Chapter 11

Tony

Sitting at the bar in the Ten-Thirteen, a bottle of my favorite beer in front of me, Skids polishing a glass in across from me, and flanked by Yale and Backdraft. It wasn’t a bad way to end the evening. It was a quiet Tuesday, the local news on the screen above the bar.

“Hey, turn that up?”

Skids turned around and looked, reaching up to hit the volume on the side of the TV we were all watching.

“The hashtag is trending, ‘where’s Tina?’ The private defense attorney disappeared from Trinity General Hospital in the dead of night…” Backdraft scoffed and I was with him on that one, “…and no one has seen her since!”

“Did any of these assholes stop to consider that maybe she doesn’t wanna be found?” Skids asked and set down the glass he’d been working behind the bar, picking up another one.

“I don’t know, man. You’d think they’d just let it die already,” I answered. I looked away from the main station in town and the shitty things people had to say in their nightly edition of ‘Word on the Street’ but my attention was mercilessly dragged back by Yale elbowing me in the ribs.

I looked up and splashed all over the screen were screen captures off of Facebook, some dude commenting ‘This that lawyer ain’t it?’ with a picture of Chrissy and I sitting in the little garden in living color on the screen.

“Shit.”

“Cover’s blown, man. Go get her,” Backdraft said and Yale was already on the phone.

The screen panned out and showed the fucking reporter standing in front of the care facility that Chrissy was in.

“We’re here now, to finally get Ms. Franco’s side of the story.”

“Fuuuuuck!”

I booked it, pulling my own phone out of the inside pocket of my jacket, my Captain’s number on speed dial. He picked up on the fourth ring.

“Yeah?”

“You watching channel nine?” I asked.

“Yep.”

“I’m on my way in.”

“Got any ideas where to put her that isn’t on the city’s dime?” he asked.

“Still working on that.”

“Well take her home for now. Hopefully it’ll be the last place anybody thinks to look. I can authorize the overtime for one of you to stay with her tonight. It’ll give us a minute to figure out what else to do, see if she has someplace else to go.”

“Copy that, Captain.”

I hung up and sat astride the front of my bike. I put my phone away and cursed. I had to get a car out of the motor pool. Chrissy couldn’t ride. I switched vehicles in the garage under my precinct and went for one of the unmarked cars with the darkest tint. The whole time going from the Ten-Thirteen to heading to the place she was at, it felt like the last sands were trickling out of some invisible hourglass. Like I was running out of time, the only thing was I didn’t know what I was racing against when it came to the clock. I knew she was cool for a minute; that the reporters wouldn’t be allowed inside, but still, by the time I got to the facility she was in, it was a total shit show. Uniforms were clashing with media at reception and Mary, the receptionist, was all but standing on her desk to get shit under control.

She made eye contact with me and I slipped past the crowd and headed for Chrissy’s room, texting her and the guys. We had to be slick. There was too much of a crowd, too many witnesses with the media all wanting to get their soundbite that we had one thing going for us. Whoever was trying to finish what they’d started when it came to taking her out would have a lot of eyes on them.

Of course, this was presupposing they cared about getting caught or not. You never could tell with these whack-jobs. This could also provide a perfect opportunity for this guy to finish the job. Too many variables, too much shit in the air, and I wasn’t the only one who’d broken off and slipped down the hall, either. I saw an orderly coming down the hall in my direction and he called out, “Hey! Hey you! What’re you doing? You can’t be down here!”

I flashed my badge, clipped to my belt at him and he gave me a chin lift and went right past me, stopping the reporter that’d trailed me down this way. I turned down Chrissy’s hall and slipped into her room.

She jumped, startled, and cried, “Oh, god! You scared me.”

“Sorry, you have your shit together?” She nodded and pointed to the twin sized hospital bed they had her in and I shook my head, grabbing the bags off of it, the tote I’d brought her and another fancier looking one, likely from Pasquale.

“Looks like you’re going to be in your own bed tonight,” I told her.

“Really?”

“Yeah, come on. You got anything you can cover up with? Like a jacket or coat?”

“Please don’t tell me we have to run the gauntlet of reporters out there…”

My phone rang and I picked it up with an irritated, “Yeah?”

“Cavalry is on its way, Youngblood. Just hang tight.”

“Jaime, what’ve you got, partner?”

“Head for the back entrance, the alley off 51st. Yale’s on his way. I got uniforms with me to see about clearing out the problem children out front.”

“K. I took a cruiser from the motor pool, have a uni come around back and get the keys.”

“Got it, what a clusterfuck.”

“Who you tellin’?”

Chrissy stood to the side, transferring her weight from one foot to the other looking downright shattered and like she was going to implode any second from the stress. I went to her and gently grasped her chin, tipping her face to look me in the eye. She looked, breath stilling completely. I could feel her body trembling finely, we were that much into each other’s personal space, despite the only contact being my fingers gently gripping her chin.

“You’re going to be fine. I’ve got you.” I told her and let that sink in. Her lovely dark eyes widened and I let her go, she didn’t move for a long series of heartbeats, her eyes locked with mine. I watched her regain her composure, her slightly parted lips pursing as she pulled it together.

I nodded once and she matched it with one of her own, and I shouldered her bags for her.

“What’s the plan?” she asked.

“Back entrance,” I held out my hand and she grasped it with her good one. “Stay behind me, keep an eye out behind us as best you can and let me know if we’ve got anyone coming up on us on our six o’clock. Can you do that?”

“I can do that,” she said solemnly.

“I’ll try not to go too fast.”

“I’ll tell you if I can’t keep up.”

“Atta girl.”

I looked out into the hall ahead of us and found it all clear. I slipped out and went for the charting station. The same orderly who’d taken care of the reporter that’d tailed me looked up from behind the desk’s wrap and asked, “What’s up?”

“Back entrance, alley off 51st, where is it?”

“This way,” he came around to lead us and I pulled Chrissy in front of me. She was limping, but making it work, moving along at a good clip. The dude stopped at a fire exit door, one of those ‘open it and everyone’s gonna know about it’ types. He pulled a ring of keys off his belt and went through them to disable the alarm.

“Glad you’ve got a key,” I said and he shook his head.

“Me too, I’m sorry this is happening to you Ms. Fenwick – er, Franco.”

“Thanks, T.J. I appreciate it.”

He twisted the key in the alarm at the top of the door and depressed the crash bar, I put Chrissy behind me and peeked out.

“All clear.”

T.J. and I helped her take the step down and she tucked herself into my side, an SUV turned, pulling down the alley, Yale behind the wheel. I heard a shout at the mouth of the alley, off to one side and I ripped open the door to the back seat. Chrissy needed help, and cried out in pain when it came to getting her one foot high enough to step on the runner board of the cage. Yale reached behind the passenger seat and she took his hand with her good one and with a yelp of pain, hauled herself up into the back.

Shit, it had taxed her royally, she sat down and I shoved her bags onto the floorboard at her feet and swung the door shut. Reporters with cameras, boom mics, and lights were running up the alley and I hauled myself up to ride shotgun and slammed the door. Yale hit the locks and it was mics and hands beating on the side of the car with reporters screaming over one another demanding a statement from poor Chrissy.

“Drive,” I said over the chorus of ‘Ms. Franco! Ms. Franco!’ and Yale put the beastly SUV into motion down the alley.

“You okay?” I demanded, twisting in my seat and Chrissy looked up at me, tears of pain streaming down her face, dripping onto her light gray sweater.

Fuck.

“I’m okay,” she said brokenly and wiped at her face. She twisted carefully to look at the reporters back down at the end of the alley staring after the vehicle and brokenly asked, “Why is this happening to me?”

Yale and I exchanged a hard look. Neither one of us had an answer to that except the world was a shitty place full of some really shitty fucking people.