Neon Nights Chapter 26

It didn't take Marc long to realize he had no pants on and couldn't figure out where he was.

It seemed like many of his nights in a previous life, although this time, he was certain this one wasn't alcohol related. There were beeps and humming noises around him, and the walls were cold and unfeeling. As a trained detective, he was at least relatively sure he had retained enough brain cells to figure out that he was in the hospital. Marc remembered a truck hitting him, the slide on the wet roads, and a slow-motion disaster that had made him wish that life was equipped with a fast-forward button just to kill the anticipation.

He felt like someone had hit him with a crowbar across his ribs, and the side of his head throbbed in tandem with his heartbeat. He wiggled his fingers and toes, surprised to see that they moved without restriction. His left hand was restrained, though, by someone else’s hand. When the cobwebs fully cleared from his vision, he saw Mary at his bedside checking his pulse while machines whirred and beeped around him.

“Well, well, Detective, couldn’t wait for our date on Monday night, huh?"

Marc tried to laugh, but the pain was instant and sharp, and he regretted it instantly.

She squeezed his hand, and part of the pain melted away.

"Our EMTs said that was quite an accident you had. Your truck is in a couple of pieces, and somehow, the cab seemed to be the only thing that made it. I think you used up one of your lives. How many do you have left now, just in case we have more than one date?"

"Yeah, I may have over-drafted the account. No cash left, no credit." "So, I guess I'm buying dinner?" she smirked.

He tried another laugh and managed to emit a bizarre sound that was close to a laugh but more of a wheeze.

Mary adjusted the blankets on his bed.

"I think maybe I should let you rest a little bit." "What time is it, by the way?"

"3:33. Your accident happened around 12:30."

"How long do you think I have to stay? Oh yeah, and what's wrong with me?"

"Couple days at least, and so far, we haven't figured it all out yet. Two broken ribs for sure, a concussion, lacerations from glass hitting you, and those are just the obvious things."

"So not tonight, then?"

She put her head in her hands and laughed.

"Oh, I see the kind of guy you are. How many times did you watch Die Hard as a kid?"

"A hundred, at least. You?"

"Still haven't seen it. I know it's popular with men of your age." "Ouch," he groaned.

"Well, I'm not that far behind you, you know." "I thought you were like twenty-two."

"How disappointed are you that I'm thirty-three?" "Not."

"Good answer. We have a lot of things going on those younger girls. Number one is that we actually know what Die Hard is."

"So, I have a good news, bad news situation happening here," he said.

She pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed, putting her feet on the edge and interlocking her fingers over her stomach.

"Okay, hit me with it."

He sat up straighter to make his case, but the pain raced through his body like a lightning strike, causing him to grimace.

She laughed.

"Wait, nurses laugh at people in pain?" "Sometimes we do … when it's their own fault." "One more shot, please."

She readjusted in her seat, readying herself for the show. "Okay, go."

Marc mustered his strength and adjusted himself without a grimace this time.

"A for effort." She smirked.

"I appreciate that. Okay, here we go. The good news is that I own a copy of Die Hard, so that's no problem when you're ready to watch it. The bad news is that I have to leave here in an hour."

"You can't be serious." "About Die Hard or leaving?" She looked at him in disbelief.

"And where do you need to go in an hour?" "Confidential."

"Seriously?"

"What's the worst that can happen? I leave, can't handle the pain, end up back here, and our date Monday night has Jell-O for dessert and a juice box?"

"That's all you can come up with?" "I didn't have a lot of time."

"Don't cops have to think on their feet a lot?" she said.

There was a knock at the door, and they both turned their heads to see who it was.

"Well, aren't you a sight?" Carly said as she moved into the room carrying a small bag with some fresh clothes for him.

She smiled at Mary and gave Marc a well-polished look of disapproval as she pulled up a chair next to the bed.

"What kind of nonsense is he trying to pull with you?" Carly asked. "He wants to leave … now."

Carly smacked her hand against her forehead and Marc suddenly wished he wasn't so vulnerable.

"We are close to the finish and …" he protested. Carly cut him off.

“And you don't think we can handle it without you leading the charge?"

Marc adjusted himself again, trying to find a way to get comfortable, more aware now of the discomfort caused by the hookups and machines.

"Not what I was saying, but you wouldn't let me finish." Mary stood up and started to back out of the room.

"I think I will leave you two alone and come back to check on you later."

Marc managed to squeak out a "thank you."

With the witness gone now, Carly moved aggressively towards his bed, the anger fresh in her eyes.

"Are you an idiot?" she asked.

Marc stared past her to the window outside that featured a first-class view of East Bay Memorial Hospital's heating and ventilation systems.

"Well ... are you?" she persisted.

"I want these guys. I'm not going to miss the takedown, period." "Can you move?"

"No, not super well at the moment, but they are going to give me some medication, and then I'm back in the game."

"That should work out well. Someone else on the team might die because you're at three percent. That's selfish, and you know it."

A fresh wave of rain drove down again, and the wind lashed the drops against the window like it was trying to break the glass.

Carly slid her chair back hard enough that it made its way across the room and hit the wall.

"Really, you're not mature enough to say a word. I thought we could have a real conversation about it. Instead, you want to play kid's games."

"It's just that …" She cut him off.

"Just that you need to trust your teammates to handle this and tag back in when these guys are behind bars," she said.

Marc hung his head and sighed, bringing a painful cough from deep in his lungs.

"Hit them with everything you've got, but I get to be the one to interrogate them, deal?"

"Deal."

She turned to walk out the door, and he fought through his frustration and pain to mine a "good luck" from somewhere deep inside.

The clock in the corner of his room taunted him with each tick.

The color of blood was an odd choice for a hospital clock. Maybe they should choose something more unicorn-colored to brighten people's moods while they were poked and prodded.

An hour had passed since Carly left.

His sleep had been fitful, and the events of the last three days played on an inescapable loop through his mind.

If his brain were a castle, his thoughts were a relentless legion of soldiers that attacked from every direction, hurling sharpened arrows of inadequacy, fear, and guilt over the stone walls.

4:48:05

He was also well aware that the raid was in an hour and twelve minutes.

Damn, she's going to be so pissed.

He didn't even know which she he was referring to.

Marc moved onto the edge of the bed and paused there as he absorbed a wave of pain.

Maybe this was a terrible idea?

His legs hadn't moved in hours, and he almost ate it as he tried to find stability on the hospital floor below his feet.

Bambi on knock-kneed twigs.

Selfish hero bullshit.

He pushed through the self-doubt, a politician ensconced in the belief that he had not and could not do wrong.

Self-righteousness was the only path forward. She was wrong, and he was right.

Shuffling to the clothes in the corner of the room, he had a painful realization that he needed to pee. After managing each sleeve and pant leg, he groaned but finished dressing. Then he realized he still had to do his shoes. They looked like a Himalayan mountain range; only there wasn't a team of rock star sherpas around to get his gear lined up for him.

What are the odds I can do this without shoes? He laughed to himself at the idea.

Okay, I'll pee first, then I'll attack the shoes. 5:00:01

He shuffled himself toward the toilet, and with each movement, his legs gained a little more confidence. The ferocity of the Class V rapids that flowed out of him caught him by surprise, and forty-five

seconds later, as satisfied as he had ever been, he scooted three feet to his right to look at himself in the mirror and wash his hands.

Two things caused him to jolt in surprise when he connected with himself in the mirror.

One, he looked terrible.

Several cuts clustered on the right side of his face, and a dark bruise hugged his temple.

And two, Mary stood against the doorframe with a hand on her hip and a look of polite disapproval across her face.

"Whatcha doing?" she asked in a tone you might use for a toddler caught drawing on a wall.

"What do you want to hear?"

"I want to hear that you are suffering from some sort of temporary amnesia and wouldn't under any circumstances consider something so ridiculous as to try to leave this hospital in your current condition."

He scoffed.

"No, come on. That's not what this is all about.”

He shuffled back into the room and nodded to the corner where his shoes lay.

"Any chance you can help me get those bad boys on there so I can handle this one thing I've got to do?"

She ignored his question and helped stabilize him as he eased himself into a chair beside the bed.

"Look, you need the rest to heal up, and you will be slow as a sloth out there because of your ribs. If you think you are good to do your job in this condition, go for it, but unless the world is about to end and you need to save it, I would hang out and enjoy the Jell-O."

"What flavor?" "Orange."

"Funny that orange is a flavor and a color, isn't it?" he asked. She smiled and rolled her eyes.

"You love to change the subject, don't you?"

"I won't get into the particulars of my tricks of the trade, but I need to do this. I'm sorry, and I respect your advice a hundred percent. I'm not out to be a hero here or be hardheaded just for the sake of it, but we are very close to the end on something, and I need to see it through to the finish line."

He got up and did his best to stand tall and straight like he didn't have a care in the world.

"When you put it like that, it is much more palatable. Will you go home and rest as soon as it's over?"

"I will probably sleep for two days."

"Well, you've got a date tomorrow night, so …"

"Okay, no surfing, but what are your thoughts on getting takeout and the previously floated idea of Die Hard?"

"Date."

She moved in close to his ear and kissed him on the cheek. He could smell a hint of vanilla and cherry and wished he could freeze time when her lips touched his skin.

Since his work truck was now in the junkyard, he opted for a taxi to the station. When he got to the parking lot, he recognized several SWAT members' cars and another one he was not particularly excited to see. Thankfully, he wouldn't have to face her until he went inside, and at least there would be witnesses around who all had the capacity to arrest her if she tried to kill him.

The fresh air and the excitement of the raid added a little more pep to his step as he made his way to his locker. When he opened the door, he found a pair of black tactical pants, a t-shirt, and a change of socks.

He grabbed his bullet-proof vest and tried to find a way to put it on that didn't involve shooting pain and tears. There wasn't one, so he opted to pull the band-aid, count to three, and pull it over his head. There was an old East Bay PD baseball cap from his patrol days hanging in the back corner, and since his hair looked like he had just left an asylum, he threw it on to round out the ensemble.

He went to the SWAT garage at the back of the fenced-in lot. The twelve-man team featured some of the best officers on the force, most but not all with a military background. They didn't have to be activated more than five or six times a year, but when they did, they moved with the intensity and precision of an Olympic athlete who had waited patiently for four years to have their shot at glory.

Marc made it just in time, as the team started to climb into the "Grizzly," the department's answer to the age-old question in police work, "What if I come up against a Batman villain and need something that can deflect anti-tank missiles, drive through crack houses without a scratch, and take on a gang of lions that escaped the zoo?"

The Grizzly looked like the product of a group of people that never stopped playing with monster trucks and explosives.

"Hola, amigo!" Marc said in his brightest voice as he walked up to the truck.

Ruiz put his hand across his mouth to hide his grin. "Permission to come aboard, sir?" Marc asked. "This look like the Navy to you?"

A bitter voice came from Marc's left. "Coast Guard."

Ruiz spun around to Carly. “What?" Ruiz asked.

"He was in the Coast Guard. He’s also an idiot, and his sense of humor sucks."

"Ah," Ruiz said with a nod. He turned his head back to Marc. "Didn't you literally get hit by a truck a few hours ago?"

Marc paused and avoided Carly's eyes or anything in her general direction.

"Yes, but I feel great now. I don't need to be through the door first or any nonsense like that; I just want to question those two assholes right after we get them."

Marc turned to look at Carly.

"I get it; I know I shouldn't have left, but I need to do this. I know these guys tried to kill me, and I want them to see a ghost when I sit down with them."

Carly and Ruiz looked at each other and considered his proposition.

"I don't want you out of the Grizzly until we say, ‘all clear,’ got it? No offense, hermano, but you are a major liability right now and can get all of us hurt. I can't have that, even for you."

"Understood," Marc said in a whisper as a child scolded. "Thank you."

Carly stormed away without another word, and Ruiz's face pursed like he had taken a bite of a grapefruit straight off the tree.