Michael Connelly - Chasing the Dime

"Okay, good. Go to your computer. Hurry, go!"

He knew she had a DSL line -he had always been paranoid about it. But now it would get them to the site faster.

When she got to the computer she switched to a headset she kept at the desk.

"Okay, I need you to go to a website. It's L.A. dash darlings dot com."

"Are you kidding me? Is this some -"

"Just do it! Or somebody might die!"

"Okay, okay. L.A. dash darlings…"

He waited.

"Okay, I'm there."

He tried to visualize the website on her screen.

"Okay, double click the Escorts folder and go to Blondes."

He waited.

"You got it?"

"I'm going as fast as -okay, now what?"

"Scroll through the thumbnails. Click on the one named Robin."

Again he waited. He realized his breathing was loud, a low whistle coming out of his throat.

"Okay, I've got Robin. Those tits have gotta be fake."

"Just give me the number."

She read off the number and Pierce recognized it. It was the right Robin.

"I'll call you back."

He pressed the plunger on the phone, held it for three seconds, and then let go, getting a new dial tone. He called the number for Robin. He was getting light-headed. What was left of his vision was starting to blur around the edges. After five rings his call went to voice mail.

"Goddamnit!"

He didn't know what to do. He couldn't send the police to her. He didn't even know where her real home was. The message signal beeped after her greeting. As he spoke, his tongue started to feel too big for his mouth.

"Lucy, it's me. It's Henry. Wentz came here. He messed me up and I think he's going to see you next. If you get this message, get out of there. Right now! Just get the hell out of there and call me when you get somewhere safe."

He added his number to the message and hung up.

He held the bloody shirt back up to his face and leaned against the wall. The flow of adrenaline and endorphins that had flooded his system during the attack from Wentz was ebbing and the deep throb of pain was settling in like winter. It was penetrating his whole body. It seemed as though every muscle and joint ached. His face felt like a neon sign pulsing with rhythmic bursts of searing fire. He didn't feel like moving anymore. He just wanted to pass out and wake up when he was healed and everything was better.

Without moving anything but his arm, he raised the phone off its cradle again and brought it up so he could see the keypad. He thumbed the redial button and waited. The call rang through to Lucy's voice mail again. He wanted to curse out loud but now it would hurt his face to move his mouth. He blindly felt around for the phone cradle and hung up the phone.

It rang while his hand was still on it and he raised it back to his ear.

" 'Lo?"

"It's Nicki. Can you talk? Is everything all right?"

"No."

"Should I call back?"

"No, I me ehry'ing's nah all ri."

"What's wrong? Why are you talking funny? Why did you need the number of that woman?"

Despite his pain and fear and everything else, he found himself angry at the way she said

"that woman."

"Lohn story and I cah… I…"

He felt himself fading out but as he started to roll off the wall to the floor, the angle of his body sent jabbing pain through his chest and he groaned from somewhere deep inside.

"Henry! Are you hurt! Henry! Can you hear me?"

Pierce slid his hips down along the rug until he could lie flat on his back. Somehow an instinctive warning came through. He knew he might drown in his own blood if he stayed in his current position. Thoughts of rock stars drowning in their own vomit passed through his mind. He had dropped the phone and it was on the carpet next to his head. In his right ear he could hear the tinny sound of a far-off voice calling his name. He thought he recognized the voice and it made him smile. He thought of Jimi Hendrix drowning in his own puke and decided he'd rather drown in his own blood. He tried to sing, his voice a wet whisper.

" 'Suze me why I iss the sy…"

He couldn't make k sounds for some reason. That was strange. But soon it didn't matter.

The small voice in his right ear drifted off and soon there was a loud blaring sound in the darkness. And soon even that was gone and there was only darkness all around him. And he liked the darkness.

A woman Pierce had never seen before was running her fingers through his hair. She seemed strangely detached and perfunctory for so intimate an action. The woman then leaned in closer to him and he thought she was going to kiss him. But she put her hand on his forehead. She then lifted some sort of tool, a light, and shined it in one eye and then the other. He then heard a man's voice.

"Ribs," he said. "Three and four. We might have a puncture."

"We put a mask over this nose and he'll probably hit the roof," the woman said.

"I'll give him something."

Now Pierce saw the man. He moved into view when he raised a hypodermic needle in a gloved hand and squeezed a little spray into the air. Next he felt the jab in his arm and pretty soon warmth and understanding flowed through his body, tickling across his chest.

He smiled and almost laughed. Warmth and understanding in a needle. The wonders of chemistry. He had made the right choice.

"Extra straps," the woman said. "We're going vertical."

Whatever that meant. Pierce's eyes were closing. The last thing he saw before escaping into the warmth was a policeman standing over him.

"He going to make it?" he asked.

Pierce didn't hear the answer.

The next time he regained consciousness he was standing. But not really. He opened his eyes and they were all there, crowded close to him. The woman with the light and the man with the needle. And the cop. And Nicole was there, too. She was looking up at him with tears in her dark green eyes. Even so, she was beautiful to him, her skin brown and smooth, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, the blonde highlights shining.

The elevator started to drop and Pierce suddenly thought he might throw up. He tried to get out a warning but couldn't move his jaw. It was like he was tied tightly to the wall.

He started to struggle but couldn't move. He couldn't even move his head.

His eyes met Nicole's. She reached up and put her hand on his cheek.

"Hold on, Hewlett," she said. "You're going to be all right."

He noticed how much taller than her he was. He didn't used to be. There was a pinging sound that seemed to echo in his head. Then the elevator door slid open. The man and woman came to either side of him and walked him out. Only he wasn't walking, and he finally realized what "going vertical" meant.

Once they were out he was lowered and rolled through the lobby. A lot of faces watched as he passed by. The doorman whose name he didn't know looked down at him somberly as he was rolled through the door. He was lifted into an ambulance. He wasn't feeling any pain but he had difficulty breathing. It was more labor-intensive than usual.

After a while he noticed that Nicole was sitting next to him. It looked like she was outright crying now.

He found that in the horizontal position he could move a little bit. He tried to speak but his voice sounded like a muffled echo. The woman, the paramedic, then leaned into his field of vision, looking down at him.

"Don't speak," she said. "You've got a mask on."

No kidding, he thought. Everybody's got a mask on. He tried again, this time speaking as loudly as he could. Again it was muffled.

The paramedic leaned in again and lifted the breathing mask.

"Hurry. What is it? You can't take this off."

He looked past her arm at Nicole.

"Gaw Lucy. Geh 'er ow a dare."

The mask was put back in place. Nicole leaned close to him and spoke.