The doctor didn’t come in until late afternoon, meaning that I’d have at least one more night there. He gave me a thorough exam, took off my bandages and checked my bullet wounds, both of which seemed to be healing well, and said that I could leave the hospital the next day.
Kona showed up a couple of hours later and we made arrangements for her to take me home around midday. She didn’t stay long-she had a new homicide to deal with and was sure she’d be at 620 for most of the night.
I had a quiet evening. With the phasings over and the pain in my ribs a little more manageable, I slept pretty well.
The paperwork and billing took most of the next morning, and by the time Kona came to get me, I was ready to be done with hospitals for good. She drove me home, where the Z-ster was waiting in the driveway-Margarite had driven her home for me. The place still looked like hell-no surprise-and I wondered how I was going to pay for the repairs as well as my share of the hospital bill. I put those questions out of my head, since I knew that I wouldn’t be working for a few weeks. No one was going to hire a PI who had only one good arm and leg.
Kona helped me into the house and got me settled in the living room. She’d brought me some food, including some leftovers from a meal Margarite had made, and she stocked my refrigerator while I took in the cracked walls and ceiling, the broken windows, the mess on my furniture and floors.
“You’re awfully quiet,” she said, emerging from the kitchen after a few minutes.
“I’m wondering how I’m going to get this place fixed up.”
“With all that reward money it shouldn’t be too hard.”
I stared at her. “What?”
“Twenty-five thousand dollars, my friend. From the Deegans, remember?”
I’d forgotten all about it. “But you-”
Kona shook her head. “You know I can’t take any of that money. Department regulations. No rewards accepted. That money is all yours. And believe me, Hibbard’s good and pissed.”
I gave a little laugh. The reward money. Funny how a little thing like that could improve a person’s mood.
CHAPTER 25
A couple of days later I drove to Maryvale. I wasn’t supposed to get behind the wheel for a few weeks, but I was going crazy alone in my house. Shifting was a challenge with only one good arm and one good leg, but I managed it. I still didn’t like going to that part of the city, but I wanted to see how Orestes was doing.
When I arrived, Q was sitting outside in his rocking chair, which, as far as I could tell, was one of the few pieces of furniture to survive Red’s attack. He had casts on his leg and arm, and bandages on his head. But he smiled when he saw me get out of the Z-ster, and he raised his good hand in greeting.
“Justis Fearsson, where have you been? With your arm in that wrap you look like Q’s twin.”
I laughed, hobbling toward him. “How you doing, Q?”
“Q’s doin’ all right.” He gestured at one of the folding chairs. “Sit down, sit down.”
I unfolded the chair next to his and sat. I could hear noises from inside the shop and I raised an eyebrow.
“That’s Q’s boy in there,” he said. “He’s helpin’ Q with repairs.”
“I didn’t know you had a son.”
“Yup,” Q said, grinning and sounding proud. “Q got a little girl, too.” The grin tightened. “’Course she’s with her mama, and doesn’t come around as much as Q’d like.”
A moment later a sweet-faced kid with short black hair came out of the store, struggling with a trash bag that was filled almost to bursting. He couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen years old, and he didn’t look much like Orestes. But when Q called to him, he rolled his eyes, the way any kid that age would when his father asked him to do something.
“Come here, boy,” Q said. “Justis Fearsson, this is Quincy. One day Quincy will be Brother Q, just like his papa.”
Another roll of the eyes and the kid was gone.
“Well, I just stopped by to make sure you were doing all right, Q. I should probably be going.” I started to stand, but he put his hand on mine.
“Wait a minute, Jay.” Q’s voice had dropped, as had his gaze; there was something on his mind. “You know, when a man is hurt, and fearin’ for his life, sometimes he’ll say crazy stuff. You know what Q’s sayin’?”
I wanted to laugh out loud-I knew exactly what he meant-but I managed to keep a straight face. “You mean the other night? You seemed pretty lucid to me.”
“No, Q was. . he was sufferin’. Q had no idea what he was sayin’.”
“So then you don’t even remember.”
“Well. . no, Q remembers some of it.”
At that point I started laughing. I couldn’t help myself. “Don’t worry, Q. If I need information, I’ll be coming to you. And I’ll bring cash.”
He beamed. “You’re a good man, Justis Fearsson. Q’s always said that about you.”
“Thanks.” I limped to the car. “Take care.”
After leaving Maryvale, I stopped by the store and with some help from a clerk I managed to buy a few things for my dad. Then I got on Grand Avenue and drove out to his place. For the first time in years, I’d missed my usual Tuesday visit, and after the week I’d been through, I felt a strong need to see him.
He was in his chair when I drove up to the trailer. He glanced over at me, but he didn’t wave and he didn’t get up. It was hot and windy. The tarp over his chair snapped like a flag and my father sat there squinting against the glare and the dust.
“How are you feeling today, Pop?” I said, stooping to kiss his forehead.
“Not so good,” he said. “One of those days, you know? Things seem. .” He shrugged. “I don’t know. .”
“Muddled?”
“Yeah.”
I sat beside him and stared out over the desert.
“It just Tuesday?” he asked.
“No, Thursday. Sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”
He noticed the bandaging on my arm and leg.
“What happened to you?”
“Got shot.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “No joking?”
“No joking.”
“What happened to the other guy?”
“He’s dead.”
My dad nodded and faced forward again.
“Where’s that girl you brought out the other day? What was her name again?”
“Billie.”
“That’s right. Billie. Where’s she?”
“We’re not together anymore.”
He twisted his mouth for a moment. “Phasings?”
He said he was muddled, but he seemed pretty sharp to me.
“How’d you know that?”
“Just a guess.”
“How did you do it, Dad? How’d you make things last with Mom for so long?”
“I didn’t,” he said. “She did. She held on, even when I was too screwed up to do much of anything. I still don’t know why.”
“She loved you,” I said.
“Right. And I’m telling you I still don’t know why.”
We sat there for a long time, saying nothing, watching the day drift by with the tumbleweed and the dust devils.
“I tried one of your spells the other day,” I said, breaking a long silence.
“My spells?”
“Namid said it was yours. Dual transporting-moving myself and putting my weapon in my hand at the same time.”
He nodded. “I think I remember that one. Can’t do it anymore, but I remember.”
“You still conjure?”
“A bit,” he said, glancing at me. “Now and then. Just for the sake of doing it.”
I don’t know why, but it was strange for me to think of my father doing magic. I know that he used to, but I figured he gave it up when he left the force, though, of course, there was no reason he should. I thought about what Namid had said, about how the two of us might have worked together if things had been different.
“So, did it work?” he asked.
“What?”
“The spell. Did it work?”
I shook my head. “No. I moved, but I left my weapon where I’d been.”
“Focus on the weapon first.”
“What do you mean?”