Restoration 01 - Getting It Right Page 7

  “Dispatch got a call from a guy who said he was hanging out around the 7-Eleven at Fourth and Union, and another guy was there asking questions about someone named Mitchell Spokes. He’s the vic in a murder case Nathan caught yesterday. Nathan must have gone asking around. Goddamn fool for going alone, without backup.”

  “What did this guy see?”

  “The witness said he got to talking to someone, which is probably code for he got picked up and was busy sucking dick for fifty bucks.” The sneering way Carey spoke made James’s hackles raise. “Caller said he was occupied for about an hour, then went back to the 7-Eleven.

  Didn’t see Nathan around. A little after midnight he decided to hang out someplace else. Started walking north on Union. Heard a noise as he was passing an alley between Frankie’s and Open Sesame. He found Nathan and called 911.”

  “How badly was he hurt?”

  “I don’t know. All I got from the people downstairs is he’s pretty worked over.”

  “Fuck.” Kate’s hand slid around his wrist and squeezed. James tried to corral his racing thoughts. “Why’s he in surgery?”

  “I’m not a fucking doctor, Doc.” Carey’s own anxiety was peeking through. He was genuinely worried for Nathan.

  “I’m sorry, I’m kind of freaking out. Nate’s everything.”

  Truth. Nathan was everything, and now he was hurt, in surgery, and the last thing James had ever said to him was a lie.

  Just like Elliott and Doug.

  Fuck that, Nate’s going to be fine.

  “This can’t be happening,” James said to no one in particular.

  Carey’s phone chimed, and he stepped away to take the call.

  “Is there anyone I can call for you?” Kate asked.

  “Nate’s always my first call.” He glanced up and down the corridor, needing something but unsure what. No, not true. He needed his best friend not to be in surgery right now. “I don’t want to call his parents until I know what’s going on.”

  “What about friends?”

  “A friend of ours died today.”

  “Oh my God, James, I’m so sorry. Jesus Christ, what a day you’re having.”

  Understatement of the century.

  “Come on, let’s go sit for a little while.” Kate tugged him into the waiting room, which was gloriously empty. Then again, it was after midnight. No one scheduled nonemergency surgeries for this hour.

  He sank into a chair, then shot back to his feet when Carey entered. “Anything on Nate?”

  “No, that was an update on the investigation. My buddy Larry Parsons caught this one, and he’s keeping me informed.” Carey held up a staying hand. “Please don’t ask me for information. It’s an ongoing investigation, and I can’t tell you anything I wouldn’t normally share with a family member.”

  “I know, and I’m not asking you to compromise the investigation. I just want to know what’s happening with Nate.”

  “Look, I’ll flash my badge around and see what I can find out. Stay here.”

  James stayed put, unable to sit, barely managing Carey’s simple orders to remain in the waiting room. He wanted to fly down the hall and demand answers. He did not wear helpless well. He preferred to be in charge, in the know, with a plan in mind. Waiting for other people to give him answers was hell.

  “You don’t have to stay,” he said to Kate, who’d settled into a chair with her briefcase in her lap.

  “I know, but you need a friend with you right now. I don’t have anywhere to be.”

  “Except asleep in bed.”

  “Sleep is overrated.” She offered a tentative smile. “Nathan’s your best friend?”

  “Since college. People used to say it would never work, a gay guy and a straight guy as BFFs.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “No good reason I could see.”

  “One would think it was the perfect relationship. You’d never be interested in dating the same person.”

  James snorted, unable to find real humor. “I guess so.”

  “Are you sure there’s no one I can call?”

  Carey walked back in, his gait less assured, his skin a little bit gray. “He’ll be in surgery for a few more hours, at least.”

  “What did the doctor say about his injuries? Why kind of surgery is it?” James strode toward Carey, stopping a few inches from grabbing the man.

  “He was stabbed multiple times in the face and throat. Nicked his carotid, so they have to repair that before they can fix the other wounds.”

  Oh God. “He was fucking stabbed? In the face?” His beautiful face.

  Carey nodded slowly, as though he couldn’t quite believe it either. “He also took several hard blows to the head, ribs and stomach. The throat wounds are their primary concern. Once he’s stable, they’ll deal with the other injuries.”

  Throat. Stable. Other injuries. Fuck.

  “What other injuries?” Was that really his voice?

  “Probable cracked ribs, a fractured wrist.”

  “Shit.” James stalked to the far side of the waiting room. “What the fuck was he thinking?”

  No one replied to the rhetorical question. No one had any real answers. Nathan was working. He was always working, and this time work had nearly killed him.

  Stabbed multiple times in the face and throat. James wanted to throw up.

  Hours passed slowly. Carey took several more calls and shared nothing. Kate dozed in one of the chairs. James paced until his calves ached. Then he stood in a corner. Then he paced some more. Other cops came and went, some in uniform, some not. He only knew they were cops because they talked to Carey and ignored him. A few times he found himself with his phone out, ready to text Nathan, and each time the ball of ice in his stomach grew bigger.

  A little after five in the morning, a doctor walked into the waiting room and zeroed in on Carey. James stalked over to the pair. He wasn’t being left out of this.

  “This is Dr. James Taggert,” Carey said. “He’s family.”

  “Doctor,” the too-young-to-be-a-surgeon said. “I’m Dr. Abraham, and I operated on Mr.

  Wolf.”

  “How is he?” James asked.

  “Stable for now. We were able to repair his carotid artery, as well as several of the other lacerations and penetrating wounds to his face.”

  “So he’ll be okay?”

  “I’m optimistic he’ll recover physically. He’ll need to consult with a plastic surgeon in order to minimize scarring, but at the moment I’m more concerned with the blows he took to the head. There is evidence of cerebral contusions, and I want to monitor him for the rest of the day and watch for an increase in intracranial pressure.”

  James wasn’t an internist, but he knew the dangers of intracranial pressure. “Has he been conscious at all?”

  “Not as far as I’m aware. His chart indicates he was briefly conscious at the scene, then slipped back into unconsciousness in the ambulance.”

  “How about his other injuries?” Carey asked.

  “Four broken ribs, six cracked. A lot of bruising to his torso and abdomen. He’ll need to take it very, very easy for a while.”

  James had bruised his ribs in a car accident about six years ago, and simple things like combing his hair had hurt like hell. He couldn’t imagine the agony of multiple broken ribs. If taking it easy for a while meant James did everything from washing Nathan’s hair to cutting his meat, he’d do it. And more. He needed Nathan to get better.

  “When will our people be able to see him?” Carey asked. “We need to check for

  whatever forensic evidence might have been left behind.”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “When can I see him?” James asked.

  “Not for a few hours yet,” Dr. Abraham said. A little bit of sympathy peeked out from beneath his calm exterior. “Go home. Get some rest. I’ll have someone call you when Mr. Wolf is allowed visitors.”

  James nodded, not committing to the action. Not ye
t. Leaving was abandoning Nathan, and he couldn’t do that. He’d lied, hurt Nathan’s feelings and sent him out working late on a Saturday when they could have spent the time together. His actions had landed Nathan here. He didn’t deserve a nap and a shower.

  He wanted a cigarette or ten.

  In the end, Kate walked him out to his car with firm orders to go home and not march back into the hospital. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  He did drive home, numb, the ball of ice in his stomach growing heavier the farther he got from Nathan. He fell face-first into his bed. An insistent buzzing against his hip woke him later, when the sun was up and glaring brightly through his bedroom windows. The call went to voice mail by the time he figured out it was his phone.

  After ten. Missed call from Elliott.

  Fuck, does he know?

  Instead of a message, Elliott sent over a text: Call me.

  James did. “Hey, Ell, how are you?”

  “I’m all right, I guess.” Elliott’s voice was hoarse, probably from long bouts of crying.

  “Haven’t slept much.”

  Join the club. “I bet not. You at home?”

  “Yeah. It’s weird knowing for sure now that Doug’s never coming home.” His voice broke. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t call to sob in your ear.”

  “It’s fine. You know I’m here, whatever you need.”

  “I guess I was calling to check in. I kind of thought you’d be around last night.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to flake out on you.”

  “It’s okay. Not your job to hold my hand.”

  “No, but I’m your friend, Ell. I got caught up in my own stuff.” And then my best friend got stabbed in the face.

  “Okay, what’s wrong? You sound weird.”

  James didn’t want to throw anything else at his grieving friend, but he needed someone, damn it. He couldn’t stop the words from rolling off his tongue. “Nate’s in the hospital.”

  “He’s what? What happened? Is he okay?” Elliott’s voice pitched too high, almost painfully shrill.

  “He’s in ICU. He was out working, or something, and someone jumped him. Beat the shit out of him. Stabbed him in the neck and face.”

  “Oh my God. Have you seen him? Do they know who did it?”

  “I haven’t been able to see him all night. They sent me home. I don’t know anything except that he’s alive.”

  “I’m coming over.”

  “Ell—”

  “No, don’t fight me on this, please. I need to do something. I can do this. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Arguing with Elliott when he got a notion in his head was like trying to block the wind with a mosquito net. “Don’t speed. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Okay.”

  James wandered into the kitchen, aware he needed to shower, maybe shave, but those things took too much energy. The hospital could call while he was occupied, and he couldn’t miss that call. He rummaged through his cupboards for coffee, put the can on the counter next to the coffeepot, then opened the fridge. Not much in there. He needed to go shopping.

  “Jay?”

  He blinked and jerked his head up. Elliott was watching him from the kitchen doorway with sad, puffy eyes. “Hey, you got here fast.”

  “Not that fast. I called you fifteen minutes ago.”

  James let the fridge door fall closed. “Oh.”

  “Honey.” Elliott didn’t ask. He tugged James into a hug, and he nearly crushed Elliott to him. “He’s going to be fine, Jay. He’ll be fine, because that’s our Nate.”

  My Nate, not ours. “Why would anyone hurt him like that?”

  “People are fucking psychos.” Elliott’s hands smoothed up and down his back, a gentle petting motion that calmed some of his racing nerves. “What happened?”

  “They think he went out to chase leads on a murder case. Asking the working boys if they knew a victim. Someone found him in an alley.” The mental image of his Nathan, beaten and stabbed, laying in a dirty alley all alone, made bile surge into the back of his throat. James swallowed hard, desperate not to be sick in front of Elliott.

  “But he’s doing okay now?”

  “I guess. Doctor said he’s stable, but they won’t let me see him. I need to see him for myself.”

  “I know you do, honey. We’ll go see him soon, I promise.” Elliott pulled back and cupped his cheeks. “First, you need a shower because you kind of smell.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Anytime. And when was the last time you ate? No. Never mind. Shower. I’ll forage for sustenance in your cupboards.”

  “What if the hospital calls?”

  “Give me your phone. I’ll tell you right away if they do, I promise.”

  For the first time since Kate’s call twelve hours ago, James felt as though he could breathe a little bit. He wasn’t alone to deal with this. Elliott had his back, and James had never been more grateful for his friend. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, now shoo!”

  He shooed.

  Chapter Seven

  True to his word, Elliott had concocted some sort of meal out of the bare threads of James’s cupboards. Elliott called the lumpy bowl of stuff “deconstructed tuna casserole.” It tasted good—

  canned tuna, peas, pasta and some kind of sauce that might have been cream of potato soup—and it helped settle his stomach. While he ate, James picked up his phone every thirty seconds or so, just to make sure it was on. That the battery hadn’t died.

  Why hasn’t anyone called me?

  After his second bowl of the tuna stuff, Elliott snatched his phone away. He took out his own and dialed. “Yes, hi, I want to inquire about a patient,” Elliott said. “Is Nathan Wolf up to receiving visitors yet? He’s in ICU.” After a few beats of silence, his eyebrows drew together.

  “Okay, thank you.”

  “What?”

  “He can have visitors now.”

  “Why the hell didn’t someone call? His doctor said someone would call.” Anger and disappointment clashed inside him. He could have been by Nathan’s side hours ago.

  “I don’t know, honey, but let’s clean up and get over there.”

  James didn’t care about cleaning up. He dumped everything into the sink, ran some water over it, then grabbed his phone and keys. Elliott didn’t protest him driving, and he was inside the parking garage seeking a space before he noticed Elliott white-knuckling the passenger side door.

  “You didn’t have to come with me,” James said, giving Elliott’s thigh a gentle squeeze.

  “But I’m glad you’re here.”

  Elliott cast him a tearful smile. “After practically living here the past few weeks, I didn’t expect to be back so soon.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He rubbed at his eyes with both hands. “Nate needs us.”

  He had to park on the top level, which felt a lot like fate giving him the middle finger.

  Right up here, less than twenty-four hours ago, he’d flung Nathan’s feelings back in his face and then let him walk away. He’d fix it, though. He’d apologize. He’d grovel. Most importantly, this time he would tell Nathan the truth.

  I want you.

  James followed a familiar path to the ICU waiting room. Nathan’s parents, Cathy and Howard Wolf, were huddled together on one of the sofas, holding hands and talking quietly.

  Nathan had the same black hair and tan complexion as his father, but he’d inherited Cathy’s striking good looks. Even in her late fifties, her barely gray hair and smooth skin did nothing to hint at her age.

  Cathy noticed him first. “James, sweetheart.”

  She practically threw herself into his arms, weeping, and he held her. He loved the Wolfs like a second family. He’d spent countless vacations and holidays with them over the years, usually because he’d needed something less dreary than another Easter dinner with his mother.

  They’d
never looked at him askance for being gay, and he often envied Nathan’s easy relationship with his parents.

  “I’m so sorry,” James said.

  “It’s not your fault, son,” Howard said as he stood. He was exhausted, his face carrying more creases than the last time he’d seen the man. “Only person to be sorry here is the sick bastard who hurt my boy.”

  I hurt him. I hurt him and he went to work, and then someone else hurt him.

  “I’m Elliott Quinn.” Elliott shook Howard’s hand. “We’ve never met, but I’m a friend of Nathan and James.”

  “Howard Wolf. My wife, Cathy.”

  Cathy calmed enough to step away from James, back to her husband. They listed into each other, each needing the other simply to stand.

  “The hospital said they’d call when Nate could have visitors, but no one did,” James said.

  “Is there any news on his condition?”

  Howard and Cathy shared a look he couldn’t decipher. “We managed to get here for the eleven o’clock visitation time,” Howard said. “Nathan was pretty groggy, but he was awake most of it.”

  James’s heart nearly burst out of his chest with joy. “He was? How is he?”

  “Can’t talk for the tubes in his throat, but he blinked yes or no to some of the doctor’s questions. A detective came in to try to question him after we left, but he didn’t really say much to us.”

  “Which detective?”

  “Man named Parsons. He said he’d come back with a tablet Nathan could write on, later when he’s rested a bit more.”

  A small part of James was irritated with the cops for questioning Nathan so soon after the attack, because he needed to rest, damn it. But the professional in him who’d seen too many assault victims come through his office knew that the longer they waited, the harder it would be to find the person who did this. They needed an event timeline, physical evidence and everything Nathan remembered about his assailant’s appearance.

  The next visitation window was three o’clock, which was still about two hours away.

  Two interminable hours.

  “Can I get either of you something from the cafeteria?” Elliott asked. “Coffee? A sandwich? A magazine?”