Hammering the “C” button on the elevator didn’t make it move any faster. Sinton stood in the corner, his hand over his mouth—head bowed, deep in thought. He hadn’t said a word since Knox had given us the news.
“Come on,” I said, punching the button for the basement.
Closing my eyes, I let my forehead rest against the cold aluminum veneer that sat above the elevator control. Silently I prayed that David was still alive. In that moment I realized that I had begun to care about him. He’d looked so helpless, his world and mind collapsing around him. And for what? He was no killer.
Child didn’t have that mean streak, or that lack of empathy, and even though his world was falling to ash around him, he wasn’t angry—he was scared.
No way that kid killed his girlfriend.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to remember everything I knew about David. You don’t get to his level of wealth without hurting somebody. And men in David’s position didn’t get their hands dirty. If he wanted somebody killed, he could always pay a man to do it.
I wished I could see him out of the cell—watch him outside the cold panic of a jailhouse-orange jumpsuit. Then I would know for sure. Right then, all I had was my gut telling me he was innocent.
Now somebody had stabbed him.
The elevator slowed and the doors opened with a chime. I heard the riot in the cells long before we’d reached the bottom floor. The detainees were going crazy. Blood in the air. The guards were screaming at the prisoners, who responded by shaking the bars, spitting and wailing back. Fingers pointed accusingly at the guards. A chant began—“Killa, killa, killa.” A guard had unwound a hose from the back wall and was getting ready to spray the entire pen when the medic waved at me from the offices. Running past the cells, with Sinton trotting behind me, I made it to a small corridor that led off into the first-aid room.
As I slowed, I slipped, and my feet danced at the floor, trying to find a grip until I managed to steady myself with a hand on the wall. The overhead lights were reflected perfectly on the soaking-wet floor. Here and there, on the doors, on the walls, I could still see the remnants of fresh blood. Checking over my shoulder, I saw that the trail of freshly mopped floor stretched all the way back to the cells. The first-aid room had been busy, and blood-soaked bandages and gauze poked out of the full wastebasket. Even the medic still bore bloodstains on the shoulder of his shirt. The medical couch in the corner was also stained red with blood, and even though it had been wiped, it had not yet been properly cleaned.
“What happened?” said Gerry.
“Who’s this guy?” said the medic.
“It’s okay. He’s with me. How’s our guy? Is he going to make it?” I said.
“He was alive when the paramedics took him. His vitals didn’t look good, lost a lot of blood.”
“Jesus, what happened?” I said.
“I don’t know. The alarm went up, and I saw a couple of guards dragging him out of the cage. Kid was covered in blood. His arms were cut bad, and he had a big stab wound in his midsection. Bitch wouldn’t stop pumping. Whoever stuck it to him ripped the blade upward trying to gut him, then slashed his face pretty bad.”
“Where are the paramedics taking him?” said Sinton.
“Downtown ER,” said the medic.
“Don’t go anywhere for a second,” I said, but Sinton was already running toward the door. He wanted David on his own—so that he could get me fired. I was sorely tempted to take off after Sinton. But I needed to know what had happened first. And I had time. Chances were that David would be taken straight to surgery. Sinton would have a long wait to see his client. I prayed that this wasn’t my fault and that the big guy who’d taken David’s shoes earlier hadn’t decided to get even.
The noise had abated, and only a handful of detainees were arguing with the guards. I checked the restroom. They hadn’t yet mopped this room, and I could see a trail of bloody footprints leading to a table. Neil, the guard who’d helped me get close to David that morning, sat with his hands over his head, his face inches over a cup of steaming coffee. Bloodstains on his cuffs. A cop sat beside him, his notebook open on the table, pen in hand.
“Neil, you okay?” I said.
His head came up quick, and he tried to force a smile but failed and coughed before wiping his mouth and leaning back in the chair. “You shouldn’t be wandering around without an escort.”
“I don’t need an escort. I know these cells just as well as you do. The medic told me you pulled the kid out. I need to know what happened,” I said.
“This guy a lawyer?” said the cop, pointing at me with his pen.
“It’s okay. This is Eddie Flynn. He’s the guy’s lawyer. Sit down, Eddie,” said Neil. “Look, there’s not much to tell. After the panic attack subsided, the medic passed Child fit to return to holding. He was in there maybe two, three minutes, when I heard a little shouting, nothing out of the ordinary. Then I saw the Mexican, the guy with the tats and the long braided hair, he comes over to Child, says something to him. He’s about to go for him when your client stepped in front of Child and got the full force of the attack. It took me ten, maybe twelve seconds to get in there and take the guy down. By then it was too late. The guy with the braid must have had a shiv up his ass. It’s the only way it could’ve gotten past a search. We isolated Popo, cleared a space, and then got to work on him. We couldn’t get him stable, so we moved him to the first-aid room. Damn fine thing he did in there, saving Child.”
“I don’t understand…”
“Popo! Don’t you know anything? The guy with the braid was trying to start shit with Child. Next thing you know, he’s got a shiv in his hand and he goes for Child. At the last second, Popo jumps in, and he takes the hit. Brave kid. Maybe stupid, but brave.”
“Jesus, Popo. He never would’ve done it if I hadn’t told him to watch out for David.”
“He’ll make it. Popo is tough. And we got to him pretty quick.”
More weight fell on top of me. Dizzy. Sick. Ashamed that I’d put Popo at risk.
“Where is Child?” I said.
“He’s having another panic attack. We put him in the secure holding cell one floor up. Got an officer on the door, but he can’t stay there all day. I need that guard.”
I wanted to put my hands up and thank the Lord that Christine’s ticket to freedom was still breathing, but I couldn’t. Popo the drug addict, the snitch, the thief, the unlikeliest hero in the whole city, just stepped in and saved the life of a billionaire. My eyelids felt heavy, and I ran my fingers from the corners of each eye over the skin and then massaged my temples. Popo must’ve done it for me. He’d seen the hit coming and stepped in, out of misplaced loyalty to me perhaps, and he’d stopped a murder. Or maybe I was doing Popo a disservice. Sure, he was a junkie and a criminal, but there was something else in Popo. Maybe he did it purely because it was the right thing to do.
“If you hear anything about Popo, let me know right away.”
I turned and made for the exit. Because of the incident, the guards were short-staffed and edgy. There would be no more visits. Priority was restoring calm in the cages and fishing guys up the line to court and bail office or back down to holding. Everything would slow down. That bought me some time. I wondered how long it would take Gerry Sinton to realize the mistake—that Popo was in the ER and not Child. I gave it a half hour, max.
“Thanks, Neil. You probably saved Popo today.”
“There’s not a lot in that kid that drugs haven’t eaten away already. He wasn’t in good shape when he came in, but he’s a fighter.”
A thought popped into my head and wouldn’t wait.
“The guy with the braid who attacked David, how long was he in the cage before he made his move?”
“Ah, I think he was in there a half hour, maybe longer. He went in just after you took David out to the interview room.”
I nodded and left Neil to give his statement to the cop. I called the elevator, and while I waited I watched the guard behind the security desk wiping down a whiteboard. The printed legend above the board read, DAYS WITHOUT MAJOR INCIDENT. The guard wiped off “87,” popped the cap off a fat Magic Marker, and drew a big zero on the board.
It was time to check in with Dell.
Time to tell him I’d secured the client.
And that our deal was off.