Paint It Black

Chapter Six

Louis slid off the X-ray table and stepped out the door, squinting into the bright lights of the hallway. At first, all he could see was Wainwright’s bulky silhouette standing near the door to exam room one. He slowly came into focus, the look of irritation on his face unmistakable.

Louis let out a breath and went toward Wainwright, holding his shoulder. He was bare-chested but still wearing his damp jeans and soggy Nikes. As he neared Wainwright, Wainwright heard the squeaking and looked up, his eyes dropped to Louis’s bruised chest.

“That’s going to hurt in the morning.”

Louis nodded as he passed him, going into the exam room. “I know.”

Wainwright followed him, leaning on the door. Louis slipped onto the table, grimacing as he put weight on his left arm.

“Any sign of Levon?” Louis asked.

“Not yet. He’s not smart enough to evade us for long. We’ll find him.”

Louis rubbed his shoulder, wishing the doctor would hurry up. He’d been here over an hour. “You don’t have to wait,” he told Wainwright. “I’ll get home.”

“How? Cabs will charge you an arm and a leg to take you out to the islands. I brought you here, I’ll wait.”

Louis glanced at the mirror above the sink, and could see Wainwright staring at him. He wished Wainwright would just go. His ribs were throbbing and he felt like a fool. Tossed into the water like a damn fish.

“Louis, we need to get a few things clear here.”

Don’t lecture me.

“Have you ever done PI work before?” Wainwright asked.

“No.”

“The first thing you learn is that you don’t have a badge on anymore.”

“I know that.”

“I’m not so sure you do. You had no right to chase Levon, no authority to apprehend him or anyone else. I told you that you were just an observer, there out of courtesy. You don’t listen very well.”

Louis stirred with anger. “I figured I could catch him.”

“And what if you had hurt him in the process? What if you had choked the fucker by accident? What if he fell into the water and drowned? What then? You’d be charged with assault or manslaughter and my department would be sued and I’d be fired. And I don’t want to be fired.”

Jesus. His instincts had just taken over. When Levon ran, he went after him. He hadn’t given it a second thought.

“I don’t have a problem with you hanging around trying to help Roberta Tatum,” Wainwright said. “But you don’t have the right to detain people, assault anyone, or run after goddamn suspects. You can hang out at the office, and ask all the questions you want. But that’s all. The next time you touch a suspect, you better make damn sure it’s in self-defense.”

“I just reacted, that’s all.”

“You’re not hearing me. It’s more than that. I don’t want you dead, either.” Wainwright turned toward the wall. When he didn’t say anything for several seconds, Louis snuck a glance at him.

“I can take care of myself,” he said.

Wainwright turned. “Before I joined the bureau, I spent a few years on a beat in Michigan. We had this hotshot reporter who begged us to take him on ride-alongs. Most times, he was bored stiff. Then one night, we got caught up in a domestic where shots were fired. I told him to stay in the car. He didn’t.”

Louis shook his head slowly. “He wasn’t a cop.”

Wainwright stared at him. He didn’t have to say it. It was in his eyes. Neither are you.

The doctor came in, holding the X ray. “It’s not dislocated, nothing’s broken,” he told Louis. “It’s bruised and you’ve strained the tendons, but it’ll be fine after the swelling goes down. I’d keep it stationary for a few days, though.”

Louis slid off the table and picked up his shirt. He tried to put it on without straining the shoulder, but it dropped behind his back and he couldn’t reach it. Wainwright stepped forward and held the sleeve out for him. Louis slipped into it.

The doctor looked at Wainwright. “You want the bill sent to the department, Chief?”

Wainwright nodded.

The doctor handed Louis a prescription. “Be careful, Officer.”

The doctor left and Louis started to button his shirt slowly. Okay, the doc was wrong; he wasn’t a cop. But Wainwright was wrong, too; he wasn’t a PI, either. So what the hell was he?

He remembered a cold night not so long ago. A cop named Jesse, talking as they drove through the dark Michigan woods.

It’s what we are, Louis. Taking the uniform off at night doesn’t change a damn thing.

It’s not what I am, Jess. I’m a man first, a cop second.

Talk to me in twenty years, Louis, and tell me then what you see when you look in the mirror.

He had been so sure. But that was before he met Gibralter, who wore the badge like a warrior shield, and before Jesse, whose life had been both saved and destroyed by the badge.

And before Fred Lovejoy, the ex-cop who lived alone with his dog on the edge of a frozen lake, spending his days fishing and polishing his service revolver, waiting to die.

He glanced up at a mirror above the sink.

Tell me what you see, Louis.

He looked at Wainwright.

“It won’t happen again,” he said.

Wainwright’s lips drew into a thin line. “Come on, I’m driving you back to the Dodies’.”