Cop Job (18 page)

“If you want to be useful, get that for me,” I said to Jaybo, pointing to the paper bag filled with my fasteners where it lay in the street. “I might never find those things again.”

A Village cop I didn’t know sat down next to me on the bench. She was stocky and serious, her belt bristling with equipment, her face kind and concerned.

“We need to get you to the hospital,” she said.

“No we don’t. I’m okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do. I’ve been beat up by bigger guys than that truck.”

The little crowd around me dissipated with the arrival of the cop, much to my relief. Jaybo and his buddy were still there after retrieving my little paper bag. He looked even jumpier than usual, consumed with worry.

“Jaybo, it’s all right,” I said.

“Oh, fuck,” he said, looking away from me. I followed his eyes to where Jimmy Watruss was striding down the street.

“Jimmy, I’m fine,” I said, drawing his attention away from Jaybo. “I did a stupid thing. Wasn’t Jaybo’s fault.”

The young cop said to Jimmy, “Maybe you could convince Mr. Macho to let me take him to the hospital.” I looked at the name on her name tag.

“I’ll go with you, Roza, if you tell Jimmy it’s no big deal,” I said.

“It’s no big deal,” she said.

Jaybo looked at Jimmy with a look that said, “See?”

“His name is Sam,” Jimmy said to the cop. “Put him in cuffs and take his dumb ass to the hospital.”

None of them knew, though, about my phobia of hospitals. All that soothing pale paint, blinking machines, people in blue outfits carrying syringes. Images of Allison in her bed all hooked up flooded my brain. Almost made me want to run out into the street and find another truck to finish the job.

Instead Officer Roza Dudko gently dragged me up off the bench and toward a waiting patrol car, which took me to Southampton Hospital, only a few blocks away. I was met by the ER king, an oversized Jamaican doctor named Markham Fairchild, who’d seen me there before.

“Not my fault,” I said to him, as he used his pizza-platter-sized hand to check my pulse.

“Never your fault, Mr. Acquillo. What is it this time?”

“Fish van hit him on Main Street,” said Officer Dudko.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Both of you, go look after people who need looking after.”

Markham stuck a tiny flashlight in my eyes and felt around my skull.

“One of the harder heads in Southampton,” he said to Officer Dudko. “I’ve seen the X-rays.”

She noted that, then agreed to leave us and go back to more useful work. Markham poked and prodded a bit more, and after a physician’s assistant put a few stitches in my chin, decided I was a waste of his time. I heartily agreed.

“Of course now I’m at the hospital and my car’s in the Village,” I said.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Acquillo. We have special transport for our repeat customers.”

So a nurse just getting off shift had the dubious privilege of driving me back to my car. She didn’t seem to mind. On the way we traded names of people we knew in town and agreed that the world would be a better place if Markham ruled everything.

“Can you have an ER-Docracy?” she asked.

I
LEARNED
a few things about injured ribs. They get a lot worse a few days after the injury and then stay that way for a very long time. You can avoid the pain by not walking, sitting, standing, lying down, laughing, coughing, sneezing, or breathing. I still managed to resist the painkillers they prescribed, certain the evil things would’ve instantly turned me into a heroin addict.

Part of the recovery plan was to avoid allowing people to hear me cry out in agony, so I stayed away from the public for about a week, though I spoke to Amanda every day on the phone.

“As we thought, she doesn’t remember a thing,” she reported on the occasion of Allison waking up. “We had to explain everything to her. Nathan did the heavy lifting. He’s an interesting young man.”

“How’s Abby taking it?”

“She’s been good. I think Allison was glad to see everybody.”

“But me.”

“She doesn’t want you there, not in the condition she’s in. How did you know that?”

“Because that’s what I would want.”

“Though you are coming soon, I trust,” she said. “If the ribs allow.”

“I’ll make it in tomorrow,” I said. “Better to surprise her.”

“You can drive?”

“The Grand Prix basically drives itself.”

“So no progress on who did it,” she said.

“Sullivan’s on his way back. He’s stopping by to tell me what they have, though I know what he’ll say.”

“They got nothing.”

“Probably less than that.”

S
ULLIVAN DID
stop by about an hour later. He looked as if his time in the city had done him some good. Brighter eyes and quicker movements. More irritation and less resignation, like the old Sullivan.

He fussed over Eddie like he always did, then agreed to carry some beers out to the Adirondack chairs so we wouldn’t die of thirst while we talked. Given my ribs, it took awhile to get out there, so I had time to tell him what happened. He’d had a similar injury, so it pleased him to share the experience.

“It’s a fucker, right?” he said.

“It is.”

“I did mine falling down the basement stairs carrying a stack of pizzas. Wish it was a better story.”

“How did the pizzas come out?” I asked.

“Worse than me, but we ate them anyway.”

When we finally got to the breakwater, all I had to do was drop into the chair while stifling the usual little yelp. I was partly successful.

“You really fucked yourself up, didn’t you,” he said.

“Jaybo Flynn fucked me up. Though he didn’t mean to.”

“I think that kid would fuck up signing his name if it weren’t for Jimmy Watruss.”

Then he told me about Allison’s case, and as expected, they had bubkes, despite a lot of talk with informants and associates of Allison’s and people in the neighborhood.

“Thing is,” he said, after downing half his beer, “this actually tells us something.”

“You’ve eliminated first order variables.”

“I would’ve said exactly that, if I knew what the hell it meant.”

“The solutions to most puzzles are almost always the most obvious,” I said. “So you go there first. When those fail, you know you’re facing the nonobvious, which changes your approach.”

“Where’d you learn that?”

“Fixing oil refineries,” I said.

“They break?”

“Sometimes.”

He concentrated on downing his beer and opening another. The night was warmer than you’d expect, even for that time of the summer. The breeze off the Little Peconic had momentarily flagged, reminding me that nothing works all the time.

“What’s obvious to me is that Allison knew her attacker,” he said. “That he wasn’t from the neighborhood. That it has nothing to do with money, which usually means it’s about sex or information. I’m crossing off sex after talking to the Hepner kid, who’s about as stand up as you can get. Sorry,” he added, remembering he was talking about my daughter.

“No need.”

“So what’s left is information. Somebody tried to waste Allison because she knew something she shouldn’t have. She’s only alive because he didn’t know how hard it is to kill an Acquillo. That’s my two cents, for what it’s worth.”

“It’s worth a lot.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m grateful,” I said.

He shrugged, dismissing the sentiment, though an even less sensitive person than I would have seen it pleased him.

“Okay, good,” he said. “I better get back to my place. See if the help has restocked the wine cellar.”

I let him go without leaving the Adirondacks. Eddie stuck with me, even lying hard up against my legs again, which was a little out of the ordinary. Maybe he was telling me he liked our arrangement as is, and not to screw it up by getting run over by any more trucks.

I told him okay, though I wasn’t sure I could deliver on the promise.

T
HE NEXT
day the pain in my ribs was slightly less startling, so I took a chance on driving me and Eddie in the Grand Prix to the hospital in the city where they had Allison. Riding in the car is one of Eddie’s transcendent delights, proven by frequent trips to and from the rear seat and long periods with his head stuck out the window.

When I first got him, he was startled by a big dog that barked at him from the bed of a black pickup. Since then, he barks at every black pickup, assuming it conveys its own threatening dog. Or maybe he thinks the truck is the dog itself. I’m not sure, but on the way to the city, no black pickup escaped his wrath.

At the hospital, we made it past the battle-ax at the front desk and all the way to the nurses’ station in Allison’s ward before being told dogs weren’t allowed in the hospital. Eddie responded by putting his front paws on the desk so the nurse could reach over and scratch the top of his head. I told her he was a trained therapy dog, which she didn’t believe, but let me through anyway.

I told Eddie to go find Amanda and followed him as he sniffed his way down the hall and into Allison’s room, where Amanda and Nathan were using her sheet-covered legs as a black jack table.

“Hello there, Eddie,” said Amanda. “Want to play?”

“Never trust a mixed breed with a deck of cards,” I told her.

“We have news,” said Amanda.

“They’re busting Allison out of here,” said Nathan.

“Into a nursing home,” said Allison. “Not exactly out out.”

Her voice was hoarse and the words slurred, but you could understand her.

Amanda gathered up their cards and shuffled the deck before handing it back to Nathan.

“Technically she’s being transferred to a convalescent facility where they can maintain care and start rehab,” said Amanda. “It’s a big step,” she added lightly, squeezing Allison’s knee.

“She means they need the bed for the next bleeding bag of bones,” said Allison.

“We’re a little fussy today,” said Nathan.

“That’s my girl,” I said. “A sure sign she’s on the mend.”

“What’s with the chin?” Nathan asked, pointing to the scuff I got from hitting the pavement on Main Street. “What’s the other guy look like?”

“The other guy was a truck. Looks better than me.”

I put my hand over my wounded ribs out of habit. Amanda saw me and asked how I felt. Sore, I told her, but mobile.

“Allison has some very interesting pain medicine,” said Amanda. “I’m sure she’ll share.”

“I might take her up on it. Those things can be expensive.”

“Her stepfather’s paying for everything not covered by insurance, which is quite a bit, I’m appalled to note,” said Nathan.

“He doesn’t have to do that,” I said.

“Are we about to look a gift horse in the mouth?” asked Amanda.

Allison had her eyes closed, but she opened them again to give me a stare.

“We’re not,” she mumbled.

“Okay, but she’s not going into any nursing home,” I said.

“She can’t stay here,” said Amanda.

“No, but you’ve got plenty of room at your house,” I said. “For you and Allison, and Nathan, if he’s serious about looking after her.”

“I’m serious,” he said.

“The nurses and physical therapists can come to us,” I said. “Allison can have the guest suite on the second floor. It’s got its own bath and plenty of room for rehab equipment.”

“Can you just do that?” Nathan asked.

“My father often thinks he can just do things,” said Allison.

“It’s certainly fine with me,” said Amanda to Allison. “I’d love to have you at my house.”

It took a lot more to convince the discharge people at the hospital. At one point, they brought in one of the docs who gravely lectured me on the importance of full-time, institutional care for a case as serious as Allison’s. I listened politely before telling him to collect his kickback from the nursing home for warehousing some other poor schlub—he wasn’t getting my daughter. For some reason, he found this offensive, and stormed out of the office before I could further enlighten him. Though I did get a chance to chat with a hospital administrator who subsequently appeared, another imperious asshole who thought I’d be cowed by threats of legal action. I told him my friend Burton Lewis was richer and more powerful than any of his friends, and anyway, there was nothing legally he could do as long as Allison chose to go with us of her own free will.

After that, the best he could do was tell me to stop bringing my dog to the hospital. Eddie handled the insult as graciously as usual.

When I could use my cell phone out on the sidewalk I called Abby and told her our plans. Except for a half-hearted offer to use their apartment instead, she agreed it was far better for Allison to be surrounded by people who loved her, in a real home and away from the antiseptic, dehumanizing medical world.

I heard Evan yelling in the background that he not only would pay the added freight, he knew how to set up all the necessary in-home care and rehabilitation. Before I got off the phone I told him through Abby to go ahead and make the arrangements. What the hell, he was paying.

There was another reason I wanted Allison on Oak Point, which I hadn’t yet shared with anyone. I had some faith in the security people at Roosevelt Hospital, so far justified. I might not be as lucky at the next place. I needed Allison out on Oak Point so we could keep an eye on her. Whoever beat her up hadn’t meant to stop there. Whatever motivated him still existed. And as long as Allison lived, so did the motivation.

So the odds were better than even that he’d try to finish the job.

Unless I got to him first.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

E
van had been true to his word. Within days we had a hospital bed, medical gear, monitors, and assorted scary-looking rehab equipment, plus a continuous flow of visiting nurses waiting for Allison after they discharged her from the hospital and drove her and Nathan out to Southampton in an ambulance.

I was there to watch over the delivery, but I didn’t need to be. Everything was handled very smoothly and professionally. The only thing I did was carry Allison up to the second floor so they didn’t have to negotiate the wheelchair. It wasn’t a hard task, even with the bum ribs, she’d lost so much weight. Though her grip around my neck was stronger than you’d think possible, and I took advantage of the moment to breathe in the aroma of her hair, something I hadn’t been able to do since she was an early teen.