Chapter 27

Owen pushed open eyelids that felt heavy as anvils. Even the soft sterile lighting of a hospital felt too bright. He wanted to cover his eyes but his hand didn’t answer. He grimaced and tried to push his thoughts through the draining anaesthetic. He’d gone most of his life with fewer than a visit to the hospital every three years. And those as a visitor. Since Christmas, in less than a month, he had been a patient in a hospital three times. First by his grandfather, then by Brett, now by Kirk. Owen’s head was still too full of morphine fluff to think through what that meant.

His ears weren’t working like they were supposed to. He heard excited voices shouting in elation and command. The words couldn’t pass into his still medicated brain. He tried to lift his arms again, to reach out to someone. It was like he did and didn’t. He frowned. A doctor leaned over and shined a small flashlight in his eyes.

“Owen ... Owen...” The doctor’s voice manifested in reality and Owen turned his head away from the light. The doctor grabbed Owen’s chin, turned his face back and shined the light again. He then turned it off. “Owen?”

“What’s up, doc?” Owen said, his tongue felt weird.

“Good, you’re conscious,” the doctor said. “You lost a lot of blood and we had to operate on your arm. However, good news, I have no reason to doubt you could live a good long time after this.”

“Good, I’d made plans for 2056. I wouldn’t want to have to cancel,” Owen said.

“A sense of humor,” the doctor smiled. “You’ll need that. Your broken wrist is healing nicely.”

“Oh, because I rebroke it a week or so back and...”

“I’m aware,” the doctor said. “The surgery we performed on your other arm is another matter. Can you lift your left hand for me?”

Owen did as he was told. He even tried to wave. It didn’t feel right, but Owen was really high on painkillers.

“Now the whole arm, from the shoulder,” the doctor asked.

Owen did so again. He frowned seeing his wrist hang limply from the elbow.

“I thought as much,” the doctor said. He took out a small wrapper and produced a sterile pin from it. “Can you feel this?”

“Feel what?” Owen looked down as the doctor poked the front of his pinkie, then his ring, then his middle fingers to no effect. The doctor pushed the pin into the index finger. “Yeah!” Owen said, excitedly, though it felt spongy and soft, not hard and sharp. “I feel something on the index finger.”

“Better than I thought,” the doctor said. “Though, some feeling wasn’t impossible, but it was unexpected. You’re going to need months of physical therapy, I think.”

“I’ll just have to buy the best physical therapist I can,” Owen said. He smiled smugly. “A really hot one.”

“I’ve had a number of patients tell me Hector’s really hot,” the doctor laughed. “But, I think you mean hire.”

“No, I--” Owen frowned. He didn’t have any coins left. There was no one he could buy. He was stuck with everyone he had. “Shit. I guess I do have to hire somebody.”

“You’re a weird dude,” The doctor said. He put on his serious face again. “I don’t expect you’ll ever regain motor control over your numb digits. The index finger? Maybe.”

“You didn’t try my thumb,” Owen said.

“Yes, I did,” the doctor said, frowning for a moment. “You’ll not have hands until that cast comes off in, at best, about two weeks. If you can stay out of any more massive criminal battles. Luckily, I’ve spoken to Miss Cork, you’ve got a very special woman to look after you.”

“I’ve got a few,” Owen said, not knowing whose last name was Cork. Shit, Janice Lahey. Tamara Peterson. Um ... Shit. Roxxi’s first name wasn’t really even Roxxi.

“I hope the arrogance outlasts the painkillers,” the doctor said. “The police want to talk to you now.”

“Right,” Owen said. He reached out and grabbed the doctor’s sleeve. But his arm didn’t go. Owen said, “Stop!”

“Yeah?” The doctor stopped at the door.

“Janice Lahey?” Owen asked. “She was shot.”

“Still in surgery,” the doctor said. “You’ll know when there’s something to know.”

“Oh god,” Owen said. He had gone through surgery. He had slept off the anaesthetic. Janice was still under the knife. “Oh motherfucking god.”

“Brett Anderson is in recovery, but in the ICU,” the doctor added. Owen nodded but his thoughts were for Janny.

The doctor frowned and opened the door to the hallway and let in officer Mulhaney and a tall man. The tall man wore a clean but cheap suit. Owen closed his eyes and tried his hardest to shake off the drugs. Maybe it worked. There was a thought that floated uncompleted behind Owen’s eyes. Why did he think he owned the uniform? Wendy and Brandy wouldn’t give up the guns until ... Yes, Mulhaney belonged to Owen.

Be careful, Owen, the detective’s not your creature. It was hard to think, but Owen did manage to warn himself.

“Mr MacKay,” the detective started.

“Lawyer,” Owen said.

“You’re not under arrest,” the detective said. “We just want to ask some questions.”

“On drugs. Lawyer,” Owen said.

“That’s not a bad idea with the state he’s in,” Mulhaney said.

“Goddammit...” The detective gave a sharp look at his support. The glare was easy to read: You side with your partner, that’s your job. The detective turned back to Owen. “Fine. Who’s your lawyer?”

“Dunno,” Owen said. “I’ve never needed a lawyer until now.”

“Great...” The detective said. He smirked. There were a few good people he could send to this kid. The shootings were in the bag. Easiest attempted murder case the detective had ever worked. After all, Marcusson had copped to the charges. The man showed more frustration that he had failed than guilt that he had shot two unnecessary people. Attempted murder check. Kirk had a motive. His high school aged daughter and all of the other women, bought and sold by Owen. A prostitution ring with a multimillionaire heiress for hire? Two, if that Natasha LeCarre was for hire. This was the case of a lifetime: fame, career, and an unsympathetic pimp who preyed on high schoolers?

Coincidentally, the detective had no inclination to bust prostitutes. It’s not so much illegal to sell sex, in Canada. It’s illegal to participate, buy, or profit off of women (and men, ostensibly) who sell sex. Stops pimping. This is to make certain the sex workers are safe. That’s why it’s illegal to rent an apartment to a tenant who’s paying rent with their sex work profits. Landlords are compelled to evict those girls. After all, you can’t profit off of prostitutes. That’s how the law keeps girls out on the street. Where it’s safe.

Yeah, there were flaws with the law, but it did make pimping illegal. Owen seemed to have been pimping ignorant college girls, desperate waitresses, and his own fucking cousin, on top of Wendy Gao.

“Mulhaney, call your ex-wife,” the detective said. “She’ll handle it.”

“Wife, actually, we’re separated but not div--I can call her, but Geraldine’s a crown prosecutor,” Mulhaney pointed out. “He needs a defense lawyer.”

“The would-be divorce is gonna be messy as hell, right?” Owen asked, with a smile. “You still have that girl in radiology?”

“Don’t answer that.” the detective smirked and shook his head. From his face, let alone Mulhaney’s nodding head, the truth was out.

“She’ll probably know someone who can help me,” Owen said. “Call Geraldine. Get her to take the case.”

“She’ll know somebody who can take your case,” the detective corrected. Owen smiled in a morphine amplified agreement. “If she’s on you, then you’ll see her across the courtroom.”

Owen nodded and laid back. “I’m going to sleep off some of the painkillers. I’ll be here when the lawyer arrives.”

The detective sighed. He stood up and turned to Mulhaney. “Call her. Do we have any other interviews left?”

“No, all of the remaining girls had freaked out and would only talk with Keating,” Mulhaney said.

“Probably would’ve worked with Jensen or LeBlanc,” the detective said, considering.

“Maybe,” Mulhaney said. “But none of the female detectives were on deck for this one.”

“Shit, Keating’ll have to handle it. They send a trauma counsellor?” The detective asked. They stepped outside. Owen was shocked to see his dad and Aunt Lauren, Janice’s mom, rush in the door. Raymond, Owen’s father, leaned over the bed, ready to crush Owen in a hug, but stopped.

“Can I?” Dad asked.

“I can’t quite hug you back, but I would,” Owen said. He felt his lungs compress by how hard his dad squeezed him. Owen saw the tears flooding Lauren’s eyes and her shoulders shaking. He saw the red rims of his father’s eyes when he stood up.

“What the hell are you getting shot over?” his dad’s angry, frustrated, confused question was cut by the rasp of a dry throat. Lauren pushed Raymond aside to hug her nephew. Owen tried to lift his casted hand to hug Lauren back. He poorly managed.

“I’m so sorry,” Owen said, his heart smashing his ribs apart when Lauren let go. “I didn’t want anything to happen to Janny and I didn’t know what I was getting into!”

“It’s your fault?” Lauren asked, white as a ghost. “Who are all of those women out there? I’m just glad the doctor had said only family could come in.”

“I tried to sell grandpa’s coins,” Owen said. “And, well, um, the pawn guy’s daughter took a liking to me. I--” Owen took a deep breath. His father’s jaw set. “I didn’t know Kirk, the seller, was such a psycho.”

“This is over a girl?” Raymond worried. “The worst thing that happened to me over a girl was a drink in the face.”

“And you had way more luck with girls than Owen ever had,” Lauren said. “What’s that got to do with Janny? With guns?!”

“I’m sorry,” Owen said. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“How about the truth?” Raymond said. He was pushing aside his worry in favor of anger and impatience. His son was shot, and Raymond feared he had raised a fool. He was far more angry and disgusted with the shooter, but he only had his son in front of him to direct blame, confusion, and worry.

“As much as I can,” Owen nodded.

“Then that’s not the truth,” Raymond said.

Owen had never seen his father so angry and disappointed. Owen took a deep breath. Raymond waited and Lauren kept looking at the door. Probably looking for the nurse or doctor that was going to come and bring her to Janny. A living Janny, Owen hoped.

“Well, Grandpa thought they were cursed,” I said. Aunt Lauren snorted in disbelief. “And whether or not that’s true ... It made them attractive to this French ... Actually he might be Egyptian. I’m not--”

“Does it matter?” Raymond interrupted.

“No, it’s trivia,” Owen said. “Anyway, he’s going to buy them for millions. I was working through this broker, Kirk Marcusson, and he lets his daughter run the store. Plus, I sorta picked up this girl, a waitress too, and Tamara, you remember her from high school ... And, um...”

“You got a bunch of women pissed off by flaunting that you were about to have millions of dollars and making them compete with each other?” his father filled in the blanks.

“Every boy goes through something like that,” Lauren said, clearly not listening all of the way.

“He’s saying his incautiousness is the reason Janny got shot,” Raymond said to Lauren.

“He’s saying it’s Isaac’s fault,” Lauren said. “Despite everything we did that lech still got his infection into our kids. God damn him.”

“Lauren,” Raymond said. “It’s OK. I’m terrified too. Go sit with Cullen and Shannon.”

“I needed to get out and see someone come out of surgery!” Lauren said. She turned to Owen. Owen’s heart broke to see Lauren’s eyes swimming with tears. His aunt rushed over and hugged Owen hard.

“Shannon should be in here,” Lauren said, whimpered really. She stood up and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “He has girls out there waiting for him? We should let them say hi.”

“So he can show off his Isaac Lahey lechery?” Raymond said. “Let them wait.”

“Dad,” Owen started. He took a deep breath. “Who’s out there? How many?”

“All three of them, Tamara, the waitress, and the young one,” Raymond said.

Owen frowned. Just Tamara, Elizabeth, and Frieda? Maybe the rest of his girls went to the police station?

“Good,” Owen said. “They’ll sort this out.”

A nurse came in. Owen tried to sit up and moaned. He was eager to hear about Janice. The nurse frowned. “You asked to be apprised of everything. Brett Anderson had to be taken back into surgery.”

Owen started crying.

Lauren rushed over and hugged him. “Who was Brett? A friend?”

“He’s the guy who punched me in the face,” Owen said. Raymond frowned, Owen’s black eye was mostly recovered but it’d be a few days more before it was fully healed up. “He’s the one ... He took the bullet for me, that’s why it only got me in the arm.”

“He’s a fucking hero,” Raymond understood. “Why’d he deck you?”

“He, was, um...” Owen quietly muttered.

“I’ll leave you to your conversation,” the nurse said.

“Janice?” Lauren rushed the nurse.

“She’s still in surgery,” the nurse said. “As soon as I know, I’ll send the doctor to you.”

“Thank you,” Lauren said. Her voice hitching with the threat of a furious cry. Raymond took her in his arms and Lauren swallowed her feelings and straightened her back.

“I’m going to send his girls in,” Raymond decided. “Let’s go sit with Cullen. He’s a wreck without someone there with him, and Shannon’ll need to come see Owen too.”

“Thank you,” Lauren nodded. She looked over at Owen. “I’m glad you’re not hurt any worse.”

“I’m praying for Janice,” Owen said. It’d help his aunt and Owen didn’t have anything else he could do or say. His father came over for another hug.

“You took a man’s girlfriend and he took a bullet for you,” Raymond inferred, correctly. Owen was glad he hadn’t mentioned that the coins really were cursed. Brett’s conflicting heroism might have actually let Raymond believe it. “You follow in your grandfather’s footsteps. It’s a dangerous road. Maybe you should follow my dad’s advice and get a real job and work on a quiet life with a family.”

“Maybe I want a loud family,” Owen said.

“You always did like hanging out with Janny.” Raymond laughed a little. He walked over, took Lauren around the shoulders. They headed out into the hallway.

Owen saw the policeman sitting at the door to his hospital room. He frowned. He needed a lawyer. What if the policeman’s biggest enemy wasn’t his to-be ex-wife. Maybe Owen should’ve asked his father?

Darlene, Roxxi, and Tamara powered into Owen’s hospital room. Six eyes, rimmed in six red rings showed the lack of tears remaining to fall. Owen frowned. The waitress, the girl, and Tamara. His father hadn’t known. Owen was disappointed. He had wanted to see Elizabeth.

“Oh my god!” Roxxi shot across the room and hugged Owen. “Oh my god!”

“Hey Roxxi,” Owen said. She was a wreck, her blue hair was all over the place. This might’ve been the first time he had ever seen her without far too much eyeliner. She really was a cute kid. “You’re 18, right?”

“I turned 19 a couple of days before I was yours!” she said. She was talking in spikes of shouts to keep her twitchy throat from hiccuping during her words.