Losing Control(74)

“Okay, that hurts,” I tell the doctor whose face looks like a big, black dot. “You don’t have to press so hard.”

He continues his palpation of all my sore spots until I feel like I’m one big ache. Thanks for nothing, doc.

“I don’t think she has any broken ribs. The swelling in her face should subside in a day, although if it doesn’t you should take her in. The helmet did a good job of protecting her, but she might have a concussion since you said she was in and out of consciousness and had vomiting and nausea. Time is your best treatment. My recommendation is for her to stay in bed for a day and then take it easy for the next week.”

“A week?” I yelp. “There’s no way.”

I struggle upright, fighting off the pain in my head and the nausea in my belly.

“Watch for increased head pain, drowsiness, or more vomiting. Anything like that.”

“Do I need to wake her every two hours?” Ian asks, completely ignoring me.

“No. Monitor the symptoms. We’re looking for a worsening condition and if that happens, we should bring her in for testing.”

“Thanks, Roger.” Ian shows him toward the door.

I fall into a restless sleep, and when I wake up I see Steve leaning against a long, low console table snugged up against the wall.

“You got a phone?” I ask him. A giant television hangs behind him. The ticker at the bottom of the news channel he was watching says I’ve slept for three hours. He looks at me like I’m crazy, but I don’t see a phone in here. There’s got to be a landline in this joint someplace. Ever since 9/11 and the overwhelmed cell towers, people in the city scrambled to install landlines. I can’t see Ian not having one.

I stagger toward the door where Ian and the doctor have disappeared. Outside runs a long hallway and a glass railing that overlooks the main floor where I first laid eyes on Ian Kerr. Steve trails behind me, not stopping me but not letting me out of his sight either. There appear to be other rooms on this level, so I wander down the hall. The next doorway opens into an office and in it is a phone. Bingo.

Swiftly I enter the room, barely making note of the floor-to-ceiling bookcases on one side and the multiple television monitors on the other showing stock tickers from all over the world. The phone at my work rings twice when my boss answers, “Neil’s Delivery Service, timely and discreet courier services for all your city needs, can I help you?”

“Um, hey, Neil,” I say, cringing because I know what’s coming. “It’s Tiny Corie—” I don’t even get my whole name off before he starts yelling.

“Where the hell are you? I’ve had to reschedule five deliveries this morning!”

“I had an altercation, but I’ll be there in like ten minutes.” If I bike fast, I should be able to get to the downtown office in fifteen, but I figure ten sounds better. And then it occurs to me that I’m going to need a helmet because mine is cracked. Neil will not allow me to deliver anything without a helmet for insurance reasons. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Guess what? You can take sixty minutes to get here because you’re fired.” He slams down the phone. I look at the receiver in my hand in dismay because I’m not sure what happened there. I press redial.

“Look, Neil,” I rush to explain before he can answer. “I fell off my bike and hit my head, but I promise I’ll be right there. I’ve got to stop and get a new helmet. I swear it wont be more than five, maybe ten extra minutes.”

“Hey, Tiny, it’s Sandra. Neil stomped out of here.” This is better because Sandra can assign me some deliveries and once I make them, Neil will cool off.

“Sorry about making your job more difficult this morning. Fell off my bike,” I explain. “I’ll be over in like thirty minutes. You can schedule me to work this evening and I’ll cover whoever took up my morning route.”

“No can do,” Sandra replies. “Neil had me delete your name from the system this morning. I hate to tell you this, but he’s been aching to let you go ever since your mom got cancer. He couldn’t because everyone would think he’s a jackass. And you know, we all think he’s a jackass anyway, but since you missed a day the other week and now are a no-show this morning, he’s feeling empowered. Sorry.” I hear phones ring in the background. “I gotta run. Take care.”

The buzzing dial tone turns to discordant beeps before I realize that there’s no one else on the line any longer. Ian reaches and presses the disconnect button on the base and takes the handset from me.