you certainly accomplished that.”

“I meant to ask, do you know about the search warrant they executed this morning?”

“Yeah, we were there.”

“Did someone get shot? I hope not an officer.”

“No, just the one they called Little Monster. He thought he could make a last stand in the backyard.”

“He dead?”

“Howard Hospital. On arrival.”

“Everything balanced itself out, then.”

“I guess you could say that,” Davidson replies.

I manage to sneak out and return to the car.

I tap on the trunk as I walk by, and then enter.

Before I start it up, I turn toward the rear and say, “Don’t worry, Playboy, I didn’t forget about ya.”





Eighty



It’s a cloudless day and getting chillier. It’s a good time of year. The Anacostia is still a filthy river, though.

I power my cell phone off ’cause I know the calls will start flooding in soon, and I don’t want to be disturbed right now. I open the trunk, and I’m temporarily taken aback by the smell. He shit and pissed in his boxer shorts. They used to be white. Now they look like he rolled in mud, and there’s a bit of blood mixed in. Much of it worked its way into the fabric in the trunk of my car. That’s a difficult smell to get rid of, and something I hate cleaning up.

He’s f*cked up, with teary, red, puffy eyes, and the swollen left side of his face has now turned a purplish red. I don’t think he’s got any more struggle left in him, just some moans and groans.