Thank You, Gracie's Mom and he he eh for the reviews. I'm glad that Minnie is received well.
Super Human 11
"Steve," Mark burred gently, "you don't have to go."
Steve sighed, without taking his eyes off Minnie's white little face.
"Let Jesse go for you. They can have a beer on you, and you'll just get to know them as you work with them." And he added with distinct pride under his concern: "You are the boss."
Steve heaved another sigh, and drew Minnie's hand up to his lips, kissing it lightly. Then he laid it down. Under the covers, tucking it carefully under the quilt, because it was so cold.
"Yes I'm the boss." he reaffirmed, and reluctantly rose to his feet.
Mark patted his shoulder, accepting his son's conscientiousness.
"You gonna call me immediately if there is a change?" Steve asked, like he had done a couple of times before already.
"Promise, Son."
Steve stood another moment, casting a long, worried glance over Minnie's slight form.
Then he brushed his fingers tenderly over her cheek, and turned around to leave.
Mark sat down, and checked the printout of the heartmonitor.
Steve grew really testy.
It was a Saturday forenoon in September, and of course Santa Monica's streets were congested with tourists.
Like a big herd of cattle they streamed over the crosswalk, making it a slow stop-and-go for the cars.
In the end Steve used his bubble light, and dispersed the last startled pedestrians with a couple of yelps of his siren, before his annoyance caused him to burst a vessel or something.
With the streets free before him, he reached Bob's in a mere three more minutes. But the frustrated frown still was on his forehead when he entered his restaurant.
Like the black and white patrol cars - and a bright red Viper- had already advertised, most of crew was already in, and turned their heads upon the jangle of the bell.
Terrell stepped up to him. "Morning Lieutenant. Everything alright?"
Steve waved it off, and tried to relax his facial expression. "Just another crunch."
"The Doc taken another turn for the worse?"
For a moment Steve closed his eyes, and heaved another sigh. "No." he said, as neutrally as possible. "No, he's fine."
Terrell nodded, signaling that he would leave the topic alone if he didn't want to talk about it, and indicated with a gesture that they should start greeting the crew now, when the door opened again.
"Hey, we need a couple of hands here for Brady."
With an unpleasant start Steve realized that his restaurant was not wheelchair accessible, which brought the frown back onto his forehead.
Together with Terrell he went back out, to help to lift the heavy power chair and its not exactly lightweight rider up the tall curb. And while his adjutant started introducing him to his crew, he made a mental note to apply for a curb cut, and a handicapped parking spot in front of the restaurant.
He got himself a bottle of Bud Light, but didn't ping anything against it to get everybody's attention. He knew how to raise his voice to achieve that.
"Morning everybody. Thanks for coming here in your spare time."
"Hey," somebody called, "if there is free beer we'll come whenever you call."
The crowd chuckled, including Steve. "Yeah, I had a hunch that might help." he said wryly. "Anyway, I don't want to bore you with a lengthy speech now. Only for those who haven't heard yet: I'm Lieutenant Sloan, and used to be with the homicide department of the Wilshire Division for six years. As you all know, my Dad, Dr. Sloan, has lost his arm earlier this year, and we are still in the process of getting adjusted, which was the reason for this rather sudden career change. And which is the reason that I will have to be very strict about my work hours. That's the one thing I want to make clear from the beginning. That I won't be available for overtime, that I might be late on some mornings, or leave early. I'm sure things will smooth out in a while, but right now, this is how it is. I'm sure you will understand that."
He made a pause for the supportive murmurs in the positive, and acknowledged them with a thank you.
Then he raised his bottle.
"Well, here's to smooth and successful cooperation."
Bottles and glasses were raised to that in response, and his toast was being drunken to.
Hank, Steve's most reliable employee at Bob's, who mostly worked as a manager, keeping things running while he and Jesse were pursuing their day jobs, saw that the music came back on, making it obvious that the official part of the day was over.
The semi circle dissolved into the little groups that had been there before, and Terrell resumed his place by Steve's side.
They went from group to group, and just made some small talk, exchanging names and positions, and also of course discussing Mark's health.
Until Steve's sleeve was being tugged in such a timid fashion, that he almost expected to see a child standing by his side.
Well, upon a second glance, at least the officer's childhood couldn't be very long gone. Though Steve knew for sure that the boy was grown up, since he was wearing the uniform, his face had definitely failed to develop the masculinity, which might be helpful in his job. His fair hair was light, and a couple of strands were sticking out with static, and his rosy complexion was now emphasized by reddening cheeks, as he stood there, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.
"Yes, officer..." Steve read the name tag, "Wilson?"
"I, um, er,..." Wilson's cheeks grew redder, and perspiration appeared on his forehead.
"Come on Bobby," Terrell admonished him gently. "What is it?"
"I um, was wondering um, Mister Lieutenant - Sir! Is it true that in 1997, after the plane crash, one of the bereaved was prepared to set off a nuclear bomb, right here in L.A.? And that it was you, Sir, who prevented that from happening?"
Steve pursed his lips. This was the second time that case was mentioned, and he looked around the room in search for Sgt. Malloy. But she was standing with her back to him, engaged in a lively discussion with Lt. Sasajima, with whom he had worked on several cases back in Central.
He returned his gaze to Wilson. "Well, actually it was my Dad who had it all figured out, but yes, basically that was so. How would you know about that? It is not supposed to be public knowledge."
Wilson blushed to a deep shade of crimson. "Uh, I... Skeet, Sir. I heard her mention it."
Steve nodded enlightened. "I see. - But you are aware that there is a thing called confidentiality?"
Bobby Wilson drew himself up to his full, total height of five foot seven, and stuttered: "Yes Sir. Of course, Sir, Lieutenant Sir."
"The knowledge that a civilian could get hold of enough nuclear material to build a bomb that would have destroyed greater Los Angeles, is not likely to boost the population's confidence in their law enforcing agencies."
"Yes Sir." Wilson muttered abashedly. "I'm... -Sure. It just seemed so," His blue eyes widened. "incredible. And you are now here, standing right in front of me..."
Steve let out a sigh. "Look, Bobby." He automatically used the boy's first name. "I'm really flattered that I'm causing all this excitement. But I'm sure there are less sensitive cases that can be discussed."
Another young man, not in a uniform, turned around. "Oh wow can we? So what was your last case?"
Steve closed his eyes for a moment. His last case, apart from the everyday drive-by shootings and gang killings, had been the murder of his sister.
"I think our last high profile case was when we nailed Calvin Laird for the murder of his girlfriend."
A uniformed officer turned. "Yeah I remember. He was your neighbor on Broad Beach Road. Whew, when that dude set his place on fire, he could have easily burned down half the road, if it wasn't for your quick reaction."
Steve shrugged humbly. "Well, like you said: he was our neighbor. It would have been our place to go down first."
There seemed to be a certain number of young men, who were deeply interested in The Sloans Great Cases, and so they got reviewed for almost an hour.
Skeet Malloy did listen, but today she seemed almost shy, and too embarrassed to actually talk to Steve.
He noticed that the glaring red was gone from her lips and nails, replaced by inobtrusive natural colors. Her hair was tied into a ponytail, and she wore Jeans and a simple checkered blouse.
And sure as hell looked a lot nicer, than all geared up like she had been yesterday.
Nice by the way.
He excused himself, and went into the kitchen. Cook was already preparing for the lunch crowd, so Steve stayed just right behind the door. He picked his cell from his pocket, and texted: "How is she?"
"Still sleeping." his Dad texted back.
Steve contemplated to ask if he really thought that Minnie was going to be okay, but then decided to not to. His Dad would have told him so.
And there was just no way he would keep Minnie away from hospital, if he thought that she needed to be there.
So. Maybe rest really was just what she needed.
She had thrown up half of the night.
He sighed, and pocketed his phone.
And not willing to go straight back to the crowd, he headed for the restroom instead.
When he opened the door, Kisha, his waitress, jumped up from officer Brady's lap with a startled yelp, straightening her skirt and dabbing her lips self-consciously.
"I'm sorry!" she managed to bring out, and dashed through the door.
Steve felt terrible. Thinking how unfathomably hard it must be for a wheelchair user, to even get as far as kissing a girl, including the pain of getting over his insecurities.
"I'm sorry, Brady." he said, smitten with remorse. "Look, we have a little ante room that's used as our office. I could take the chair out, and make enough room..."
Brady seemed totally unperturbed. "Never mind, Lieutenant." He shifted in his seat to get his proper position back. "That chick wasn't all that hot anyway."
With that he whirred past Steve, out of the door.
Still totally nonplussed when he came from the restroom, Steve bumped into Skeet Malloy, who was apparently looking for something on the floor.
"Sorry." Steve excused himself, and then asked the obvious: "Lost something?"
"Yeah my ear stud." she said, without really looking up. "Hope I can find it. It really means a lot to me."
"What does it look like?"
Malloy presented him her left ear, with a diamond stud in an intricately worked platinum setting.
He didn't whistle, but he made an according face.
Then he bent over. "Did you lose it here?"
"Yes. I heard the faintest click when it fell, but I couldn't make out from where exactly. Or where it rolled to. I hope it didn't roll under that plant container."
"Well," Steve took hold of the edge, braced himself, and lifted the unwieldy box.
Malloy got down on her knees. "There it is! I can see it. - Can you hold it long enough?"
"Not when you keep talking." he wheezed.
Her hand made a quick snipe for the piece of jewelry, and Steve set the palm down with a heavy thump. "Alright?"
She held the stud out triumphantly in response.
He picked it up from her palm. "Can I help you with this?"
"No, better not." She took it back. "The closure is gone. I would only loose it again."
Steve nodded.
"You weren't very much involved in the discussion." he said, while she put the stud in her purse.
"Yeah," she replied wryly, "have made one heck of a fool out of myself yesterday. I thought that is enough."
She turned around, and headed back to the party.
"Officer."
She turned.
"Look." Steve said conciliatory, and took a step after her. "Why don't we leave that behind, and start over again?"
Malloy inclined her head, and with a shy smile took the offered hand. "Why yes, Lieutenant. That - I would appreciate that."
"Good." Steve said relieved. Personnel management would certainly be in his new job description, and he had no intentions to muck up right from the beginning. He steered her towards the bar with a hand on her back. "Let me get you something to drink."
"Thanks, a Diet Coke would be nice."
"Hank, a Diet Coke." he ordered, and then carried the glass to his table.
"And I hope I didn't completely spoil this.." he began, but wasn't really sure how to finish this sentence, without seemingly singing his own praise. "You know, after all, it has been your idea to talk about some of my Dad's cases."
"Oh it really isn't all about Dr. Sloan." she assured him. "I always thought it wasn't fair to put you in his shadow. Aside from those high profile cases, your solving-rate is just outstanding. And you know, actually I was wondering about your last case. You were in charge of the Burnside case, weren't you?"
"Yes I was." he confirmed. "But I couldn't go through with it. It should be in somebody's hands who can dedicate all his time and effort into it."
"And you couldn't?"
"I have other things on my mind."
"I see." Malloy said, the usual amount of pity in her voice like everybody who was referring to his Dad these days. "And so, Dr. Sloan had no part in that investigation?"
"My father has other things on his mind as well."
"I see. Yes. Certainly. Oh my God, I can imagine you are going through harrowing times. - But, I was just thinking, wouldn't the Burnside case have been a perfect vehicle to step out of your father's shadow?"
Steve let his chin come forwards a bit, and his brows go up a fraction. "Sgt. Malloy, I'm not in law enforcement for the fame, or to see my name in print. It doesn't matter if it's my Dad who solves a case, or me. It matters that the bastard who had walked into the courthouse and shot the DA dead, is gonna brought to justice."
The young woman seemed to almost cringe under his cold gaze, and Steve saw that his features smoothed out into friendly again. "Well, the point is, I'm out of it. Burnside was a good man, and he deserves more attention than I am able to give."
He picked up his beer, and took a good swig.
Across the room was officer Brady with a girl draped across his lap, who certainly wasn't Kisha. And another girl was half perched on his armrest, kneading Brady's shoulder while he kissed.
Steve wryly motioned at him with his bottle. "Doesn't seem to be shy, does he?"
"Brady?" Malloy rolled her eyes. "Not that I know of. He hits on like every girl he meets. What makes him bearable is that he isn't sleazy when he makes a move. He's actually pretty witty, and fun to talk to. - And you really can't be mad at him when he dumps you. And, I mean, look at him. His life was over before it had started. What can you say when somebody like him comes on to you? Send him away and break his heart?"
Steve bristled, and to his surprise found a lecture on his tongue, that paraplegia is not the end of your life.
But it didn't come out. - Yet. Instead he glanced at his watch. What the heck was he doing here? This was his day off, and he was supposed to be with his family.
He summoned Terrell, who came duly over.
"Just wondering," Steve said absently, while he texted his Dad: "Coming home now." "isn't that behavior of officer Brady leading to, say, complications?"
"What? No. He's just flirting around. And our ladies know what they have to expect from him. I tell you, he's been with us ever since we were installed five years ago, and there never has been even a hint of a grudge. And really, what can you say? Come on, his life is a piece of crap. I'm thinking it's quite an inspiration how he deals with that real rotten hand life has dealt him."
Steve bristled again, and felt like felt like sharing his mind about what an inspirational way is to deal with a disability. But his mobile vibrated, and asked for his attention. "Yes do so. Think she's gonna wake up in a bit."
"Okay." he said, "I'm gonna take off now. You will see things will proceed smoothly around here?"
"That I will. Do we have to be out by the time you open?"
Steve wagged his head. "Just see the lunch crowd won't get blocked out by a bunch of cops, who occupy all tables."
"Ya okay I'll do that." Terrell said. "Anything else you need for Monday morning?"
Steve thought for a moment. But his mobile felt like a hot coal in his hand, and he got the distinct impression that he should hurry.
"Well," he said, slightly testy again, "if you can think of anything, I can't."
He turned to leave, but in his sudden rush his sleeve got caught on Malloy's handbag, which went flying, and spilled its contents on the floor.
Of course he still was in a rush, but he was too much of a gentleman to just turn his back.
"I'm sorry." he apologized, and went down on one knee to gather the scattered items.
"Erm, no problem." Malloy tried to assure him, and began to hunt after her belongings too. "Never mind this. You seemed in a hurry?"
"A bit." Steve admitted.
Oh boy. The purse into which she had put the ear stud earlier, hadn't closed well, and now there were a dozen of ear jewelry, some necklaces, and a handful of rings.
And chrissake, it seemed to be all genuine jewelry. Rats. This will take another while. "Hank, bring me a clipboard, will you?"
"Why's that?" Malloy wondered, her voice a good notch above her usual calm. "You should go if you are in a hurry. I can pick this all up myself."
"Sergeant, this is no gimcrack. I'm gonna make a list of every item here, so that we both are on the safe side."
If she came back claiming that one of her diamond pieces was lost here, it could easily crash his insurance.
Hank handed him the clipboard, and he began to meticulously describe the items, with Malloy's surprisingly averse assistance. But how else should he have known that those four little rings, that were joined at the top, and their equatorial sides, were meant to be a little calyx, which held a Tahitian pearl. Chrissake! The rings were platinum, and were peppered with eleven sapphires each. And what would be the stalk of this little floret, was a row of nine diamonds.
And while he put down a lot of carat in writing, he wondered if it was Malloy's extravagant taste that let her date only from the top shelve, of if it was because she dated only high earners, or maybe even top earners, that she had developed a certain lifestyle.
And whether she really thought he could hold up with her taste with his salary.
Finally the list was complete. Steve made a copy for Malloy, one to leave here in the office, in case somebody would find more under some furniture, and put the original in his pocket.
Well, now he could call the party off himself. Bob's would open in another ten minutes.
Leaving Hank in charge, he hurried out to his car, and left rubber on the tarmac when he sped off the lot.
Mark was sitting on the edge of Minnie's bed, comparing his notes with the results of the various blood tests he had already been running, and the results of last nights examinations.
Two of his friends, one a very renowned gastroenterologist from the Good Samaritan Hospital, and one the neurologist and expert on spinal cord injury, had come by last night, when Minnie couldn't stop throwing up, and given her the best examinations that could be done without greater machinery.
And taking into consideration that her bloodwork was pretty clean, that antiemetics didn't have any influence on the sickness, they all had come to the conclusion that it was after all Minnie's autonomic nervous system, reacting to the higher level of paralysis.
Which didn't make Mark any happier.
A somatic reason could be treated a lot more easily.
Around midnight she had finally fallen asleep, from sheer exhaustion, and nearly slept straight through twelve hours.
For a while she had been restless now in her sleep, and tried to roll around. Elena, today's nurse, helped her with that, but to Mark's greatest dismay Minnie was so uncomfortable, that silent tears started rolling down her cheeks, escaping from closed eyes.
Her back obviously caused her pain, and Mark was really reluctant to inject more analgesics.
But those tears were just too much for him to bear, and so he filled another syringe. He injected it very slowly, and heaved a resigned sigh when the heartmonitor converted the flutter of her heart into unpleasantly shrill noises.
He discarded the still almost full syringe, and slowly began to feel the first distinct hints of desperation.
He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes since Steve had texted. So he would be back in maybe ten, fifteen minutes.
Mark heaved another sigh.
Elena leaned over, and rolled Minnie around on her right side, like she was trying to.
But the relief of the new position didn't even last for a minute, and Minnie squirmed again.
Oh this was terrible.
"Please remove the brace." he said with sudden determination. And Elena didn't question that decision for a second, because Minnie's hands were constantly trying to slip under the hard plastic, or push it away.
She undid the closures, and took the shell carefully away.
And the first thing Minnie did, was taking a deep, quivering breath.
Though she still didn't wake up.
Mark went around the bed, got in from the other side, and leaned against the headboard.
With Elena's help he gathered Minnie up on his chest, tucking a pillow under her, to curve her back out a bit. And was rewarded with almost instant tranquilization.
He dropped a relieved kiss on Minnie's fair head, and tucked her in a bit more.
With a little motion of his hand he indicated that Elena could go now into the livingroom, began to hum softly, and very gently rubbed Minnie's back, in an attempt to ease her pain a bit.
The only indication that she was awake was, when she began to stroke his chest with a little motion of her fingers, sticking out from her cast.
"You know that I can feel the vibration in your chest," she whispered, "when you are singing with that wonderfully burry deep voice?"
Mark smiled and kissed her head again. "Good morning, Honey. How are you?"
"Can you imagine?" she purred, "My personal space is totally inside yours, and I'm not frightened at all." She breathed a little sigh. "I'm all wonderfully safe."
Her head came up a little bit. "Hoo, it seems machinery has been sprouting last night."
"Yes it did." He gave her another kiss on her head, and carefully let her slide back into the nest of her pillows, guiding her safely there with his stump.
Minnie's cheeks grew pink with excitement, and her eyes shone as she marveled up at him, breathing: "Wow, look how strong your little arm is."
Mark chuckled, delightfully amused, and deeply pleased, and dropped a kiss on her forehead before he stood up and went back around the bed. Steve better make up his mind soon, because if he himself hadn't already, he would have decided right now that he wanted this sweet little girl as his daughter-in-law.
He sat down on the edge again, and brushed his fingers over her cheek. "You don't remember much of last night?"
She pushed up her lower lip, to illustrate that she was thinking.
"Not so much. I distinctly remember that I was a serious disruptive factor to everybody's appetite, when my stomach let go the moment Steve set me down at the table."
"Never mind everybody's appetite. You recall any more?"
She drew the quilt up to her chin. "I was cold."
Mark sighed, and laid his hand where her shoulder was under the covers. "Yes."
She lifted the quilt a bit to check her outfit, but found that she was just in her pajamas.
But maybe Steve's socks were still on her feet.
She reached down, but it was impossible to get a good hold on her thigh and pull it up.
Mark cocked an eyebrow at her. "Hm?"
"The socks." she whined. "Are they at least still in place?"
"Yes they are." he assured her, and a little smile was tugging at his lips as he peeled her foot out from under the covers to show her.
Minnie breathed a pleased sigh, and again looked like a little sparrow that was about to fluff its feathers with glee.
Then she looked inconspicuously around. "Is he gone to work already?"
Mark tucked her foot back. "Not to work. It's Saturday today. But he went to a gathering with his new colleagues, to get to know them a bit."
Minnie seemed thrilled, and gushed under her breath: "His underlings!"
"Yes." he laughed softly. "His underlings."
"Oh he is awesome," Minnie gushed with shining eyes, "isn't he?"
"Yes he is."
"Really?" she wondered, making Mark chuckle with a slightly puzzled expression.
"Ya I think so." he confirmed, ending on a quizzical upstroke.
"Wow." Minnie breathed in awe.
"Hm?" he inquired mystified.
She shrugged with pink cheeks. "I think so. But how would I know? I don't even know his age, do I?"
Mark flinched. "You don't know how old he is?"
Minnie tucked her chin back, a bit wary by his reaction. "Ah, no."
Mark looked like Jesse when he knows exactly he's giving away unpopular things. "He's fifty-one."
She gasped. "Now is he? Oh my God, and I thought I was generous with my estimate. Gosh is he really?" Her cheeks glowed. "Wow, he sure is a man."
Mark chuckled, by all means relieved, and suddenly Minnie started. "Oh my gosh!" She fanned her hand up and down before her face. "If Steve is fifty-one, you can't be sixty!"
He seemed to be utterly amused now, and tee-hee-ed in his merry way. "I am seventy-seven."
Minnie's eyes were huge, and she gasped again. But this time the deep breath was too much, and let her vision black out.
"Hey, Honey." Mark gently patted her cheek. "Honey?"
It took her some moments to focus.
"Hm?"
He shook his head with a very heavy sigh, and cupped her face in his hand. "Honey this is no good." He glanced at his watch. "You know, it's still early enough to call your sister. Don't you think you should let them know, and make sure they can get prepared to keep the children longer? I really would like to make it official that you stay." He kissed her forehead. "The thought that you might have to leave in only a couple of days really worries me."
Minnie's face crinkled up. "But Eske will only worry if I tell her I will stay."
"Yes." Mark said softly, looking her in the eyes. "Yes she will. As I do too."
"Oh please don't worry." Minnie said, instantly assuming a more upbeat expression. "I mean, I spilled all my meals yesterday, so no wonder that I get the blackouts. That happens all the time. Really. No worries."
Mark cupped her face again and was all mellow, but serious. "Please, Minnie, will you do it?" And for emphasis he added entreatingly: "For me?"
She took his hand dismayed in hers, and rubbed his arm for comfort. "Why yes. If this is so important to you, then of course I will call her. Please don't worry, okay?"
He lifted her hand to his lips for a kiss, and dropped another one on her forehead with a relieved smile. "Good girl."
He went to get the phone from the livingroom, and stopped a moment to call Steve.
"Where are you, Son? You should have been home by now. Something happen?"
Steve made an impatient noise. "There was a stupid delay. I only just left Bob's. Is she awake?"
"Yes, she came around a while ago."
"How is she?"
"Well, you know her. She's not having any of it that she is ill."
Steve smiled to himself. Yes. That sounded like Minnie.
"Give me fifteen minutes."
"Okay." Mark agreed, and clicked off.
"Steve will be here in fifteen minutes." he told Minnie, as he passed her the phone, and relished in the excited glow that information produced on her face.
She was right, they didn't know much about each other. Maybe they could spend the day with some photo albums on the couch, just sharing stories.
A little smile appeared on his lips. He would be talking about Carol, and he wasn't afraid of it.
Until now, in good Sloan family tradition, her death had been accepted with stoic resignedness, and after they had scattered her ashes, had never be mentioned again, just to avoid the raging pain.
But now... - He realized that Minnie wasn't dialing, and dropped out of his musings to give her an inviting look.
"Ah, you think you could pass me my backpack please?" she said timidly, "I kind of don't know the number. I mean, I do know that it has a seven and a two in it. But really, calling from another continent adds a lot of weird numbers."
Mark chuckled, and opened the wardrobe to get the rucksack.
And was surprised to find that it was remarkably heavy. "Criminy, what's in here? Bricks?"
"Ah, might be my dictionary that makes it a bit heavy." Minnie allowed. She opened the zipper, and pointed at a huge yellow tome inside.
"Honey, you realize that there are pocket editions for travelers?" Mark pointed out amused.
"Ya. No good. I won't find any word I need in one of those. I learned it by heart. So, if I'm stumped, I most probably find the solution in this."
"You learned a whole dictionary by heart?" Mark repeated, to be sure he hadn't gotten her wrong.
"Ya well no of course not really. I mean, I knew a lot of words already. I just went through the dictionary, and learned all those I hadn't known."
"Honey. That still is amazing!"
Minnie shrugged. "Ya well, I had to, hadn't I?One has to keep ones brains moving and fit. I mean, you wouldn't have wanted me to come here, and be all dumb and ditzy, would you?"
Mark laughed softly, and kissed her on her forehead. "No Honey. I wouldn't."
Pleased by that she dug into the backpack, and extracted a little note slip with the telephone number.
She picked the phone up again, and cast Mark a look, who obviously made an effort to ignore the open bag.
"You wanna snoop around in that?" she invited him, and got a very pleased chuckle in response.
So she dialed her sister's number, and Mark began to empty her baggage item by item.
The phone hooted unpleasantly loud in her ear, and she nervously tried to prepare herself to not sound alarming at all.
Speak loud and clear. she admonished herself, and automatically tried to straighten her posture. Don't use alarming words. You are all fine.
"Reinhard." her sister's voice interrupted her preparations.
"Ah, uh, hi Eske, it's me." she said brightly as possible. "Minnie."
Eske took in a deep breath, and Minnie knew it was a storm collecting over her head. "Now you call?" her sister seethed, catching Minnie totally by surprise. "For heaven's sake! We've been waiting all day to hear from you!"
"I... But..." Minnie stuttered perplexed.
"For crying out loud!" Eske grew more and more indignant. "A police officer returns your car, saying you had an accident, and you disappear completely from the face of the Earth! You cancel your room, and leave no hint where you are off to!"
Minnie's face grew white when she realized her blunder, and how much worry she must have caused.
"Dammit!" Eske swore. "We were just about to call the Foreign Office!"
Minnie shrank into her pillow, and peeped meekly: "Sorry."
Mark looked up with a frown. This was not what he had in mind when he insisted on this call. Though the talking was in German, which Mark didn't understand, Minnie was definitely stressed, and her heart rate grew perturbingly unsteady.
"Sorry? That is all you have to say? For heaven's sake! What happened?"
"I, uh, fell out of my chair." Minnie said, trying to keep her voice steady.
"I mean the accident." Eske jogged her.
"That... was the accident."
Minnie knew how ridiculous that sounded, but there was nothing she could do. Her brain refused to come up with any better explanation, and the room started to float and reel around her.
She needed air! She needed to take deeper breaths! Faster, or else she would suffocate!
"Honey, try to calm down." Mark burred close by her ear, though she couldn't really see him behind all those black and red dots swimming through her vision.
Minnie took breath after breath, quicker and quicker as she tried to come up with words.
"Elena," Mark called, "bring a paper bag from the kitchen! Second drawer." Then he turned back to Minnie, who lay shaking, with clicking teeth. "Honey, calm down please."
He began to pry the phone from her clammy white hands, but suddenly it came loose all by itself, when Minnie's hand grew slack.
"Elena!"
Steve sat in his office, the door closed, as well as the blinds out towards the squad room, trying to concentrate on Sgt. Malloy's records file, despite the uncooperativeness of the words, which danced around the page.
He scrubbed his hand over his face and sighed.
For two days Minnie was now in a coma, and here he was, bothering with Sgt. Malloy again.
he smacked the file on his desk, and trudged over to the door, yanking it open. "Terrell."
His adjutant jumped up, and followed him in, closing the door on Steve's gesture.
"You had a rough weekend?" he ventured cautiously, well aware that Steve apparently didn't like to talk about his private life.
Steve dropped heavily back into his chair and scratched his forehead with the back of his thumb. "We were in hospital."
Terrell nodded.
Seemed the doctor was a lot worse than everybody believed.
He wondered if he should make a sympathetic comment, but then thought better of it. Lt. Sloan wasn't known to be overtly emotional.
Steve leaned back, and put his ankle up on his knee. "What can you tell me about Malloy?"
Terrell shrugged. "What I told you on Friday."
Steve slid the file across the desk. "She is a cop. How can she afford a Viper, and a bagful of diamonds?"
"Like I said: she came out here to meet her biological father."
"Who would that be?" Steve inquired. "The file isn't very forthcoming on that."
"Sure not. He isn't named in her documents." Terrell said. "Her mother got together with her stepfather while she still was pregnant I think, or very soon after she was born, and the guy adopted her. He was running a little car repair shop in..." He leafed through the file, "Hoboken, New Jersey."
"So, and she decides to come out here and get to know daddy, who incidentally feels bad about not having been a big part of her life, and starts lining her pockets like a Santa with a helper syndrome?"
"Well, I've heard stranger things to happen. - Listen Lieutenant, I'm not too sure what this is about. Skeet is a fine guy. She loves her job, and does it despite her extra income. Like you are doing your job, despite your prime Malibu beachfront home, and your upscale home in Brentwood, which I'm sure pays a sturdy monthly income."
Steve deflated with a huge sigh. "Yeah you are right."
He stood up, and poured two coffees. "I don't even know what set me off like this." He handed Terrell a mug, and took a good gulp from his own. "I don't mean to discredit her. - I think it just feels strange to be in charge of a whole station."
"And I doubt that your current set of problems in your private life make it any easier on you."
Steve heaved another sigh. "Yeah well..."
"Skeet's résumé has been checked when she entered the force." Terrell told him confidently. "If there had been any doubts about her, it would have been addressed before."
"Yes, certainly." Steve agreed, and scrubbed his hand down his face to his chin.
"Is the doctor still in hospital" Terrell dared to ask.
Steve looked out of the window, unseeing eyes on the bird-of-paradise flowers. Instead his mind flashed him an image of Minnie, small and white and frail in her hospital bed, connected to a ventilator, monitors, and a battery of medication pumps. A feeding line went into her nose, and it pained him every time to see just how much mush they squirted into her, knowing the bulk would make her uncomfortable. He also couldn't help but worry, if the meals they gave her would be okay with her. Rationally he knew that her coma prevented her from minding what she was eating. But some irrational part of him, that went way back to his own youth, well, did worry.
He sighed. "Yes, he stays in hospital for a while." he answered Terrell's question.
And that wasn't a lie. Mark had set Minnie up in his own ward, and stayed with her day and night, sleeping in the second bed in her room.
"He's going through tough times, eh?"
"Er, yes." Steve confirmed absently.
Terrell went as far as clasping his hand around Steve's upper arm. "My wife and I are saying prayers for him."
"Thank you. I appreciate that."
Steve was sure that God wouldn't mind the little redirection to Minnie.
Terrell downed his coffee, and rinsed the mug. "And don't worry about Skeet." he said on his way out. "She's a good gal."
Steve nodded with a smile.
But alone the mentioning of her name had brought back that slightly irritating nagging sensation somewhere at the back of his mind.
It had been there almost all weekend. But he just couldn't put his finger on it.
And his worries about Minnie had drowned out that little whisper anyway most of the time.
Not so now.
He picked up his phone and speed-dialed a stored number.
"Captain Johnson? Lt. Sloan here."
Mark went around the bed, and in turn lifted Minnie's hands and feet, and laid them gently back down in a slightly different position.
Then he sat down again by her bedside, and slipped his hand under hers, caressing it tenderly with his thumb.
"Mark."
Amanda came in with a folder under her arm.
"Found something?" Mark asked anxiously.
"Not what I was looking for anyway." the pathologist replied, and opened the file. "But her inflammatory factors are increasing."
Mark sighed, and gave Minnie's hand a squeeze before he took the file. "CRP up to forty-seven."
"I'll keep checking. But it looks it is a local incident."
Mark put the file down and felt Minnie's forehead.
No temperature.
But a central line always is an easy entrance for bacteria, and what's more, also a super highway straight to the heart.
So taking cultures from the port, and another vein, was the first step of getting to the bottom of this, earliest possible, and administering antibiotics came right after that.
An endocarditis had to be avoided by all means.
A nurse added a drip with an intravenous antibiotic, and Amanda left with her samples, giving Mark a squeeze around his shoulders.
Left alone with Minnie in the semi quiet room, Mark sat down by her side again, and went on to caress her hand, humming very softly to her.
It wasn't long until Steve came in. He wore a protective gown, and washed and disinfected his hands before he finally stepped up to her side.
"How is she?"
Mark sighed. "No worse yet, but she seems to be developing an infection."
All air escaped Steve, but no words came with that. He just gave his Dad a look, pleading to ease the worry.
"We already started a round of antibiotics."
"But..." Steve battled for his composure. He had seen what good antibiotics are, when his Dad's chest wound was infected, and nothing could be done against it.
"Son, we caught it at the earliest stage. The samples we had taken only two hours earlier showed no sign of infection." He took Steve's hand. "Come. Sit with her. Try to relax. She needs you calm and steady."
Steve sighed, and tried to compose himself.
He wouldn't have believed it if somebody had told it, but Minnie always reacted to his presence. Her heartbeat always grew a notch stronger when he was with her. The monitor was hard proof of that.
He sat down, and carefully took her small, cool hand in his.
And the heart rate evened instantly.
Steve couldn't see why that was so, but it undeniably pleased him, deep down inside.
Correction: it pleased him all over.
Mark pulled up another chair, and sat down on the opposite side of the bed, taking Minnie's other hand in his.
They both caressed the hand they were holding, Steve including her forearm in his ministrations.
"Dad?"
"Yes Son?"
"How is this possible?" Steve inquired softly, carefully keeping his tone of voice level. "I mean, she doesn't look ill. And she never acted ill. Apart from her being obviously sick. But she looks by no means haggard. How could this turn into such a life threatening situation?"
"You are right. What makes her weight loss sound so dramatic, is due to the loss of muscle. But she has lost twenty pounds in rather a short time, which is stress for the body. Then she spent a whole month with basically no sleep to speak of, which was even more stress." Mark shrugged with a sigh. "And stress seems to be the main factor. Minnie isn't just worried to cause hassle, she is downright scared to." Another sigh. "And you see, there is a point where weight loss can barely reversed anymore. The body practically consumes itself. Just keeping the body alive and running becomes a strain at some point. And any extra, like a panic attack, or continuous vomiting, has an impact on the body like a hard work out. You see, she has lost almost four pounds since Wednesday. Despite the infusions. But," he added when he saw his son's appalled expression, and walked around to the foot board of the bed, where he pressed a button on a display, attached to the board. "she has now already gained one pound point six."
Steve arched his brows. "How can you tell?"
Mark pointed at the wheels of the bed, which all four seemed to be having a boxy bracket around them. "The bed is standing on a scale. Like that we don't have to cause Minnie any discomfort by putting her on the stretcher of the old weighing system we used to use."
Steve had to smile. "You bought this?"
"Minnie didn't like the other system." Mark said, and tugged Steve's quilt up a bit to her chin. "She was freezing on that skimpy, shaky stretcher."
Steve's smile grew, all mellow with love for Minnie, and understanding for his Dad's motives. And even though there was nothing else to take hold of than the stump, he reached over the bed and gave Mark an affectionate, and reassuring squeeze there.
And he didn't let immediately go again, but rub-squeezed it for some moments, trying to convey his support.
And Mark perceived it all.
Though neither of them dared to look. Not even at each other. Not out of embarrassment, but it would have added a tad too much emotionality. The tad they usually steadfastedly try to avoid.
But Mark leaned down and kissed Minnie's forehead, thinking 'Thank you, Honey.'
"What kind of fucking news is that? He probably doesn't know anything. He probably is too caught up in his family matters. You are almost ninety percent sure he is blind as a bat. Oh great! I feel almost ninety percent safe! Fuck! I told you to get into his pants!"
"And how am I supposed to do that if he isn't interested?"
"How hard can that be? For crying out loud, that dude hasn't seen the inside of a girl's briefs in a year. He should be between your legs now, drooling."
"I can't help it if he isn't interested. Maybe he has somebody else."
"No he hasn't. Nobody has seen him with a girl ever since the doc got himself smashed up."
"Okay. I'll see what I can do."
"You'd better. Because I won't take 'probably' for an answer much longer. If you can't come up with a definite 'no', I'm gonna take him out."
"No! No more killings! One was enough!"
Steve sat on the edge of Mark's desk, a bottle of Bud Light in hand, looking around the seemingly vast expanse of the living room.
After the bustle of the past months, and especially last week, the house seemed infinitely lonely.
He took a swig from the bottle.
Was it really only just a week since he had carried Minnie in here?
Or rather, was it really just a week since he had sat on the deck in the night, brooding over his beer because he had accidentally looked at his Dad's stump?
There. He could now even - at least think it in clear terms. If he could also say it? Well, time would show. He would sure not say it out loud now just to himself.
Just one week. And everything had changed.
He had changed.
And he wanted his life to take the ultimate change.
Tomorrow he would meet the Miller's, the tenants of his house in Brentwood.
He didn't want Minnie to go back to Germany. It was no safe place for her.
He would offer her to marry him. So she could stay here with him. And his computerized home seemed just perfect for her. Everything was voice controlled, and there even was a lift
It didn't matter that she couldn't have sex. Wasn't it said that friendship was a lot more important to make a marriage work?
He took another swig, emptying the bottle.
For the first time in his life he was not unsure whether he would be up to a marriage. If he would be able to commit himself enough. If he was able to make a woman happy.
For the rest of her life.
He smiled. Minnie was unmistakably happy with him. And it didn't require anything special. Just his presence.
The thought elated him.
All his life he had felt like he had to have make up to his girls for just the fact that they had been so gracious to date him. That he had to wear clothes for them he wasn't comfortable in, but that wouldn't embarrass them to be seen with him.
With Minnie it was the total opposite. It was him who felt embarrassed to wear his oldfashioned checkered jackets, and the whole week he had seen that he had been wearing those jackets he had bought on other women's insistence.
He smiled, and stood up to bring his bottle back to the kitchen, and then went to lock the deck door.
Up on the shelve stood his Dad's old Madonna.
And just to be sure he stopped in his tracks, closed his eyes for a moment, and sent a little prayer, and the plea to accept prayers for his Dad for Minnie.
Though he felt a lot more confident than in the afternoon.
Minnie's inflammatory factors hadn't gone up any more, and the source had been detected to be the operation site, where the blood clot had been removed from her spinal canal.
So with that under control, it was just a matter of her gaining weight, which she did.
He switched out the lights, and cast another look into Minnie's vacated room.
The contents of her backpack had been stacked neatly on the night case, before the nurse and Francine had left on Saturday. Steve's curiosity sure was piqued, but he really wouldn't want to breach Minnie's privacy.
But he recalled the load of CDs in her bag, and took them all down with him. He would listen through them, and take some of them to the hospital tomorrow.
His Dad said her subconscious would register what was going on around her, and hearing her music would certainly register well.
It still puzzled him why she had all those CDs, but no means to play them.
On his way he locked the front door, and went down the stair to his part of the house.
Too bad. But the Beach House was not suitable for a wheelchair.
He wasn't very happy to leave his Dad now, but after this one week he had no doubts that he would get along on his own.
Well okay, he had spent some thoughts on buying another place by the beach where they could live together with his Dad. But like he had just told Minnie, this was about the only safe place for a beach house in Malibu, and also he knew that his Dad could never stand the idea of selling his home, where he had been happy with his Mom.
Well, same went for himself. This was their family home.
He entered his bedroom, stacked the CDs on his night stand, and went to dig out his portable CD player.
He put in fresh batteries, laid it next to the CDs, and went to take a shower, as was his habit ever since he became Detective in 1990, after he had been called out early in the morning with really weird looking hair once too many. Ever since then it was his rule to get himself fresh and presentable before he went to bed.
More so even because he had neglected his rule over the weekend.
Freshly showered, he grabbed a fresh pair of boxer briefs, shaved, and blow-dried his hair back up in shape.
Then he got into his bed, propped himself up against the head board, and began to listen to Minnie's music.
Steve woke up with a start. He didn't even know why, but the nagging sensation in the back of his head was gone, replaced by a sudden clarity.
He put on a T-Shirt, and headed out to his desk in his bare feet.
The Burnside case was up front in his file cabinet, and he unerringly found the entry he was looking for.
Before he had been killed, Burnside had purchased a pair of earrings. A stylized calyx of four joined platinum rings, studded with eleven sapphires each, and holding a Tahitian pearl, according to the jeweler, to whom the receipt in Burnside's papers had led him.
The earrings couldn't be found anywhere, so it was self-evident that Burnside had been dating somebody.
That had actually been the point when Steve had realized that this case was too much for his restricted attention right now. The overall impression of Burnside's closest friends and colleagues had been that he hadn't seen anybody since his divorce. And since nobody had come forward as his girlfriend, Steve had handed the case over.
So, what the heck was going on?
If Sgt. Malloy was that mysterious girlfriend, why hadn't she come forward?
And Steve was more than ready to believe that she was it, because the attempted nuclear assault on Los Angeles was confidential, at least as much as possible, and one of the few people who knew about it, had been DA Burnside.
Steve stood up and headed for the kitchen, to make himself a cup of coffee.
And on second thought he went upstairs, and raided his Dad's fridge.
An empty stomach doesn't think well.
Fortified with sandwiches, coffee, and a bag of Pork Cracklins, he resumed his thinking.
For one thing he knew exactly that no red Viper had been parked in the underground parking of the courthouse, nor in the parking structure across the street.
But just to be on the safe side, he checked all names of police officers on any kind of duty on the day of the shooting.
After all, being a cop was the easiest way of getting a gun into a courthouse.
Well, Malloy's name didn't come up. But two of the Malibu station's officers had been there to testify. Time was about right. Sgt. Jenkins, and Lt. Valenti.
He made a note of the names, and sighed. He sat back, put his ankle up on his knee, and picked a Cracklin from the bag to chew it thoughtfully. He was right back at square one. To the big question that had baffled him from the beginning: who in the world was so stupid to kill a DA in his office? A place with tight security. Where every visitor left a blazing bright trail.
Why not catch him discreetly on his way home, sniping him from the safety of a stolen car? The killer hadn't been shy about advertising Burnside's death as murder. Had he tried some intricately disguised masterpiece of the perfect murder, Steve might be able to see why the courthouse could be chosen as the stage.
But a blunt killing?
And yet, Steve had to admit, however blunt the killing was, until now nobody had been able to figure it out.
So, again: what had happened?
What was the bigger picture?