Page 39

Thirty-Nine

Thursday 10pm

“Christ, Brody, was that really called for?” Charlie said after the rest of the hidden law enforcement personnel had revealed themselves, and an ambulance had taken Sabrina Sully away, blue lights flashing and sirens wailing. Charlie had cleaned himself as best he could and was now wearing one of the blue jackets with FBI on the back. Brody Murphy’s FBI jacket to be accurate. The red coat was now red with blood and Charlie could feel blood in his hair and on his skin, despite his best efforts.

Murphy shrugged. “It was a righteous shooting,” he said. “Plenty of witnesses that he was threatening you and there was no way to incapacitate him without risking your safety. I’ll be on desk duty until they’ve investigated, but I’m not worried.”

“When did you get here?” Charlie asked. “Not that I’m ungrateful, you understand.”

“We’ve been here since I left you this morning.”

“You didn’t think to mention that?”

Murphy didn’t answer, his eyes jerking over Charlie’s shoulder to the street beyond the open gate to the yard. A familiar delivery van had slowed down by the gate, then it accelerated away.

“Shit!” Murphy yelled and ran toward Sabrina’s car. Charlie ran after him and they collided by the open driver’s door. The keys were in the ignition. “Drive!” Murphy commanded, and unholstered his gun as he ran round to the passenger side and leapt in. “Drive!” he yelled again. Charlie turned the key in the ignition, thanking whatever gods were listening that the car was an automatic. He’d done plenty of driving courses, but none of them had involved driving on the wrong side of the road, in the dark, in the busiest city in the world, with a companion leaning out of the passenger window trying to aim a gun at the vehicle ahead. Luckily the delivery van wasn’t a high-performance vehicle, and Charlie could see it only a few hundred yards ahead. The street was four lanes wide, so he leaned on the horn and started overtaking the few cars in between. The van swerved to the right, and into a cross street as the traffic lights turned red.

“Go!” shouted Murphy.

The cross street was one way, and they were going in the wrong direction. Charlie kept the heel of his hand on the horn as he jerked the wheel from side to side, ignoring the blaring horns of the other cars, and shouts of “Asshole!” that he could hear over the squeal of tyres and the sound of cars hitting inanimate objects. He could see blue lights ahead and in his mirror and then he heard a gunshot.

“Fuck,” Murphy said, and fired again. This time, his aim was better, and Charlie saw the van lurch but keep going. The sirens got louder, and blue lights swirled ahead of them at the end of the street. Over the noise of the engine, he could hear shouts of “Armed Police!” and then the crunch of the van hitting one of the cruisers setting off alarms and more shouting from the lines of police Charlie could see converging on the van.

A few seconds later, it was over, and all they could do was watch as the two thugs who’d beaten him up were handcuffed, and not gently, by uniformed NYPD officers. His stomach hurt, just looking at them, as if remembering the blows.

Cruisers blocked them in, and from the flat tyre on the back of the van, one of Murphy’s shots had hit its mark. Charlie attempted to park, okay, stop within walking distance of the kerb, because he wasn’t driving another yard.

“Keystone cops, much?” Charlie said to Murphy, who grinned.

“Dopamine rush. Gotta say I was hoping for Dwyer, but those two will do for starters. No need to be greedy.”

“You do know I’m not insured, right? To drive this car.”

“Charlie, my dear friend, that’s the least of my problems.” Murphy couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “That was bizarrely fun. Do you all drive like that in Wales?”

Charlie just looked at him. The adrenaline was fading, leaving him cold and weary in his borrowed jacket.

“You are a fucking crazy man,” he said.

“Back atcha. Go to the hospital and see your guy.”

Charlie went, weaving his way through the tangle of police cars and FBI vans. He got a few strange looks wearing Murphy’s jacket, but he was past caring. All he wanted was to see Tom, reassure himself that Tom was still alive and getting better. His legs were wobbly, and he was desperately hungry. Murphy had been swallowed up by the law enforcement personnel, so he didn’t feel the need to say goodbye. He slipped unnoticed through the crowds by the parked cruisers, and on to a busier street. There he found a taxi and was soon at the nurses’ station.

“How is he?” he asked the nurse who had helped him earlier, thankfully still on duty.

“He’s doing really well. Better since his mother’s backed off. I think he’s awake. Did you know you’ve got blood in your hair? I think a clean-up is in order given that the last thing my patient needs is another infection.”

“It’s a long story,” Charlie said. The nurse gave him a key and directed him to the bathroom. “Have a thorough wash and don’t leave a mess.”

It wasn’t easy to give himself and his hair a complete wash in a small basin, but Charlie did his best. And he didn’t leave a mess.

Tom wasn’t only awake, he was propped up against his pillows, still attached to all the monitors, but recognisably alert and himself.

“Hi,” Charlie said, and his throat blocked with emotion.

“Hi,” Tom said and smiled.

Charlie leaned over and kissed him, past caring about the machines, or the likelihood of someone coming in. He pulled Tom closer as gently as he could, and felt tears well up behind his eyes.

“Come up on the bed,” Tom said, moving over so that the side away from the drip had a bit of space.

Charlie took his shoes and the FBI jacket off, and sank down next to Tom, his head in the space between Tom’s neck and his chest.

“I thought I would lose you,” he said. “And I was so afraid.”

Tom shuffled as best he could without falling off the bed so that he could look at Charlie as opposed to the ceiling. “I was just waiting for you to come and wake me up,” he said. “Did I dream that you were going to ask me to marry you?”

“I do want to marry you. And you said yes.”

“Good,” Tom said. “But you need to know that I want a big wedding. With a huge cake, and morning suits, and I dunno, bridesmaids or whatever, and rings and speeches. Because I want everyone to see how much I love you.”

All Charlie could do was nod into Tom’s beard.

“Now,” Tom said, “tell me what on earth you’ve been doing to acquire two black eyes and a jacket with FBI on the back.”