“You’re not me.”
“How’s your pain tolerance?” he asked.
“I gave birth to an eight-and-a-half-pound daughter. Have you?”
“Fair point.”
The doctor swung around to the staff. “Get her into OR number three, and I’ll be in shortly. Prep her.”
He turned back to Silver and offered a fatigued smile. “This will probably leave a scar. Maybe not much, but it will be there.”
“There goes my pole-dancing gig. Although maybe I can get some sympathy cash for it?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. Maybe I’ll get a marijuana leaf tattoo to cover it up.”
He regarded her.
“I’ll see you in about ten minutes,” he said and moved to the foot of the bed. “I charge extra for the tattoo. The nurse will bring you a book of designs. I like the Kanji script ones for this type of scar. Says something like ‘I wonder what the hell this says’ in Japanese.”
Silver sighed.
She was in good hands, even if he did look like he should be in class somewhere instead of working in a hospital.
Once the short procedure was over, Silver was wheeled to a private room.
Within half an hour Seth, Richard and Brett appeared.
“I’m going to need some new clothes. They cut mine to pieces,” she grumbled by way of greeting.
Seth nodded. “Monique can pick up whatever you need. What are you thinking?”
“A pair of pants, and some, er…underwear. She knows about how big I am.”
“Size…four?” Seth guessed.
“Nice try. Given where the bullet hit, let’s go for more like a size ten to twelve. Little more room. You can tell her the problem, and she’ll figure it out.”
“I’ll sign off on the expense report,” Brett said. “Definitely line of duty.”
Seth moved to the window and made a hurried call to Monique, then gave Silver the thumbs-up sign.
“It was nice of everyone to come down, but I’m afraid it’s anti-climactic. It was really just a scratch. That’s why I want some clothes — so I can get the hell out of here.”
Brett and Seth exchanged glances.
“You should probably rest, Silver,” Seth advised her. “We’ve got it handled. The latest victim is still dead. The scene is being processed. Not a lot for you to do.”
“Guys. Please. A bullet grazed me. It was nothing. I could have put a few Band-Aids on it, and it would have been fine.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Richard said. “A lot of your blood was left pooled on the garage floor, from what I could see — I stopped there on the way over.”
“Right. Which was replaced by the IV fluids and the frigging orange juice they’ve had me drinking like it’s holy water. It’s been three hours. I got a scratch. On the battlefield, I’d be back shooting by now. Give me a break.”
The door opened, and the doctor entered holding a chart. He looked at the small group assembled in the room and then focused on her.
“You’ll be good as new in a little while.”
“That’s what I was trying to tell them. Now let me out of here.”
The doctor shook his head. “Not quite so fast, I’m afraid. We still need to keep you for a few more hours before I can let you go. Purely routine. Once you’re discharged, try to take it easy for a few days. People process shock in different ways, and you just underwent a trauma.”
“A few more hours? You’re kidding me.”
“Just doing my job. That’s all I have for you. The nurse will be in shortly to take you off the drip, and then you’ll need to sign a stack of forms — that should burn through the time and keep you occupied.”
“Thanks a lot…”
“Look at the bright side. No charge for the tattoo. My treat.”
The three men stood silently as the doctor left the room.
“What? It’s an inside joke,” Silver said, enjoying the expressions on their faces.
Brett cleared his throat. “You’ll need to do a psych evaluation first thing in the morning, Silver. All part of the drill following a shooting, as you know.”
“I hear voices.”
“Then you should have no problem,” Brett assured her.
“Since I can’t go to the scene, what do we know about the shooter? Who was he? Any info?”
Seth shifted uneasily. “Name was Leonid Sudenokov. Thirty-six years old. A driver for a meat wholesaler — at least that’s what his work papers claim. Based on the extensive body art and a few older wounds, we can safely assume he was Russian mafia. Likely ex-military. A few of the tattoos were consistent with their special forces group — spetsnaz. As you might have surmised, he was dead on arrival.”
“The wrong end of a Glock will do that for you,” Brett observed.
“I don’t get it. Why would the Russian mob be trying to take me out?” Silver asked, and then her face changed. “Oh my God. Andy. My old partner in Organized Crime was shot to death…”
“It was all over the news,” Brett said, “but there’s no way of knowing for sure whether these cases are connected, although I’ll admit the timing is awfully coincidental.”
“What about the shooter’s cell phone? Anything?”
Seth shook his head. “It was a burner cell, so nothing there. But he wasn’t planning on dying today — he had his wallet with him, all his ID and credit cards, and six hundred dollars cash.” He paused for a moment. “We’re already putting out feelers in the underworld. Don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“I’m just going through the cases I worked,” Silver said. “There were three involving the Russian mob, but one never went anywhere, and in the other two I wasn’t a major player. Just part of the team. So no reason to single me out.”
“We’ll know more over the next few days,” Brett said, “but I’ve asked for NYPD help. I want stepped-up security, including the garage. We had the bomb squad go over your car, by the way, and it wasn’t touched. Still, I’m going to assign a different vehicle until we have more information. And I’ve requested some uniforms at your building for a few days when you’re coming and going, just to be safe.”
“Great. On top of everything else, now the mob is gunning for me?”
Nobody had much to say to that.
“Well, I’ll let you get on with it,” Brett said. “I just wanted to see how you were and let you know that we’re a hundred percent behind you, Silver.” He moved to the door. “Don’t push yourself. That’s an order. Oh, and we have your service piece. Need to process it. Again, procedure. You have another weapon?”
“Yup. Another Glock.”
Richard eyed her.
“What? They’re like dogs. Keep each other company.”
Brett almost smiled. “All right. I’ll see you at the office tomorrow for the evaluation. I’ve got to issue a statement to the media today, but I’m going to be deliberately vague. Just that there was a shooting, with one casualty. No names, no details. I think we can get away with that for a while.”
Brett left, and Seth and Richard fidgeted.
“Pull up chairs. I want to know everything about the latest victim.”
They did as instructed, and Seth took her through what they knew on the latest killing.
“Another one with an SEC settlement,” Richard revealed. “Seven years ago. His brokerage was sanctioned for improperly segregating client accounts. Looks like they were co-mingling margin and cash accounts, which is a big no-no.”
Silver cocked her head at him.
“Okay. Put simply: with margin accounts, the broker is allowed to lend out any shares in them and collect a fee even though they aren’t his property. It’s a nice loophole so brokers can make money off assets that aren’t
