Chapter 40

word count 1192

Trudy attempted to hold her hand steady so she could direct the stream of amber liquid from a squat brown bottle straight into her paisley designed flask.

“Trudy!” Her husband, John, appeared in the doorway, an expression of exasperation plastered on his face. “When are you going to do something about the sauce? You drink too much. I mean, for Gawd's sakes, look at this! You carry a flask of whiskey to work with you!”

“Will you quit nagging me about it? It's not hurting anyone. And you, you get what you want every night, so what's it to ya?” She glared at him, chin jutting out, blazing eyes that for all of their anger, looked right through him.

He stepped back, surprised at her candor. She was right. Trudy was back in good form again after a period of depression. He didn't know what had been troubling her. She never talked to him about her problems. Hell, outside of bed, she rarely talked to him at all. But every night now they had a roll in a hay he wouldn't soon forget. He licked his lips, closing his eyes, thinking about the previous night's escapades. It had been loud, raucous. He worried the boy would hear them from down the hall. Yeah, no one could deliver like Trudy. Any way he wanted, as much as he wanted. But still, she was drinking herself to death.

He persisted. “Couldn't you just give AA a try? They help a lot of people.”

“WILL YA LEAVE ME ALONE?” She grabbed her lipstick from the dresser and proceeded to paint a thick red line where lifeless pink had been.

“What about Elliot? Don't you care about him?”

“You leave Elliot out of this! He's not your son!”

“You keep drinking like this, and we'll see about that!” He leaned close. “I've been speaking to my lawyer. I might file for custody of Elliot if you continue to be an unfit mother. I'll take him away from you, far away from here.”

It would be a sacrifice for him to leave Trudy and their nighttime fun, but he couldn't stand to see the boy in this environment.

She swung around to confront him. “Ya wouldn't dare!” she snapped.

“Try me.”


Buzz was ready to take his first steps on crutches by himself. The physical therapist had been helping him, but now that annoying dame was gone for the day, and he intended to try it on his own. He needed to speed up this recovery business, get back to work where he belonged. He'd sent out Hank and Gil to look for Jake L. but he still needed to get into his office and work this case first hand. And if he was lucky, maybe he and Trudy could get together. Thinking of their rendezvous activities brought a hot flicker of life to his groin.  He wondered if he could still manage his favorite maneuvers with his injured knees.

“Boss, what are you doing? Isn't the therapist supposed to help you walk?” Hank from the precinct had stepped in the room when Buzz was struggling with the crutches. The detective laid a sheath of papers on the bed and stood by to watch  him.

“I guess. But I think I can do this on my own. I gotta get into work one of these days. I'm trying to speed it all up a little.”

Hank didn't reply. Arguing with the boss was useless. He waited for the guy to collapse on the edge of the bed in a failed attempt.

“Did you want something?” Buzz asked. “I mean, other than delivering those papers.” He was puffing from overexertion and irritation at his failure.

“There's a problem I need to talk to you about. It's Jeannie.”

“Jeannie? Isn't she around the house somewhere?” Buzz's face flushed further in anger. “JEANNIE, get in here! What have you done now?”

“No, Buzz, she's not here. She's in the hospital.”

“WHAT?”

“I was with her when she went there. Look, I gotta explain something to you. Jeannie didn't tell you something, but I will.”

“What the hell were you doing with my wife? Start talking, Bower, and make it good.” He looked as though he were ready to haul off and punch poor Hank.

But Hank wasn't a man to be intimidated. He settled himself in a nearby chair and started, speaking in a low, calm voice. “Buzz, Jeannie got a bad test result a few weeks ago. She was diagnosed with metastatic cancer. I believe it started in the lymph nodes around the breast. Apparently, radiation and chemo were the best options.”

“What? How the hell do you know that, and I don't?”

“Calm down,” Hank cautioned. “I'm going to explain. She didn't think you would take it well, so she didn't tell you. I found out about it when I offered her a ride just by coincidence a couple weeks ago. I told her I thought she didn't look well, and in the end she told me about her illness. She was on her way to radiation therapy. Long story short, I said I'd take her in every day. By this morning, I had convinced her to tell you everything. Unfortunately, she collapsed at the hospital on the way to her appointment.”

“What? How is she now? Oh God, please, Hank, don't tell me she died!” Buzz's face was a vision of horror.

“No. She's alive, but they intend to watch her round the clock. The treatments, the stress, the disease itself. It all took a toll.”

The big man sat on the edge of the bed and cried, big sobs he choked off before each one finished. But they kept coming, like blasts of smoke from a volcano. Hank waited. It was hard to take pity on him.

You sonafabitch, if you'd given her some kind of support in this marriage, she wouldn't be in this condition, Hank thought. You do not deserve a woman like Jeannie.

“I've got to go to her!” Buzz wiped away the last of his tears and reached for the crutches.

Like hell you will, Hank thought. “No, Buzz! You're in no shape to travel. Besides isn't Adam going to be home from school soon. You'll have to explain this to him. You can talk to Jeannie by phone when she comes out of ICU. She's barely conscious right now.”

Buzz paused in mid-action, his arms dropping to his sides. Hank was right. Elliot and Adam would be coming from school soon, and then Trudy would come to pick up Elliot. Trudy...how in the hell did she fit into all of this? He felt a wave of sickness down in his stomach. Everything down there churned and bubbled. Oh dear Gawd, he thought. Don't tell me someone is trying to poison me again. He checked his tray. He'd just eaten the usual food. No visitors except Brenda from work with some magazines and a cold milk shake from McDonald's. He belched. “Okay, Hank. I'll go along with what you say, but only because I'm not feeling well at the moment.”