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The Intensive Care people weren't big on chairs, though they said visitors were good so long as they didn't stay too long. Because lengthy visits were discouraged, they provided only the one chair. Pike had been at Cole's side since the beginning, and had not left the hospital. He slept in the chair when the others had gone, or stood in the room or the hall. He washed in the lavatory, and Starkey or the guys from his gun shop brought fresh clothes and food. Pike was particular about what he ate. He was a vegetarian.

Visitors came and went throughout the days and evenings, and Pike felt them move around him with barely a word or nod exchanged. Lou Poitras and his family came by almost every evening. Starkey visited twice a day, usually once for a few minutes during the day shift, then again in the evening. The first time, she stood quietly in the corner, arms tightly crossed, bunched together, eyes red, mumbling, I knew this was going to happen, goddamnit, I knew it. The second time, she came in blowing gin, and sat in the chair with her face in her hands.

Pike gently pulled her to her feet. He removed his dark glasses, then held her. He smoothed her hair, and made his voice soft.

“Don't do this. Be stronger than this.”

Starkey told him to fuck himself, but the next time she came she didn't smell of gin. She left every five minutes to cheat a cigarette in the bathroom, and often smelled of Binaca.

Detective Jeff Pardy showed up on the third night. He eyed Pike like he was embarrassed by the scene he had made in Cole's home, and then he apologized. Pike respected him for the apology, and told him so.

Pardy said, “Well, listen, I'm going to go. We're having a service for Diaz.”

Pike nodded.

“If Cole wakes up, tell him we found Reinnike's Accord in a long-term parking lot at LAX. We found Diaz's prints on the seat. It looks like she put it there, but we can't be sure.”

“I'll tell him.”

“We wouldn't have found it if you guys hadn't gotten the tag. That was good work.”

“I'll let him know.”

One of their former clients, a film director named Peter Alan Nelsen, came by late one evening. He came alone, wearing a fishing cap and a high-collared shirt, hoping he wouldn't be recognized. Pike and Nelsen stood in the hall outside Cole's ICU bed for a long time, talking about what happened. Nelsen sat by Cole's side for a while, praying, and didn't leave until much later. The next day, one thousand roses were delivered, so many roses that the floor staff put roses in every room on the floor, and spread them throughout the hospital.

The following day, another former client arrived, but he did not come alone. Frank Garcia had once been a White Fence gangbanger, but he built a billion-dollar food empire that included salsas, chips, Mexican food products, and his legendary Monsterito tortillas. When Frank's daughter was murdered, Pike and Cole found the killer. Now, Frank arrived with his attorney, Abbot Montoya, a city councilman named Henry Maldenado, and an army of hospital directors in tow. Frank Garcia had built the hospital's children's wing.

Frank wasn't as strong as he used to be, and latched on to Joe's arm for support.

“How is he?”

Pike glanced at the bed.

Frank made the sign of the cross, then waved angrily toward Montoya.

“The best. Put him in the same room they put the fucking president. Is this the best these bastards can do? This man avenged Karen. He carries my heart!”

Pike said, “Frank.”

“The best doctors, the best nurses—take care of it, Abbot. Para siempre.”

Frank stood clutching Pike's arm, weeping like a child as he stared at the bed.

On the fifth day, Pike was standing beside Cole's bed at one-sixteen that afternoon. Starkey had just left. Earlier, Ellen Lang and Jodi Taylor had dropped by, but at one-sixteen, Pike was the only one.

Cole appeared to be dreaming. His eyes, though closed, fluttered in REM sleep.

Pike took his hand.

Cole's eyes opened, just little slits, squinting at the light.

Pike said, “Welcome home.”

Cole wet his lips and tried to speak.

Pike said, “Don't talk.”

Cole went back to sleep. Pike held his friend's hand, and never once moved as he held on, and held, waiting.

 

That evening, Pike stood at the foot of Cole's bed, and it was Starkey who held Cole's hand.

“Hey, buddy. Cole, can you hear me?”

Throughout the afternoon, his eyes opened a little more each time. The nurses told Pike that talking to Cole was good, and would help him come back.

When Pike told Starkey that Cole was waking, her strained miserable expression blossomed into a sunburst smile, and she stormed straight to Cole's bed.

“That's great, man! That's fantastic! Hey, buddy, you with us? You hear me?”

They took turns talking to Cole, and holding his hand, and Pike was pleased to see Starkey in such good spirits. She seemed like her old self again, saying funny outrageous things, and bouncing around the room.

—“Cole, check this out—I'm flashing my boobies.”

—“Guess what, Cole? I moved into your house. You're not using it, so I figured what the hell. I shot your cat.”

—“You know, Cole, this is a really stupid way to avoid buying me dinner.”

At seven-thirty that night, Pike left Starkey with Cole, and stepped into the hall. He stretched deeply, bending far forward to ease the stiffness in his back. When he stood, Lucy Chenier was rushing toward him. She slowed to a fast walk. Her face was gray with fatigue and strain, and sagging with worry.

She said, “Where is he?”

Pike nodded toward the door.

Lucy blew past him into the room. Pike watched Starkey as Lucy went to the bed. The edgy light in Starkey's face dulled, and her energy, it seemed to Pike, faded. Starkey stepped away from the bed to make room for Lucy, and Pike resumed his place at the foot of the bed.

Lucy took Cole's hand in hers. Her eyes filled, and the tears showered onto the sheets.

She said, “You better not die on me. You better not. Do you hear me, Elvis Cole? You—”

Lucy heaved with a terrible sob, and she gasped as she cried.

Cole's eyes fluttered. His left eye opened more than his right.

“Luce?”

Lucy cried harder, but now her face broke into a smile.

Cole's rolling eyes focused.

“Luce—”

“Yes, baby. I'm here. I'm here. You come back to me now. You come back.”

Starkey backed away. Pike saw her watch Lucy, then turn her eyes to the floor. After a while, Starkey left to stand in the hall. Pike considered the meaning, but would not leave Cole's side. He patted Cole's leg.

“Elvis.”

Cole looked at him.

Pike said, “I'm the one who's supposed to get shot.”

Cole managed a smile, then slipped back into sleep.

Pike stayed. Every day, visitors came and left, but Pike remained at the hospital. He stayed at the hospital nonstop for twelve days before taking a break, and, then, he left only because they were sure his friend was past the worst of it; Elvis Cole was with them, again; he would live.