Several people peeked into the corridor. Kate and her receptionist Kira were the only ones who didn’t hesitate to run to us. Kate immediately began feeling around Peter’s head. I tried to judge her reaction through a swath of her silver hair. It was impossible. “If you die on me, so help me, Peter…I swear to you. I fucking swear that I will let Cai rot in jail. I’ll pin drugs on Darryl. I’ll…”
“Officer Glass,” Kate said, “I need you to stop yelling.”
Was I yelling? Who gave a shit? “Call a fucking ambulance!”
“I’ve called 911,” she said calmly. “I’m a doctor, Officer Glass. I’m going to take a look at them. Just take a deep breath, and try to focus.” She made a move to check Leila whose head was also within reach.
“Not her. You don’t fucking look at her!”
Kate hesitated, then nodded. “All right. For now. Kira, get some towels from the bathroom.” The younger woman’s ponytail bounced as she jogged down the hallway. Kate checked Peter’s scalp. “Listen to me,” she said, moving my and Peter’s hands from his stomach. They were slick with blood. “His head wound is superficial, but he’s weak from blood loss. You need to calm him down before he goes into shock. And yelling isn’t going to help.”
“I’m not yelling!”
Peter choked on a laugh and moaned. “Cai.” He reached up and pushed weakly at my shoulder.
“Are you kidding me? You think for one second I’m going after Cai with you like this? You fucker! Asshole. Son of a bitch, whore, jerkoff.” Apparently his Tourette’s was contagious.
He moved his bloody hand toward my face. I tilted my cheek toward it and closed my eyes. His fingers pinched my lips shut.
I couldn’t even summon a smile when his hand fell away. Opening my eyes, I took a moment to adjust to the light blurring my vision. The scent of blood was overwhelming. I grabbed his hand again and held on.
Kate had removed her blazer and was pressing the linen against the stomach wound. Kneeling by Peter’s head, Kira offered Kate a stack of paper towels.
“Kira, take over here.” They switched places, Kate taking the paper towels and pushing them up against Peter’s head. He groaned, and his breathing grew shallow. Kate caught my attention with a deliberate snap of her fingers. “Listen, I don’t think the bullet breached his skull. For now it looks like the scalp is torn apart. Head wounds bleed excessively even when they’re not serious.”
I knew that already, but hearing it gave me an emotional shake. “Wake up, you fucker.” Peter’s eyes fluttered but remained closed. I slapped his chest gently with our joined hands. “Wake. Up!”
“Stop. Whining.” He cringed.
“I’m not whining. I’m yelling. And Christ, can’t you stop giving orders even while shot? Domineering prick.”
He choked a laugh again. I could barely make out his pink skin through the caul of blood on his face. The smile in the midst of that red mask was macabre even while uplifting. “Cold,” he wheezed.
“You fucking cliché. Don’t say shit like that!” I gave a panicked look around for something warm to put over him.
“It’s the air conditioning and the blood soaking his clothes,” Kate assured me. “He’s not going into shock yet. Someone have a blanket?”
“How do you know? How fucking long is it going to take them?” I watched the elevator doors, blinking only when sweat dripped into my eyes. I was being unreasonable. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since I stepped off the elevator, more like five.
“They’ll be here soon. And I know because he’s laughing and talking to you and because you’re shivering too.” Kate lifted Peter’s lids. Was I imagining the murkiness clouding the blue of his eyes? “Peter, how old are you?”
“Twe-twenty.”
She looked to me for confirmation. I nodded. She was checking for signs of shock. “Ask him something useful,” I said. “Like does he love me not?”
“Soon,” he breathed.
“Smartass.”
“Ro…mantic.”
Romantic? What the fuck? Since when was Peter romantic? “Should he be talking this much?”
Kate nodded. “There doesn’t appear to be damage to his lungs or throat. His breathing is most likely labored due to pain. Keeping him talk—”
The elevator dinged. We collectively inhaled, watching the doors slowly open.
The Things I Do For You
I counted four cops. Two gurneys. Four paramedics. The EMTs stayed behind while the uniformed officers assessed the scene. I yelled out my name, rank and badge number and told them the scene was secure. The number of people standing inertly in the hallway must have convinced them. They motioned the EMTs forward.