Dr. Knox (18 page)

It was dusk when Lucho pulled his van into the alley behind the soccer equipment store, and dark by the time we got Shelly and Elena into it. Lydia met us at the clinic's back door, with solicitous efficiency for the two injured women, and opaque silence for me. She and Lucho settled the women in exam rooms while I washed, changed my shirt, and called Ben Sutter. Then I went into Exam One.

Elena was stretched out on the table, her breathing steady and careful, her dark eyes wary. Lydia had already swapped what was left of her bloody clothing for a gown, given her a tetanus shot, and started her on IV fluids. She was cleaning Elena's cuts and scrapes, and examining the knife wounds suspiciously.

“I checked her belly,” Lydia said. “No peritoneal signs. Yet.”

I nodded, and put on my stethoscope. I checked her chest again. “Her breath sounds are better, but I'm hearing a pneumo-hemo.”

Lydia nodded. “She needs drainage,” she said quietly. “Of course, she could use imaging too, and a few other things you'd find in a hospital.”

“Let's start with drainage.”

“I'll set it up,” Lydia said, shaking her head. She went down the hall to the supply closet, and I took over the cuts and scrapes.

Elena fixed her eyes on mine and touched my arm. Her hand was cold. “Alex,” she said in a slow whisper.

“He's fine. You'll see him soon.”

Elena's eyes widened and tears welled in them. She took a deep, shaky breath. “Men…look for me. Also Alex.”

“I know about them.”

Her grip tightened on my forearm. “Please, you must not—”

“No one's going to bother you here, Elena. Not you or Alex.”

Lydia cleared her throat. She was standing in the doorway, holding the Pleur-evac drainage unit and a surgical kit. Her look was accusing. She shook her head some more and moved to the sink, where she washed and put on a mask and gloves. Then she started laying out the drainage gear. Despite her years away from the OR, Lydia was still the precise scrub nurse. She spread a sterile pad over a tray and carefully laid each instrument on it, in the order in which it would be needed.

“You want to give her Ativan?” she whispered. “Or are you worried about the belly wound?”

I nodded. “We'll stick with the local.”

Lydia nodded and prepared a syringe and laid it on the sheet. Her voice dropped even lower. “You know, you shouldn't promise things you can't deliver,” she said.

“I'm not,” I said.

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Sure. Between six and seven?” she asked.

“Six and seven,” I said, and she painted the white skin over Elena's sixth and seventh ribs brown with Betadine.

The drain went in easily, and Elena uttered not a word of complaint while we worked. The only sign she gave of pain was a stiffening of her features now and then, and a narrowing of her eyes, which were locked on me. Lydia stayed with her afterward, to monitor her vitals and periodically check her belly for indications that the cut had done more than superficial damage. I went down the hall to look in on Shelly.

Who was also wearing a gown, sitting cross-legged on the exam table, and giving Lucho a hard time.

“I'm like a fucking prisoner, doc. He won't give me my clothes, won't let me out of this room, won't give me any good drugs—he just sits there looking like a scary totem pole.”

Lucho smiled and shook his head. “She's not that scared.”

“I agree. You want to keep an eye out back, for Sutter?” Lucho nodded, and closed the door behind him.

“How's the shoulder?” I asked.

“It fucking hurts.”

“Is it still mobile?” Shelly demonstrated, and cringed only a little doing it. I nodded. “If you'd let me send you to an ER, they would've cleaned that wound some more, given you a tetanus shot, started you on IV antibiotics, and stitched you up, so that's what I'm going to do.”

“And pain meds?”

“If you behave.”

“I mean good shit, not that Tylenol-with-codeine crap.”

“We'll see. So how about, while I'm cleaning you up, you tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“I told you about the Russians already.”

I picked up a squeeze bottle of normal saline and a forceps. “Then tell me something new. For starters, tell me how you know Elena.”

“From the horrible Horney, of course. That's where I met her—her and the kid. The first couple days, they had a pretty rough time there. Every time they set foot out of their room, some asshole would fuck with them—sayin' shit to Ellie, even with the kid standin' right there. And Troop was always sniffin' around her. She had to go out and get stuff—food and shit—but she didn't want to take the kid, and she sure as shit didn't want to leave him alone. Finally, she comes up to me and asks would I go to the bodega for her.”

“She must've thought you looked trustworthy.”

Shelly laughed and nodded vigorously. “That's what she said. Actually, the first thing she said was she liked my hair. What I think really is, she heard me cursing out some paint drinker in the lobby for messing with a new girl, and she figured that made me okay.”

“Did she tell you she was on the run from Siggy?”

“After a while,” she said, and shivered as I tugged a scrap of tee shirt from the cleft in her shoulder. “It took me by surprise.”

“I bet. Didn't she know that a lot of the girls at the Harney work for him?”

“She had no clue,” Shelly said. “Her bad luck.”

“What did she tell you about the kid?”

“Only that people were looking for him too. She didn't tell me who or why.”

“I didn't think her English was that good, but I guess you were able to communicate.”

“Ellie understands everything, and she talks fine if she's not rushed. Or scared.”

“And you two are like BFFs now?”

Shelly looked down. “I like her. She's a tough bitch, and there's nothing she wouldn't do for the kid. Who's awesome, by the way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah—he's funny, and sweet as hell.”

“I think he's a good guy too,” I said, nodding. “And you did a lot for them—took some big risks, probably got on Siggy's bad side.”

“Bunch of pricks—him and all his guys. I been flippin' 'em off forever.”

“Could be Siggy's finally taken notice.” Shelly shrugged and her face screwed up in pain. “Anyway,” I continued, “you risked a lot for people you've only known for a couple of weeks.”

She looked at the floor again and took a deep breath. “It wasn't much. And anyway, I…I owe them.”

“Owe them for what?”

“For…for the kid. For what happened to him when he came to you. I…He got that candy bar from me.”

“The one with the peanuts?”

Shelly's face got red, and there were tears in her eyes. “It was a Snickers. They're my favorite, and I thought he would like it. I almost killed the fucking guy.”

“You couldn't know. Elena didn't know.”

Shelly swallowed hard and shook her head. “You done yet?” she whispered.

I squeezed her good shoulder. “Almost,” I said.

I gave Shelly something for the pain, and left her dozing in the exam room. When I stepped into the hall, Sutter was there.

“Another busy night?” he said, smiling.

“We're putting up a velvet rope soon. You see anybody lurking?”

“Everybody around here lurks. But, no, I didn't—which doesn't mean nobody's watching. The street out front looked clear, and you couldn't hang in the alley without being seen, but there're a couple of rooftops nearby that would give you decent sightlines. If I were the PRP guys, that's where I'd set up.”

“So those assholes may have seen us come in with Elena and Shelly?”

“Always best to assume the worst. Besides which, Siggy must've heard about the dustup his boys had this morning, and that they cut up these girls a little. It won't take him long to figure out where they might've gone for help.”

“Excellent,” I sighed. “So everybody knows where they are.”

Sutter grinned wider. “Only for a little while.”

I rode shotgun in the black Escalade that Sutter had conjured from somewhere, but I still had a hard time following the twists and turns and loop-backs he drove from the clinic to the house in El Segundo. Elena and Shelly were quiet in the back seats, as they had been since Lucho had doused the alley lights and we'd taken them out the back door. Their faces were pale against the black leather upholstery, and they both grimaced when we went over bumps.

The house was a tidy stucco ranch, sherbet pink in the Escalade's headlights, with white trim and a lawn like a swatch of green suede. The furnishings were simple and bright—fresh from the IKEA box—and the floors were shiny oak. The smells of paint and varnish still lingered. Sutter moved from window to window, lowering shades.

“New tenants come in a couple of weeks,” he said, “so you're good till then.”

Shelly eased herself carefully into an armchair. “Nice,” she said, looking around. “Clean. What do you get for a place like this?”

“Thirty-seven hundred a month. Why—you in the market?”

“Sure,” Shelly said, smiling. “Siggy's monkeys have probably moved into my old place by now, so I can't go back there. This is a little out of my way, though. Got anything downtown?” Sutter smiled back and shook his head.

I helped Elena to the sofa, got her feet onto the coffee table, and put the Pleur-evac on the floor by her side. Her eyes roamed around the room, settled on Sutter, and narrowed. “We are close to the airport?” she said.

Sutter nodded. “South runways at LAX are two blocks away.”

“First week in Los Angeles, I was close to the airport,” she said. “An apartment. They move me after that.”

“To another apartment?” I asked. Elena nodded. “In West Hollywood? The one where you met Hoover Mays?”

Her mouth turned sour. “You know Hoover?”

“I spoke to him,” I said.

“I thought maybe he's killed,” Elena said, sighing. “I hit him hard.” I wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed. Sutter snorted.

“It looked to me like he hit you hard too,” I said.

She nodded minutely. “Where is Alex?”

“He's fine. He'll be here in the morning.”

“Not now?” Her voice trembled.

“It's too late. I didn't want to wake him in the middle of the night. I didn't want to scare him.” She looked into my eyes for a while and then nodded. “Let me listen to your lungs again,” I said.

I put my stethoscope on. Both lungs sounded good, and no fluid had drained into the Pleur-evac for over an hour.

I smiled. “You're doing well.”

Elena looked down and touched a finger to the drainage tube where it snaked from beneath the gown she still wore. “You can take it out?”

“Yep—it's pretty much done its job.”

“Before Alex comes?” I nodded. Elena studied the edge of her gown. “Is there something else for me?” she asked. “Other clothes?”

I nodded. “My nurse found some clean sweats and a tee shirt for you. Tomorrow morning you can wash up and change. Let me take the tube out, and then we can talk.”

“Talk about what?”

“About what's going on, Elena—about why people are chasing you and Alex. About the trouble you're in.”

She sighed. “You helped already, doctor—Alex and me. You do not need to do more. To be more…involved.”

“Unfortunately, that's out of my hands.” Elena squinted at me, puzzled. “I'm involved whether I want to be or not. People know I've helped you. Siggy knows; so do the Brays.”

At the mention of these names, Elena's face froze. Then she sighed again, deeply. “Can be later we talk, doctor? I am so tired.”

I nodded again. “I'll take the tube out.”

“You need an extra pair of hands for that?” Sutter asked. I shook my head. “Then I'm going to walk around the block,” he said.

Elena watched him go and then looked at me. “That one—he is your friend?” she asked. Her voice was a whisper.

I nodded. “He's helped you out a few times too.”

“So you trust?” I nodded again. “He is what—a soldier?”

“Used to be. Now he does a lot of things. Like real estate.”

She squinted at me. “But you trust?”

“With my life,” I said. “Now, the tube.” I dug in my backpack for gauze, and Elena sighed and closed her eyes. I pulled on yet another pair of gloves, and folded back her gown. Shelly fidgeted in her armchair.

“You just yank that thing out of her?” she said. “Right now? Right here?”

“I'm going to try not to yank.”

“There gonna be blood?”

“Shouldn't be.”

Shelly shivered and shook her head. “And I thought my job was gross.”

The tube came out the way it went in—without a hitch and without a sound from Elena—and by the time I finished taping gauze over her ribs, her eyes were closed and her breathing was deep and regular. I was covering her with a blanket when Sutter returned. His walk around the block had included a trip to Vons, and he was carrying three plastic sacks.

“Sandwiches, fruit, cheese, crackers, a loaf of sourdough, and seltzer,” he said.

“No doughnuts?” Shelly said. “No chicken wings? You a fuckin' health freak?”

“Have an apple,” Sutter said, and tossed her a Granny Smith. “You'll live longer.”

Shelly caught it with her good arm, and winked at him. “That all it takes?”

Sutter and I went into the little kitchen. He unwrapped a chicken salad sandwich, and I peeled a banana. I twisted the top from a liter of water, drank from the bottle, and passed it to Sutter.

“Called a buddy to hang outside for a while,” he said. “Remember Tommy?”

“Tall guy, weird hair, bullet holes in his left leg?”

“That's Mosul Tommy; this is Kabul Tommy I'm talking about. Anyway, he'll be around if you want to head home.”

“I should keep an eye on them—especially Elena. Make sure her gut's okay.”

Sutter smiled. “She seems to have no problem in that department.”

“Neither one of them.”

“You bringing the kid over?”

“Arthur's sister is, tomorrow morning.”

“And then what?”

I shrugged. “A mother-and-child reunion.”

“It'll be beautiful, I'm sure. You going to send photos to Siggy and the Brays? You think that'll make them go away?”

I drank some more water. “I'm not counting on it.”

Sutter took the bottle from me. “You got that right.”