Chapter Twenty-Two

Jim awoke to his phone ringing. The sound was faint and he realized he'd left it in his coat pocket when he'd come home. He groaned as he sat up, muscles aching and bruises sore. His knee snapped as he put it over the side of the bed, but it felt better after that. He limped into the living room slowly, the phone still ringing.

"Dunbar," he mumbled when he fished it out.

"It's Karen. Get ready. We found Artez."

"You're joking, right? Isn't it still dark out?"

"So what?" she asked.

"What time is it?"

"4:12. I'll pick you up."

"Where'd they find him?"

"Hospital. He had another seizure."

"But he's still alive?" Jim asked incredulously, his mind finally waking up and wrapping around the new information.

"Yep."

"Okay." He groaned as he stretched the sleep out of his body. "Come get me, I'll be ready."

"You know, you shouldn't party all night if you can't get up in the morning," Karen said, then hung up.

"Don't I wish," Jim mumbled and limped off for a hot shower.

He groaned under the pulsating water. He turned his back away from the spray, but that didn't help, as it hit one of his ribs. He thought of counting every sore spot, but decided he didn't want to know.

Was it worth it?

He opened his eyes and stared at the sound of water coming from the shower head. He turned his head away, thinking it over carefully.

It was definitely worth it. This is what he'd wanted, this was what he'd been afraid he'd never have again. Not so much fighting a perp, but having control over a bad guy and making the world a better place. Getting a low-life off the street. Making himself useful. Even when he'd started back at the precinct, he'd thought he'd never have a chance to prove he was useful. Even if it had scared Karen, even if it had scared him, he'd proven he could do it. Even if it scared his wife, even though he was a little banged up, it was worth it. Back on the job, locking up guys like Michael, trying to help girls like DeLana and her kids. What better way could he spend his time? Sitting around the apartment, getting his pension for not doing anything? Going out and trying to find a different job? That wasn't for him. Cases like these, no matter how difficult, were what made the job worthwhile.

And now he was almost excited, even as he avoided the lump on his head while he shampooed his hair, that he would get to talk to Artez again. The guy wasn't dead.

He yawned. A couple more hours of sleep might have been nice, but he was ready.

He tiptoed into the bedroom. He used to have to turn on the closet light to match his clothes before a middle-of-the-night case like this, and Christie would always wake up, worried about him going out, fussing over him. He didn't need the light now; always look on the bright side of life, he thought. Jim felt the little Braille labels and pulled out a suit, matching shirt, and tie. He dressed in the dark of the bathroom with the door closed so Christie wouldn't hear. She didn't need to worry right then, not after she'd been up waiting for him so late.

Hank had fallen asleep somewhere. He'd jumped up and followed Jim when Karen called, and again when Jim went in to take a shower. But now… Jim listened carefully. He didn't want to wake up his wife by calling the dog.

At the desk he reached into the drawer for his badge, but found nothing. He paused, thinking. It must still be in the pocket of his overcoat. Along with his cane. He let his keys jingle when he picked them up.

Jim heard Hank rise and shake himself in the bedroom, then come padding out, his toenails clicking on the floor as he came to see what was going on. Jim picked up the harness and Hank bounded over, raring to go. He licked Jim's hand, then waited patiently for Jim to click the harness in place.

Jim paused at the door, thinking of leaving a note for Christie, then decided it was early enough there was a chance he'd be back before she even woke up.

"I got coffee," Karen said when Jim climbed into the car. "Are those bags under your eyes or just another bruise?" she joked.

Jim smiled. He reached for the cup holder by his left knee. Karen had only had to direct him there the first time she brought coffee. "Thanks," he said.

Hank yawned in the back seat.

"Sorry, Hank," Karen said, glancing over her shoulder, "no coffee for you."

"We're all going to deserve a long nap when this is all over," Jim said, staring out the side window, his head against the headrest. Karen glanced at him again in the darkness and saw his eyes were closed.

She poked him. "Don't fall asleep on me."

He grimaced. "Ow."

"Another bruise?" she asked sympathetically.

"There will be now." He smiled a little, though he didn't turn toward her.

Karen smiled as she drove through sparse traffic on her way to the medical center.

"Tired?" he asked.

"Nah, you?"

"Not at all."

Karen yawned.

"I heard that," Jim said, laughing.

She glanced over at him, then stopped at a stoplight. "You don't seem much worse for wear," she said.

He shrugged. "What do you want me to look like?"

"I didn't say you don't look worse for wear." She watched him smile, glad she could barely see the scratches on his face. "I just meant, you must be feeling better?"

Jim was shaking his head, pondering the question as he set the coffee cup back in the holder. He rubbed his hands together. "I wasn't feeling that bad to begin with," he admitted.

She laughed. "I don't believe you."

"No, really," he said. "I'm sore, yeah, but Karen…" He turned in his seat, struggling against the seatbelt so he could face her. "I can do my job."

He sounded happy. She wanted to look at him, but she couldn't bring herself to turn her head. She just concentrated on the light traffic. "I know," she finally said. He was grinning when she turned finally to look at him.

"Any doubt I had…" He shook his head. "Especially after giving up my gun." He turned forward and leaned his head back against the headrest.

"Good," she said shortly, "but meanwhile, we're working a case and my partner can barely move."

He laughed and she joined in.

"May I help you?"

It sounded like a nurse. Jim waited for Karen to speak up. She usually introduced them, but Jim suddenly found he wasn't even sure Karen was next to him. He quickly pulled out his badge and flashed it. "My name's Detective Dunbar. I'm looking for one of your patients."

"Let me take you to the desk. The secretary can look up the room number for you," she said. She sounded like a seasoned nurse, older than Jim. "But it's best if you leave your dog in the hall, or the nurse's station."

"Right, I know." He followed her, listening for Karen, but he still didn't hear her. He could feel his muscles tensing as he wondered what had happened to her.

"Here we are," the nurse said.

"Thanks." He could hear people moving to both sides of him.

"To your right," she said, then walked off.

Jim turned and reached out, feeling the counter, smooth like marble, but not as cold. It felt shiny. He held his badge out again. "My name's Detective Dunbar, I'm looking for a patient." He waited for someone to acknowledge him.

"Oh," a girl said. "Let me get my supervisor." She sounded young and nervous, like some of the candy stripers he'd met when he was in the hospital.

"Fine," he said and listened to her get up out of a chair that popped when she rose. Probably a swivel chair that didn't work right anymore.

"Detective?" a woman asked.

Jim showed his badge one more time then slipped it into his pocket. "I'm looking for a patient who could be going under either Richard White or Rico Artez." He heard her start typing.

"Richard White is in room 212."

"Thanks."

She cleared her throat. "Uh, detective…"

"Yeah?"

"You know," the woman said, "we didn't refuse him treatment. We're not just going to let a man die."

"But?" Jim prompted.

"But when we ran his name and social security number, looking for insurance—"

"He doesn't have any."

"He's dead."

Jim tilted his head to the side. "I really can't tell you for sure whether or not he's alive, not at this point."

"Well, I can tell you, the man who's here? He's alive."

Jim nodded with a small smile.

"Jim!" Karen called from down the hall.

He thanked the lady once more, then turned to wait for Karen. "Where'd you go?" he asked when she caught up.

"I stopped to talk to one of the officers who found him. I told you to hold up. Didn't I?"

"No." Jim thought back, then shook his head. "At least, I don't think so." He grinned. "It's five in the morning, who knows."

Karen chuckled. "They found him in an alley. He fell against a trashcan and kept kicking it."

Jim grimaced. "He's lucky, then. That someone heard and called an ambulance."

"He's just down this hall up here," Karen said.

Jim followed her and chuckled to himself. "I was wondering if you fell asleep in the elevator. Or maybe you were kidnapped by Uncle Josiah's henchmen."

"And you just kept going?"

"You can take care of yourself, right?"

"Right."

"And someone has to finish this case."

"It's about time. I can't wait." She paused and touched his arm. "Uh, here it is."

Jim took a step back and made Hank sit. He stretched a little.

"Double espressos when we leave," Karen said.

"I'm game. Either that or a nice scotch."

She giggled. "That's not funny."

He smiled. "Shall we?"

"Yeah."

He followed her footsteps into the room. She excused an officer from watching Artez. "Remember us?"

"How could I forget?" Artez asked hoarsely.

"Jim, chair," Karen said quietly.

Jim moved to where she was standing and reached out. He gingerly eased himself down, having forgotten to take any pain killers before he left. The relaxing shower was wearing off and he found he was stiffening up again.

"You don't look so good," Artez said.

Jim nodded. "I feel worse. How about you?" He listened as Karen pulled up another chair.

"I think I look great."

Jim nodded. "You up for a conversation?"

"What the hell, you only live once, right? Go ahead."

"Where'd you go?" Karen asked. "And how'd you get out of jail and did you know the guy who got you out and why's Uncle Josiah trying to kill you?"

"You owe us some answers," Jim said.

"I know. But Uncle Josiah's not trying to kill me."

"He killed Samantha," Karen said.

"No, he didn't."

"And he ordered you to be broken out of jail."

"No…"

Jim sighed. "Don't do this, Artez." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands over his face for a second. "We're not stupid."

"But he didn't."

"Then why'd you tell us he did?" Jim looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "You told us to look into Pipsqueak, which is the name Uncle Josiah used on the street for years."

"No…" Artez sounded genuinely confused. "I told you to look into Pipsqueak, yeah—"

"And that's Uncle Josiah."

"No. It's some kid. He worked for Josiah, but he stopped."

"Who is he?" Karen asked.

"Pipsqueak."

"Yeah, who is he?"

"That's all I know."

"What's he look like?"

"He's this skinny kid, young, in his twenties, reddish-blond hair."

"Michael," Jim said.

"I never knew his real name."

"Why's Michael—Pipsqueak—trying to kill you?"

"I don't know exactly. I'm guessing 'cause I was seeing Samantha."

"Did he kill Samantha?" Karen asked.

"Yeah. Then he sent some guy to break me out of jail. I don't know why. I thought he'd kill me, but I never got to see Pipsqueak. They told me to stay away from you and maybe I'd live. They were gonna be watchin' me."

Jim looked over at Karen. "You don't think it was just to keep us from talking to Artez and finding anything out, do you?"

"I dunno," she said.

"What could I tell you?" Rico Artez asked, shifting in his hospital bed.

Jim looked back at him with an incredulous look. "That Uncle Josiah isn't Pipsqueak."

"So?"

Jim turned back to Karen. "What's his game, you think?"

"I think he's crazy," Rico said. "Anyone who's trying to frame Uncle Josiah and bring him down, that's crazy."

Jim nodded. "So this guy broke you out of prison. Did you know who he was?"

"Yeah. His name was Reggie, but he told me to call him Brian. I'd met him a long time ago, but he told me I was wrong. I know faces, though. It was him. I think that's why he let me go, instead of taking me straight to Pipsqueak."

"Reg Schmidt?" Karen asked.

"You know him? I dunno, I don't really remember names as well as faces."

"Okay, so Reggie," she said, "breaks you out of jail on orders from Pipsqueak, who's trying to bring about the fall of the greatest messiah of our age. Then what?"

"Then I've been bouncing from shelter to shelter. Some of them I couldn't get in because there were people there what knew me, you know. They knew I wasn't friends with Uncle Josiah anymore, so I wasn't welcome."

"Tell us about Samantha," Jim said.

"What do you want to know?" Artez asked.

"How'd you meet Samantha?" Karen asked.

"In the hospital. I was going through a little rehab—I'd gotten hurt during one of my episodes and my insurance wasn't gonna cover me anymore and I was pissed and throwin' things and then Samantha was there, offerin' to help. She said her Uncle offered mental, physical, and financial aid and how could I pass it up."

"What was she doing there, in the hospital?"

"She said she was volunterring. Helpin' people like me. She said she was like that nun… what's her name."

"Mother Theresa?" Karen supplied.

"Yeah, her."

"You believed her?"

"Sure. Especially when she got me free meds to help with the seizures. She wasn't just lyin' and saying she wanted to help. She was helpin'.

"We started sleepin' together, but she said I shouldn't start thinking of us like an old married couple, cause'n she was spoken for. She said she had a duty to God."

"To God or to Uncle Josiah?"

"I kinda think she thought he was God."

"What about her family? Did you know anything about them?"

"No. She said she di'n have a family." He sounded like he was getting tired.

"Do you know anything about any tapes she made? Short messages?"

"No."

"Or why she'd have someone call up her mom and play them, even though she's dead?"

"No… She's callin' her mom still?"

"Yeah."

"Samantha's not mean like that, detectives. She wouldn't…"

"Okay, one last question, then we'll let you rest," Jim said.

"'Kay."

"Rico—Richard," Jim said. "We know your real name."

"Good for you. But that doesn't mean anything. It's just a name."

"What about the felony?"

"What felony?"

"The time you spent in jail?"

"I ain't never been arrested."

"You never killed an old lady and died in prison?"

"Wha—are you messing with me?"

Jim shook his head. "Just thought you should know about your record. If this really is you, someone has you listed as dead."

Jim opened the door and stepped out, running into a body. He put out his hands to steady it. "Excuse me," he said, pulling back when he felt something soft. He'd have to remember to not reach out and touch people when he didn't know how tall they were, or if they were male or female.

"I know you…" a girl said. She sounded like she was in her mid-twenties, but Jim couldn't place the voice. "You get in a bar fight?"

Karen stepped up behind Jim.

"Yeah, I know you!" She made a confused noise. "You both look a little… different."

Karen laughed. She slapped Jim in the arm. "It's that waitress you were flirting with!"

"What waitress? Oh!" He felt his face getting hot. "In the bar."

"Yeah," the girl said.

"Sorry," Jim said with a little smile. "Good to see you again, how are you?"

Karen poked him. "Enough small-talk." She turned back to the girl. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see Rico. Is that okay?"

"What do you want with him?" Jim asked, his suspicions rising. Rico was still an important witness; he wasn't going to let anything happen to the guy.

"I've been seeing him," she said.

"For how long?" Karen asked.

"About a year, on and off."

"So before his girlfriend was killed."

"Karen!" Jim reprimanded.

"You don't want her to know he was cheating? It's okay for guys to see more than one girl at a time?"

"Karen…"

"It's okay," the girl said quickly. "I knew."

"Did she?" Karen asked.

"Is he cheating on you?" the girl asked.

Jim blushed, but Karen laughed. "Not on me, he's not," she said emphatically.

"Enough about our dysfunctional relationship," Jim said.

"Yeah," the girl said slyly, "'cause it looks like you're married. But you're not," she said, turning to Karen.

Jim slid his left hand in his pocket. He turned to Karen. "This is awkward."

"You're married?" Karen asked, sounding mock-outraged.

Jim laughed.

"Nice dog," the girl said.

"He is," Jim answered.

"You mind if I ask what's going on?" the waitress asked.

"Come on." Jim reached out carefully and took her arm, turning her toward Artez's room.

"You're not going to feel me up again?" she asked.

Jim shook his head quickly.

"Jim!" Karen said.

"I didn't—I ran into her on the way out the door. That's it." He opened the hospital room door. "Rico?" He pushed the waitress in front of him.

"Lila!" Rico exclaimed, sounding happy.

"Are you okay?" She rushed forward toward the bed.

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Rico," Karen said, "did Samantha know you were cheating on her?"

"We weren't exclusive, I tol' you that. She kept trying to set me up on dates so I wouldn't get too attached to her."

"Does your dear friend here have anything to do with Uncle Josiah or Pipsqueak?" Jim asked.

"No."

"She safe?"

"Yeah." His voice softened as he said, "It's good to see you."

"We'll be back," Jim said. He turned to take Karen's arm, but she grabbed his hand out of the air.

"Be careful where you put that thing, Casanova," Karen said.

"Are you two going to be okay?" Lila asked. "I didn't mean to make any trouble."

"You didn't," Karen said.

Jim settled his hand on Karen's arm and turned for the door.

"Are you in some kind of trouble?" Lila asked Rico. "Is that why they were asking all those questions at the bar?"

Jim turned back and pulled his badge out. "Lila, we're trying to keep him out of trouble. And he needs a place to stay, if you have any room."

"Yeah. Of course," she said, suddenly nervous. "Everything okay?"

"We hope so. We'll be back later."

Karen opened the door and he followed her back into the hallway. Hank jumped up.

"Is it still dark?" Jim asked when the doors to the hospital slid open.

"Yup," Karen said.

He checked his watch after he let Hank into the car. "You going home?"

"I hadn't thought about it. You?"

"Let's just head down to the squad."

"Okay. The lieutenant wanted us to call when we were done here."

"I'll give him a call."

Marty and Tom walked into the squad a little after six.

"You get anything good?" Tom asked.

"Yeah," Karen said, "Michael's a name-dropper. It was him using the name Pipsqueak."

"Artez said he killed Samantha. He swears Uncle Josiah didn't have anything to do with it," Jim put in.

"Meaning maybe he's trying to frame Uncle Josiah," Tom said, "knowing the name would go straight back to him."

"And our cop friend, Reg Schmidt, we looked into him more. Artez gave us some more information. He used to work in jewelry, but got fired for tampering with the computers at the store and stealing money. He'd hack in and change the numbers after a big sale, take home the difference. Josiah found him straight from prison, but it looks like he was better friends with Michael."

"How'd he get Brian Mulhaney's badge?" Marty asked.

"No idea."

"I'd guess Michael stole it from Uncle Josiah," Jim said. "He had access to everything, right, if he's telling the truth. If he really was Uncle Josiah's right hand man, he'd learn a lot, he'd get ideas of his own, and he'd have access to anything he needed," Jim said.

"Great," Tom said. "I love it when they tell half the truth and doctor up the rest."

"The lieutenant wants to be here when we bring the kid back up," Jim said.

"Where is his sorry ass?" Tom asked.

"Tom," Karen reprimanded, laughing.

"We're here. Where's he?"

"Making phone calls," Jim said. "From home. In his pajamas."

"Good mental picture, thanks, Jim," Tom said sarcastically.

"He's seeing when we can get Artez released so we can talk to him in-house. And he said we need to expect Mrs. Whittleton this morning. She called him at home."

"Why?"

"She got another message from Samantha."

"That's cold, whoever's doing it."

"Yeah," Jim agreed.

"Karen's sleeping on her desk," Tom said. "Gonna start drooling any second."

"'M no'," Karen mumbled.

"Not such a bad idea," Jim said. He leaned back in his chair and slid down so he could rest his head on the back. He closed his eyes.

"Not you, too," Tom said.

"It's gonna be a long day, Tom," Jim said quietly. "We need to be able to think, don't we?"

"Is this kindergarten?" Fisk asked, stomping up. "Nap time?"

Jim groaned. "Five more minutes, Mom."

"Call me that again, I'll have your badge."

Jim heard him slap something on Marty's desk.

"What's that?" Jim asked without opening his eyes.

"My notes from my nice phone call with Samantha's mother." Fisk groaned and peeled off his coat. "Now I get to go call Michael's grandmother, too? Hell of a day."

Jim struggled to sit up and adjusted his tie. He ran his hands over his face and tossed his sunglasses on his desk. "Let's get it over with."

"You two talked to Artez? Was he any help?" Fisk asked. "I want some good news here."

"Yeah, he was helpful," Jim said.

"You're not just saying that?"

"You can't handle the truth? Yeah, he was helpful. Really."

Fisk pulled out a chair and flopped down. "Good."

"Sht," Marty said, flipping through the notes. "That is bad."

"Care to share with the rest of us?" Tom asked.

"It's not your normal phone call, not like before."

"Needless to say, Mrs. Whittleton was very upset," Fisk said. "She's on her way down here right now with a copy of the tape."

"Incoherent screaming?" Marty asked.

"Prepare yourselves."

"Why would Samantha make a tape of herself screaming in the first place?"

"Let's wait 'til we hear it before we begin speculating," Fisk said.

"You two gonna share?" Tom asked. "Or is this a private party?"

Jim heard Marty pass a paper over to Tom.

"Come on," Jim said. "There's two more of us."

"Patience, Dunbar," Marty said. "You'll get your chance."

"I can barely read this," Tom muttered.

Jim bit his lip.

"It was early, I was tired," Fisk said, then ran them through the gist of the conversation so they wouldn't have to struggle with his handwriting.

"Jimmy!"

Christie's voice was plaintive. He was afraid she'd been crying, but what for he couldn't tell. It was almost seven—her alarm would have just gone off. She would have rolled over, seeking a warm body beside her, eyes still closed, felt a cold and empty pillow.

"What's wrong?" he asked. He pushed himself out of his chair and hurried down the hall to the locker room for a little privacy.

"Where are you?"

"We found our missing witness."

"You went to work?"

"It is my job. We're in the middle of a case." He leaned against a locker.

"But you're hurt!"

He straightened up. He wasn't going to let anything support him, not even a locker. "I'm not hurt," he said as quietly and authoritatively as possible.

"You couldn't take one day—"

"No, I couldn't. I have a job to do!"

"If they can't let you take one day—"

"This has nothing to do with whether or not they let me do anything. You know me, Christie. As long as I can move, I'm not going to sit at home when there's a case to solve."

"It's getting too dangerous for—"

He pulled the phone away from his ear like it was trying to bite him. He wanted to swear at her, couldn't believe she was telling him—

"—without a gun," she finished.

"Excuse me? Not having a gun is what saved—"

"Once, Jimmy! Russo was right. This one time maybe not having a gun was a good thing, but it proves nothing. The rest of the time, without a gun—"

"Damn it, Christie, stop it. You and Marty both thought it would be best if I didn't carry a gun and now—I gave it up."

"A cop needs a gun."

"So I shouldn't be a cop anymore?"

"No! You shouldn't."

He swore again.

"I know you can't see yourself as anything but a cop, Jimmy, and I tried to be supportive."

"It's not like I never got a little banged up before," he said evenly after a minute. He'd been going to yell at her, ask how she'd been supportive, plead his case for going back to work—but he'd spent a year doing that with her and the city and the department. The only reason she'd ever supported him was because she was sure higher powers would prevail and he'd get his pension and—then what, he wasn't sure. But she'd been sure he wouldn't get his job back; he'd been sure he would be able to get her to come around once he was back at work.

"Jimmy, I love you—"

"You're a cop's wife, Christie." He hung up and turned the phone off.

Jim turned around and suddenly realized he wasn't alone. "Hello?"

"Just me. Don't get your panties in a twist," Marty said.