“Erik,” she whispered, except in her accent it was Erique. “Oh darling, what’s happened to you?”
Erik felt bruised and scraped. He put his feet on the floor, disoriented. Lucky’s head was no longer pillowed on his legs. David was gone, too. Joe Bianco walked over. Erik recognized his expression immediately: he was in the war room. Jaw tight, his blue eyes turned to hard slate, shoulders cloaked in disciplined control. He crouched down and clasped a hand on Erik’s upper arm. “How do you feel?”
Erik breathed in, let it out, testing his lungs. “I’m all right.”
Joe indicated the blood-smeared T-shirt. “Any of that yours?”
Erik nearly replied it was all his daughter’s blood, but quickly nipped the words and shook his head. “Where’s Daisy?”
“Still in surgery. Will is in recovery. The doctor is talking to Lucky.”
On the other side of the waiting room, Erik saw Lucky sitting with a doctor in green surgical scrubs. A few seats away sat a familiar, suited figure. Detective Khoury raised a hand in acknowledgment. Erik raised his back.
“Who’s he?” Joe asked.
“A cop. A detective, I mean.”
“Have you talked to police yet?”
“Yeah,” Erik said, a hand to his now throbbing head. He was insanely thirsty. And the thought of a cigarette leaped unexpectedly into his mind. He was a careless, clumsy social smoker but right now, a slow, deliberate drag into his throat and lungs and the bracing rush of nicotine would be perfect. He wanted it.
“Do you need a lawyer?”
“Joseph,” Francine said.
Erik blinked, confused. “No. I’m a witness.”
Francine spoke sharply to her husband in French. Joe didn’t look at her but his face softened and now both hands touched Erik’s arms and shoulders. A warm palm on his face and a tug on his ear. A father’s touch.
“Are you sure you’re all right, Erique?”
“I’m fine.”
“You poor thing,” Francine said, her voice cracking. Her arms around Erik again. Francine was holding him now, holding him like a mother, but she was crying. Was she mother or child? Erik struggled to think straight. He needed a drink badly.
“Where’s David?” he asked.
“I sent him down the street to the Sheraton,” Joe said. “We need a room tonight. I told him to get two rooms and whoever needs to stay can stay. Franci, chère, come here. You can’t keep crying on the boy and he’s about to collapse. Cry on me.”
“I’m sorry,” Francine said, wiping her eyes. “Where is your mother, Erique?”
“Florida. She’s coming tomorrow morning. I need to get some water. Do you want anything?”
“No, no. You go.”
Erik hesitated, nearly asked Joe for a cigarette, knowing he’d have them. But he didn’t want to smell like smoke later when he saw Daisy.
If they let him see her.
They better let him see her.
He found a bank of vending machines and got himself a Coke. Downing half of it in a few greedy swallows, he was mildly amazed his wallet was in one pocket, and his keys in another. Bits and pieces of an ordinary life. Clearly he’d gotten up this morning and put things in his pockets, but the morning was forgotten. Yesterday eluded his grasp as well, along with the previous week. Time rewound to James stepping onto the stage and no further.
James.
Erik reached back in his pocket. The flattened penny slid coolly against his fingers, the edges both sharp and soft. He took it out. Looked at it. In the glow of the vending machine light the flattened metal looked dull and morose. It seemed to give off a shamed vibe. As if it didn’t want to be looked at. Erik put it away again.
In the waiting room, Lucky was sitting with the Biancos.
“How’s Will?” Erik asked.
“The shot in the side was clean. In and out. Cracked a rib but no internal organs hit.”