Chapter 22: like a prize fighter;
Prompts: bruises;
Mid-town, January 2015
On the way over to the diner, Reese had some questions for Fusco.
"Couldn't talk before in the hospital. By the time they decided to keep you, they'd already shot you up with a load of painkiller. Didn't make much sense by then."
"Seem to remember being hilarious," Fusco parried, smiling.
"Yeah – I'm sure you're right," Reese smirked.
"I ran by your place. Called your home number and Lee answered. What's the plan? Shouldn't let him stay there, alone."
"Already covered. I called his best friend's folks. They've got him over there for now, until I'm back. They kept him last time, when I was in for my eye," he said.
"Good. That's good," Reese said, relieved. "He's a smart kid, the way he handled himself on the phone. Didn't let on he was by himself. But, we gotta think Greer could go after anybody, right? Not just us."
Fusco stared straight ahead. Knew how open you were when you had a kid, or a wife, or anyone who could get hurt because of what you did every day.
"So, this guy – Greer. Seems like he's not a quitter, right? He's gonna keep comin'."
Fusco turned to him with serious eyes. Reese nodded.
"He's got everything to lose, Lionel. Can't afford to back off now."
"And he's got the bigger army, right? What's to keep him from pickin' us off, one at a time."
"Lost his biggest advantage. That supercomputer of his? We knocked it down to size. Useless to him right now, so when he's comin' for us, it's old-school all the way."
Fusco paused for a while to let that sink in.
A little while later, they pulled in and Reese parked the sedan.
"Ready to ditch the wheelchair?"
"Whadya mean?"
"Have my crutch in the back. Think you can make it up the ramp with a crutch?"
"Give it a try," he said. Reese swung out of his seat and reached into the back for his crutch. It was gonna be too long for Fusco, so he worked on it for a few minutes to shorten the main tube, and then let Fusco try it out.
Not bad for eye-balling it. Fusco took a practice walk to get the hang of it, and then the two of them limped up the ramp to the diner.
Inside, with the lights on him, Fusco looked like a prize fighter who'd lost his match. Bruised, swollen around his good eye, and over his nose, limp-hopping along on a crutch.
The waiter took one look at them and sat them in the back, Reese facing back toward the door. Busy inside. They put their order in and then sat back over coffee that'd been sitting too long over a burner. Reminded them of coffee at the Precinct in the middle of the night.
When the waiter came back, Fusco made a face: "Got anything less than a week old?" he said, holding his cup in the air at him. The waiter frowned.
"See what I can do," he said, dryly.
"Yeah, do that," Fusco said.
Reese hadn't even tried it. Based on the scent, he knew what he was gonna get with a taste-test. No need to torture himself.
Fusco seemed to be in rare form, though. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. He could have ordered food at the counter, and they could have eaten in the car, stakeout-style.
About ten minutes later, the waiter returned with two cups of steaming hot coffee, newly brewed according to him. He dropped the rest of their order on the table and rushed off.
Reese leaned back in his seat, while Fusco sampled the new arrivals. Figured he'd let him get some food into himself, in case that was the reason he'd been that tough on the waiter.
Halfway through, Fusco looked up at him and pointed with his fork: "Ain't you eatin'? Oh, I get it – you're waitin' to see if I croak first, before you have any."
"Yeah, the way you handled that waiter, wouldn't be surprised if you got a little something extra added in there," he smirked.
"What doesn't kill ya – dot, dot, dot," he said, punctuating each dot with his fork.
Reese nodded and took a first sip of his coffee. Diner coffee, so nothing to write home about. Picked up a triangle of toast and dipped one of the legs into his coffee for a moment, then tried a bite of the combo.
"Okay, Lionel. Shoot. What happened back there?"
Instead of getting serious, Fusco resorted to his usual style. "You know how they are. Like to dance around," he said, circling in the air with his fork.
"Said they were gonna keep watch on my foot. Mighta got some freezin' goin' on – an' they hadda watch how it came back. Might be okay, might not."
Reese listened and then nodded.
"Well, so then they send in this kid, looked like he was twelve, to do the checkin'. Says he couldn't hear the heartbeep in my foot. I says maybe have one-a the other docs take a listen… Nobody comes."
"So I waited and then called the nurse to get one of them to come back. She says they're busy on 'rounds' right now, so I hafta wait. My foot looks like Rudolph's nose, practically glowing red, and that kid says he doesn't hear a heartbeep. What am I supposed to think?" Fusco's head tipped side-to-side for a couple of beats.
"So, I guess I lost it. Told 'em I was gettin' outta there. Signed myself out and left."
Reese didn't say anything for a long minute. Dipped his toast in his coffee again and took another bite. Figured that once Fusco heard himself say what he said, maybe he'd think about it instead of reacting like a toddler in a store.
"Pretty sure its heartbeat, not heartbeep," he said, glancing up at him, then going for a forkful of eggs.
"Yeah, whatever."
Reese could see that it was starting to dawn on him: maybe he hadn't made the best move. Maybe a little regret was starting to creep in.
"Ya know, you could always go back," Reese offered.
"Nah. Not there. Think I mighta burned that bridge."
"Well, I guess we could always get an assist on the help line."
Fusco looked confused for a second.
"Oh, ya mean Doc Shaw back there? Yeah, she's been around. Probably knows a thing or two about this stuff. Trust her more than the twelve-year-old at the hospital."
Reese smiled a small smile. Starting to get somewhere now with him.
He noticed how Fusco kept looking down at his foot. The bad one. They'd wrapped it with some layers of white gauze, so you couldn't see the skin anymore, like when he'd first gone to the ER. They'd taken over warming his foot, from the wrap that Joey had made with his own down jacket. The docs in the ER had said that had been a smart thing to do to get things started.
"Something wrong, Lionel?"
"Startin' to hurt again," he said, and grimaced.
"Maybe 'cause it's hanging like that. Shaw told Finch his hands were gonna swell more if he let them hang down."
"See? She knows about this stuff."
Reese slipped his phone out of his pocket and swiped the screen. Tapped a few times and then held it up to his ear. When she answered, he gave her the highlights and then asked her what Fusco should do next. She didn't even hesitate and came up with a name.
"Hey, thanks," Fusco shot at her from his seat on the other side of the table. Reese waited for a response, but nothing came back. Fusco shrugged.
"OK, we'll try there, Shaw. I'll be back later," Reese said.
In the car on the way over, Reese had more on his mind.
"So, what's goin' on with that promotion I heard about?"
Fusco didn't answer right away. Reese glanced over and saw his face. Blank, like he wasn't happy with the idea.
"Not really my kinda thing, Reese. All that paperwork, schedulin', lookin' after all these snotty-nosed kids comin' on. Not really me, ya know?"
Reese stayed quiet for a while.
"So, you'd rather stay out on the streets? Stay a Detective?"
"More like me, Reese. Pretty rough around the edges for a Sergeant. And the money ain't that much different."
Reese nodded, thinking.
"Sergeant gets to know everything goin' down on the streets, right? Might make you the guy to know… you know… in your other job."
Fusco sniffed. But he didn't reject the idea out of hand, either.
Neither one said anything more, until they got to the new hospital. Then they drove in on the ER side, where the ambulances pulled into their bays. Reese got out and found another wheelchair parked near the patient entrance. Rolled it over to Fusco's side of the car and got him situated in the chair.
"I got it," Fusco said, and he rolled the chair up the incline under his own power. Reese got back into Finch's car and rolled off to find a parking spot.
Fusco pushed himself into the triage area inside, and Reese held back, limping behind him. Better for Fusco if he got back to doing things on his own now. Man like him didn't do well without options.