I get to the restaurant as everyone else's food is arriving. Perez's
tia
plunks a plate of tacos down in front of me, I guess it's nice when the owner knows what you like. There is tension around the table, expected when we go don't know if she's going to live.
When we get back, they've moved Perez out of intensive care and upstairs to a private room. Apparently, the 15 of us were disturbing the sick people. Who knew?
The doctor comes in and tells us all we need to go. There's moaning, but Mr. Perez rounds everyone up except his wife and we hit the road. I get to say goodbye last, acutely aware of how much pain she still is in. She orders me to go in to work tomorrow, not knowing I had already decided to. I hit her gently on the arm, and follow the families out.
We meet up at Perez' aunt's house, talk, browse the fridge, and generally do nothing until nine-ish when it's time to go. I am wearing my pilot's uniform from yesterday, pushing 40 hours on me, and getting ripe. I make plans for tomorrow, go home, feed an angry cat, shower, change and sit up all night figuring out how to attack a drug cartel.
I pick up four of Perez's brother's in the morning from her aunt's and the five of us squish into Starbuck. They wanted to come into the LAPD offices with me to look around, are not impressed, grab my keys and head off to the hospital. They, like their sister, think it's funny I have a Civic named Starbuck.
The feeling in the office is depression and anger. Four dead brethren, two more in the hospital. I find Sergeant Johnson and he tells me I'm working with Bradford in Terminal 7. Then we talk about Perez. He's going over this afternoon, but wants to know what to expect. I give him the honest truth, brutal though it is. He gives me a handout with details of the memorial service, Sunday. I'll be there.
Bradford and I walk the day away, it being unusually quiet in the terminal. One of Perez's brothers comes and picks me up after and takes me to Ariela's restaurant for dinner. I pop over to see Kiana, even though she's sound asleep by the time I get there. I wonder if Fog Dude is visiting. Perez no better, but no worse. Still no answer from the doctors.
Friday is different. I spend the day with her family at the hospital, and by dinner I know it's time I did something stupid. Her breathing is more irregular, the beeping is weaker, the doctors look nervous, she hasn't said a word in hours.
I get back about nine, do some Internet research on the hospital, and then head out to Anaheim. No drone sign anywhere, I go through my normal procedure for the first time in a month. Feels off and good at the same time.
Naked, I easy bake some molecules and lift myself gently up, then flash north to Cedars. From the hospital directory, I know that the billing department is on the top floor, east wing, and that it closes at five on Friday. I land on the roof of the shopping center across the street, and identify the area where billing should be. Lights, but not bright, just a few, night light bright.
I wait until my light gives the all clear, then jump across the street and onto the roof of the hospital. From the distance, given my normal human eyes, I could not tell if any of the windows were open. From close up, I can tell that they are not, so I pick one that is somewhat shielded from ground view, and float next to it, my back to a concrete protrusion from the wall. It turns out to be closed, but not locked, and I can push it open. The screen is another problem, and I simply push it out of the way. Once inside, I put it back in as best I can.
The computer in the office is off. I need one that is not only on, but logged in to something useful. I leave the office and enter the main room, just a big open area with 20 to 25 cubicles, none with doors. The first five computers I check are off. The sixth is on, but is asking for a password. Seven and eight are off. Nine is off, but the nice person who works there has written a login and password on a yellow sticky note and put it on the side of their monitor. Someone who, I'm sure, is violating security protocols, but is my new best friend.
I turn their computer on. It boots, does not ask for a password and does not log in to any application. It takes me a few minutes of trying before I find the right icon, and get logged in. It is a nice billing application, which connects directly to the patient record files. I search for Perez, there are two in the hospital, but only one Kiana.
The cut on her forehead is minor. No concussion. Her eye was punctured by numerous pieces of metal, she can make out light, but not see otherwise. Prognosis unknown.
They removed four sections of her intestines, three feet in total, and had to glue her liver back together. Prognosis unknown.
Her chest was punctured, lungs and heart damaged. Prognosis unknown.
Her left leg is broken in two places, and her left knee is gone. No ACL, MCL or PCL, plus damage to the meniscus. Prognosis: Will not recover full use.
The record shows she's been approved for three months of paid leave, and that LAPD and her union have been notified that she will likely require a disability retirement if she lives. Fuck me. I am going downstairs. The light nods in agreement.
It tells me we need to go. I hesitate. I am, therefore, lost. The door flies open and the janitor wheels his cart in. I am naked, 20 feet from him, and he is blocking my way out. Trust the light. Frak me.
I turn the computer off, then, keeping my head low, run over to the far side of the cubicles. As the janitor opens the office door, I run at superhuman speed to the windows in the cubicle area, only to find they are the not opening type. The idea is to get out of here without leaving any evidence, which kind of negates the idea of breaking them, so I pop back behind the cubicles.
Strategy B. I wait until he turns his back again, and run into the corridor he came from. No one there, but no windows, and the office doors I try are all locked. I keep moving down the hall, trying every door.
One opens, I go in. It's a closet, and it's full of cleaning supplies and hospital clothes, no window. I have a totally stupid idea. The light is egging me on like it hasn't egged me since that first night on Kona. The doctors all wear these outfits, greens, pants that tie, pullover v- neck shirts, the hospital logo on the front. I find ones that fit and put them on. There are slippers too, and I grab a pair.
Then I nonchalantly walk out into the hall, and push the button for the elevator. Inside, I push three. A right turn when I get off, four doors down, and there she is, asleep. Quietly, so as not to wake her mom in the other bed, I slip into the room, walk over to her, and kiss her on the forehead. A little trail of light jumps from my lips to her.
Nothing happens right away, but maybe 30 seconds later there is a marked change. The beeping thing is louder. The beeps more regular. Her breathing is strong, normal.
I squeeze her hand and turn to walk out of the room.
"Air Force?"
"Just came by to say hello." I whisper, don't want her mom to hear.
"Dumbass."
"That's Superdumbass to you."
Another squeeze, then I'm gone, over to the elevator, down to the first floor, and out into the night. The strip mall across the street is deserted, and the alley behind it empty. I remove everything, take off the slippers, ball up the shirt and pants, and head for Starbuck. Instead of going home, I fly around all night, afraid that I might accidently fall asleep otherwise.
A little before sunrise I get home, feed and calm the cat, run, shower, and head back to the hospital. She's sitting up when I get there. Whatever it cost me, totally worth it just for that.
Everybody's there. Everybody's smiling, laughing.
Over the course of the day, the story is settled. She's going to live. The doctors admit they were sure yesterday was the end, but she surprised them.
Later, she makes everyone leave us alone again. When they're gone, she hits me, hard, on the arm. Gives me a mad look. Doesn't actually say anything, doesn't have to. I give her a happy look. She hits me again. I laugh, kiss her forehead. It seals a deal between us, one I will almost certainly break.
"See you tomorrow Perez."
Chapter 16
The next morning is the memorial service for the four officers. There are six Perez's there in uniform, looking impressive, and me in a suit, not having a dress uniform. Then off to mom and dad's for a barbeque. I set up my laptop in Kiana's room, so that first she could watch the memorial with her mom holding my brand new tablet, then we set the tablet on the picnic table in the back yard at my mom's so she could watch the family games, and be with us for dinner. She got intravenous fluids, we got smoked tri-tip and veggies.
Monday morning we transport everyone to the airport and put them on flights back home, except Perez's mom, who is staying down. The plan is for Kiana to go to the Bay area for a while once she's able to travel, but that involves setting up physical therapy and other doctor stuff when we don't even really know the full extent of the damage.
I consider cancelling my flight to Kona, but Perez insists I go, something about normalcy, which is a silly thing to think about when you consider my life. We spend a couple hours alone, but don't talk about business or my next dumbass move.
Taylor Mankat is there when I get to dispatch Tuesday, which is the point that I remember that we were supposed to go to lunch last Wednesday. Fuck me. Now she's probably not going to. But I find out I'm wrong.
"That was your partner who was blown up?"
"Yes. Taylor, I'm so sorry I messed up." I explain the past seven days in five minutes.
"I'm impressed," she says, "Not with you blowing me off, but with your dedication. How about we try again for Saturday night?"
I tell her I'm in. Then Captain Don the Perfectionist appears and I have to run off with him. I call Perez from Hawai'i, and she tells me they plan on letting her go next week. I tell her to tell my dad, so that we can put her on a flight. She tells me her parents still can't get over all the free flights dad arranged for them. He's flying her dad down here again on Saturday. I remind her she's family.
I stop by the hospital Thursday night after my LAX shift. Her eye is still covered, but all the other visible bandages are off. There's a hole in her beautiful hair, and a fiery line of stitches across an inch of her scalp. She still seems to be in pain.
"Perez," I am sitting on the edge of her bed looking at her, "be honest. Tell me what's going on with you."
She refuses. "Don't forget our deal," is all she'll say. She tells me she talked to her FBI friend, Special Agent Rona Flaherty, and they have the informant who lied to them in custody, but he's refusing to talk. They have no leads, no information, nothing. I'm not surprised.
"Just like last time. It's up to you and me."
I spend Friday and Saturday sitting with Perez, then have dinner with her parents and my parents. Taylor Mankat cancelled on me, family obligation as well. Don't know if I'm happy or sad about that. Today is also 772 days left, minus whatever I used to cure Perez the first time, and minus whatever I am going to use to fix her again.
Sunday is Perez and family too, but Monday I get her all to myself for most of the day (I'm sure it's a secret parents deal, because she is going home tomorrow and we won't see each other for a while). We talk about what I should do for the next month, while she is back in San Francisco. She assures me that she will be back no later than early June (today is April 30).
She is also going to try to get Flaherty to send her the FBI investigation reports, so she can pass them on to me. I assure her that I have been researching the cartel and the gang, and I will be the Dumbass Avenger soon enough.
Monday night her
tia
caters dinner for me, my parents, Perez and her mom in the hospital.
Tuesday we have a big surprise for her. My dad picks Kiana and her mom up at the hospital, and brings them out to the airport. Perez is in a wheelchair, still not able to walk well enough even on crutches.
There are 200 LAPD officers in Terminal 7, and she has to wade through the mass of them to get to the gate. She's in tears long before she gets to the end of the line, and stays that way when I meet her at the gate.
"Come to see me off?" She gets it out between sobs. There is still enough pain medication in her to keep her more emotional than usual.
"Better. Dad and I got the FAA to approve something special."
"Dad and who?" It's dad.
"OK, dad got the FAA to approve something special, but it was my idea."
We wheel her down to the bottom of the jetway, and she stands up at the aircraft door. I put her arm over my shoulder, and she half walks, half lets me carry her into the plane. She tries to go right, but I bring her left.
She hops through the flight deck door, and I help her to take the left jump seat. There are two seats in the back of the cockpit, not as comfortable as those in the back, but more fun.
"No way."
