Trish rolled her eyes and leaned back against the wall. She was tired and worried. There had been a string of threats coming towards the owners of Evolution Enterprises, but it had never gotten so out of hand. Busted cars and threatening letters, maybe a few fist fights, but this guy was serious. If she hadn't gotten out there in time... She shook the thought away.
"And there's absolutely nothing you can tell me about this guy?" Benoit looked down at his notepad and groaned. To have had an eyewitness, his paper was abnormally bare. "Not hair color? A distinguishing figure? Nothing?"
"Isn't that what I said? I was a little too worried about Randy actually dying to stop and draw a fucking picture." She turned onto her side and groaned. Her head rolled against the wall. "His hair was long?" She shrugged. "He was in the light, but my eyes weren't focused on him. I was staring at the knife. I just remember seeing hair whipping around when he ran off."
Dave walked up and inserted himself between Trish and Benoit. While his license to practice was still up to date, he usually left the legal work up to the legal division. At the moment, though, he was the only lawyer in the area and it made no sense to wait around for someone else to show up. "She's given you her statement, Detective. Unless you're planning to ask her a different question that might actually have an answer, leave her alone."
Benoit stood up straight and looked up into Dave's eyes. He fixed him with a glare that said that neither his eyes nor his size scared him in the least. "I would think you would want me to ask anything I could until I got an answer that might help."
"Or maybe you just don't want to do the real work." Dave folded his arms and stared down at the cop. "You've got a list longer than my johnson of people who have grudges against us. Why don't you go and find out if they have alibis, and then come back to bug the hell out of us. Right now, I think Trish would like to go in and see Randy."
Trish peeked around from behind and sighed. "If I remember anything else, I'll let you know, but right now, can I just go and see how bad off he is?" She wanted to say something a little more snide, but held her tongue. Benoit had been just another in the long list of people who hadn't believed that Christian was murdered. He probably hadn't cared. To her, he seemed not to care that much that Randy had nearly been killed, either. She lost one, and she didn't think she could take losing another.
Benoit looked past Dave to Trish and nodded. "If you think of anything else..." He pulled out a card. "Give me a call."
Trish took the card and shrugged. "As if I don't have enough of these." She stuck it in the side of her shorts, then pushed her way between the two men in front of her. She didn't really care about their staring contest. That was all bullshit as far as she was concerned.
After stopping at the desk, she made her way down the hall towards the small room Randy was in. She stood in the doorway and stared at him for a minute. Even from across the room, she could see that the right side of his face was swollen. A bandage covered his forehead and Trish knew there were stitches beneath it. She hoped that he wouldn't scar. His shirt was off, and white bandages wrapped around his mid-section.
Slowly, she walked forward. She took a seat beside the bed and lightly touched his hand. Randy groaned and his head rolled towards her. She bit her bottom lip and gave a nervous laugh. "You look like shit, Orton."
His right eye was swollen shut, but his left rolled at her. "Thanks, Trish. Your bedside manner is something to be envied."
"Yeah, I know." She turned away from him and stared across the room. "I guess that they didn't take blood?" She looked back at Randy. "I mean, I got the evidence off of you but... You know how Benoit is. He'd have probably had the narcs down here to put you in cuffs if they knew what was in your system."
"They always take blood." He groaned and started to sit up, which only made his groans louder. "We just happen to have friends in many places."
"You don't have any friends, Randy. You've got flunkies."
"Same difference." He pushed himself up more and Trish put her hand on his chest. He swiped her hand away and fought until he could sit up straight, his legs hanging over the side of the bed. "Get my shirt, will ya?"
"Huh?" She watched him trying to stand and shook her head. "No way, Randy. You're staying right here. Look at you, you can barely even sit up."
"Barely is enough. I'm sitting up, aren't I?" He tested the floor with his feet. "And where the fuck are my pants, huh? I swear, if those fucking idiots cut my shit off..." He planted his feet and tried to stand up. His legs started to buckle, but he caught himself on the bed before falling. Trish jumped up and put her shoulder beneath his arm to try and push him up. "Would you help me find my fucking clothes, please?"
With Randy so eager to get out of the hospital, Trish's worry was able to push itself down. She knew he'd be alright, no matter how bad he looked. It opened up room for her anger to come back. "Ya know what, Randy? I should just let you fucking fall. I should've let 'em find that shit on you, too."
"What the fuck..." He steadied himself and looked down at Trish. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"You went out there with a purpose, Randy. You went out back to do whatever the fuck with those little bitches. I saw you follow 'em out, and what did they do? Cut and run when you need some help. They didn't even run back in to let us know. You're just lucky Hunter sent me out back to catch you in something. Or should I say someone?" She backed away from him and turned her back to him. "The least you could do is thank me for helping your sorry ass."
"Trish, come on. I wasn't thinking right. You know I've got more sense than to do some dumb shit like that." He didn't bother adding 'with you there' to the end. It would have been stating the obvious. "Is a thanks all you want? Then here it is... thanks for stoppin' that fuckin' lunatic from killing me. Thanks for thinking to pull the shit out of my pockets. Are you happy now?"
"I would be if you really meant it."
"Trish, I mean it. I wouldn't say it if I didn't."
She turned back to him and sighed. "Did you even see him? Get a good enough look at him to give a description?"
"Sorry, officer," he said sarcastically, "I was a little too busy getting my ass kicked." He groaned as he started to slip and pushed himself up with a grunt. "Fucker ambushed me. Came outta nowhere with a damn pipe. I didn't even get a look at him."
"You think he might try again?" She walked towards him slowly, then stopped. Out the corner of her eye, she saw his clothes and turned to pick them up. There was no point in arguing with him. If he wanted to leave, then he would leave. Trish took the clothes and tossed them on the bed. "Maybe staying here would be better? I mean, I doubt he'd come here and..."
"Nice try but no dice." He took the shirt and eased his arms into the sleeves. He didn't bother buttoning it. Too much movement too soon. He picked up his pants and let them unroll to the floor. "I'll just get some security or something. I'm not staying in this fuckin' rat trap."
Trish watched him try to put on his pants, and for a moment, took enjoyment in his pain. He deserved it for taking his drugged out ass in the back, anyway. After his third try, though, she got frustrated and went to help him. He didn't protest a lot, but he did grunt a few times to let her know that he didn't like needing the help. She cinched the pants at his waist, then stepped back.
"Fine, Randy. But, you're going home."
"Uh uh." He shook his head. "To the club."
"What?"
"To the club. I'm betting the other guys'll wanna talk about this and that's the safest place right now. Take me to the club and then... back to your place."
"My place?"
"Your bedroom's on the first floor. It's easier to get to."
She rolled her eyes and groaned. If he were difficult on a normal day, he was even more so when he was hurt. But, again, there was no point in arguing with him. Randy Orton was going to do whatever the hell he wanted to, when he wanted to do it. With a sigh, she found his shoes, helped him slip his feet inside, then walked him out of the room with a tentative arm around his waist. She just hoped that the others had gotten Benoit to leave. If Randy were going to get in an argument that night with anybody, it was going to be her. Not some cop with a hard-on for busting their asses.