Crime & Counterpoint (37 page)

Shelley added her own directly into Zach’s ear. “Please, be with me.”

The pharmacist stood by with a needle and syringe in her hand, watching those crazy lines. Waiting. Jared stopped pushing in anticipation. Silence reigned.

Finally, Shelley felt Zach’s hand move. She gasped. Her tear-filled eyes popped wide, and her hiccupping cries arrested. Unable to believe he might actually be alive, she looked at the monitors. She touched his face. “Zach?” she breathed.

A groan escaped from his mouth, faint, but audible anyway.

“Oh my God,” she cried. Her body started shaking, jaw vibrating, hormones rushing through her. She couldn’t talk without her teeth chattering. Her fingers stroked his stubbled jaw, trembling as more tears dropped onto his shoulder and clavicle. His lips parted a fraction of an inch, and she saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, grimacing afterwards.

Relief flooded her. She felt instantly warm and cold at the same time. Moving close, she kissed his lips but not long, afraid of depriving him of oxygen. Jared, panting, looked at Zach with pure relief, hands buzzing. “Hey, buddy,” he said, feeling like the world was right again. “Welcome back.”

Scores of visitors overwhelmed Zach in the next few days. Not just his grandmother and Carrie but Jared’s whole family, all Shelley’s brothers and her mother who kissed him on the cheek and said with unabashed tears ‘thank you’. In addition, Rick and many NYPD officers showed up, surprising Zach at just how many people seemed to care about him. Certainly way more than he would’ve thought. Carter came by for a heart-to-heart when Shelley was taking a much-needed break, having lunch with her mother. The men discussed everything under the sun except her.

But then Carter had to broach the subject. “Do you love her?”

Zach’s blue eyes unmistakably changed to a deeper hue. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Carter replied. “I’d hung back for so long, sure she’d never find anyone better than me.” He smirked self-deprecatingly.

Zach turned his head to stare at the ceiling, clearly thinking about her.

Seeing the way his ex-best man looked, Carter smiled. “Better?”

Zach grimaced as he inhaled but the peace never left his face.

Though he was considerably bolstered by the obvious concern and visits from the Greene’s, the Mitchel’s, and his grandmother, his greatest therapy occurred at night when it was just him and Shelley. He would hold out his arm to her, and with a loving smile that he’d come to need like breath, she would tuck in next to him under the blankets, her head on his shoulder and her hand over his heart.

They would talk until he felt he couldn’t, and then she would kiss him goodnight. Content and warming each other, they would fall asleep, dreaming of their future together.

He healed up so dramatically that after a mere week Jared announced they would start him on physical therapy, get him back on his feet. Zach couldn’t wait to be able to stand and hold Shelley on his own.

Things progressed swiftly. He regained full use of his legs and arms and breathing didn’t hurt so much. They took him off the monitors and put him in a comfortable, more private room with a nice view of Midtown, which better accommodated him and Shelley.

But at some point, he couldn’t put his finger on the exact moment, he felt her withdrawing. She still gave him her love with abandon. But when she thought he wasn’t looking – when the physical therapist helped him to work his calves or his back muscles – he would glance over and notice the way she stared into the distance. Broken up inside. Growing sick.

And the more he hoped this would go away, the more he felt it cropping up between them. Like a cancer. He started tasting it in her kisses, feeling it in her body, and he knew exactly what was bothering her.

Thus, one night in early January, three weeks after he’d been shot, he woke up carefully in the hospital bed, knowing she would assume he was simply going to the bathroom. He waited long enough to make sure she had gone back to sleep and then, pulling on his jeans with some difficulty and donning his leather jacket, he bent to brush her cheek and then left.

Henri entered his office at precisely eight a.m., and his legal assistant, per usual, brought him an armload of mail and French roast coffee – black. Wordlessly, he scanned one envelope at a time until he came to an unmarked, unstamped envelope which seemed to hold nothing in it. He frowned. “What’s this?” he asked aloud.

“I don’t know, Mr. Mitchel. A guy came by, and he was most adamant that I make sure you got it,” the assistant said, tensing, concerned that his boss would be upset.

But Henri wasn’t even looking at the man. He opened up the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. There were only two words written: ‘You win’.

The absence of warmth roused her. She’d grown so used to the delicious feeling of waking up in his arms, and so when she didn’t find his shoulder within lip’s reach, she sat up immediately and looked around.

She first checked the bathroom door. It was open. He wasn’t in there. Then, she noticed his jacket was gone, and so were his things. Her hands flew to her mouth as her mind frantically searched for why he would’ve left without telling her.

A powerful dread cascaded over her, threatening to take her breath away. What if he never came back? What if she never saw him again?

Just then, the door opened, and her heart leapt with joy, tightening her throat in the process. But when the figure of her father darkened the doorway, utter disappointment rendered her hope into pieces. However, the moment her father held out his arms to her, she didn’t hesitate and all but ran into them.

Henri was happy to have his girl back.

And Shelley was happy to have her daddy back. But there was still a gaping hole in her heart.

Rick looked up from his desk as Carter came ambling by, a perturbed expression on his fine features. “Hey, man. What’s going on?”

Carter leaned on the corner of Rick’s desk. “Did you know Zach quit?”

Shocked, Rick recoiled. “What? When?”

“Just now, I think.” Carter, still looking bewildered, pointed behind him. “I was downstairs, ran into the chief, and he said Zach had come by, turned in his badge and gun, said he was done. And he was asking me if I knew the reason for his decision.” He scoffed. “Can you believe that? And I can’t get the bastard on the phone.”

Rick frowned, leaning back in his chair. “So wait. He’s out of the hospital? When was he discharged?”

Carter shook his head. “I don’t think he was. I think he discharged himself.”

“What about Shelley? Maybe they’re going away together.”

Considering the possibility, Carter nodded. “Huh. I haven’t tried calling her.” He pulled out his cell, thumbed through his contacts, and dialed his ex-fiancée. She answered after a few rings. “Hey, are you with Zach?” He listened and by the way his face changed, Rick knew right away that she wasn’t. “Okay… well, if I hear anything I’ll call you.”

Groaning, Rick leaned forward and dropped his head into his hands. “What the hell is wrong with him?”

Abigail smoothed her hand over her grandson’s forehead as he lay on the sofa, nearly asleep. She knew she was essentially harboring him, but how could her grandmother’s heart deny anything he asked of her?

“I was thinking,” he murmured, eyes closed, “maybe you and I could take a vacation. We could go to England and visit your family.”

She smiled with both pleasure and pain. He had changed so, she thought; he was thinking outside of himself.

“Might be nice seeing them again.”

“Yes, it would,” she replied with a measure of uncertainty. “But… are you sure that’s what you want?”

Zach frowned though he didn’t open his eyes. “Grandma, my wiring’s bad, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Abigail grimaced but continued to stroke his black hair. “That’s not true. You just need someone to–”

“No,” he interrupted. He looked at her then, reaching for her free hand. “I just need you.”

Abigail’s eyes pooled as emotion flooded her. She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. He hugged her tightly, holding onto her for strength, knowing he would need it to get through the painful days and weeks to come.

Part VIII

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Rybar shifted his weight under the green and beige awning of the Blind Tiger – an old-school speakeasy that had all the rusticism of a New England 18
th
-century tavern. But it still sold Guinness on tap. Not that he was a beer kind of person; neither was his esteemed lawyer. Hence, why this was the perfect spot for a meeting.

It was snowing in light-hearted drifts that illuminated the night by the time Henri Mitchel came treading down the sidewalk. They were just around the corner from Chinatown and thereby 1 Police Plaza and numerous other law enforcement agencies. Risky? Perhaps. But business was best conducted under the beast instead of in his line of sight.

Henri didn’t even look Cervenka’s way as he entered the pub. Rybar took his time in following, taking out his cell as if he had just received a call. Upon concluding said fake conversation, he then casually strode into the warm, dark interior, out of the snow and the fringe of Arctic weather that had purportedly come to settle over New York.

Both men sat in a back booth that was as far from the rest of the patrons as possible. The tables were rough, the chairs were hard and possibly hand-made by a man whose vestibular system was completely off – all the chairs sported uneven legs. There was the distinct smell of unbridled tomfoolery, but fortunately tonight, it was quiet and all present were relatively sedate.

Neither men spoke until their beers in giant steins arrived. Henri didn’t even touch his, but Rybar attempted to drink at least some.

“I’ll get right to it,” Henri said. “The Purple Gazelle is going to become state property unless something is done. And by something I mean either it has to be paid off legally or it must be signed over to someone else. And quickly.”

Rybar sipped thoughtfully. When he set the mug down, he asked, “How is your daughter? She’s no longer playing there, I see.”

Henri’s mask did not slip, but it did harden perceptibly. He leaned forward, interlacing his fingers. “Let me make this absolutely clear. As a father, I would like to kill you right now for what you’ve done to her. But as your lawyer, I will simply say she is no concern of yours.”

Cervenka appeared unruffled. He nodded gravely. “Yes, yes, but as her former employer, I feel an obligation. She did me a great favor.”

Henri’s jaw tightened. “And what was that?”

“She brought low both my enemies in less time than it had taken me to make them.” He smiled as if the thought both amused him and filled him with awe. “She’s an amazing girl. I know you are proud of her.”

“I said she is not up for discussion,” Henri bit off, voice dipping into the realm of bloodlust.

Rybar drew a breath, nonchalant for all the world, and replied, “I know, but I’ve been observing her as of late, and it seems apparent that she is not doing well.” His brows fixed into a measure of concern. “It’s not good for business, you know.”

“And what do I care about the club’s business?”

“She loves the club. As she loves you.” His tone dipped. “As she loves your late partner’s grandson.” Rybar shook his head slowly. “But two out of three is not enough.”

Henri’s eyes darkened, resenting advice from this man – this man who had hired his precious girl in the first place. “I can’t say I appreciate the sentiments.”

Rybar cocked his head to the side. “Is Ericson not, by birthright, a stakeholder in the firm? Both here and in L.A.? Therefore, I should think you would want to keep him beholden to your family.” Stroking his chin, he added, “And I don’t believe you are worried he won’t take care of her.”

Henri said nothing, keeping the scowl fixed on his distinguished features bathed in dark shadows.

“I know. You are afraid that she loves him too much, and that if you let her go, she will never return to you.” Rybar sighed disappointedly. “At some point, you have to slacken the line or you will lose her completely.”

Henri’s anger crescendoed but he maintained his beveled tone. “I have no idea where he even is. He’s run like a coward.”

Rybar scoffed with a smile. “Hardly. You simply choose not to find him. You have FBI at your disposal. Not to mention the obvious recourse of contacting his relatives. It would be a simple matter.”

“I fail to see why you are so interested in his plight,” Henri said. “Or that of my daughter’s.”

“Because I feel personally responsible.”

“As you should.”

Rybar smirked, lines around his cunning eyes creasing. “I told her once if I could I would help her fulfill her dreams. And now…” He peered across the table at his shrewd attorney. “…I have a proposal to do just that.”