Ice Run (8 page)

The other man stepped in close to me. I ducked and heard him hit the brick wall just above my head. He let out a quick scream of pain and then another man was battering me with uppercuts one after the other, some hitting me in the elbows and others finding their mark until the last one cut me right in half.

I took one more shot. No protection now. No defense. One more shot and my head was snapping backward until it hit the cold bricks. Then everything turned upside-down.

“Come on, guys. Look at you. We gotta go bury your father, for God’s sake. You’re messing up your suits now.”

I heard those last words from somewhere far away. Then there was the sound of snow crunching under heavy footsteps. Then it was just me all by myself, leaning against the red bricks, going down inch by inch, until I finally touched the dead frozen ground.

Then there was nothing.

I woke up shivering. I don’t know how long I had been lying there. At that moment, I barely even knew what had happened. All I knew was that I was cold and I was in pain. Cold and pain, that’s all there was in the world.

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was red brick. I was lying curled up against a wall and there was a light layer of snow melting on the side of my face. I tried to get up. That wasn’t going to work. Very bad idea. I tried rolling over. Another very bad idea. I lifted my head. Worst idea yet.

This is it, I thought. I’m gonna freeze to death right here. Just like … somebody. I couldn’t think straight. Just like who?

Like Simon Grant. It all started to come back to me. The funeral, meeting the family, walking back here with Chris Woolsey’s father, then everything that happened after that.

Behind a church yet. I had gotten beaten within an inch of my life behind a church.

Okay, now what? I tried to think. My cell phone … Where was it? In the truck. I tried to roll over again. I just had to see …

Damn it, that hurt. God damn it. I saw another building, just beyond the plowed parking lot. It looked like a garage. Some trees. An empty swing set half buried in the snow. Beyond that, the backs of more buildings, over on Maple Street. Too far away.

I’ve gotta move, I thought. Move now or die here.

I rolled again. God, that hurt. I was on my hands and knees now. I was bleeding. The blood was getting in my eyes. Son of a bitch.

As I shook my head to clear my eyes, everything went out of focus and my ears rang like I was underwater. Okay, I thought, no more shaking my head.

I wiped my eyes, felt the cut above my left eyebrow. Not good. Not good at all. I tried to push myself up with my hands. My head started pounding again.

“Help,” I said. “I need some help here …”

But there was no sound except the wind.

I know somebody will come by eventually, I thought. If I can get around to the front of the church, somebody will see me. The street is busy enough, even in the dead of winter. I just have to … have to …

I wobbled and rolled back down to the ground.

“No,” I said. “Get up. Get up, Alex.” I pushed myself back up to my hands and knees. “Now move.”

I worked my way toward the corner of the building. I left a path in the snow as I moved, a jagged line of red running down the center. My jaw started to ache. My nose. My ribs. Then the bells went off in my head again. I stopped in my tracks and waited for it to pass. Then I started moving again. I fought inch by inch until finally I could see around the corner. The rest of the parking lot was empty now, everyone else gone. They had all left for the cemetery. No vehicles in sight, except for my truck. My truck, with the heater. And the cell phone. A hundred feet away.

I didn’t see any cars moving on Portage Avenue. But somebody would come eventually. I started moving. I had to get closer to the road. Or to my truck. That was closer. No, the road.

I kept crawling. A car came by, moving slowly.

“Help,” I said, too weakly for anyone to actually hear me. “Please stop.”

The car passed and was gone.

Get to your feet, I thought. Get up and walk. Go to the truck and call somebody. It’s the only way you’re gonna get out of here. Just get up and walk.

Okay, okay. Just have to catch my breath. Breathe, damn it. Breathe.

On the count of three, I’m gonna get up.

One.

Two.

Three. I pushed myself up, tried to move my weight back onto my legs. I fell forward, caught myself with my hands, leaned all the way forward this time, letting my legs catch up.

Just like that, Alex. Just like that. Now stand up.

I pushed up with one arm, then the other. I was crouching now, bleeding into the snow, the red drops free-falling now, making little red specks.

Stand. Up.

I tried to straighten out my body. Everything went into a whirl, all the colors spinning around me, all the sounds like instruments playing at once, the trombones and the tubas and the bass drums.

Get to the truck, Alex. Get to the truck. Where is it?

I saw it in one direction, then another. It was moving all around, taunting me. I took one step, another step, and then I was falling down a hill sideways, putting my hand down to keep from falling again.

The truck is there. It’s right there.

But I couldn’t walk straight. I pointed myself in one direction and moved in another, east instead of north. I tried to double back. God, my head. My aching head.

I didn’t know where I was going now. I was moving and everything kept turning around me and then there was nothing but sky above me and then snow all over the ground, wherever I looked. Nothing but white, white snow.

Then I heard something. One of the instruments in the band playing a long note, louder and louder. Something was coming for me. Something big. It got closer and closer until it was right on top of me and it was all I could see.

I reached out one hand to it.

“No more,” I said. “No more.”

I went down. All the way. I tasted the salt on the road.

“No more.”

There was a
light shining into my eyes. It hurt like hell. I blinked and then I tried to sit up. I felt a hand on each shoulder, holding me down.

“Don’t get up, Mr. McKnight,” a voice said. “Please, just stay right there.”

I blinked a few more times. Then I saw a face. It looked familiar.

“Do you know who you are?” the voice said.

“What?”

“Your name. Tell me your name.”

“McKnight. You just said it. My name is Alex McKnight.”

“Okay, good. What day is it?”

“I don’t know.” I tried to sit up again. The hands kept me down.

“Please, Mr. McKnight. You have to lie still.”

Everything else started to come into focus. The white ceiling, the fluorescent lights. I was in a hospital room. The doctor was looking at a medical file. He had a white coat on, and a stethoscope hanging around his neck. He had a beard. I knew this man.

“What happened?” I said. “How did I get here?”

“You tell me,” he said. “Someone brought you into the emergency room. The man said he almost ran over you.”

“Where have I seen you before?”

“My name is Doctor Glenn. I treated you once before. That time it was cracked ribs and a collapsed lung. Do you remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” That meant I was in War Memorial, on Os-born. I was just a few blocks away from the church.

“This time it’s your head. Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“It’s all kinda fuzzy, Doc.”

“I bet.” He held his pen in front of my face and moved it from side to side. I followed it with my eyes. He seemed satisfied and went back to his notes.

“Do I have a concussion?”

He looked up at me. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Grade three, Mr. McKnight. Do you know what that means?”

“I’ll be sitting out a few games.”

“You have a hairline fracture in your right eye orbital. Another hairline fracture in your cheekbone. The cut above your eyebrow took twenty-seven stitches, ten internal and seventeen external. And you have fifteen stitches in the back of your head.”

I reached up and felt the bandages on my head. “What about the rest of me?”

“You have bruises all over your torso, but no broken ribs this time. I guess that’s the good news.”

“Some of my bottom teeth feel a little loose.”

“They may tighten up on their own,” he said. “If they don’t, you’ll have to see your dentist.”

“So aside from all that, I’m just fine.”

He shook his head and flipped a page. “I see we found a little something in your chest last time,” he said.

“The bullet. That was from a long time ago.”

“The eighties, you told me.”

“Yes.”

“I believe I asked you then if you’d been having your annual chest X-ray, to make sure the bullet hasn’t migrated.”

“Doctor, can we talk about this later? No offense, but your voice is like a drill in my head right now.”

“Everything’s going to hurt for a few days,” he said. “Sounds, lights, you name it. Now that you’re awake, we can start some medication.”

“How long am I gonna be here?”

“At least two days,” he said. “Maybe three. Is there somebody you’d like me to contact?”

I thought about it. “Yeah,” I said. I gave him two names—Vinnie LeBlanc and Leon Prudell, along with the phone numbers. I thought about adding Natalie to the list for about a second and a half, but then I thought, no way. No way in hell.

“I’ll send the nurse in with the meds,” he said. “In the meantime, try not to move. The police should be here in a few minutes.”

“Doctor—”

“This one’s automatic,” he said. He closed the file and tucked it under his arm. “Last time, what did you tell me? You hurt yourself skiing?”

“I think I might have said sledding.”

“Yeah, well, I let it go then. I probably shouldn’t have. This time, somebody really did a number on you, Mr. McKnight. I’m not just going to send you back out there. Even if I wanted to, the law wouldn’t let me.”

“Whatever you say, Doc.” I put my head back on the pillow and immediately regretted it. Damn, it hurt to do
anything.
Anything at all. I looked over at the other bed in the room. It was empty. A dark television screen looked down at me from just below the ceiling. I thought about turning it on, but no, I was sure watching television would hurt, too.

My clothes. Where were they? I was wearing a paper hospital gown beneath the covers. God, I hated hospitals. Every bad thing in my life had something to do with a hospital. Watching my mother die when I was a kid, and then my father many years later. Being older didn’t make it any easier. Then when I got shot. Lying there with all those tubes stuck in me, my soon-to-be-ex wife looking down at me and then around the room, like she was thinking of escaping out the window.

And somewhere in that same hospital, on that hot summer day way back when in Detroit, in the basement, my partner Franklin was lying on a bed of cold steel, a white sheet over his head.

Yeah, I hated hospitals. The last time around, I had promised myself I would never spend one minute in a hospital again. Yet here I was.

A nurse came in and gave me some drugs. I asked her to help me up so I could use the bathroom. She told me I’d be better off with the little urinal bottle, but I disagreed with her right up until I actually tried to sit up straight. “Bring on the bottle,” I said. Even using that hurt.

A little later, Chief Maven appeared at the door, just to make the day complete. “You realize,” he said as he came in, “this is the third time I’ve seen you in a hospital bed.”

“And it never loses its magic.”

“Cut the crap, McKnight. What happened?”

“You didn’t have to come over here yourself,” I said. “You could have sent an officer.”

“No, this one I had to see for myself. What did you do this time?”

“I don’t think I
did
anything, Chief. I think it was all done
to
me, you know what I mean?”

“Who are we talking about?”

I hesitated.

“Come on,” he said. “They found you on Portage Avenue, right in front of St. Mary’s. Just a couple of hours after Simon Grant’s funeral.”

“You know how Catholic funerals are. They can get a little rough.”

He didn’t smile. “McKnight, God damn you,” he said, moving closer. “Were you listening when I told you to leave that family alone?”

“I actually was, yes.”

“Then what the hell were you doing there?”

I started to feel dizzy again. I closed my eyes and waited for it to pass. “Chief, I went to the hotel and I asked about Chris Woolsey. He was the doorman that night, the night Mr. Grant died. I had no idea that he was the man’s grandson. Then later, I stopped by his parents’ house—”

“Why did you do that?”

“I told you, I just wanted to talk to him.”

He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Okay, and then?”

“I figured I’d just go to the funeral, to pay my respects. That’s when I found out Mrs. Woolsey was Simon Grant’s daughter.”

“Then the Grant brothers beat the living shit out of you.”

I didn’t say anything.

“I know those boys,” he said. “Believe me.”

“Yeah, well, now I know them, too.”

“Listen,” he said, “did it ever occur to you that maybe I was looking out for you when I told you to stay away?”

“No. Not really.”

“I’m serious, McKnight. I know you think I’m just a hard-ass, but for once in your life did it occur to you that I was trying to do you a favor?”

“No, Chief.”

“Look at you,” he said. “God damn it. Nobody deserves to get beaten up like you did, McKnight. Nobody.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. He was starting to sound almost human.

“Did they say anything to you? Did they give you any reason?”

“I’m trying to remember. They were saying something like … Like, how’s this, not the same as roughing up an old man, eh?”

“They said that?”

“Something like that. It’s a little fuzzy.”

He shook his head. “So the two Grant brothers and who else? Their sister’s husband, was he there, too?”

“How did you know?”

“I’m just assuming. If he was at the funeral, I’m sure he got into it.”

“So now what?”

“What do you think, McKnight? I’m going to arrest all three of them.”

“Chief—”

“We arrest people for aggravated assault, McKnight. Even if it’s you who gets assaulted.”

“I’m touched.”

“Just stop,” he said. “Okay? I’m not in the mood. I’ll bring a complaint by later so you can sign it. You might as well, because I’m charging them no matter what.”

I hesitated. Here’s where the young version of me would have protested. Hell, even the me of ten years ago. Don’t cooperate, tell him I’m not really sure who was there. Wait until I get better and then go find them myself. Get back my own way.

I didn’t know if I had gotten a little wiser, or if I was just too tired and sore. If Maven was really gonna go out and arrest them, I didn’t feel like stopping him.