“Buddy,” he said, trying to keep his breaths steady and failing. “I think that knife in your hand was probably the best thing to happen to you today.”
The robber groaned. “Who evendidthat?” he whined. “Just out of fuckingnowhere. Hurt likefuck, and I don’t even remember him ripping itout.”
“I have no idea who,” Brady lied.
His head hurt. Hishearthurt. He didn’t haveonefriend in this miserable hellhole who would stand up for him?
He thought about his fellow officers, running them behind his eyes like a slideshow, and he stopped on Tony Navarro, the sweet little desk sergeant with the wife and three kids. He’d had Brady over to his house a couple of times. He’d been sent on mandatory vacation. Brady had taken him out for a send-off beer the night before he’d had dinner at Ace’s.
Tony might’ve had his back, Brady thought, trying to fight off the despair.
But then, maybe Tony’s vacation had been orchestrated for a reason.
“Who?” Brady asked, finally finding a question, a moment, adirection, now that he knew that hisentiredepartment didn’t want him dead. “Do you remember what this cop looked like?”
“Bald,” Fucker One mumbled. “Bald and fat. Goatee. Black. Gray. Raspy voice. Black and gray?” He made a low moaningsound and then whimpered like a child. “Gonna puke,” he announced weakly, and Brady scooted backward while Nurse Carmichael made himself busy with a puke bag and then some wipes.
Brady wanted to howl. To grab Bobby Persons by his soiled red hoodie andforcehim to tell Brady the rest of it. Bald and fat with a black-and-gray goatee? Great. Describedfive guyson the force.
And if you countedmostlygray with a fringe of hair around a bald head, well, that was Arlen Cuthbert.
Brady’s breaths were coming short and quick now, and his vision was going a bit spotty. He backed up across the corridor and down from the gurney so he could lean against the wall, wondering as he did so, was it safe? Would one of his fellow officers take him out right here? Why not? The captain of the station wouldn’t even launch an investigation. Bobby had used the F-word—that was Arlen’s word. Did they mean it in the classic sense, or did it just mean… weak. Like the puny antelope waiting to be picked off? Had Arlen called his family, checked up, decided Brady’s conscientious streak was bad enough, but his sexuality added in…?
Oh dear God, one word from his fucking useless Uncle Jimmy and Brady would be toast.
He had no idea how close he was to hyperventilating and passing out until the helpful nurse appeared at his elbow with a clean puke bag.
“Here you go,” he murmured, holding it up to Brady’s mouth and making him take it. “That’s it, just breathe in here. It’s all good. Don’t worry. Ace’ll take care of it. You’ll be fine.”
Brady stared at the man in absolute surprise. “I’m sorry.” He breathed when he could. “Did you say Ace?”
The nurse nodded. “Yes. You’re the Brady who ate dinner at Ace’s house last night, right? Had breakfast this morning?” Hispretty face was not so smooth that he didn’t sport laugh lines. “Ernie brought me and Amal some of your strawberry donuts early this morning. Don’t let the others tell you any different. They’re really quite delicious.”
Brady stared at him helplessly, his breathing starting to even out in spite of the shocks coming.
“I’m sorry, you are…?”
“Jai’s Little George,” said the nurse. He looked put out for a moment. “He didn’t talk about me last night?”
“He did,” Brady said, surprised. “Not by name. He… you have to understand, I’m not part of the club.”
George raised his eyebrows. “So are you telling your captain who you might know with a big fucking knife or a size fourteen steel-toed boot?”
Brady’s eyes widened as his suspicion was suddenly crystalized by this very helpful, verykind, man tending to Brady with as much competence and kindness as he’d shown the bank robber on the gurney. “No,” he said. Oh hell no. “No,” he whispered again, thinking of Ace with the knife, or Eric, holding that Beretta so professionally by his side. “No,” he repeated.
George shrugged. “Welcome to the fucking club.”
Brady nodded, and a wave of nausea washed over him.
George patted his back gently. “You hang in there, chief. I’ll go get you some water. You may want to think about who you want to tell about what you just heard, though, and what your next move should be.”
“Run and hide?” Brady asked, his absolute aloneness hitting him then like he’d been dropped into a vast starless sky.
“Oh, honey,” George said, “I think it should be perfectly clear that someone’s got your back.”
Behind his eyes he was out under the desert sky with Eric, staring at the sunset, feeling oddly at peace. And then he was outwith Ace, staring at the vast panoply of diamond stars against the black velvet sky.
See that light? Them’s my people.
