Page 102 of Constantly Cotton
In the back of his head, Burton remembered asking Ellery Cramer for a favor before everything had shaken out. “I’ve got one more phone call to make,” he said. “And by then, we’ll already be on the road.”
Part 9
“I WASholding the knife,” Jai said evenly. “And I tripped and fell.”
The doctor gave him a flat-eyed glance, and Jai tried to smile. Like most people when faced with that smile, the man turned a little pale, and then he made an irritated notation on his tablet.
“Fine—I can put that in our records, but a police officer will have to sign off on it. You can’t just walk into the ER with a bowie knife embedded in your shoulder and not expect questions, Mr.….”
“Sartov,” Jai lied, because that was the fake ID he had on him. “Dmitri Sartov.”
The doctor gave him another narrow-eyed look. “Sure. Sure that’s your name. Look, let me get our local officer here to—”
“He’s fine, Connaghey,” Sean Kryzynski said, limping in with a buffed and polished younger man at his side. “No need—Sartov is a department asset. Is he going to be okay?”
The doctor—a thin, balding, worried man in his fifties who had probably seen too much, gnawed at his lower lip. “Yes—the wound will need care, though. Is there anybody at home who can change a bandage?”
Jai thought yearningly of George, and how they’d been texting madly about taking some time off together when this op ended.
“Da,” he said, not sure if he could keep the wistfulness out of his voice. “There is someone, yes.”
“Then if you could sign this off, Sean, we’ll be okay.”
Kryzynski—a friend of Jackson Rivers and Ellery Cramer—took the tablet and gave the requisite signature, then waved the doctor off.
“There,” he said quietly to Ernie and Jai. “I just expensed your medical bills. He’ll be back with some pain meds and antibiotics, and then we can play musical cars and you can go.”
Jai regarded Kryzynski narrowly. “Last I heard, you were in a hospital bed. What are you doing here?”
“Killing himself,” the young man at his side said bitterly. “Did you really have to—”
“This man is a hero, Billy,” Kryzynski said softly. “You weren’t there when Rivers told the story. This man, and this young man’s boyfriend, just saved a busload of kids—and I’m pretty sure they saved Cotton’s life.”
Billy’s eyes got large. “Cotton—?”
“I’ll tell you later.” Kryzynski took the careful breath of one for whom breathing is a new luxury. “Right now, let’s get me to their car and them to ours. I promised Ellery we’d clean the blood out of their car and give them something that would let them get to LA today.”
“Except our car is your doctor friend’s,” Jai said.
“You got blood in Lance’s Mazda?” Billy asked, aghast. Then understanding dawned. “Which is why we need to get the upholstery cleaned. Okay. I get it. It’s all coming together.” He shook his head. “You live a very interesting life, Sean. But you still need to get home for your nap.”
Sean gave the kid an exasperated look. “We’re getting there,” he wheezed.
Jai eyed him with quiet disgust. “Everybody. Must everybody be a hero?”
“You are telling me,” said the man at Sean’s side. “Anyway, here.” He dug into the pocket of his faded jeans, the action stretching his T-shirt across a chest that had been molded out of marble. “Here.” He dropped the keys in Ernie’s hand. “Now you give me Lance’s.”
“I can’t believe I’m giving up my car for a week,” Sean said weakly. “Love that car.”
Jai grinned at him. “What kind of car is it?”
“Dodge Charger.” He sighed. “I only wish it was circa 1970, but no. Modern model.”
“You should try a Ford SHO,” Jai told him, missing Ace’s beautiful celebration of metal, oil, and will. “But we will treat your car well.”
“Trust us,” Ernie said. “This is the guy who helped Ace and Sonny make Jackson’s car.” He paused. “Before, you know. The thing.”
Sean’s eyes lit up, and Jai knew how they’d pay this nice policeman back.