Throbbing in his right eye woke Pete from the light doze he'd fallen into
only minutes before. Gingerly, he lifted his head from the pillow and looked
at the clock on the nightstand. The face was nothing but a blur. Experimentally,
he cupped his right hand over his right eye and craned his head forward and
back until he could make out the hands on the dial. "Three-damn-fifteen?"
His empty apartment neither confirmed, nor denied the question.
He dropped his hand and turned over, determined to go back to sleep. The
throb in his right eye intensified, eventually working itself into a rhythm
with his heartbeat. This has gotta stop. He groped for the ice bag
he'd brought to bed. Sloshing from inside told him that the ice had melted.
Great. Just great.
Pete dragged himself out of bed and made his way to the kitchen. He didn't
need his sight to find his way around the small apartment. A little ice
. . . a little aspirin and I'll sleep like a baby.
He unscrewed the top of the icebag, dumped the water in the sink and set
the open bag on the counter. After emptying his last ice tray into the bag,
he screwed on the top and made his way back to the bedroom.
Aspirin. He detoured to the bathroom. That was when he found out
that ice and aspirin wouldn't do the trick. The first clue came when he
switched on the bathroom light. The assault of the light turned the throbbing
in his eye into pain nearly as bad as when the phone handset caught him the
first time.
Pete covered his right eye and found a little relief. He blinked his left
eye, willing it to focus. After a few minutes, the pain in his right eye
returned to a throb. Keeping the eye closed, he pulled his right hand away
and reached for the medicine cabinet.
His hand froze in mid-reach. Staring back at him from the mirror was a
blurry man with tousled reddish blond hair and a red eye-patch over his right
eye. The image didn't make sense and Pete's heart sped up, reacting to a
possible intruder.
"Holy shit!" The exclamation burst forth when the image finally translated
in his still sleeping brain. "Oh, shit." If a trip to Central Receiving
could've prevented this, I'm gonna kick myself. But good!
Pete couldn't see much, but he could see that his right eye and the surrounding
skin were filled with blood. Clue number two. That must've been why it
was throbbing with my heartbeat.Maybe a trip to Central Receiving
wouldn't be a bad idea.
He made his way out of the bathroom to the phone in the hall. He picked
up the handset and dialed the first three numbers for the Reeds' exchange.
I can't wake them up at 3:15. They've been having a hell of a time getting
Jimmy to sleep. If I wake him, Jean'll never get him down again.
Pete depressed the switch and put the handset back. I'll just get dressed
and call a taxi.If there aren't any taxis running, I'll wait until
they start and go then. How much worse could it get? Besides, it's my own
damn fault for not going earlier.
*****
1:57 p.m.
"Mr. Malloy?" It was a woman's voice. A hand gently shook Pete's shoulder.
"Mr. Malloy?"
Pete groaned and slowly opened his left eye. The right had long since sealed
itself shut. "Wha?" He looked around. He was lying on a bed in a hospital
examining room. "Wha' timizzit?"
"A little before 2 in the afternoon." The woman's voice answered. Pete
could make out blond hair and a white nurse's cap. But not much else.
"Somebody put some ointment on my eye." Pete rubbed his chin. His mouth
was coated with something sticky and his tongue felt like it had grown two
sizes since he'd last used it. By some miracle, he hadn't been put into
a hospital gown. "I guess my eye stopped hurting and I fell asleep." He
tried to check the corners of his mouth for evidence of his recent nap.
If Pete had been able to see, he would've seen the nurse discreetly lower
her eyes, a small smile on her lips. "Yes, you did. Like a baby." She
set gauze pads on the tray, along with a tube of antibiotic ointment and
a black eye patch. "Dr. Leehan will be in to check your eye in a few minutes."
She's got a nice voice. Wish I could see her better. "What time
is it, again?"
The nurse checked her watch. "2 o'clock." Pete caught what might have
been a smile. "Why? Do you have a date?"
Pete chuckled. "No, I've got to be at work at 3:30."
"Are you an LAPD officer?" The nurse laughed and Pete detected a hint of
nervousness. "I mean, doesn't your evening shift start at 4 o'clock?"
Pete smiled. "We call it PM Watch. But, yes, it starts at 4. I have to
be at the station at 3:30."
"I thought I recognized you." The nurse went on. "You don't bring us as
much business as some of those guys, but I had the feeling that I'd seen
you before."
"I wish I could say the same," Pete returned. The focus of his left eye
was improving, but things were still a little blurry. By squinting his left
eye, he could make out some of the letters on the nurse's name tag. M-A-T
. . . maybe an r . . . definitely an o. "Mat . . ." he began
sounding out the letters.
"Don't strain your good eye!" The nurse laughed. "It's Matrow," she informed.
Pete smiled. "Nice to meet you, Nurse Matrow. Pete Malloy."
"I'm Susan." Susan laughed again. "Nice to meet you."
The door opened and someone entered the treatment room. The man in the
white coat must be Dr. Leehan. His left eye had focused enough to see
distances relatively clearly.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Malloy. I'm Dr. Leehan." Leehan picked up a metal
chart and opened it, reading for a minute, then closing the chart. "Can
you sit up for me?"
Pete hauled himself from his recline on the bed and turned, swinging his
legs over the side of the exam bed.
"We'll just lower you a little." Leehan pressed a foot pedal and the hydraulic
bed lowered to a spot level with the doctor's chest. Leehan picked up a
gauze pad and wiped at Pete's right eye with it. Whatever was on the pad
was cool and slightly wet. To Pete's relief, it was also painless. Leehan
then swung a magnification lens over from Pete's left side.
"Would you get the light, Susan?" As the light went out, Leehan pulled
a stool over with one foot and sat on it. "I'm going use this to look at
your eye. I'm going to have to open the eye to do that. I just want you
to relax. Okay?"
"I'll try." Pete took a deep breath and let it out.
Leehan flicked a switch and a blue light surrounded the magnifying lens.
He waited as Pete took another deep breath and exhaled. "Laceration on
the sclera. Inflammation. Orbital hematoma." He paused and sat back.
"How did this happen?"
"I'm a police officer. I was on a call and got hit with the earpiece of
a phone." Pete recited the story for the fifth, or maybe the sixth time.
I lost count. "There was a scuffle and I got hit in the eye with
somebody's elbow."
"Your own would be anatomically implausible." Leehan resumed his examination.
"Did you lose consciousness at all?"
Pete snorted. "Nope. I felt every second of it. Both times."
"Eye injuries are the most painful." Leehan switched off the light and
leaned back, moving the magnifying lens away.
Without being asked, Susan turned the light back on.
"Well, you took quite a blow. There's a nick in the sclera . . . that's
the white portion of the eye. Something got into that and irritated your
eye." Leehan paused, reaching for another gauze pad. "It could've been
dust, or detergent, or maybe soap."
Pete recognized the feel of the ointment as Leehan applied it. As long
as it doesn't hurt. "How long will this take to heal?" Maybe I should
let him finish whatever he's doing, but I've gotta know.
"Eye injuries are the most painful, but they also tend to heal very quickly."
Leehan picked something up from the tray. "I want you to apply this ointment
4 times a day. It has a mild analgesic, but you may have some discomfort.
If it gets too bad, get yourself back in." He placed the tube of ointment
on the tray. "Be sure to thoroughly wash and rinse your hands before putting
them in contact with your eye. Put a thin ribbon of ointment between the
lids, then blink to distribute it." He paused, laid the ointment down and
picked up another item. "I want you to wear this patch for 3 days. If the
swelling and discoloration have improved, you can leave the eye uncovered.
If they haven't, continue using the ointment and continue wearing the patch."
"Patch?" Pete repeated. "Can't I just cover it with gauze?"
Pete didn't see Leehan's smile. "You could. Your right eyebrow might be
a little thin after removing the tape 4 times per day for a week."
Pete chuckled. "I didn't think about that."
"The patch will also allow air to circulate around the orbit." Leehan paused.
"The patch is to prevent putting any strain on the eye as it heals. Nothing
more than light reading. We don't want to strain your left eye, either."
"No, we don't." Pete agreed whole-heartedly with that.
"Be careful cooking. Your depth perception will be off. No driving . .
."
"Doctor, I'm a cop. Am I gonna be off-duty while this heals?" Pete interrupted.
"I wouldn't take you off-duty," Leehan allowed. "I wouldn't let you out
on the street, either." He sat back again, placing the patch back on the
tray. "As I was saying, your depth perception will be off. And your ability
to focus from near to far will be impaired."
Pete nodded. "I wouldn't let me out on the street." He paused and
sighed. "Great. Desk duty. My favorite thing."
"No heavy lifting and no bending at the waist. Use the ointment 4 times
a day and wear the patch until the swelling and discoloration go down,"
Dr. Leehan continued. "Follow my instructions and your eye will heal without
any permanent impairment." Leehan stood. "Susan will get you checked out.
Do you have an opthamologist?"
Pete shook his head. "I get a yearly eye exam with my department physical."
"Well, make an appointment with my office. Susan will give you the number."
Leehan opened the door. "If the discomfort gets too bad, get yourself back
in here. Otherwise, come back and see me in 7 days."
"Thanks, Doc." Pete called as the doctor left.
"Would you like to do the honors, or shall I?" Susan asked, smiling slightly.
Pete picked up the patch. "I am gonna catch so much hell over this." He
muttered, placing the patch over his right eye and pulling the elastic behind
his head.
"I think it looks very dashing." Susan was still smiling.
Pete gingerly lowered himself from the table. "Trust me, that's not
what the guys at the station are gonna think."
*****
3:00 p.m.
Nearly twelve hours after his unceremonious wake-up, Pete stepped into the
Central Division station. He'd chosen to get to the station the same way
he'd gotten to the hospital. By taxicab. His first stop was the Watch Commander's
office.
Mac was there with Sgt. Grant, the temporary Daywatch commander. Mac's
eyes widened. "My God, Pete. What happened?"
Pete smiled ruefully. "That poke in the eye was a little bit more serious
than I thought." He waved a hand. "It's fine. I've seen a doctor and it'll
heal." He paused, taking a deep breath. "But I'll be off the street for
at least a week."
"We can wrap this up, later." Grant rose from behind the desk and crossed
to Pete, who stood at the door. He paused, surveying Pete and his patch.
Then he grinned. "Nice patch."
And thus, it begins. "Thanks a lot, Grant." Pete stepped back
to let Grant out of the office, then stepped in and closed the door.
"Well?" Mac asked anxiously. "What did the doctor say?"
Pete shrugged. "I have a scratch on my eye that got infected by something."
Mac motioned to the chair across from the desk. "Have a seat."
"I can stand up, Mac," Pete returned, unable to fight the urge to grin.
"The doctor didn't prescribe bed rest. Just some ointment for my eye and
the patch."
It was Mac's turn to grin. "Yeah, I noticed that." He paused. "It'll
certainly help morale." The grin turned wicked.
Pete managed to roll his good eye. "So, who're you gonna put Reed with?"
Mac looked down at the duty roster on his desk. "Wells was scheduled for
the X-car."
"Oh, no, Mac . . ."
Mac held up a hand to cut-off Pete's argument. "Wells is the only available
senior man. Walters is riding with Brinkman. Bing is on vacation. And
Sanchez is on desk duty. All the A-cars are covered."
"Anybody but Wells."
"You know something about Wells that I don't?" Mac challenged.
"I know what you know." Pete kept his voice calm. "He hot shots calls.
Half the time, he doesn't call for back-up. The other half, he doesn't wait
for it." He paused, building. "He doesn't communicate with his partner.
He doesn't think before he acts. He's a hot dog." He paused again. "If
Wells wants to put his neck on the block, that's his choice. I don't want
him pulling Jim's head down next to his."
"How long have you and Jim been riding together?"
You know damn well how long. "It'll be a year in July."
"And he's turning into a pretty good cop, isn't he?"
"You know the answer to that." Pete voiced the thought. "Too."
Mac smiled and opened his hands in surrender. "Then you just have to trust
that Jim's learned enough not to pick up any of Ed's bad habits." He put
his hands palm down on the desk. "Besides, since Ed got himself shot, he's
tried to mend his ways." He checked his watch. "You'd better get into the
locker room and change for Roll Call." He regarded Pete for a minute. "Unless
you want to take the week off on medical leave."
"Not a chance." Pete walked to the door and opened it. "I wanna be here
to deal with Wells if he pulls any stunts during watch."
"You'll have to get behind me, Pete."
*****
3:20 p.m.
Pete had changed into his uniform by the time the PM Watch officers began
filing into the locker room. He'd taken the patch off and was examining
his right eye when Jim walked up behind him.
"Whoa!" Jim exclaimed. "Pete, you need to see a doctor for your eye.
It's worse."
"I know and I have." Pete smiled. "I went to Central Receiving this morning."
"How'd you get there?" Jim asked incredulously. "Walk?"
"Taxi." Pete pulled the bag out of his locker. "He gave me an ointment."
He dropped the bag on the shelf and pulled out the patch. "And this."
He put the patch back on.
"What's wrong with it?" Jim flinched. "Your eye, I mean. Not the patch."
"A cut that got infected." Pete shrugged. "It's not serious. The doctor
said it'll be good as new in a week."
"That's good." Jim nodded, then turned to his locker and started changing.
"Why didn't you call me? I would've taken you."
"I know. But it was 3 in the morning. I didn't want to wake Jean and Jimmy
up." Pete smiled. "Besides, I was there for over 5 hours before I finally
saw the doctor."
Jim buttoned his uniform shirt. "Well, next time, don't worry about waking
us up."
Pete grinned. "I wasn't worried about you. I was afraid of Jean. She'd
skin me alive if I woke Jimmy up and she couldn't get him down again."
"Didn't I tell you?" Jim began, pinning on his nametag and badge. "We
figured that out. A neighbor gave us a mobile and we hung it over the crib.
Jimmy lays there, cooing and giggling until he falls asleep now." He grinned.
Pete laughed. Should I ask Jim how he knows that? Nah. We've only got
10 minutes 'til Roll Call.
Bob Brinkman walked up to his locker, opened the door, then did a double
take when he saw Pete. "Is it Halloween night, already?"
"Hey, lay off." Jim jumped to Pete's defense. "Pete got poked in the eye
and it got infected." He turned briefly to Pete. "Show Brink your eye,
Pete."
"Thanks, I'd rather not." Brinkman returned dryly.
Jerry Walters joined them. "I heard it, but I didn't believe. Pete Malloy
went pirate on us." He and Brinkman laughed. "Where's you earring?"
"It's against department regulations." Pete deadpanned, closing his locker.
"All right, you've had your fun. Get to Roll Call."
Laughing, Brinkman and Walters turned and filed out of the locker room with
the other officers on the watch.
"So, I guess I get to drive for a change," Jim said as he and Pete stepped
into the hall.
"That'll be up to your temporary partner," Pete responded, keeping his tone
even.
Jim stopped in mid-stride. "And who would that be?"
Pete shrugged and kept walking. If I tell him, he'll make up his mind
right on the spot. If I keep my mouth shut, he won't think it's so bad.
I hope.
"Hey, Pete." Jim called. "Who's Mac gonna assign to ride with me?"
Pete stopped and turned. "That's up to Mac, Jim."
"You know." Jim caught up with Pete. "You just don't wanna tell me."
"We're gonna be late." Pete opened the door and held it open, waiting for
Jim.
Jim stepped past Pete and took the only open seat on the second row. Which
left Pete down front and center in the remaining open seat. The officers,
with the exception of Pete and Jim, talked and murmured amongst themselves.
Mac stood behind a large desk at the head of the room. He surveyed the
assembled officers briefly, then sat down and straightened the paperwork
in his hands. The talking and murmuring died away with that gesture.
"Duty assignments are the same, with the following exceptions," Mac announced.
"Walters and Brinkman, you're in 1-Adam-36, patrolling Sector 7. Wells,
you'll ride with Reed in 1-Adam-12, in Adam-12's sector." He paused. "Sanchez
and Malloy, you two will be manning the phones and the desk with Fillmore."
"SQUAAAWWWKK!" Ed Wells was doing a very bad job of disguising his voice.
"POLLY WANNA CRACKER?"
The assembled officers chuckled at the joke.
"Can it, Wells," Mac snapped.
"Aww, Sarge," Wells whined.
"Would it be too much to ask you to save it for after Roll Call?"
Mac asked sarcastically.
All eyes turned to Wells. He shrugged. "Yeah, sure, Sarge."
Mac placed the first page on his stack face down and began reading from
the second. "We've had a rash of 459s reported in 1-Adam-10s sector. It
could be kids just out to cause trouble, but we can't be too careful. Keep
your ears open. If a 459 call comes through and you're available, head over.
Maybe we can box these kids in and catch 'em in the act." The second page
was placed with the first.
"We've also got a 211 suspect hitting supermarkets at closing. The suspect
is described as a white male, between 20 and 30, brown hair, blue eyes.
He wears dark clothing and a dark jacket. The weapon is believed to be a
revolver, possibly a 38. Detectives believe the suspect stakes the store
out just before closing at 10 o'clock, based on the statement of one of the
victims. So, if you're available, check the stores in your sector between
9:30 and 10." He paused as the officers jotted down the suspect's description
and M.O. Then he went on. "The Department is offering training on evidence
handling procedures. Sign up sheets are in the locker room."
Mac stood. "Fall in for inspection." He walked around the table as the
officers donned their uniform caps and lined up between the second and third
rows of tables, spanning the width of the room. He paused next to Officer
Juan Sanchez, who was hobbling toward the line on crutches. "You can keep
your seat, Juan."
"Thanks, Sarge." Sanchez smiled gratefully and hobbled back to his seat.
Mac started to his right, checking badges, shoes and caps, particularly
the bill, looking for smudges or spots. He visually checked each officer's
belt, making sure that holsters, handcuffs and nightsticks were in place.
Mac next checked each officer's weapon, making sure that it was the standard
police issue .38. When he reached the end of the line, he stepped back.
"Fall out."
The officers filed back to their seats to gather briefcases and helmet bags.
Pete needed neither of those, since he would be working the desk. Before
he could get through the crush, Jim had gathered his things and disappeared
into the hall. He's really ticked off at me.
At the back of the room, Wells stood with Brinkman, Walters and Sanchez.
"He's carrying this 20 inch television down the street and he wants me
to look in his pockets for the receipt." He stopped as Pete reached the
door. "Ahoy, matey!" He called, smirking when Brink, Walters and Sanchez
laughed at his witty slur.
Pete froze, his right hand on the door knob. Punching his lights out
would make me feel better, but it wouldn't be worth the suspension.
He lifted his hand and turned. And it wouldn't set a good example for
Jim. He walked over to the four officers. "Do you have a minute, Ed?"
"What? Are you gonna make me walk the plank?" Wells joked, laughing with
his four cohorts this time.
"Maybe some other time," Pete returned.
"We'll catch up with ya, later." Walters said, picking up his briefcase
and helmet.
Still chuckling, Brinkman picked up his case and bag and followed Walters
out.
"See you at the desk." Sanchez hobbled out behind Brinkman.
"Take it easy, Juan," Pete called after Sanchez, then turned back to Wells.
"I'm gonna keep this simple, Wells," he began, "So there's no doubt you
understand me. Jim's still on probation. One mistake and he's off the force."
Wells started to protest.
Pete held up a hand. "I don't wanna hear it." He crossed his arms and
looked down on the shorter officer. "You follow procedures, call for back-up
and make sure Jim does, too. Or I'll make you wish your parents never met
each other." He turned and walked to the door.
"Afraid Reed'll turn into a real cop without you?" Wells called after him.
Pete turned. This time, it was his turn to smirk. "Terrified, Ed." He
chuckled. "And try not to screw up all my good work in one night.
Okay?" He stepped into the hall before Wells could think of a comeback,
let alone get it out.
*****
3:55 p.m.
Jim was waiting in the hall, just inside the door that led to the back parking
lot of the station. Pete walked over and Jim straightened up.
"I figured you were pretty sore at me," Pete commented.
Jim shrugged. "Yeah, well, then I figured it out." He paused, smiling slightly.
"You and Wells aren't exactly buddies." He shrugged again.
Pete returned the smile. "That's one way of looking at it."
"Yeah." Jim chuckled. "I figured you wanted me to make up my own mind
about riding with him."
Pete snapped his fingers. "I can't put anything over on you, Jim."
Jim laughed out loud. "Neither can Wells."
Pete nodded. "That's good to hear." He paused. "Have a safe one."
"Yeah, you too," Jim said, nodding. He turned, put his hand on the bar
and opened the door.
"Oh, and Jim," Pete called.
Jim stopped and turned back. "Yeah?"
Pete grinned. "Thanks for not getting in on the pirate jokes."
Jim laughed, putting his head down, then looking back up at Pete. The boyish
look reminded the older officer that Jim had yet to see his 25
th birthday. "Don't worry. Something'll come
to me." He turned and walked out into the parking lot.
Pete stood in the hall, watching as the officers filed out to their cars.
As Wells passed, he heard an unmistakable, "Yo, ho, ho." He let it pass.
A battle of wits with an unarmed man, isn't any fun, Peter J.
