Tangled Souls (20 page)

“Fresh coffee. You look too tired to drive safely.”

“Thanks.” She took the sealed mug and headed for her car. Much to her amusement he escorted her, waiting until she was inside the vehicle and the doors locked.

Well, well, old-fashioned manners
, Bart remarked.
Winston didn’t even do that.

“See you in the morning,” O’Fallon called, and walked back toward the apartment building. As she pulled out onto the street, he waved. She returned it. Bart had been right: it felt so damned domestic.

“Don’t start with me,” she said.

Her Guardian stuck out his tongue and vanished.

As she drove back toward the shelter, the mug’s contents steaming up the interior of the car, she had to admit two things: Douglas O’Fallon could be a really nice guy when he wanted to, and he made a great cup of coffee.

* * *

The call came at three in the morning. O’Fallon’s years as a cop worked in his favor—he was awake and coherent before the second ring.

“Doug, it’s Avery.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Adam. He’s been hurt.”

O’Fallon didn’t ask for any more details than the basics, then flew into his clothes and headed for the hospital. His friend’s worried face was easy to spot among the crowd in the emergency room. Since Avery didn’t have his rosary in his hands, and that gave O’Fallon hope. If things were really bad, he’d be bent over in prayer.

The priest rose at his approach.

“How is he?” O’Fallon asked.

“They’re still doing X-rays.” The priest frowned. “What happened to you?”

O’Fallon scanned the room. He didn’t see any cops, at least none he recognized. He beckoned to Avery, and the pair moved to a discreet corner.

“I met Adam at the Onion the other night. He wanted to talk about what’s going on. . . .” He paused and looked around again for good measure. “After he left, I got jumped in the parking lot. It was a warning to back off.”

“Did you file a police report?”

“No, and I didn’t tell your son, either.” O’Fallon rubbed a hand over his face in weariness.

Avery shot another look toward the double doors that led to the treatment bays. “They’re supposed to come for me after they finish the X-rays.”

“What exactly happened?” O’Fallon asked, unconsciously reaching for his pen and pad. The moment the pad came out of his jacket, he felt foolish. A wan smile appeared on his friend’s face.

“Old habits . . . ,” Avery said.

“Yeah.” He opened the pad and waited for the details.

Avery turned toward the large window in thought. Outside, the insistent beeping of a vehicle motion alarm announced the arrival of an ambulance.

“Adam’s partner told him to meet him near the Alexandria Hotel at two, but Glass wasn’t there when he arrived. Adam heard screams coming from a nearby alley and he went in without backup.”

“And walked into what?” O’Fallon asked, eyes narrowing.

“He found two guys roughing up a woman. Then they jumped him.”

“A setup?”

“He’s not sure. I don’t think he wants to admit his own partner would do that to him. They beat him up pretty bad. One had an iron pipe.”

O’Fallon’s attention popped up from his notes. “That sounds familiar. One of the guys who went after me used the same thing. Did Glass ever show up?”

“Eventually. He said he’d been held up in traffic.”

“At two in the morning?” O’Fallon snorted.

A dark glare from Avery, at odds with his clerical collar. “They’re chalking it up as a random assault.”

“What’s your gut say?”

“He got set up.”

O’Fallon nodded, tucking away the notepad and pen. “My gut agrees.”

“Father Elliot?” a voice called. They turned to see a worried young man walking toward them. He looked about thirty, tanned, tall, well-built, clad in a jeans and a blast jacket.

Adam’s lover?

“Carey,” Avery said. The two men stared at each other for a moment and then awkwardly shook hands.

“Doug O’Fallon,” he said, offering his hand. The man reciprocated, and O’Fallon received a strong handshake, not unlike Adam’s.

“How is he?” Carey asked, exhibiting that haunted look so common to loved ones waiting for bad news.

“They’re still checking him out,” Avery reported after another look toward the double doors.

“He just can’t keep doing this,” Carey said, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jacket, his brows knit together.

“He’ll be out on medical for a while. Let him stew on what’s happened, and maybe it’ll help him make the decision,” O’Fallon advised. “Just don’t push him.”

“That’s hard to do when you know he could get himself killed,” the young man retorted.

“Part of the territory,” O’Fallon said.

“Doesn’t have to be,” was the tight response. “It’s not worth his life.”

“If someone told you to quit being a lawyer, would you go for that?” O’Fallon asked, testing the waters.

Carey frowned and looked away. “No, I probably wouldn’t,” the man admitted.

“Then the best thing is to let him be a cop somewhere else than downtown. Somewhere they’ll appreciate his abilities and not care that he’s gay.”

Carey stared at him as if O’Fallon had just admitted to still believing in Santa Claus. “You think such a place exists?”

O’Fallon shrugged and sighed. “I don’t know, but if he gets himself a mentor like I did”—he paused and looked over at Avery—“he’ll do okay.”

“Father Elliot?” a voice called. The priest hustled toward the white-coated figure, Carey and O’Fallon right behind.

“I’m Dr. Liao. We’re finished with your son. You can see him now,” the doctor advised. She appeared to be Chinese or Taiwanese, and petite. The lab coat dwarfed her.

“So what’s the verdict?” the priest asked, his voice barely under control.

“Broken arm, cracked ribs, lots of bruising. I want to keep him until this afternoon to make sure everything remains stable, and then he can go home,” the woman replied.

“Thank God,” Avery said, crossing himself as Carey out let a whoosh of air in relief.

“Go on, I’ll wait. You two are family,” O’Fallon said. He retreated to a far bench and lowered himself into the seat. Though his own ribs ached in sympathy, he knew that Adam’s disillusionment would be far worse than the actual wounds.

He looked around the room and realized somebody was missing.

Where the hell is Glass?

* * *

A couple hours later, Adam was propped up in a bed, his right arm in a cast, his face swollen like a prizefighter’s. He was trying to work a pencil with his left hand and it kept slipping out of his grasp. He wasn’t a southpaw.

“Can I help?” O’Fallon asked.

Adam took his time focusing on who stood next to the bed and then nodded in slow motion. Apparently they’d been very liberal with the pain medication.

“They want me to fill out the menu. Do I look like I want to eat?” he grumbled. He blinked at his guest as if just realizing O’Fallon had a few skid marks of his own. “Heavy date with one of those Catholic matrons?”

O’Fallon grinned; the kid was going to be just fine.

“Yeah, they’re a kinky bunch.” He took the pencil and scanned the offering. “From what I can see here, I wouldn’t stay too long or you’re going to starve to death.”

“I’ll have Carey smuggle in food.” Adam worked his jaw gingerly. “Soft food.” He thought for a moment and then added, “Just mark what you want. I really don’t care.”

O’Fallon heard the depression behind the words. The young cop was coming to grips with the truth—he’d been sold out by one of his own.

“Okay, just don’t bitch at me when they bring you the soft-boiled eggs,” he joked. He put marks next to the best options, waiting Adam out. The detective needed to vent to someone besides his father or his lover. Someone who would be objective.

The wait wasn’t long. “Why the–” Adam looked over toward his roommate, an older gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair; he was snoring. Adam lowered his voice. “Why the hell did
my partner
hang me out to dry?”

“I do believe we’ve had this conversation before,” O’Fallon said, though he knew that might kindle some anger. He ignored the chipped beef on toast and opting for the chicken surprise. “Did you know the goons?”

“No, but I swear one of them sounded familiar.”

“Someone Glass knows?”

“Might be.”

“What did they look like?”

A long sigh. “One was five seven, stocky, brown hair, thick muscles. The other was taller, more wiry. He sounded like he was from Jersey.”

O’Fallon put mental check marks by both the descriptions—he’d tangled with the pair in the Onion parking lot.

“And the woman?” he asked.

“Brown hair, scraggly build. I barely saw her before they turned on me. She took off like a frightened rabbit.”

“What did Glass say when he showed up?”

Adam’s face darkened beneath the cuts and the nascent bruises. He shot another glance toward his neighbor and then back again. His voice dropped to a barely audible whisper.

“He leaned over me as I’m puking up my guts and says, ‘I shoulda known a fag would get in trouble. What ya do, drop your pants for the wrong guy?’”

The pencil snapped in O’Fallon’s hand. He discarded the useless end in the wastebasket and continued to mark the food choices with the remaining stub. In his mind, he’d just broken Glass in half.

“So why did he want to meet down there?” he asked, keeping his voice level.

“He had a snitch who wanted to talk to him. Glass said he wanted me down there so we could follow up any leads.”

“Is that the way you guys operate?”

“No. He usually meets his snitches alone, doesn’t like me along.”

O’Fallon’s analytical mind kneaded through the information, forming a couple of theories. “There, I’ve picked the least-ghastly choices. You’ll have to let me know what the chicken surprise is like.”

Adam ignored his attempt at humor. “Dad and Carey want me out of there.”

“Make it three for three. Take your medical leave, file for a transfer to cover your ass, and keep your head low. Let Glass think he’s won.”

“If I leave, how do I nail the bastard?”

“You don’t. I will, because I intend to get personally involved.”

A gradual, painkiller-enhanced grin appeared on the young man’s face. “Dad always said you had a ruthless streak.”

“Never piss off an Irishman,” O’Fallon retorted. “We carry a grudge until the end of time.”

Adam sighed and leaned back in bed. “Just leave me a piece of Glass when you get done.”

O’Fallon winked. “It’s a deal.” He waved the menu. “I’ll drop this by the nurses’ station.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Adam replied, and then closed his eyes. O’Fallon watched him for a moment more and left the room, closing the door behind him. Avery’s son had paid a heavy price for his naïveté. Fortunately, the price didn’t involve a funeral.

As O’Fallon exited the hospital, he paused to tie a shoe, allowing himself the opportunity to study two men talking to the Asian doctor. They smelled like Internal Affairs. One of them caught his eye. O’Fallon gave a polite nod but only received a no-nonsense stare in return.

As he exited through the automatic doors to the driveway, he smirked. The sharks were circling, and it was his job to make sure that Glass was the main course.