Chapter Twenty
Karen settled into the car, but didn't turn it on right away. She watched Jim carefully organizing her first aid kit, fitting everything into place better than it had been when she first got it. From this angle she couldn't see any of the cuts or bruises on his face clearly, but she knew they were there.
It seemed amazing, she suddenly realized. She'd never obsessed about Jim's blindness the way Marty did, even though he was her partner. But as she watched him, his blue eyes following what his hands were doing, putting cotton balls back in the plastic zip lock bag, tucking alcohol swabs in the plastic container, shifting bandages and gauze into place, she suddenly realized how easy he always made everything look. Walking across the squad room, eating lunch, using a computer. She thought of him going after Lyman on their first case. She'd been unconscious for a while at Randy Lyman's house, coming to to find Jim with his gun leveled at Randy. He'd been completely calm on the way back to the station that day, too, just like he was now. Then later, in the interview room, when Lyman had tried to take Jim's gun and Jim had slammed him up against the wall. He knew his job and could take care of himself, proving that over and over.
She closed her eyes, thinking of him beating up those guys today. Tom had filled them in on the little of the fight he'd seen, but Jim had kept his mouth shut. The one was a huge guy and it had taken Tom and Jim both to subdue him. Tom had said Jim was already pretty battered by the time he showed up, but the first guy was unconscious.
She heard Jim move and a little groan, but she didn't open her eyes. She guessed maybe he was running his hands over his head, but she couldn't be sure. He had a huge bump there, but all he'd say was he landed badly when the second man pushed him off.
Karen thought of all the things that could have gone wrong. If both the guys had been armed—she wouldn't have a partner right now. She'd be crying—sobbing, more like it—because Jim had sent Marty to make sure she was okay. Jim had been looking out for her. And it would have been her fault if something had happened to him. What had she been thinking, leaving him down there to watch the front door? She'd been thinking the warehouse was empty and they weren't going to find anything and it was all a wasted trip and she just wanted to get back to the squad and run Richard White through the system. And for that, she could have Jim's death on her hands.
As it was, he was hurt. She'd heard him groan, felt the bump on the back of his head, seen the cuts and bruises. And those were only the visible ones. She could tell by the way he was breathing that his ribs were giving him pain. She'd watched as he gingerly slid into the car and knew he was sore.
She felt guilty. Behind her closed eyes, she could feel a tear welling up, just a little. Fear and worry and guilt and, ultimately, relief. She was Jim's partner. He'd had her back, and where was she? He might as well have been there on his own for all she could have done.
"Karen?" he asked.
"Yeah?"
"Are we heading back?"
Her eyes flew open and she stared at him a second, having nearly forgotten what they were doing. He was sliding the first aid kit into the glove compartment. He tossed a glance her way and blinked. She blinked back. "Oh, uh, yeah," she said, but her voice shook.
He turned his head to the side, a look of concern on his face. She could see one of the small cuts at that angle and she stared at it. When she brought him here, he'd been fine. "Are you holding up okay?" he asked.
She didn't answer right away, just watched him. He was waiting patiently, his eyes not quite focused on her, his hair tussled, he tried to send a small smile to her, but it died after a small twitch of the lips. The silence was getting too long. "Jim, what if something would have happened to you?"
His head jerked away from her and he looked out the side window, but not before she'd seen his lips press together, his eyes narrow. "Karen," he said, his voice even and low, controlled, almost angry, but she knew Jim wouldn't let his emotions show that easily. "I'm fine. Why are you questioning my ability—"
"I'm not," she cut him off as soon as she saw where his train of thought was leading. "I'm questioning myself, Jim. If something would have happened, how would I have been able to live with it?"
"I wouldn't be a cop if I couldn't take care of myself," he assured her.
"And people get shot in the back every day," she countered.
He just shook his head, staring straight ahead. She couldn't tell what he was thinking.
"Did anything ever happen to any of your partners while you were partnered up?" She swallowed hard, thinking suddenly she shouldn't have brought it up. She didn't know what exactly had happened at the bank, but Jim had been the one who'd been hurt. That had to have killed Terry, just like it was killing her to think Jim could have just been hurt badly in the warehouse. Was that why Terry had—she shook her head, refusing to finish that thought. She didn't want to think Terry capable of shooting himself just because Jim had been shot. And hurt.
She shivered. Jim had a life before he met her, a different partner who hadn't had his back, maybe he'd even been a different person. She wondered how much he minded that change.
Jim was shaking his head. "No. Terry—" He cut himself off. "No." He was chewing on his bottom lip.
Karen started the car, just let it idle. She could tell from the expression on Jim's face that his mind was running along the same lines hers had.
Jim bit his lip until he tasted blood. It had been split slightly in the fight and now he worried the wound until it opened again. He was still alive. He was okay. He'd been worried at first, the fight, a free-for-all in a strange place. At least the man hadn't been armed. At least the warehouse had been empty.
"I don't want you to worry," he finally said to Karen.
She'd asked how she could have lived with it if something would have happened to him. That was something cops had to deal with every day, but rarely thought about until something actually did happen.
Terry had popped into his head. "What would make a guy shoot himself in the arm?" he'd said. "'Cause I can tell you what would make a guy do that."
Jim rested his elbow on the door and put his hand up to his forehead.
Terry didn't want to talk to him again.
Jim really hadn't thought of that, what he'd have felt if he'd been in Terry's place. Yeah, Terry'd screwed up and maybe he shouldn't have ever come back on the job, but—
Terry was a cop. Maybe he hadn't known anything else he could do except come back.
Maybe he didn't deserve forgiveness for freezing, but maybe he deserved it for Jim getting hurt. He could have been hurt whether or not Terry'd been doing his job. Jim had been so absorbed with trying to come back to work, he hadn't thought of anything but Terry already being back at work, how he shouldn't have been there.
Terry hadn't been asking for forgiveness. He'd said that. He'd known Jim wouldn't be able to give it. He knew he couldn't make amends, could only try to apologize. He'd come the first day, knowing Jim would be there, in public. Probably he'd been scared. He'd never tried to come by the apartment after the shooting, before Jim's reinstatement.
And when they'd been working on that case when Terry'd shot himself… Terry'd tried to talk. Jim had barely wanted to hear his voice, but now it replayed in his head, unsteady and nervous.
How could Karen have lived with it if something would have happened to him?
How had Terry lived with it? Knowing he could have done more? Knowing how badly he'd screwed up? If he'd been scared at the bank, Jim couldn't imagine what it had taken to get him to come back and try to apologize. Jim had been so unwelcoming, that's why Terry had asked the lieutenant if it was even okay for them to work together on the Oliver case.
Terry could tell you what would make a guy shoot himself in the arm.
Jim still couldn't fathom it.
But he and Terry had been friends. They'd been partners for three years, not just months.
Karen would have been there for him if she could. Terry hadn't been able to.
Jim found he was shaking. The fight, it was nothing. Getting shot at the bank, that still scared him. Terry had seen it. Terry had seen more than Jim had, seen him lying unconscious, blood gushing from his head. Jim had been unconscious through the whole ordeal, getting taken to the hospital, almost dying. Terry had been there, watching, frozen.
Jim remembered the brief meeting in the park a few weeks ago, when he'd blown Terry off again. He'd said he'd be there, if Terry need anything, but they weren't friends. It almost touched him, after their last meeting when Terry had practically thrown him out of his house, that he'd come up to him at all in the park. It wasn't fair, he'd said, to just walk on by. Was that the only reason, that it wasn't fair for Jim to not know he was there?
Terry might know about fair. He'd known Jim before, so to just walk on by, that would have been cowardly, like hiding.
Karen was driving, he suddenly realized. He touched the cold glass of the window and shivered. The car hadn't warmed up yet.
What if something happened to Karen? He'd run that scenario through his head countless times. If something happened to Karen… He definitely wouldn't go shoot himself. But how would he live with it? He couldn't even think. He'd definitely be off the job. There's no way it wouldn't come back to his inability to do his job, no matter what happened. The brass would make sure he was out. Other than that, how would he deal? If he got messed up just losing a perp, what if Karen got hurt? Or killed?
Terry'd at least apologized, Jim had to give him credit for that. But what if he couldn't apologize?
"Karen?" His voice sounded odd, even to himself. "What if something happened to you? Because I'm your partner?" He felt a hand suddenly gripping his wrist tightly, and he turned toward her.
"I know you would have done everything in your power to stop it, even if you couldn't," she said.
Jim turned away. That wasn't the issue, whether or not he tried to save her. It was whether or not he could.
"Look," she said, "we'd be watching each other's backs. Something could just as easily happen to you as me."
Marty looked up as Jim and Karen walked in. Jim had his coat and jacket slung over one arm and had Hank's harness in his other hand. They weren't talking, both looking pretty exhausted.
Jim followed Hank to his desk and Marty turned his attention to Karen. Her hair was slightly mussed and she looked almost sick. She probably was still feeling under the weather. Knowing her, she'd have definitely come back before she was completely well.
Jim tossed his coats on his chair, but didn't sit.
"Coffee?" Karen asked.
"Yeah," Jim said. He closed his eyes a second, then opened them and turned toward her. "Yeah."
"Me, too," she said and walked off, peeling off her coat as she went.
Dunbar still didn't sit down, but went to stand by the window. His dog was staring at him.
"Hey," Tom said, hurrying up. "They're bringing up the second guy. The first one's being looked over by a doctor first. He's awake, but he's pissed."
"Is he hurt?" Marty asked.
"I don't think so. Just really banged up. Hey, Jim," he called over, "nice work. I got to see him conscious and all battered and it's a beautiful sight."
Jim half-turned with a small smile of acknowledgement.
"Dunbar," Marty said, "the guy you beat up, he's the one I caught in here this morning."
Jim just nodded, silently absorbing the information. The silence stretched between the three of them.
"So who gets to interview the big guy?" Tom asked. "Jim? You want a shot at him?"
Jim shook his head. "You two can take him."
Tom looked quizzically over at Jim, probably surprised he would pass up a chance to talk the guy straight through to a confession, but then he shrugged and headed over to his desk.
Karen came back with two cups of coffee in hand. She'd shed her jacket and looked a little better than when she'd come in, more collected. She touched the back of Jim's hand with one of the cups and waited for him to take it.
"Hey," Marty said to her, "Tom says they're bringing one of the guys up."
"Great," she said quietly. "I'm gonna go get settled in the observation room. Jim?"
"Be there in a few minutes," he said, blowing on his coffee.
Marty wondered if they'd talked in the car about who would be interviewing, then figured they'd probably had better things to talk about, like what the hell Jim was thinking, splitting up from Karen like that.
"Quite a show down there," Fisk said, walking up. "That one guy's giving the doctor a heck of a time. We had to give him a bit of a tranquilizer."
Jim turned. "Will we get to talk to him today?"
"Maybe." Fisk was looking Jim up and down. "They think his wrist might be broken, so it'll be a while if they have to set it. But the drug isn't going to knock him out." Jim was nodding. "How about it? Need that doctor?"
Jim gave over a slight frown and shook his head. "I'm doing great."
"Marty," Fisk said, "this isn't a tennis match."
Marty snapped his head back to his computer instead of looking between the two. He heard Jim chuckle and he almost chuckled himself, but caught himself in time.
Fisk headed for his office. Marty heard footsteps and looked up to see a uniformed officer bringing in Perp Number Two. Jim was looking back out the window, so Marty leaned back and told him the guy was there.
Jim nodded. "I'm ready." He set down the coffee and pulled his cane out of the pocket of his overcoat. Marty watched him shake it out and tap it on the floor to make sure it was set.
Marty looked around the squad. He'd forgotten that things had been moved that morning, but guessed it was in Jim's best interest not to forget. He surveyed the room. Jim had sworn things were out of place, but it really didn't look like it.
Jim walked up the aisle, his cane tapping back and forth. It hit a trashcan and Jim leaned down and moved it under a desk. He straightened and continued walking, the next desk slightly out of place. Watching Jim and knowing how he usually easily moved down that aisle between the desks, Marty could see now how they were slightly off.
He got up and followed.
Jim paused outside the interview room door.
"You change your mind?" Marty asked brightly, clapping a hand on Jim's shoulder.
Jim grimaced, his knees actually buckling an inch under the pressure. Marty pulled his hand back and watched pain flash across Jim's face.
Jim cracked his neck and the look was gone. Both hands on the top of his cane, he turned to Marty. "Don't do that," he said quietly.
"You sure you're okay?" Marty asked before he could stop himself. He hadn't been planning to ask because Jim seemed to hate that question so much, like people thought of course something would always be wrong with him, using it as a sort of put down.
"I'm sore, that's it. I was just wondering what this guy looked like." He nodded his head at the interview room door.
"He's a big guy," Marty said. "Six-five or something, muscley—"
"I know." Jim waved the description off. "That much I know."
Marty nodded. Yeah, Jim had fought this guy briefly, Tom had told him. He was big enough and strong enough he'd kicked Jim a few feet away.
"He looks…" Marty shrugged, glancing through a small gap in the blinds. "Like my Aunt Ethel, but young. She's my great aunt, really."
Jim's face was screwed up, looking over at him.
"You know how old people get all distorted? He doesn't have her wrinkles, but he's ugly enough. His nose is sort of drooping and his mouth looks like he always frowns. He's got short hair, brown. And he slouches." Marty looked back at Jim to find him with an odd smile.
"Thanks, Marty. That was enlightening."
"You don't have to make fun of me, Dunbar—"
"I'm not." Jim waved a hand in the air to cut him off. "Honest, that's the best description I've ever gotten. It's like I know what he looks like."
"Oh."
"Kind of scary, isn't it? Finding a family resemblance in a perp?" Jim smiled teasingly.
"Watch it, Dunbar. My Aunt Ethel likes to hit people with her cane."
He hefted his cane in one hand. "So do I."
"We almost ready?" Fisk asked. He clapped a hand on Jim's shoulder.
Marty saw Jim's eyes blink, but other than that, he held his ground, even as Fisk squeezed his injured shoulder. Marty had to give him credit, even as he grimaced for Jim. Never show the boss you might be hurt. Jim looked a little paler than he had a moment ago, and he couldn't keep the relief off his face when Fisk let go, but other than that, he was a silent mask.
Fisk turned toward the observation room.
"I'm ready," Tom said, coming up on the other side of Jim. Tom reached up to put a hand on Jim's shoulder, maybe to move him aside so he could open the door to the interview room. Marty grabbed it before he could touch Jim. Jim moved away, following Fisk. Tom gave Marty a confused look, but didn't say anything, even when all Marty gave back was a shake of the head.
Jim slid into the observation room and folded his cane.
"What are we going to do about that?" Fisk asked.
"What?"
"You getting around the squad?"
Jim kept his face blank as he looked up at the boss. "I learned my way around once, I can do it again. I've already moved some things back."
"You need any help?"
"Nah. I got it."
He guessed Fisk to be nodding in the silence. He felt Karen touch him lightly on the arm and he turned toward her.
"I grabbed an ice pack, if you want it," she said quietly.
"Oh." He shrugged nonchalantly, like he was fine, but the movement jarred his shoulder. "Sure." He put the cold pack on his shoulder. It felt good, numbing.
"What'd you do to your shoulder?" Fisk asked.
"Yeah," Karen agreed. "I got that for your face."
"It's nothing. I just landed wrong." He'd been so preoccupied with the pain in his ribs and his shoulder he hadn't paid any attention to his face. Now he slid his cane into the back pocket of his pants and gingerly touched his face.
"You're probably going to have a black eye tomorrow," Karen said. "There's a little bruise already."
Jim's fingers tenderly explored his right cheek and under his eye, next to the cut that ran down the side of his face. "Doesn't really hurt," he said, pressing the ice pack to his shoulder.
Karen laughed. "You want me to take a look at your shoulder? I took some first aid classes."
Jim held up a hand. "Don't touch." He waved her back.
"Okay." She laughed at him again.
He smiled back.
Jim heard the door to the interview room click shut and he leaned carefully against the wall, avoiding bruises and sore spots. He tucked the ice pack between his shoulder and the wall and tucked his hands under his crossed arms to warm them back up.
"What's your name?" Tom asked.
"He didn't have any ID?" Jim asked.
"None," Fisk said.
"Santa Claus," a deep voice said, the same one that had inquired of him that he wasn't dead yet. It almost sounded like the guy Jim had talked to on the phone to set up the deal for the poison, but he wasn't sure. He didn't want to waste time looking for connections where there weren't any if it was just wishful thinking.
"Yeah. Right," Tom said.
"Or maybe it's the Grim Reaper," the guy said.
"What's your name?" Tom said.
Silence answered. It stretched as Tom and Marty alternated questions.
Karen sighed from the other side of the mirror. Jim glanced over at her.
"Tom's taking his fingerprints," she said after another minute.
"Are you working for Uncle Josiah?" Marty finally asked.
"Who?"
"Damn," Fisk said. "I hope the other guy's more talkative." He moved past Jim toward the door. "I'm gonna go see if we can get him in the other room."
"Why'd you shoot at me?" Tom asked.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Jim groaned.
"There was a gun. We have it. Your fingerprints are on it. We found the slug. We have witnesses."
"I was coming to check on my friend, who was getting his ass kicked. I didn't have no gun."
Jim heard two hands slapped against the table in the interview room. "You trying for an insanity plea?" Marty asked. "You want to play stupid?"
"You assaulted a police officer," Tom said. "Two, actually."
"I didn't see a badge. Or two badges, actually."
"Geez, he almost sounds sincere," Karen said. "He's a jerk, but it's like he's telling the truth."
Jim's head snapped over toward her. "You're right. Glenn Bartlett wouldn't talk about Brian unless he was looking at fire."
"So?"
"So, if he was doing this by suggestion, maybe he needs to hear a keyword or something."
"What?"
"Like those parties where they hypnotize people to respond to certain words—like you say the word "duck" and someone belts out "Mary Had a Little Lamb," then they don't remember doing it?"
"Oh… So he's working for Uncle Josiah?"
"I'm guessing they both work for Uncle Josiah. They were at the building with all the chemicals, maybe they were finishing cleaning up."
"You think Josiah suggested to this guy to come after you because we were getting too close? And he told this guy to kill you if he heard the word "duck.""
"If it's true, we're never going to get anywhere asking him questions."
"Then what?" Karen moved closer to him, leaning against the mirror.
"We'll never get anywhere, but maybe someone, like a shrink, could get through to him. Or maybe, I read once where the only way they could get through to some girl who'd been under the influence of suggestion, was to get another hypnotist in who could break the code. We can't guess, but if we get a professional in here to work with him…"
"It's worth a try. You want me to go run it by the boss?"
"I'll go. I need to walk." He straightened up, his muscles protesting. He unfolded his cane and switched the ice pack to the same hand so he could open the door. Once outside he held the pack to a particularly sore rib as he crossed to the lieutenant's office, his cane outstretched for obstacles.
Fisk was talking when he got there, so he stood outside the open door, waiting for him to get off the phone.
"Jim?"
"Karen and I have a theory." He stepped into Fisk's office.
"You want to sit down?"
Jim shook his head. "If I sit, I'm never getting back up again." He ran the boss through the theory.
"I'll make some calls."
Jim found himself heading back to his desk instead of the observation room. It was getting late. He picked up the phone and was surprised Christie answered when he called the apartment. He'd expected her to still be working.
"Hi, hon," he said.
"Jimmy? What's the matter?"
"Why d'you think anything's wrong?" he asked, laughing. It was nice to hear her voice, even if she was worried about him.
"Because you never call me pet names anymore," she said.
"Oh." He heard the interview room door open and guessed Tom and Marty had given up. "I was just calling to let you know I'm gonna be late. We got a break in the case, so we're interviewing two suspects." He listened to Christie talk and three sets of footsteps head back for the desks. Karen was running the deprogramming theory past the guys.
"That's great! You don't sound overly thrilled, though," Christie said.
"We're not getting anywhere yet," he said.
"Oh. Maybe they aren't involved after all?"
Jim almost laughed. "Trust me, they're involved."
"Everything else okay?"
"Yeah."
"You're okay? You didn't get shot? You promised."
Jim laughed despite knowing how close he'd come to being shot. He'd never let Christie know that, how he'd reached up and felt the gun leveled at his face before disarming the guy. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"Except for getting your ass kicked," Marty said loudly, leaning toward his desk.
Jim quickly covered the mouthpiece, but it was too late.
"Marty!" Karen said.
"Jimmy, what happened? What was that? Was that Marty?"
Jim glared over at Marty, then moved back as the other detective invaded his space. Marty grabbed the phone and Jim pulled it back, but Marty had the advantage of surprise.
"He's okay," Marty said into the phone.
Jim leaned against his desk, still not wanting to sit.
"I just figured he wouldn't tell you… Yeah, he's fine, just a little beaten up… Yeah, sure." Marty jabbed him in the chest with the phone.
Jim took it. "Thanks, Marty," he said sarcastically.
"No problem. Jim, she's not blind. She'd figure it out eventually."
Jim wrinkled his nose.
"But you're making her worry now," Karen said.
"Jimmy?" Christie said.
"Yeah?"
"What happened?"
"I got in a small scuffle with one—okay, both—of the perps. Karen said I'll probably have a black eye tomorrow." He touched his face again gently, feeling it getting puffier.
"How late are you going to be?"
"I don't know."
"I have to see for myself, make sure you're okay."
He turned his back on the other detectives, talking quieter into the phone. "I'm okay," he assured her.
"You're going to miss dinner, right?"
"We'll order in."
"I'll bring it up."
"You never bring dinner."
"I do tonight."
"Stop worrying."
"Jimmy!"
Jim put his hand over the mouthpiece. "Christie's bringing dinner—what d'you guys want?" He talked to her, trying to reassure her while the detectives batted ideas back and forth.
"Happy, Marty?" he asked when he hung up.
"Yeah," Marty said happily.
Jim couldn't help but laugh. "Karen? You got any make-up?" He gestured at the bruises on his face.
She laughed. "We don't exactly have the same complexion."
"So?"
"So I'd say you're more of a winter…"
"What's that mean?"
"It means you're a pasty white boy."
Jim laughed and eased himself into his seat. He let out a breath when he was down. One of his knees was starting to smart, as well as the small of his back. The knee didn't surprise him much, he'd injured it enough times before. He reached up to touch the knot on the back of his head, but winced when his fingers brushed the hair over it. He pulled a bottle of aspirin out of his drawer and swilled three down with cold coffee.
"Hey," he said suddenly. "Did anyone search this guy for aspirin? You know, the deadly kind?"
"Yeah," Tom said. "I searched him when I took him to the car earlier, and I had them do a more thorough job later."
Jim nodded. "The other guy?"
"Dunno. I told them to, but they might have been more worried about examining him. You worked him over pretty well. He even lost a tooth."
Jim winced in sympathy. "So what all'd you find at the warehouse?"
Tom's chair creaked. "You should have seen it. The mother load," he said. "I don't know what any of that stuff's for, but I bet you our Uncle's making some illegal stuff to make all his followers feel good that he made their lives all shtty."
"Did it all get taken into custody?"
"Every last container. And they were scouring the building to see what else they could find."
"Karen?" Jim asked. "Did you find anything before you were so rudely interrupted?"
She grunted at him. "There was a filing cabinet upstairs on the second floor, but I skipped over it so I could search the whole building. I didn't recognize any of the names on the files. The officers are supposed to be going through it. Other than that, the place was spotless."
"And all the chemicals were in the dumpster?"
"Yeah," Tom said.
"Why would someone scour the place, and throw all their chemicals away?"
"Because they were expecting us?"
"Obviously." Jim's hand went to his face again. "They knew we were coming."
"Then why'd they leave a filing cabinet?" Karen asked. "If there's any useful information in there, anything that will incriminate Uncle Josiah… Would he even be keeping files?
"Maybe there's nothing in there," Marty said. "Maybe it's left over from the last business."
Jim nodded.
"Or it's starting to sound like planted evidence."
"Which is theory number two," Tom said.
"What's number one?" Marty asked.
"Number one is Uncle J's a bad guy and he's out to kill everyone. Number two is he pissed someone off and they're out for revenge, but he's still a bad guy."
"Number three?"
"I haven't gotten that far yet," Tom said.
"Jimmy?" Christie called.
Jim pushed himself up out of the chair. The aspirin had taken affect, leaving him more mobile. He walked just past Marty's desk, the only route he was sure of in the department, to meet her, then stopped. He heard her heels clicking as she hurried over and listened as she dropped a few bags of food on Marty's desk.
"Jimmy?" she asked quietly. She pulled off his sunglasses, which he'd put on specially right after she'd called.
"I'm okay."
"I'll bet you are. Where doesn't it hurt?"
He leaned down and kissed her. "Right there." He held out a hand and led her back to his desk where he cleared away his laptop and pulled up a second chair so she could sit next to him. "You all remember Christie, right?" She handed him the sunglasses and he dropped them out of the way in his desk drawer.
Marty opened all the wrappers and passed sandwiches around, quiet again. Jim swallowed hard, hoping Marty would have the decency not to say anything about Anne. If Christie knew that Marty knew… It was bad enough when she found out Karen knew.
"Here, Dunbar," Marty said, stretching back to lay a couple sandwiches on the corner of his desk.
"Thanks, Marty," Jim said and stretched forward to grab them.
"I brought coffee for everyone," Christie said, sounding almost shy.
Jim reached over and found her hand. He squeezed it and she passed him a coffee. He let go of her hand and situated his dinner on his desk. Christie was sitting close enough he could feel her moving things around next to him. He touched the wrapper, feeling for the folds, turned it upside down and unwrapped it to get to his toasted meatball sub. He inhaled, suddenly starving, smiling as the spicy aroma hit his nostrils. He took a huge bite.
Christie hadn't moved, even though he could hear the other detectives chewing in the after workday silence. They were pretty much the only ones left in the department.
She was sitting on his left and he looked down at her. She reached up with a napkin and took a small dab at his mouth. "I guess I'll just have to sit on this side of you for a while, huh?"
Jim knew most of the damage was on the right side of his face. He shrugged. "You used to like it when I got into fights," he said quietly. He leaned closer to her. "The last time I had a black eye, you told me it was sexy." He winked at her.
Tom snorted. Karen burst out laughing. Even Marty chuckled.
Jim took her hand again. "I thought you liked the tough cop, the guy with the gun."
He bit his lip. It had been out of his mouth before he'd thought it through. He forced himself to smile even as his heart twisted painfully. "Like you said, maybe I don't need the gun anymore." He turned back to his sandwich, as if it didn't matter.
Christie squeezed his hand.
Marty cleared his throat awkwardly. "Maybe, if you'd had the gun, you could have ended it sooner and not gotten all banged up," he said slowly.
Jim shook his head. The thing the guy had said had plagued him all evening and he couldn't wait to talk to him. That guy, he wanted to interview him.
"Yeah," Marty said. "It would have been over sooner."
Jim gave a short laugh. "Yeah, it would have, and I'd be dead."
Christie's hand tightened around his, not letting up the pressure. Jim leaned back in his chair and looked past her to Karen and Tom.
"The first guy, he was experienced at disarming people," Jim said slowly. "He told me, if I'd had a gun, I'd be dead by now."
"Geez," Karen said so quietly it was almost a whisper.
Marty and Tom were both quiet. Christie was holding his hand tighter so he reached over and put his other hand around the back of hers. He smiled down at her. "Sorry. I wasn't going to tell you."
"Were you going to tell us?" Tom asked.
Jim looked up.
"Yeah, but that was just one time," Marty said.
Jim laughed. "You trying to get me killed, Marty?"
"No. I'm just saying, so this one time—"
"Marty, we've been through this."
"And you got your ass kicked."
"So what? Let's say it was some other guy and I had a gun. I would have had better control—unless I was disarmed." Jim shook his head. "If they managed to separate me from my gun… what would I do then? It's better this way."
"If he'd caught me upstairs…" Karen said quietly. "Or, Marty… if you'd stayed to help…"
"Yeah, Marty, it's a good thing you're a hard ass," Jim said with a grin.
"Sht," Marty said.
Tom laughed. "That's why you told me we were all lucky, huh, Jim?"
Jim just turned away and picked his sandwich back up.
"You think we wouldn't be grateful?" Tom asked. "You weren't going to tell us?"
"I wanted to talk to the guy first," Jim said.
"Finish up," Fisk ordered, popping his head out the door of his office. "They're gonna bring the first guy up within the half hour."
Jim stood up and grabbed just his overcoat. "I'll walk you out," he told Christie. She helped him into the coat. He lightly slapped his thigh, afraid of finding another sore spot. Hank jumped up. "I'll be back," he told everyone. Christie slipped her hand into his.
"You sure you're okay?" she asked when they were alone in the elevator.
"I'm sore, I won't lie," he said, facing straight ahead.
"Other than that?"
"Even my pride's in tact."
She leaned closer to him, but stopped short of cuddling. "I'm glad you're okay…" she said.
"But you're still worried."
"Shouldn't I be?"
"You wouldn't be if I could see." The elevator doors opened and he walked her out of the building.
"I'm more worried about what you told me about that guy, planning to kill you. Come on, Jimmy!"
He stopped her on the sidewalk and turned toward her. "Then I'm lucky I'm blind." He pulled her roughly to him with one arm, keeping Hank's harness in his other hand. "Right? Maybe being lucky isn't so bad." She was quiet, but she carefully wrapped her arms around his back. "This is my job, Christie."
"I know." She sniffled.
He kissed the tip of her nose. "Don't cry."
"I already did. After Marty said you'd been hurt…"
"Yeah, well, damn him. It wasn't his place. I didn't want to worry you."
"You can't protect me from everything, Jimmy."
"But I can protect myself." He spoke close to her face to make sure she looked at him. He could feel her breath. "Even if I get a few black eyes and bumped shins in the process."
She took his hand and started walking toward her car again. "I'm glad," she said after a minute. "Really. I just—I don't want you getting hurt again. Jimmy, that was so hard. And this case…"
Hank stopped at a curb and Jim felt the edge with his foot, listening for traffic. Christie sighed. She was probably thinking of how things kept going wrong with the case, how he'd been practically out of his mind just a couple days before.
"I've learned a lot, this case," Jim said when they were safely across the street. He shook his head, imagining the dark street and the streetlights, headlights whizzing past, and stars standing still. Dots of light in windows. The city, a place filling the darkness with points of light. There were a few bright spots in his own darkness. "Maybe you don't learn by playing it safe."
"Here's my car." She stopped him.
"It's all the easy stuff from here," he told her.
"Be careful." She stood up on tiptoe to kiss him, then stepped into the street.
Jim stood there until she pulled away. He held up a hand in a wave, then headed Hank in the direction of the park. He needed to think a few minutes before heading back into the thick of the case.