P. Parrish - Paint It Black

“We’re almost back.”

Louis nodded.

“Your friend, the other officer. . what’s his name?”

“Candy,” Louis said. “Greg Candy.”

He could see yellow raincoats swarming the docks now. He got up slowly, wincing in pain, holding the blanket around him as best he could with his bandaged hands. Slowly, he went over to the stretcher.

Candy’s eyes were closed, his face ashen. Louis watched for the rise and fall of his chest but saw nothing beneath the dark blue wool blanket.

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” a voice behind him said.

Louis turned to look at the young coast guard officer. “Is he going to make it?”

“We’re doing what we can. We’re almost back.”

Hang in there, Candy….

His eyes drifted to the other stretcher where Tyrone Heller lay strapped in. He was moaning, muttering something incoherent.

Like fragments from a dream, the details started swirling back to Louis in that moment. The heaviness of Heller’s body, the fury of his fists, the feel of the blade as it cut through his palm.

His stomach begin to churn.

The cold wet metal of the bang stick in his hand. The trembling in his arms as he held it against Heller’s throat.

Die, you fucker! Die!

No. . no. I’m not going to help you commit suicide.

The agonizing relief when Heller’s head crashed into the floor and he went limp.

Louis moved slowly away, going to stand at the window. They were at the dock. Men were throwing lines. Voices were barking out commands. The sounds of boots on the metal deck outside. The door opened again and four paramedics came in, followed by two cops. The cops wore heavy slickers and Louis couldn’t make out where they were from. They swarmed the stretchers, the paramedics picking up Candy and carefully carrying him out. The cops pushed by the other two paramedics, cuffing Heller to the gurney. Louis watched as they moved as a group to the ambulances waiting out in the lot.

The young coast guard officer was standing there holding out a raincoat.

“Paramedics are standing by for you, Officer Kincaid,” he said.

Louis nodded woodenly and allowed the man to drape the raincoat over his shoulders.

The first person he saw was Wainwright, hovering over Candy until they closed the doors on the ambulance. Then Wainwright’s eyes swiveled back to the boat. He moved forward, waiting at the end of the dock for Louis. Emily was a small figure in bright green behind him. He went to them.

“Jesus,” Wainwright said, his expression going slack.

Emily’s eyes filled with tears as she stared at his face.

“I’m okay,” Louis mumbled.

Wainwright took his arm and led him toward the ambulance. The paramedics hurried to get the stretcher out, but Louis waved them off and they opened the door for him.

An officer in a Fort Myers raincoat came rushing up. “Chief, the coast guard says they found a body onboard the Miss Monica.”

“Who is it?” Wainwright asked.

“They don’t know. It was down in the hold, wrapped in a blanket. Looks like it had been there for a while. The face has black paint all over it, but it looks to be a white male, about sixty.”

Louis shut his eyes briefly, then looked at the officer. “Tell them to look at his left hand,” he said slowly. “Ask them if there’s a finger missing.”

The cop stared at Louis for a moment, then keyed his radio. A moment later, he heard the reply come back.

“That’s affirmative. Left pinkie missing.”

“It’s Lynch,” he said softly.

Emily turned away. Louis closed his eyes.

He heard a siren and opened his eyes in time to see a Lee County sheriff’s car swing into the lot. Mobley climbed out and hurried toward Heller as they were lifting him into the ambulance.

Wainwright watched him. “He’s too late again,” he said. “My guys have him in custody. It’s our collar.”

Louis nodded, grabbing the edge of the door to climb into the ambulance. Another siren made them turn.

Candy’s ambulance was moving. Louis watched it until it pulled from the lot.

“He’ll make it, Louis,” Wainwright said. “You get in there and I’ll see you at the hospital. I’ve got to go ride with Heller.”

Louis nodded.

“I’ll go with Louis,” Emily said quickly.

“Good,” Wainwright said.

The paramedics helped Louis into the ambulance. He didn’t protest as they strapped him into the stretcher and started an IV. The doors closed, the sirens wailed.

Emily sat hunched across from him, her wet hair plastered to her head, her eyes locked on him. She took off her glasses to try to wipe them dry. He saw the tears in her eyes.

“Farentino, I’m going to be all right,” he said softly. “It’s over.”

“I feel like this is my fault,” she said.

He saw the guilt etched in her face. He knew it would be a while before it would fade.

Louis woke to the smell of strong coffee. He grimaced as he sat up, and looked down at his hand.

The tips of his fingers protruded from a thick bandage. His palm still throbbed. His forearm was bandaged in thick gauze. He hurt everywhere.

He slid his legs gingerly over the side of the bed and looked at the clock on the nightstand. Four-fifteen. Jesus, he had slept almost all day.

He used the bedpost to stand. Issy was curled in the covers at the foot of the bed. Someone had left an old plaid robe on the bedpost. He slipped it on and shuffled to the kitchen.

Dodie jumped up from his chair. “Here, lemme help you, Louis.”

He put a hand on Louis’s arm, pulling out a chair. Louis sat, letting out a sigh that rippled through his bruised muscles.

“Coffee?”

Louis nodded. He pulled the newspaper over to him.

Heller was being arraigned today. He saw his own picture on the bottom of the page. He pushed the newspaper away as Dodie came back with the coffee. Margaret was on his heels.

“You shouldn’t be up,” she said.

“I’ve slept for two days,” Louis said. The pain in his jaw began to pound again. He sipped at the coffee, but it burned the cuts on his lips.

“You hungry? I can fix you something,” Margaret said.

Louis shook his head. He wasn’t sure he could chew.

“Scrambled eggs,” Margaret said. “Soft scrambled eggs.”

She disappeared.

Louis’s eyes flicked to Dodie sitting across the table. He was staring at him.

“I’m okay, Sam.”

“Just checking.”

The smell of eggs filled the kitchen. It made Louis’s stomach churn.

“Oh, Louis,” Margaret said, “Emily Farentino called. She came over yesterday but you were asleep. She has to leave today and she wants to say good-bye. She said you could reach her at Dan’s office till five tonight.”

“Thanks, Margaret.”

Dodie was staring at him again. “You decide yet what you’re going to do?” he asked. “I mean, after you heal up and all.”

“I don’t know. Go home for a while, I guess.”

“Why? You can’t work there.”

Louis tried another sip of coffee. “I have applications out, Chicago PD, Cleveland. I’ll find something.”

Dodie stirred his coffee.

“Besides, my car’s up there,” Louis said.

“Go get it.”

Louis sighed.

Margaret returned with the eggs. She started to tuck a napkin into Louis’s pajama top, and he let her, too tired to argue. He started to eat slowly.

“You could find work here, Louis,” Dodie said.

“Sam’s right,” Margaret added quickly.

He looked up at them. “I’m not a PI.” He looked away, shaking his head. “It wouldn’t work.”

“Well, what about Dan?” Dodie pressed.