He used his free right arm to roll out from under Walker’s bleeding body. He groaned as the pressure on his left arm was released and muscle and bone screamed relief as he grabbed for his weapon.
He wrapped scraped and bleeding fingers around the butt of the pistol, had it half way out of the holster, when out of the corner of his eyes he saw the blue barrel of a forty-five automatic come slicing through the bright sky and then everything went dark.
“ I know you can hear me, Washington, so stop playing like you’re asleep. I’m not going anywhere. I have as long as it takes.”
“ Head hurts.” Washington forced his eyes open, only to squint against the light. He raised a bandaged right hand to a bandaged forehead.
“ Nasty gash where you were clobbered, the hand’s only skinned.”
“ Where am I?” he whispered through a sore throat.
“ Hope Hospital, Costa Mesa, and lucky to be alive.”
“ Need water,” he rasped.
“ Are you okay?”
“ Need water.”
“ Can you talk?”
“ Not without water.”
“ What did you think you were doing?”
“ Come on Captain,” Washington said, “no water, no talk.”
“ Sometimes I wish you still worked for me and sometimes I’m glad you don’t.” Captain John Hart picked up a plastic glass, filled it from a plastic pitcher. “Now is one of the times that I’m glad you don’t.” He reached behind Washington’s head with his left hand, helped him up, offering him the water with his right.
Washington drank greedily.
“ Take it easy.”
“ Why?”
“ I don’t know, it’s what they say in the movies.”
He finished the water and Hart eased him back onto the pillow.
“ You know, Hugh, when I assigned you to a case, I always forgot about it.” John Hart brushed baby-fine hair out of his eyes. “You’re like a bulldog, once you get your teeth into something, you worry it until it gives up what you want.”
Washington grunted and stared into the man’s cool blue eyes. John Hart had always been an enigma to Washington. With his long hair, blue eyes and baby face, he looked more like a twenty-five year old college student than the forty-five year old captain of detectives that he was. He jogged five miles daily, but he smoked. He scorned religion, but believed in God. He loathed politicians, but loved politics. He wore his views, about everything from government to sport, on his sleeve, but nobody could get into his head.
“ Sometimes I like you, John and sometimes I don’t,” Washington said, mimicking his former boss. “I think this is going to be one of the times I don’t. Why don’t you just get it over with?”
“ I should lay into you, scream my head off. I should sink you so deep in jail that you’d never get out. Hell, I should shoot you myself. But I’m too sophisticated to scream. You haven’t broken any laws. And I got too much respect for what you once were to shoot you.”
Hugh Washington closed his eyes.
“ Are you listening to me?”
“ I’m listening.” He wanted to shut out the captain’s voice, but he couldn’t. He knew what was coming.
“ You got a security guard killed and your partner badly shot up.”
“ How is he?”
“ He’ll live, no thanks to you. What in the world did you think you were doing?”
Washington didn’t answer.
“ Good, don’t say anything. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to know. You went to Monday’s house without a warrant or backup and Monday kills an innocent man and wounds your partner, not to mention putting you out of commission. Why am I not surprised?”
“ It wasn’t Monday,” Washington said.
“ Oh, who was it?”
“ I didn’t see.”
“ Then how do you know it wasn’t him?”
“ He’s in jail.”
“ No, he’s not. It may surprise you to know that he broke out early this morning. He killed two attorneys and a good cop in the process.”
“ Ah shit.”
“ You can say that again. If you had followed procedure and told us about the condo, we would have had him this morning, that poor security guard would still be alive and your partner wouldn’t be down the hall sucking oxygen.”
“ Sorry.”
“ Tell it to Walker, I don’t want to hear it. All I want from you is what you know.”
“ I don’t know anything.”
“ Yeah, then how come you knew about the Huntington Beach condo?”
“ I looked it up on the internet,” he lied.
“ How did you get the key?”
“ I didn’t, the guard had it,” he lied again.
“ I can check.”
“ Then do it.”
“ All right, all right, no need to get hot under the collar.”
“ Whatever you say, John.”
“ After all, I just came by to see how you were doing. Unofficial.”
“ And?”
“ You were the best once. You’ve been digging, don’t deny it. I know you.”
Washington didn’t say anything.
“ As long as I’m here, I’d like your take on this thing. Why do you think he did it and where do you think he might go?”
“ I don’t have the foggiest. And I don’t believe Monday killed anyone.”
“ You’re wrong,” the captain said. The room was quiet for a few seconds as the two men stared at each other, then the captain added, “I came here offering an olive branch and you’re holding back. I want some answers and if you ever want to get back into a uniform, much less back in Homicide, you’ll tell me what I want to know.”
“ I don’t know anything, John. Really I don’t.”
“ That’s your final word?”
“ It’s God’s own truth,” Hugh Washington said.
“ Well, I have a final word for you. As soon as you check out of here, go straight to your captain. I have a feeling that he’ll want your badge and gun. You’re through, Washington.”
“ So you were lying about me getting back in uniform or maybe back in Homicide. You only said it to get something out of me? I was finished with the department no matter if I knew anything or not, wasn’t I?”
“ Fuck you,” his former friend said, showing his back and walking out the door.
So, Washington thought, it’s finally happened. He was going to lose his job, no longer be a cop. Where to go from here? What next? His law degree might be a help, a shame he never took the bar. There must be something out there for him. Security consultant maybe-not bad, or security guard-pretty bad. But before he did anything, he resolved, he would get to the bottom of the Jim Monday business. He would show them that Hugh Washington still had what it takes. Then after he presented them with the killer and they were begging him to come back on the force, he’d tell them to shove it.
He smiled at the thought, knowing he wouldn’t ever tell them that. If they wanted him back, he’d go. Being a cop is all he ever was, all he ever wanted to be. And there was only one way for him to get back. Find Jim Monday.
He looked around the room. It was an ordinary hospital room, two beds, a nightstand next to each one, the second bed was vacant. There was a television mounted on the wall, two utilitarian chairs for visitors, two dinner trays on wheels, one bathroom and one closet. He lowered the safety bar and climbed out of bed. His head throbbed. He steadied himself as he shuffled his aching body toward the closet, where he found his clothes. His shirt, slacks and jacket were neatly hanging. His underwear and socks, neatly folded on the overhead shelf. His shoes, neatly placed on the floor. His tie seemed to have gone missing.
He stepped back from the closet, did a couple of knee bends and groaned. Concentrating, he straightened his knees and tried to touch the floor. He groaned again, louder, but he wanted to see how damaged he was. He discovered sore muscles, but other than his banged up head and skinned hand, he appeared to be okay.
He went into the bathroom, splashed water on his face and studied the bandage on his forehead in the mirror. For the next few days he would stand out in a crowd. Frowning, he took off his hospital gown and studied his body, finding a large blue bruise by the lower left part of his rib cage, where Walker’s gun had dug into his side. He touched it and winced. It was painful, but it wouldn’t slow him down or restrict him in anyway.