Bernie announced loudly from the backseat that she was fine, she had ras-le-bol with the discussion. Arlette and I finally bade each other an uneasy good-bye, neither of us happy with me or the situation.
We’d reached the Montrose exit. Beth Israel is on Wilson, a bit farther north and four miles to the east. Bagby reached the hospital without asking me for directions or consulting a GPS. When I complimented him, he gave his easy grin and said he’d been driving the city since he was sixteen.
“I’m better than a London taxi driver, Warshawski. Bet you can’t name a road in the six counties that I can’t find.”
He pulled into the emergency room entrance at Beth Israel and helped us out of the Patriot. Mr. Contreras was on the lookout and surged forward, exclaiming and scolding at the same time.
“The doc called over, doll, they got an advanced practice nurse standing by and everything else, give them your insurance card and you’ll get to the head of the line, where you belong, anyway. What’d those SOBs do to your eye?”
“Right hook, I think,” I said. “Thank God they didn’t have knucks or razors.”
“And you, peanut?” Mr. Contreras held Bernie at arm’s length. “Scrapes on your face, nothing broken.”
“Vic saved me, Uncle Sal, I don’t know what she did, this huge guy was on top of me but she got him off and—and—” She burst into tears, all the fear and helplessness of the last few hours pouring out in body-shaking sobs.
Jake had been waiting on the sideline for Mr. Contreras to get over his first burst of relief. While the old man comforted Bernie, he pulled me close to him. The pressure of his shoulder against my face made my swollen eye throb, but I clung to him.
“The first time I met you, you had me hustle you out of the building in my bass case. I thought that was the end of your adventures, not chapter 237 in the 1001 Close Shaves of Warshawskazade,” he murmured into my hair.
He led me to the counter, keeping an arm around me while I handed in my insurance cards, reminded the intake clerk that I was supposed to see someone ASAP. Lotty had paved the way smoothly: Bernie and I were taken into the examining area, shunted off for X-rays, given eye exams, salves for the raw skin, tetanus shots, a little cocaine up the nose for me to stop the bleeding.
Bernie had some deep bruising from where the Insane Dragon had been pounding on her, but he hadn’t been on top of her long enough for other more horrible damage. We’d both been exceptionally lucky.
Bernie was finished before me. I stayed to go over my police report with the cop on duty at Beth Israel, but Mr. Contreras took Bernie home.
I didn’t want her spending the night on my living room couch. I have good security, steel-plated doors and infrared motion detectors, but if I had become a target, I didn’t want Bernie near me.
As the old man got ready to leave with Bernie, I asked if he could put her up in the room his grandsons use when they visit. He brightened measurably. When Jake and I reached home about an hour later, Mr. Contreras was heating up a pot of soup, pulling out clean sheets and giving Mitch the command to patrol.
“You don’t really think some gang member is going to trek all the way up here to finish off the two of you, do you?” Jake asked. “I thought they liked to stay on their home ground.”
“I have the jitters right now. Besides, I’m responsible for her safety. I shouldn’t have taken her with me to the South Side today at all—I was annoyed that she quit her job for no reason other than she didn’t like getting up early. I was punishing her by not letting her roam the city shopping or something, and now I feel like a creep.”
“Oh, Victoria Iphigenia, you don’t control the Universe. You don’t know what might have happened to Bernadine if she’d been roaming the city on her own. Perhaps you saved her from a worse disaster by being present to protect her in the one that befell you.”
He stroked my swollen eye. “I agree with the cop down there—it’s a pity you didn’t kill the guy whose head you jumped on. Bernie was resourceful, too. She didn’t panic, she flagged a squad car. The fact that she acted, that will help keep her from lasting trauma, at least that’s what the self-help articles I read in airline magazines tell me.”
I tried to respond in kind, tried to get out of my self-recriminatory mode, but I wasn’t doing well these days, as a detective, or a guardian.
CHIN MUSIC
In the morning, I called a towing service to haul the Mustang up to my mechanic. Given the neighborhood where I’d left the car, and the distance, the cost was going to be significant. A further depressant.
Jake offered to drive me to Lotty’s clinic so she could inspect me in person. We checked on Bernie on our way out. She was still deeply asleep, with Mitch and Mr. Contreras both keeping an anxious eye on her.