DETECTIVE ABE MARION WALKED INTO THE EMERGENCY room with a cup of coffee in one hand and a notebook in the other. According to the rules of seniority, he wasn’t supposed to draw this case. The karmic rules of the universe said otherwise, though, and Marion asked himself what he’d done within the precinct or maybe in a previous life to land him the assignment.
Powell Medical Center was a city hospital, which meant they got the good stuff—the tired, the hungry, the uninsured. The waiting area reminded Marion of an airport terminal where lost souls contorted themselves over rows of connected seats.
An oversized woman in the corner was hacking and wheezing. Two little kids played with plastic toys by her swollen feet. A rumpled old man in the next row mumbled in Spanish into his cell phone while CNN ran a story about terrorism on the flat screen over his droopy head.
The gatekeeper of this little world sat crookedly in a roll-out office chair behind the reception window. She had a fake diamond stud in her nose, brown lipstick, press-on eyelashes, and straight, tinted hair. Dracula fingernails rained down on her computer keyboard as she looked over at Marion and blinked.
“Hiya, Betty,” Marion said. “I’m here for the hit-and-run.” “Lucky you,” she told him. She was chewing gum in a way that made it snap every time she bit down on it.
“Yeah.” Betty exhaled and went back to torturing her keyboard. “Let’s see... Admitted 1:49 a.m... Mister Kevin Loomis. Good news: He’s conscious.”
Marion shifted his weight and collected his notebook from the narrow lip along the admissions window where he’d set it down. “It’s the little things, Betty. Mind if I go back?” She looked right at him. “Be my guest. bed sixteen.” “Thanks a lot.” “Sure thing.”
Betty gave him a sweet little smile that he either didn’t see or pretended not to notice, and her eyes followed him until he stepped out of sight. “See you soon,” she said.
Marion walked the halls, slurping sour coffee and wondering why they had to keep these places so cold. He wasn’t crazy about the smell, either.
He’d been on the job for eighteen years and had made a career out of ruffling feathers and saying the wrong thing to the wrong person. So he wasn’t surprised to find himself here, doing a job that was beneath a lot of the kids that regularly came to him for advice. But it stung him just the same. After four promotions, two on-the-job injuries, two citations, and one divorce, they give him this?
Marion was old-fashioned (read: old) enough to believe there was honor in police work, all of it. But at his level, an assignment like this was a slap in the face. An intentional one. And he knew whose hand was holding the glove.
Marion exhaled and realized that he’d lost his way. He looked around and saw an orderly pushing a mop across the hall.
Betty gave him a sweet little smile that he either didn’t see or pretended not to notice, and her eyes followed him until he stepped out of sight. “See you soon,” she said.
Marion walked the halls, slurping sour coffee and wondering why they had to keep these places so cold. He wasn’t crazy about the smell, either.
He’d been on the job for eighteen years and had made a career out of ruffling feathers and saying the wrong thing to the wrong person. So he wasn’t surprised to find himself here, doing a job that was beneath a lot of the kids that regularly came to him for advice. But it stung him just the same. After four promotions, two on-the-job injuries, two citations, and one divorce, they give him this?
Marion was old-fashioned (read: old) enough to believe there was honor in police work, all of it. But at his level, an assignment like this was a slap in the face. An intentional one. And he knew whose hand was holding the glove.
Marion exhaled and realized that he’d lost his way. He looked around and saw an orderly pushing a mop across the hall.
“‘Scuse me,” Marion said. “Where’s bed sixteen?” The orderly just kind of shrugged and went back to his mop.
Marion creased his brow. “Hello?”
The orderly mumbled something without looking up, his dreads spinning as he turned away in his saggy uniform. Guy was tall.
“Never mind,” Marion said to him. He’d caught sight of a row of beds down the hall. “I see it.”
Marion walked past a nurses’ station and sidestepped a stretcher hauling a big, smelly guy from the street to another part of the hospital. The guy was writhing on the stretcher with his hands over his crotch. He kept screaming, “My Yoda, mayne! My Yoda! My muddafuggin Yoda!”
Marion creased his brow. “Hello?”
The orderly mumbled something without looking up, his dreads spinning as he turned away in his saggy uniform. Guy was tall.
“Never mind,” Marion said to him. He’d caught sight of a row of beds down the hall. “I see it.”
Marion walked past a nurses’ station and sidestepped a stretcher hauling a big, smelly guy from the street to another part of the hospital. The guy was writhing on the stretcher with his hands over his crotch. He kept screaming, “My Yoda, mayne! My Yoda! My muddafuggin Yoda!”
Life in a hospital.
Marion waited for the show to pass, and then he continued. He was zeroing in on his man in bed sixteen when somebody called out.
“Excuse me. Can I help you?”
The doctor got right up into Marion's grill like a security guard, all five foot nothing of her. She was Asian, probably in her thirties, with her hair pulled back so tight it hurt Marion to look at it. She wore a white turtleneck under her scrubs, and she was hugging herself against the chill. There was some kind of iPad tucked into her left hand.
“Morning, doc,” Marion said. He'd have flashed his credentials, but his hands were full, and besides, she already knew he was a cop. Any city ER doc worth their salt could spot one a mile off. “Detective Marion. Mind if I chat with your patient over there?” He tilted his head toward the warm body lying in bed sixteen.
Marion's smile seemed to have the intended effect of softening her up because she unhugged herself and pursed her lips like she was considering his proposal. “I'm Doctor Yoon,” she said. “He's pretty out of it.”
“I promise to be delicate,” Marion told her, and he started off toward the bed.
She followed after him. “I'd rather you wait until...”
Marion smiled again and waved his coffee at her like he hadn't heard. He had a pile of paperwork to get through this morning, and the sooner he got past this little expedition, the better.
“Or, yeah, you could just go right over,” the doctor said to his back. And then: “Asshole.”
Kevin Loomis lay on his back, with his hands folded over the tight white sheet. He looked like an overripe pear that had been dropped a couple of times and then kicked down the grocery store aisle. The left side of his face was grayish blue and puffy, and a piece of skin was missing along his jaw on the same side. His bottom lip looked like a wounded slug that was trying to crawl away down his cheek. IV tubes were running out from behind his right hand, and they had some kind of contraption over his left elbow. Other than that, Marion thought, the guy looked wonderful.
A quick review of the report this morning had told Marion that Kevin was thirty-eight years old. He was an unemployed artist or something who lived in lower Manhattan. Couple of little run-ins: drunk and disorderly, some kind of altercation at a magazine publisher, but no real record to speak of.
Looking at him now, Marion took in the hollow cheeks and the sagging brow. Rumpled brown hair came up out of Kevin's head like a crop of mushrooms, and he needed a shave. Silly mutton-chop sideburns clung to either side of his peanut head.
Marion squinted at him and tried to size him up.
Marion waited for the show to pass, and then he continued. He was zeroing in on his man in bed sixteen when somebody called out.
“Excuse me. Can I help you?”
The doctor got right up into Marion's grill like a security guard, all five foot nothing of her. She was Asian, probably in her thirties, with her hair pulled back so tight it hurt Marion to look at it. She wore a white turtleneck under her scrubs, and she was hugging herself against the chill. There was some kind of iPad tucked into her left hand.
“Morning, doc,” Marion said. He'd have flashed his credentials, but his hands were full, and besides, she already knew he was a cop. Any city ER doc worth their salt could spot one a mile off. “Detective Marion. Mind if I chat with your patient over there?” He tilted his head toward the warm body lying in bed sixteen.
Marion's smile seemed to have the intended effect of softening her up because she unhugged herself and pursed her lips like she was considering his proposal. “I'm Doctor Yoon,” she said. “He's pretty out of it.”
“I promise to be delicate,” Marion told her, and he started off toward the bed.
She followed after him. “I'd rather you wait until...”
Marion smiled again and waved his coffee at her like he hadn't heard. He had a pile of paperwork to get through this morning, and the sooner he got past this little expedition, the better.
“Or, yeah, you could just go right over,” the doctor said to his back. And then: “Asshole.”
Kevin Loomis lay on his back, with his hands folded over the tight white sheet. He looked like an overripe pear that had been dropped a couple of times and then kicked down the grocery store aisle. The left side of his face was grayish blue and puffy, and a piece of skin was missing along his jaw on the same side. His bottom lip looked like a wounded slug that was trying to crawl away down his cheek. IV tubes were running out from behind his right hand, and they had some kind of contraption over his left elbow. Other than that, Marion thought, the guy looked wonderful.
A quick review of the report this morning had told Marion that Kevin was thirty-eight years old. He was an unemployed artist or something who lived in lower Manhattan. Couple of little run-ins: drunk and disorderly, some kind of altercation at a magazine publisher, but no real record to speak of.
Looking at him now, Marion took in the hollow cheeks and the sagging brow. Rumpled brown hair came up out of Kevin's head like a crop of mushrooms, and he needed a shave. Silly mutton-chop sideburns clung to either side of his peanut head.
Marion squinted at him and tried to size him up.
There were no outward signs of drug use. No bruising around the knuckles (he wasn't a fighter), a fair amount of flab around the midsection. Marion figured him for a mid-level drinker, bit of a slob, the kind of guy who wakes up late, stares at his phone a lot, and lives on takeout. Definitely not married.
Kevin opened his eyes and looked over as Marion walked up to the bed. “I'm Detective Marion. How we doing?”
Kevin coughed a couple of times, and a little ribbon of drool made its way down his chin. He wasn't too sure what was happening, but he was medicated up to his eyeballs and so feeling pretty good about things.
“Yeah,” Marion said, “it's an honor to meet you, too. Mind if I sit?”
Marion shrugged off his overcoat and sat down.
Watching this, Kevin knitted his brow. “Um,” he said.
“Looks like you had quite an evening. Want to tell me about it?”
Kevin's eyebrows came together like a couple of caterpillars. Marion could see wheels turning in his head. Didn't look like they were getting much traction.
“All right,” Marion said. “How about this, forget I'm a cop and pretend I'm your therapist. It's time to open up and be honest. Unburden yourself.”
Again with the caterpillars. This time they bucked up against one another, making a little church steeple in the middle of Kevin's head.
“I'm just kinda... It's like...”
Kevin opened his eyes and looked over as Marion walked up to the bed. “I'm Detective Marion. How we doing?”
Kevin coughed a couple of times, and a little ribbon of drool made its way down his chin. He wasn't too sure what was happening, but he was medicated up to his eyeballs and so feeling pretty good about things.
“Yeah,” Marion said, “it's an honor to meet you, too. Mind if I sit?”
Marion shrugged off his overcoat and sat down.
Watching this, Kevin knitted his brow. “Um,” he said.
“Looks like you had quite an evening. Want to tell me about it?”
Kevin's eyebrows came together like a couple of caterpillars. Marion could see wheels turning in his head. Didn't look like they were getting much traction.
“All right,” Marion said. “How about this, forget I'm a cop and pretend I'm your therapist. It's time to open up and be honest. Unburden yourself.”
Again with the caterpillars. This time they bucked up against one another, making a little church steeple in the middle of Kevin's head.
“I'm just kinda... It's like...”
Marion nodded as his hands automatically opened his notebook and clicked the tip of his pen.
“Yeah?”
A swollen purple tongue emerged and scooped up some of the drool from Kevin's lips. He did a little snort as the wheels in his head missed each other again.
“What were we talking about?”
“They got you on the good stuff, huh?”
Kevin: “Whuh?”
“Yeah?”
A swollen purple tongue emerged and scooped up some of the drool from Kevin's lips. He did a little snort as the wheels in his head missed each other again.
“What were we talking about?”
“They got you on the good stuff, huh?”
Kevin: “Whuh?”
Marion: “You know, I'm also a priest. If you're involved in something, now's a great time to come clean about it.”
Kevin bit his lip and made a face, but he didn't say anything.
Marion flipped back a few pages in his notebook and spoke without looking up.
“Right. So a car runs a red light, swerves up onto the sidewalk, and takes out an innocent guy around 1:00 a.m. Happens all the time, right? Hello, McFly?”
Kevin looked heavenward at the fluorescent lights above him. Then he started squinting at them and moving his good hand back and forth to shade his eyes.
“Sooo cool,” he said.
Marion closed his notebook.
“Yeah. Well, this has been fascinating.”
He stood up, grabbed his coat, and withdrew a business card from his breast pocket. He flung it onto the bed like a baseball card.
“Here's my contact,” he said. “Reach out anytime if your IQ goes up, otherwise best of luck.”
Then he heard a voice from behind him.
“Leaving already?”
Marion looked back at Dr. Yoon and said, “I got other wrongs to right.”
He saw now that she was a mom, protective. Control freak. Not a speck of dust in her office, probably, or her living room. She had an international air about her. She'd traveled, maybe studied abroad. Straight As all through school, physically active, dance, gymnastics, or...
Stop, he told himself.
Marion's brain always did this. It was years of cop training mixed with a natural predisposition for constant analysis. See, Marion's brain was like a guy with a tapeworm. It was always restless and hungry, never getting enough, but once he internalized something, it was in there for good.
“Well, before you go, detective, there was something I wanted to mention—in private,” Dr. Yoon said.
She motioned with her head that he should follow her, and they walked around the corner to a little alcove. It was straight out of a hospital brochure. Papers, supplies, and medical devices, all stacked in precise little rows. Neat as a pin, Marion’s brain told him, and he told it again to shut the hell up.
Kevin bit his lip and made a face, but he didn't say anything.
Marion flipped back a few pages in his notebook and spoke without looking up.
“Right. So a car runs a red light, swerves up onto the sidewalk, and takes out an innocent guy around 1:00 a.m. Happens all the time, right? Hello, McFly?”
Kevin looked heavenward at the fluorescent lights above him. Then he started squinting at them and moving his good hand back and forth to shade his eyes.
“Sooo cool,” he said.
Marion closed his notebook.
“Yeah. Well, this has been fascinating.”
He stood up, grabbed his coat, and withdrew a business card from his breast pocket. He flung it onto the bed like a baseball card.
“Here's my contact,” he said. “Reach out anytime if your IQ goes up, otherwise best of luck.”
Then he heard a voice from behind him.
“Leaving already?”
Marion looked back at Dr. Yoon and said, “I got other wrongs to right.”
He saw now that she was a mom, protective. Control freak. Not a speck of dust in her office, probably, or her living room. She had an international air about her. She'd traveled, maybe studied abroad. Straight As all through school, physically active, dance, gymnastics, or...
Stop, he told himself.
Marion's brain always did this. It was years of cop training mixed with a natural predisposition for constant analysis. See, Marion's brain was like a guy with a tapeworm. It was always restless and hungry, never getting enough, but once he internalized something, it was in there for good.
“Well, before you go, detective, there was something I wanted to mention—in private,” Dr. Yoon said.
She motioned with her head that he should follow her, and they walked around the corner to a little alcove. It was straight out of a hospital brochure. Papers, supplies, and medical devices, all stacked in precise little rows. Neat as a pin, Marion’s brain told him, and he told it again to shut the hell up.
The doctor folded her arms and looked Marion in the eye.
“So, I reviewed the patient's charts when I came on this morning, and I noticed he was listed as a hit-and-run.”
“Uh-huh. And?”
“Well, the thing is, based on his injuries, I don't think he was hit by a car. I think he was thrown out of one.”
“So, I reviewed the patient's charts when I came on this morning, and I noticed he was listed as a hit-and-run.”
“Uh-huh. And?”
“Well, the thing is, based on his injuries, I don't think he was hit by a car. I think he was thrown out of one.”
