“But we-”
“Yes,” he cut her off, his patience snapping. “Yeah, we did. Which is just one of the reasons I didn’t want to do this in the first place, remember? You wanted your big adventure? Well, now you’ve got it.”
“That’s not fair.”
“What’s fair got to do with it? It happened, damn it. Do you get me? It happened. It’s real. Do you understand?”
Jenn’s eyes were wide. She nodded yes in a way that meant no.
He sighed, squeezed her hands. “Look, it’s nobody’s fault. But what matters is that there is nothing to point to us. Nothing at all.”
“Sure there is,” Ian said. “The money. The cars. The guns.”
It was a fair point, and it froze him cold. Ian was right. He’d been so focused on thinking about what had already happened that he hadn’t put any thought into what happened next. Still, he was the one holding it together, while the two of them seemed about to come apart, Jenn retreating into herself, Ian’s swaggering a thin veneer over panic. If someone had to be strong, to make the hard decisions, it looked like it was going to be him.
He was surprised at how good that idea felt.
“You’re right. We’ll need to take care of all of that. But first things first. We need to talk to Alex, see what happened on his end. With the shooting, the police will be involved. We hadn’t counted on that. We need to know what they think.”
“I’ll call him,” Jenn said, rising.
“Wait. He’s probably on the way to the hospital.”
“The hospital? How hard did you hit him?” She glared at Ian, who sighed and dropped onto the couch.
“Harder than I should have, OK? I was nervous.”
She shook her head. Straightened her back and ran her hands through her hair. “Which hospital would they take him to?”
Mitch realized she was asking him, him directly. “I don’t know,” he said. “And we can’t start calling around, or dial his cell phone a hundred times. We can’t do anything that would raise suspicion.” His mind still churning steady and strong, focusing on the task at hand. Maybe if you do that hard enough, you won’t have to remember what you-stop.
He took a deep breath. “The idea from the beginning was that there was no reason why anyone would look at us. Far as we know, that hasn’t changed. We need to talk to Alex and find out what happened on his end. He won’t be in the hospital long. Overnight, probably.”
“So what do we do?”
“Leave one message on his cell, something perfectly normal. Tell him that we’re getting together tomorrow morning. Here.”
“And until then?”
“Wait.”
CHAPTER 14
THE CT SCAN hadn’t been a lot of fun. It wasn’t claustrophobia so much as the noise-loud, rhythmic clunking and banging while his head throbbed like an apocalyptic hangover. But worse was just lying there, not knowing what had happened.
Maybe the gun went off accidentally? But there had been two shots.
Were one or two of his best friends dead in an alley right now?
“Mr. Kern.”
“Yeah.” He opened his eyes. An Indian guy in a white coat stood in front of him. Weird. The guy looked younger than him. Alex pushed away his thoughts, struggled to focus. “Doc.”
“How are you feeling?”
“My head hurts.”
“Any nausea?”
“No.”
“Numbness?”
“I wish.”
“Pain in your teeth? Double vision?”
“Huh-uh.”
The man nodded, made a note on a clipboard. “Good. Well, the results are fine. No evidence of fracture or permanent damage. The blow hit just above the zygomatic arch, which protects some important nerves. Sort of like hitting your funny bone, how it shoots through your whole arm?” He took out a pad and began to write. “I’m going to give you some Tylenol-3 for the pain. Don’t take any more than you really need.”
“What about the cut?”
“We stitched that when you arrived. You might have a little scar, nothing too dramatic.”
“You did?” He blinked. “I don’t remember.”
“You have a mild concussion. That can affect your memory.”
“Will it-”
“Be permanent? You shouldn’t have trouble remembering things that happen from now on. If you do, come back immediately. Same with vision problems or severe pain.”
“Come back? You’re saying I should go?”
“You have insurance?”
“I have child support instead.”
The man laughed. “Look, if you want, you can stay. But my advice? You’ll rest better at home, and it’s a lot cheaper.”
“Rest? Am I allowed to sleep? I thought with a concussion…”
“Depends on the level. You’ll be fine. In a couple of days or a week, follow up with your family practitioner.” The man handed him a slip of paper. “Your prescription.”
After the doctor left, a nurse came in, helped him stand up, gave him his clothes, wallet, and cell phone. After he changed in the bathroom, she had him sit back down in a wheelchair. “I can walk,” he said.
“Policy,” she said. “You have someone here?”
“Someone?”
“To take you home. You shouldn’t drive, sugar.”
“I can call a cab, I guess.”
“I got a better idea.” The voice came from behind. Very gently, Alex turned his head to look.
The man in the chair wore a suit and tie. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with short hair trimmed to razor edge. Something about him made Alex immediately nervous. “My name is Peter Bradley. I’m a detective with the Chicago Police Department.” His hand held out.
“A detective?” Alex shook the guy’s hand on reflex while his brain conjured images of the tip of the scissors an inch from his eye. For a moment, he thought about calling for the doctor, saying he sure felt some nausea now.
“Do you remember what happened?”
“Umm.” His mouth was dry, his thoughts sticky. We robbed Johnny Love. Ian hit me too hard. Someone got shot, and I don’t know who. “There were men with guns.”
“That’s right. I’d like to ask you a couple of questions. I can give you a ride at the same time.”
“Do we have to do this now?”
“Not if you’re not up to it. But the sooner we talk, the more likely we are to catch these guys,” the detective said. He gave an apologetic shrug. “Since you need a lift anyway…”
You have nothing to hide. “OK, yeah, I guess. Sure.”
“Good.” Bradley stepped behind the chair, took the handles. “Don’t you hate this crap?”
“What?”
“This. Everybody so worried you’re going to sue. Cut your finger, leave in a wheelchair.” The automatic doors whooshed open. The night was sticky after the hospital’s air-conditioning. “Here you go.”
Alex put his hands on the armrests, stood up slowly. The motion sent a bolt of pain through his head. He wobbled for a moment, kept one hand on the arm of the chair.
“You all right?”
“Feel like I spent the night slamming tequila.”
The cop laughed. “Doctors say you’ll be fine. At least you probably got some good pills out of it, right?” He gestured. “I’m over here. Where do you live?”
“Rogers Park.”
Bradley reached the car first, a pale blue Crown Vic. He unlocked the passenger-side door and held it open. Alex got in, his eyes scanning the radio mounted to the dash, the switches that controlled the sirens, the handle that moved the spotlight. Bradley climbed in the other side, fired up the engine. “Ever been in a police car before?”
“Nope. Well, once. When I was a kid.” He realized how that sounded, continued in a rush. “Got caught drinking a twelve-pack in an alley. The cop-the officer-put me in the back, drove me home.”
“Ouch. He talk to your parents?”
“No, he was cool. Just put the fear of God into me.” He reached up and gingerly touched the side of his face, his fingers tracing cotton and tape. There was something about the cop that he liked, an easy manner. Under other circumstances, he seemed like a guy it would be fun to have a drink with.