Chapter 4

That trip back to Chicago would make a story in itself, but suffice it to say that twenty-four hours later I was sitting in my office. My cracked ribs were tightly encased in what made me look like a practice mummy or something, where the lesson of the day was "Cover the torso and wait for the instructor to check your work." I was three hundred bucks in the red, and it was only that much because I drove myself to the hospital, instead of taking an ambulance. The emergency room doctor had wanted to call the police, but I told him not to.

"It was just a little misunderstanding," I'd told him. "I went to a bat fight without a bat, that's all."

I wouldn't find out until much later that the doc had a sense of humor. When the tape finally came off I would find that, in indelible marker, he'd carefully put a big black X right over the crack. Above that was the word "Louisville." It took a month to wear off.

I couldn't do much of anything until my ribs quit screaming at me every time I took a breath. I didn't call Ronnie either. I was much too embarrassed by what had happened. I wasn't all that worried about the cops. Even if Maddie made a complaint in Dayton, it wasn't likely anybody in Chicago would take it seriously. They don't extradite you for that kind of thing. It's too expensive. And, except for the fact that I'd left my $5.25 knurled aluminum LED flashlight in the breezeway, there really wasn't any evidence, as far as I knew, that it was me who'd been there. Not counting the ribs, of course. The flashlight wouldn't have held any prints, because of the knurling. Oh, sure, she probably knew who it was ... but she didn't have any proof.

I didn't count on Veronica Powers keeping an eye on my office though. Her silhouette appeared in the glass of my office door again. This time she didn't knock, she just came right in.

The first thing out of her mouth was "Where have you BEEN?! I must have left five messages on your phone!"

"Six," I said. "But who's counting. I have other cases to work, you know. I've been busy."

"You said you were going to see her. Did you get my skates?"

"There were ... um ... complications. Your mother isn't the easiest person to get along with."

"I TOLD you that," she moaned. "Didn't I tell you she was a buttface?"

"You did," I admitted. "You just didn't tell me she was an intelligent buttface."

"So you saw her."

"I did. She is of the opinion that since she paid for the skates, that makes them hers. Apparently she thinks she loaned them to you for a few years, or something like that."

"Why are you all hunched over like that?" she asked suddenly.

"I'm not hunched over." I tried to straighten up and not wince at the same time. I was surprised at how hard that was.

"Yes you are. You look like you'd fall out of that chair if it didn't have arms on it."

"I'm just tired, that's all," I tried.

"Stand up," she commanded.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not," I said, mustering what dignity I could. "Why don't you just run along now. I'm working on your case and, as I said, I have other jobs to do, too. I'll get in touch with you when I have something to report."

She walked around the desk and stood beside me.

"Stand up," she said firmly.

"Who died and made you queen?" I asked. I had to crane my neck to look up at her. Who'd have thought neck muscles were connected to ribs? I couldn't hide the wince this time.

"What happened to you?" she asked.

"Nothing," I said testily. "I bumped into something."

I don't get amazed all that easily, but when this young woman reached down and started unbuttoning my shirt ... well, I got amazed. She acted like it was the most normal thing in the world. She didn't have to get many buttons undone before she could see the closely wrapped strips of tape around my torso.

"What happened to you?!" she asked again. This time she sounded upset. "Did my mother do that?!"

I told you she was a smart girl. Didn't I? Hell, I can't remember now, but if I didn't, I should have, because she was.

"Don't worry about it," I tried to growl. It came out as more of a weak gasp as her hand slid inside my shirt and right over a cracked rib. I followed that up with a not-so-manly groan and she jerked her hand away.

"If my mother beat you up, I'm going to just kill her!" she yipped.

Now she was impugning my manhood. I felt a spark of anger that I had been so easily unmasked.

"Nobody beat me up!" I snapped.

That used up what air I had left and I unthinkingly took a deep breath to tell her to leave me alone. What grated its way out of my throat was a groan that had "fuck" somewhere in it. It's really amazing how you can be in agony and still feel kind of bad for using a word like that in front of Ronnie. Even though she looks like she's heard every dirty word on the planet, and probably used half of them herself.

She could see through bullshit, too, as it turned out. Her eyes actually teared up and she backed up a couple of steps.

"Oh! I'm so sorry! I should never have gotten you involved in all this," she moaned.

She looked tense again, like she had before, when I was sure she was about to bolt from my office. It's also amazing how you can be in agony and not want the woman who got you in agony, figuratively speaking, to go away, never to be seen again.

"Don't go!" I gasped.

She blinked at me.

"Who said I was going anywhere?"

Women. Who understands them? Not me, obviously.

She didn't leave. In fact, somehow she ended up buying me dinner. I think it was her way of making up for what she thought of as sending me into the dragon's lair. Except the dragon part was my characterization of her mother, not hers. Then again, as I stated a moment ago, I don't understand women, so maybe she was thinking dragon, too. Anyway, I'm getting off the subject. Sorry. Pain will do that to you.