badly the writing was barely readable.
A handheld radio crackled from the living room. I could hear the murmur of voices in my bedroom. The voices were less frantic, and the rhythm of activity had become more orderly. I looked at myself and realized I was covered with Lula’s blood. It had soaked into my shirt and shorts, and it was coagulating on my hands and the bottoms of my bare feet. The phone was tacky with blood smears, as was the floor and the counter.
The cop and the medic exchanged glances. “Maybe you should get that blood washed off,” the medic said. “How about we get you into the shower real fast.”
I looked in at Lula on my way to the bathroom. They were getting ready to move her out. She was strapped to the stretcher, covered with a sheet and blanket. She was hooked up to an IV. “How is she?” I asked.
A squad member tugged the stretcher forward. “Alive,” he said.
The medics were gone when I got out of the shower. Two uniformed cops had stayed, and the one who’d talked to me in the kitchen was conferring with a PC in the living room, the two of them going over notes. I dressed quickly and left my hair to dry on its own. I was anxious to make my statement and be done with it. I wanted to get to the hospital to see about Lula.
The PC’s name was Dorsey. I’d seen him before. Probably at Pino’s. He was medium height, medium build, and looked to be in his late forties. He was in shirtsleeves and slacks and penny loafers. I could see my recorder tape tucked into his shirt pocket. Exhibit A. I told him about the incident in the gym, omitting Morelli’s name, leaving Dorsey to think the identity of my rescuer was unknown. If the police wanted to believe Morelli’d left town, that was fine with me. I still had hopes of bringing him in and collecting my money.
Dorsey took a lot of notes and looked knowingly at the patrolman. He didn’t seem surprised. I suppose if you’re a cop long enough, nothing surprises you.
When they left I shut off the coffeemaker, closed and locked the bedroom window, grabbed my pocketbook, and squared my shoulders to what I knew awaited me in the hall. I was going to have to make my way past Mrs. Orbach, Mr. Grossman, Mrs. Feinsmith, Mr. Wolesky, and who knows how many others. They would want to know the details, and I wasn’t up to imparting details.
I put my head down, shouted apologies, and went straight for the stairs, knowing that would slow them. I bolted out of the building and ran to the Cherokee.
I took St. James to Olden and rut across Trenton to Stark. It would have been easier to go straight to St. Francis Hospital, but I wanted to get Jackie. I barreled down Stark and passed the gym without a sideways glance. As far as I was concerned, Ramirez was finished. If he slipped through the loopholes of the law on this one, I’d get him myself. I’d cut off his dick with a carving knife if I had to.
Jackie was just corning out of the Corner Bar, where I imagine she’d had breakfast. I screeched to a stop and half hung out the door. “Get in!” I yelled to Jackie.
“What’s this about?”
“Lulu’s in the hospital. Ramirez got to her.”
“Oh God.” she wailed. “I was so afraid. I knew something was wrong. How bad is it?”
“I honestly don’t know. I found her on my fire escape just now. Ramirez had left her tied there as a message to me. She’s unconscious.”
“I was there when he come for her. She didn’t want to go, but you don’t say no to Bonito Ramirez. Her old man would’ve beat her bloody.”
“Yeah. Well, she’s been beaten bloody anyway.”
I found a parking place on Hamilton one block from the emergency entrance. I set the alarm, and Jackie and I took off at a trot. She had about two hundred pounds on the hoof, and she wasn’t even breathing hard when we pushed through the double glass doors. I guess humping all day keeps you in shape.
“A woman named Lula was just brought in by ambulance,” I told the clerk.
The clerk looked at me, and then she looked at Jackie. Jackie was dressed in poison green shorts with half her ass hanging out, matching rubber sandals, and a hot pink tank top. “Are you family?” she asked Jackie.
“Lulu don’t got any family here.”
“We need someone to fill out forms.”
“I guess I could do that,” she said.
When we were done with the forms, we were told to sit and wait. We did this in silence, aimlessly thumbing through torn magazines, watching with inhuman detachment as one tragedy after another rolled down the hall. After a half hour I asked about Lula and was told she was in X ray. How long would she be in X ray? I asked. The clerk didn’t know. It would be a while, but then a doctor would come out to talk to us. I reported this to Jackie.
“Hunh,” she said. “I bet.”
I was a quart down on caffeine, so I left Jackie to wait and went in search of the cafeteria. I was told to follow the footprints on the floor, and darned if they didn’t bring me to food. I loaded a take-out carton with pastries, two large coffees, and added two oranges just in case Jackie and I felt the need to be healthy. I thought it was unlikely, but I figured it was like wearing clean panties in case of a car crash. It never hurt to be prepared.
An hour later, we saw the doctor.
He looked at me, and he looked at Jackie. Jackie hiked up her top and tugged at her shorts. It was a futile gesture.
“Are you family?” he asked Jackie.
“I guess so,” Jackie said. “What’s the word?”
“The prognosis is guarded but hopeful. She’s lost a lot of blood, and she’s suffered some head trauma. She has multiple wounds that need suturing. She’s being taken to surgery. It will probably be a while before she’s brought to her room. You might want to go out and come back in an hour or two.”
