Page 152 of Don't Say a Word

“Well, how about if you go to the hospital, get that anklelooked at, and we can have a chat. See what you think you don’t know.”

“Only if Margo’s there,” Angie said. Then she looked at me and seemed so small. “Please?”

“I’ll be there,” I said.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Margo Angelhart

Cal was not a person people said no to—even nurses, which was pretty damn impressive. My dad had been a doctor my entire life, and good nurses ran the floor. Cal sweet-talked or threatened, whatever the situation called for, to ensure that Angie had a security guard until the police detail arrived.

After Angie returned from X-Ray, I sat with her. “It’s totally broken,” she said. “Clean break, likesnap. They wanted to give me drugs for the pain and I said no.”

“You know, sometimes drugs actually do what they’re supposed to and help.”

“It’s not that bad,” she said. She looked at the ceiling. “You know, my mom got oxycodone after a slip and fall where she worked. That’s how she started smoking pot every night. And drinking. The first thing she does when she gets home from work is pour vodka and whatever she has around. When she’s not working, the clock strikes noon, she pours a drink. I don’t want my life to be all about work and getting stoned every fucking day. I want todosomething.”

I touched her hand. “You are doing something. Do you know how many people see what’s going on around them and just ignoreit? Pretend it doesn’t exist? Yousee. That puts you ahead of the game.”

Cal came in. At first, his expression was angry and tired, then like a switch it was gone. “Hey, kiddo, I hear you’re getting an actual cast. Don’t forget to let me sign it. I get to be first.”

“Kiddo? I’m seventeen.”

He shrugged. “My baby sister is twenty-nine and I call her kiddo all the time. Among other things.”

He pulled the other chair up and sat next to me. “So, because you’re a minor, Officer Morales—you remember her, right?”

“Yeah,” Angie said cautiously.

“She went to your house. Talked to your mom. Long story short, she won’t be coming by for a while, but lucky me, I’m authorized to sign off on any procedures.”

“She’s wasted, isn’t she?”

He nodded. “By the time she comes down, you’ll be outta here. And if you need a place to crash—not a group home or any bullshit like that, those places suck—I know someone who can put you up for a few days.”

The unspoken words were clear. Angie had a choice.

“Oh. Thanks. I can stay with my best friend, Gina Martinelli, and her family, they’re really nice, but I don’t want to bring anything bad to them.”

“I hear you loud and clear. And I’m hoping we wrap up this entire operation in the next couple of days—with your help. And I arranged it so you can stay here for another day or two if we need it. Just telling you, the option is out there, and the people I’d put you with are one-hundred percent safe.”

She sighed. “I can’t help. I didn’t see his face. They didn’t say anything, just started shooting. But they knew I was coming.”

“They spoofed or cloned your friend Benny’s phone. They might have seen the messages you sent him, so they knew you were out back. I won’t know for certain until we finish processing the dead guy.”

Angie took a deep breath, then let it out. She winced.

“So, I heard you don’t want painkillers,” Cal said. “I don’t blame you, I refused them even when I was shot.”

“You were shot?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Not today, a few years ago. Can’t show you the scar, it would be indecent,” he added with a glance in my direction, and a wink. “But pain really sucks. You can get the mildest oxycodone out there—”

“No,” she said.

“Or they have prescription strength Tylenol. I told them to bring you some. You don’t have to take it, but I strongly recommend it. It won’t numb the pain, but it’ll take the edge off and it’s not addictive.”

She nodded. “Okay,” she said.