Page 20 of The Writer

[Shaw] Tell me about the girl.

[Lucero] I don’t know no girl!

[Shaw] You hold his arm, I’ll push the bone back in. On three. Ready?

[Lucero] No! Stop! No! I don’t know her—I just seen her!

[Shaw] Seen her where?

[Lucero] She cuts through the park sometimes. Lots of kids do!

[Shaw] Where exactly did you see her?

[Lucero] Comes in from Fifth on the north end and cuts across near the hill.

[Shaw] That’s awfully specific. You follow her?

[Lucero] Fuck. I really need a doctor. I’m gonna pass out.

[Voice unidentified] Oh, there he goes.

[Shaw] Lucero! Wake up! [Eight seconds of silence.] Wake up! [Unintelligible mumbling.] Get him downstairs and wait for the bus. If they can’t patch him up, take the ride to Memorial. Stay with him. As soon as he’s ready for transport, I want him at the Twentieth.

[Voice unidentified] The nurses will ask how the arm got broke.

[Shaw] Tell them the truth: He resisted. I was forced to tackle him to get him to the ground, and he landed wrong. You saw that, right?

[Response unintelligible.]

[Cordova via radio] Declan. You need to get over here.

[Shaw] On my way.

[End of recording.]

/MG/GTS

NOW

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

IN THE CAFETERIA-LIKE meeting room of Rikers Island, Denise Morrow sits at the aluminum table with her hands in her lap, her fingers twisting and turning over each other like she’s kneading a pound of dough. She doesn’t want to touchanything. She doesn’t want to breathe the air. Every time she inhales, the stale scent of vomit and urine buried beneath years of bleach fills her nostrils, and it’s all she can do to keep from throwing up and adding to whatever came before.

The floor is pale green, the walls dull yellow, with doors and random pieces of furniture in purple. Looks like a day care decorated by a mad clown.

She doesn’t belong here.

This is a bad dream.

Shewillget out and make things right.

It’s that last line she keeps repeating in her head like some kind of mantra. She can’t help wondering how many other people in this room, this place, are telling themselves the same.

Led into the room by a female guard large enough to wrestle a bear, Geller Hoffman spots her and smiles, showing his perfectly capped white teeth.

“How you holding up?” He takes the seat next to her and unbuttons his suit jacket.

“How do you think?” And this comes out angrier than she means it to. None of this is his fault, and taking it out on him isn’t going to help. She draws in a deep breath and shifts gears. Time to plead. “Please get me out of here.”