The More Things Change
Chapter Five
"Where the hell am I?'
Frank's head pounded in time with the rhythm of his heart beat.
Ka-thump… ka-thump… ka-thump… ka-thump…
He rolled his head around to the left and then the right, hoping this would push pain out so he could string two coherent thoughts together.
"Daniels, how the hell do you get yourself into this kinda crap?" God, even talking to himself; Frank sounded like he'd been chewing gravel. At least the day was cloudy, because when he opened his eyes the sun wasn't bright enough to ignite his eyeballs with pain. Slowly he levered himself up and looked around. He was in a wrecking yard. The rusted hulks of old cars piled four and five high hid the outside world from him and hid him from the outside. What the hell happened? The last thing he remembered was heading to Hoboken with paper work for a one of the law firm's major real estate customers. He hadn't even made it to the Holland Tunnel when his cell phone rang. Frank knew from bumper denting experience he couldn't drive his hand control car and talk on the phone at the same time, so he pulled over to answer the phone. After that, everything was a big blur.
"Damn, I was car jacked."
The beeps of the heart monitor are really annoying. High and persistent like little hammers striking his ear drums.
Beep… beep… beep… beep…
The only good thing about the damn noises was that they were loud and persistent. Life was loud and persistent and Jim Dunbar could hear life with each maddening sound from the machine.
Jim started to knead lotion Christie's hand. He bet he looked selfless rather than self serving. The nurses were oohing and aahing. Isn't it wonderful, Jim could hear them say, for him to massage hand cream into her fingers? Actually, he was just finding a way to keep hold of Christie, anchor himself to her in the strange world of post surgical ICU. When we get home, Jim promised himself, I am going to ask Christie how she kept from going insane while she waited for me to wake from my coma. If he hadn't kept hold of Christie's hand he would have gone nuts.
"Jimmy," the familiar voice of Walter Clark came from behind him.
"Walter, could you stay here while I head to the 'john'," Jim said as he reached for the crutches.
"No problem, kid, take your time."
"Nope, I'll be quick. I wanna be here when she wakes up." Jim hoisted himself up, "call it reciprocity, she was beside me when I woke up and I was conked out a hell of a lot longer."
"You need some help? Want me to call a nurse?"
Jim bit back the profanity he wanted to say and simply nodded and waited while Walter waved a nurse over. If it wasn't for the damn crutches he'd do it for himself. Damn crutches. "Sure, and I expect some of the guys from the eighth will be showing up soon."
Walter nodded and then remembered and answered aloud. "I'll head them off at the pass after you get back."
"Thanks, Walter. I owe you one."
"More than one, kid, and one of these days I'll collect."
Frank sat up straight planted his hands firmly on the ground behind him and pushed himself back towards the closest stack of rusted car bodies. He strained his back muscles with each push, lift and drag. Frank smirked to himself, when he broke his back, it had been a low, lumbar break and his injury was incomplete. Whoopee for me, he thought as he reached back for the next move. He could walk with braces and crutches, unfortunately his crutches and his cell phone and his wallet and anything that could be pawned for a quick buck were nowhere in sight. Still, if he could get up on his feet Frank would be easier to spot than if he was laying in the tall grass and debris that littered this place.
Craning his head over his left shoulder Frank saw he was almost there. Would those old hulks be steady enough for him to pull himself up onto his feet? One more pull and he'd be close enough to try and stand. Without his crutches, though, Frank wasn't going to be able to walk out of this place. He had to attract someone's attention.
But how?
Karen sat and stared, her eyes moving first from the laptop, to the elevator and then to the phone. How would the news; any news, come?
"Selway, Russo," the Boss's voice sliced through the silence, "alarms triggered at China Town Jewelry Exchange."
"We're on it," Marty said as he grabbed his jacket and then the paper Fisk held out.
Tom was a bit slower; he stopped in front of Karen's desk and silently patted her hand before he followed his partner.
Fisk looked at the young detective and realized she had turned off all but the most basic connections she had with work. "Karen, are you gonna be able to do your job today?"
"Yeah," she stumbled over her words only for a moment. "Yes, I can do my job fine."
"Even with your boyfriend missing?"
She hesitated for just a moment before answering. "I want to be here when the 27th finds my fiancé."
Fisk's eyes nearly popped out of his head and he had to compose himself quickly, "only until four o'clock. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, boss," she replied and moved her eyes from the laptop, to the elevator and then to the phone.
The piled cars were rock solid, so Frank had no trouble pulling himself to his feet. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could use to for crutches. He swiveled round so he leaned against the rusty wrecks and survey the place. It looked like the yard went on for miles. Thing was, the price of real estate in and around the metro New York/New Jersey area was too damn expensive to be left as an auto junk yard. That meant he had to be close to something. He could hear hum of traffic and grind of machinery. Now all Frank had to do was find a way to signal someone he was here.
That was when he noticed it, on the ground by a bald tire on a rim, a lost pack of cigarettes. A new, nearly full pack of cigarettes with a little lighter stuffed inside.
"Hey, Kemosabi, we make'm some smoke signals," he almost laughed with relief. Now, all he had to do was get back down to the ground, get to the lighter and start a fire that would not engulf the whole, greasy area and turn him into a crispy critter.
"Momma told me there'd be days like this," Frank whispered as he began to lower himself down into the dirt again.
"Jimmy," her voice was barely a whisper.
"Right here," he squeezed her hand a little tighter.
"I'm sorry," Christie started to cry, "I'm so sorry."
"Shhh, it's alright. You couldn't help it. This stuff just happens."
Jim murmured small, inconsquential things and waited until Christie's breathing evened out. She had fallen asleep.
Walter put his hand on Jim's shoulder. "The nurses will be moving her to a room now. Let'em do their job. I'll buy you a coffee."
"Yeah," Jim got to his feet and out of the way of the hospital staff. Walter kept his hand on Jim's shoulder and tried to steer him from behind to keep out of the way of the crutches.
"When are those damn stitches coming out?"
"Next week. Christie will be home before I stop hobbling on these things." Jim let out a tired sigh, "I'm gonna have'ta challenge Karen's boyfriend to a race. I'd loose, but it would look real fucking funny."
"You are a sick puppy, Jimmy." Walter laughed. He'd have to remember that joke just to embarrass Dunbar later.
"Karen," Fisk pointed to the clock on the wall. It was 3:30, almost time for her to go home. Then he stepped up to Karen and handed her his cell.
She stared at it for a minute before she put it to her ear. "Hello? Hello! Frank, where the hell are you? Sit your ass down there and don't you dare move, I'm coming right now."
tbc