Forty-Four

The examining room was white, ringed with institutional cabinets in regulation beige, and barely large enough to accommodate The Flying DiNunzios, two uniformed cops, Detective Gomez, his partner, a nurse, and the doctor.

Dr. Steven Weaver was an incredibly handsome, blond plastic surgeon, and the little rainbow pin under his red-embroidered name was the only indication he was gay. It took him an hour to carefully tweeze the glass from Mary’s forehead and seventeen stitches to close the wound, and he was just finishing up. Mary hardly felt his touch, much less any pain, owing to the miracle of Percocet and her sheer happiness at being alive, tempered only by the fact that the Lexus driver had been shot to death during the police shootout, when he’d returned fire.

So he’d had a gun. He was going to kill her. Now he was dead.

Mary wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Shaken. Upset. Surprisingly, not that good. Any death was awful, and the man had died taking valuable information with him. How would the cops link him to Justin Saracone now? They’d have had a chance if he’d been taken alive. On the other hand, part of her wasn’t completely unhappy. He was evidently a hired killer, and he’d have gone on to kill other people. Not to mention that he had tried to kill her.

And would have succeeded if it weren’t for cable – and a good pair of heels.

“Okay, let me take one last look.” Dr. Weaver stepped back, eyeing his handiwork with a smile. “The stitches are at the hairline. When they heal, you won’t even be able to see the scar.”

“Thanks a lot,” Mary said, though she could hardly hear over the background noise of her mother praying. A novena was in progress. The hospital had called her parents because she’d been stupid enough to list them in her wallet In Case of Emergency. They stuck together at the edge of her bed like conjoined twins, fused at their brown car coats. They wept, prayed, and felt faint in a continuous loop. They needed comfort, help, and medical attention. As touched as Mary was by their love, they were honestly the worst people to have around in an emergency. Thank God Judy was on the way.

“HE’S ALL DONE, MARE!” her father shouted. Of course, he’d rushed to the hospital without his hearing aid. Daughter-in-emergency-room was his best excuse yet. “YOU DID GREAT, KID! JUST GREAT!”

“Your father’s right. You’re a trouper, Mary.” Dr. Weaver gathered his leftover sutures, flesh-toned curlicues, and shiny little scissors with the flat edge. “The nurse will be in with release papers for you to sign and directions for care of the wound.”

“How was the X-ray on my right hand?” Mary asked. No need to tell the world she had slugged Justin Saracone. She had grandfathered the injury into the car trunk thing, like some insurance scam.

“Fine, it’s not broken, just a soft tissue injury. I’ll see you back in my office in two weeks. My address is on the form.”

“SHE GONNA BE OKAY, DOC?” her father asked, and her mother paused in prayer, keeping God himself waiting.

“She’ll be fine,” Dr. Weaver answered, turning. “Her MRIs were fine. She needs to rest tonight and follow the directions for wound care, and she’ll be good as new.”

“NO PROBLEM! SHE’S COMIN’ HOME WITH HER MOTHER AND ME! WE’LL TAKE GOOD CARE OF HER!”

The very thought evaporated Mary’s cloud of Percocet, setting her thinking. She had to get to work, but if she went home, her parents wouldn’t let her out of their sight. The whole block of Mercer Street would spy backup. Not to mention the reporters outside the hospital, many of whom she’d called on the way back from Justin’s. The rest had picked up the sensational car chase down the expressway on their police scanners.

“Okay, champ,” Dr. Weaver said, with a sympathetic smile, now that she was an Official Crime Victim. Even the detectives seemed to have found a new respect for her, standing stolid and waiting their turn to interrogate her. The doctor patted her arm. “It’s all over now. Take care of yourself. Nurse’ll be back in a minute, then you can go.”

“Thanks again, doctor,” Mary said, just as her mother sniffled loudly. “By the way, you got any Percocet for my parents?”

The doctor laughed and turned to shake her father’s hand. “Mr. DiNunzio, it was a pleasure -”

“SEVENTY-FIVE!” her father yelled, inexplicably, throwing his burly arms open, and in the next second the startled doctor was group-hugged by her weepy parents. Mary should have warned him. She had never seen her father shake anyone’s hand. Even with complete strangers, he had two speeds – hug and bear-hug. “THANK YOU SO MUCH, DOC! LIKE I SAID, YOU’RE WELCOME IN OUR HOUSE ANYTIME! COME FOR DINNER! YOU AND YOUR WIFE!”

“Thanks, Mr. DiNunzio, but I’m not married.”

“YOU HEAR THAT, MARE? HE’S NOT MARRIED!” Her father poked his head around Dr. Weaver, who laughed.

“Gotcha, Pop!” Mary fought a smile. She’d explain to him about the rainbow flag when he was ready, in about twenty years. And right after that, she’d tell him how she’d really met up with Mr. Lexus. When she was first brought into the emergency room, she’d been in no state to tell her parents or anyone else the full story, and Detectives Gomez and Wahlberg were waiting for her medical treatment to end so they could interview her.

“See you all later,” Dr. Weaver said, with a wave, and on the way out almost bumped into Judy, who was barging through the curtain in gray sweats.

“Mary!” she shouted, her voice a crack of pain. She rushed to the bed and threw her arms around Mary, smelling of linseed oil. “Are you okay? They wouldn’t let me through out front, I had to tell them I was your sister.”

“Mrymph,” Mary said, feeling an unexpected warmth in her friend’s arms, realizing what had happened to her on more than an intellectual level. I almost died. I almost lost my life. And Judy is closer than a sister. Closer than mine, anyway. “I’m fine, really, I am.”

“My God, I can’t believe this!” Judy released her, her face a mask of concern. “This is unreal! There’s like three hundred reporters out front! I didn’t see the TV, I was working. What happened?”

Detective Gomez stepped forward and introduced himself. “Judy, you remember me from the other night, after Keisha was attacked? My partner and I would like to question Mary as part of our investigation. Your questions will have to wait.”

“Go straight to hell!” Judy turned on him, fierce as a girl who climbs mountains for fun. “Your investigation? Mary’s the one doing all the work! She’s the one putting her life on the line! She had to file a lawsuit to bring that guy to justice! Did you ever even go to the Saracones, like she begged you to?”

“Not yet -”

“What were you waiting for? This? They tried to kill her! If you’d gone over, she wouldn’t be in a hospital tonight! She wouldn’t almost have been killed!”

“THE SARACONES? WAS IT THAT SARACONE GUY, MARE? WE THOUGHT IT WAS A GUY OFFA THE STREET!” Her father stepped toward the bed, even angrier than Judy, and her mother prayed harder. “YO, DETECTIVE! IS IT TRUE WHAT JUDY’S SAYIN’?”

Mary put up a hand. “I have an idea. Judy, you stay here while I talk to Detective Gomez. Mom, Pop, I love you both, but you need to go outside, have a cup of coffee, and wait for me. This is going to take some time, and I have to talk to the police.”

“MARE, WAS IT THAT SARACONE? I’LL KILL HIM WITH MY BARE HANDS!”

“It’s okay, Pop,” she answered, touched. “Please, you can help me the most by waiting for me in the waiting room. You don’t want to put Mom through this, do you?” Mary shot her eyes toward her praying mother, caught in the middle of the third round of Hail Marys, and her father understood. Good thing he spoke Meaningful Eye Contact.

“AWRIGHT, AWRIGHT! I’LL TAKE YOUR MOTHER IN THE WAITING ROOM.” He looped a heavy arm around her mother, who blew Mary a weepy kiss behind her Kleenexes as she was led toward the door. “LET’S GO SIT, VEET! WE CAN WAIT FOR MARY OUTSIDE. MAYBE WE CAN HAVE A NICE CUPPA COFFEE AND SOME CAKE!”