Lucia?
Morronni, as if he read his thoughts, laughed, said,
“You’d like to lash out, eh, show some muscle, but
you know, you ain’t got no fucking juice, pal,
you’re a cop on the take, I own your ass, and
because of that little stunt, I’ve had to take some …
what’s the word, punitive measures, get you back
in the game, it hurt me to do it but let it be a lesson
to you.” Kebar went cold, asked in a very quiet
tone, “What measures?” Morronni was at the door,
said, “And spoil the surprise?” Then he was gone.
Kebar, despite the amount of booze he’d
consumed, had become stone sober, hurting,
hungover, but sober.
Time to pull out of the spiral and get his frigging
act together, he tore off his reeking clothes, got in
the shower and stood under it, ice cold for five
minutes.
It was sheer agony but it sure drove the toxins out.
Shivering, from booze and cold, he got his uniform
on and was wondering if he could stomach some
caffeine when the phone rang, he picked up, a
tremor in his hand, went, “Yeah?” “Mr. B, it’s Mr.
Kemmel, at the nursing home.” Kebar’s stomach
plummeted and he went, “What’s the matter?”
Pause. Then: “There’s been an incident.” “Stop
fucking around, what happened?” “I think you
should get out here, right away.” Click. He hung
up?
Kebar was going to call the fuck right back but he
better move, he threw the phone back in its cradle.
The drive out there was murder, tailgating all the
way so he slammed the siren on, his own personal
one he had borrowed from Property, and still took
him forever to get out there, his mind a mess of
snakes and dread.
He finally made it, tore out of the car, ran in and
there was Kemmel, a serious expression on his
face.
He motioned Kebar to his office and, biting his
lower lip, said,
“It’s your sister …”
Kebar grabbed him by the neck of his Hugo Boss
shirt, snarled,
“What?”
In a high voice, Kemmel said,
“Someone got in her room, broke both her arms
and, it seems, tried to strangle her.” Kebar let him
go, a sob breaking from him, asked, “Where is
she?” “At the hospital, she’s at the hospital and in
deep shock.” Kebar was in hell, asked, “Did she
say who did it?” Kemmel was shaking his head,
said,
“She’s receded into a catatonic state, she has
retreated into someplace safe in her own mind.”
Kebar demanded,
“Aren’t you supposed to mind the patients, isn’t
that your fucking job?”
Kemmel reasserted some authority, said,
“It happened in the early hours of the morning, we
only have night staff, and believe you me, they’re
stretched to the breaking point.”
Kebar got the address of the hospital and started
out. Kemmel said,
“Mr. B, in light of this … incident, we may have to
review her continuing stay here.”
Kebar kept going, if he’d responded, he wasn’t
sure if he could keep himself from beating the
schmuck to a pulp.
His uniform got him to see a doctor at the hospital
without delay and he was told that she’d suffered a
massive beating, her arms broken and her nose,
and they were just now checking but they suspected
she’d been … raped.
And the marks on her neck, the bruising, huge
welts, whoever had done this, he’d gotten off on
the strangulation, the doctor telling him this was
shocked, nigh shaking.
Kebar felt like he might pass out, asked, “May I
see her?” The doctor was sympathetic and said,
“This evening would be best, she’s in intensive
care now, we want to ensure there is no internal
bleeding.” Back in his car, Kebar remembered
Morronni’s words: “Punishment.” Lacking
anywhere else to go, he went to work.
O’Brien, the CO, had him on the carpet, reamed
him a new one, and warned:
“IA is on your ass, and what do you do, you take
sick leave without telling anyone, you were …
once … a good cop … but I think you better start
looking at the security ads, that or
Morronni, as if he read his thoughts, laughed, said,
“You’d like to lash out, eh, show some muscle, but
you know, you ain’t got no fucking juice, pal,
you’re a cop on the take, I own your ass, and
because of that little stunt, I’ve had to take some …
what’s the word, punitive measures, get you back
in the game, it hurt me to do it but let it be a lesson
to you.” Kebar went cold, asked in a very quiet
tone, “What measures?” Morronni was at the door,
said, “And spoil the surprise?” Then he was gone.
Kebar, despite the amount of booze he’d
consumed, had become stone sober, hurting,
hungover, but sober.
Time to pull out of the spiral and get his frigging
act together, he tore off his reeking clothes, got in
the shower and stood under it, ice cold for five
minutes.
It was sheer agony but it sure drove the toxins out.
Shivering, from booze and cold, he got his uniform
on and was wondering if he could stomach some
caffeine when the phone rang, he picked up, a
tremor in his hand, went, “Yeah?” “Mr. B, it’s Mr.
Kemmel, at the nursing home.” Kebar’s stomach
plummeted and he went, “What’s the matter?”
Pause. Then: “There’s been an incident.” “Stop
fucking around, what happened?” “I think you
should get out here, right away.” Click. He hung
up?
Kebar was going to call the fuck right back but he
better move, he threw the phone back in its cradle.
The drive out there was murder, tailgating all the
way so he slammed the siren on, his own personal
one he had borrowed from Property, and still took
him forever to get out there, his mind a mess of
snakes and dread.
He finally made it, tore out of the car, ran in and
there was Kemmel, a serious expression on his
face.
He motioned Kebar to his office and, biting his
lower lip, said,
“It’s your sister …”
Kebar grabbed him by the neck of his Hugo Boss
shirt, snarled,
“What?”
In a high voice, Kemmel said,
“Someone got in her room, broke both her arms
and, it seems, tried to strangle her.” Kebar let him
go, a sob breaking from him, asked, “Where is
she?” “At the hospital, she’s at the hospital and in
deep shock.” Kebar was in hell, asked, “Did she
say who did it?” Kemmel was shaking his head,
said,
“She’s receded into a catatonic state, she has
retreated into someplace safe in her own mind.”
Kebar demanded,
“Aren’t you supposed to mind the patients, isn’t
that your fucking job?”
Kemmel reasserted some authority, said,
“It happened in the early hours of the morning, we
only have night staff, and believe you me, they’re
stretched to the breaking point.”
Kebar got the address of the hospital and started
out. Kemmel said,
“Mr. B, in light of this … incident, we may have to
review her continuing stay here.”
Kebar kept going, if he’d responded, he wasn’t
sure if he could keep himself from beating the
schmuck to a pulp.
His uniform got him to see a doctor at the hospital
without delay and he was told that she’d suffered a
massive beating, her arms broken and her nose,
and they were just now checking but they suspected
she’d been … raped.
And the marks on her neck, the bruising, huge
welts, whoever had done this, he’d gotten off on
the strangulation, the doctor telling him this was
shocked, nigh shaking.
Kebar felt like he might pass out, asked, “May I
see her?” The doctor was sympathetic and said,
“This evening would be best, she’s in intensive
care now, we want to ensure there is no internal
bleeding.” Back in his car, Kebar remembered
Morronni’s words: “Punishment.” Lacking
anywhere else to go, he went to work.
O’Brien, the CO, had him on the carpet, reamed
him a new one, and warned:
“IA is on your ass, and what do you do, you take
sick leave without telling anyone, you were …
once … a good cop … but I think you better start
looking at the security ads, that or
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