Part 11 (1/2)
He'd come in through the broken-down back door.
”Yeah,” I said, watching Fowler disappear. ”I'm doing fine.”
We went to the living room, where McGoey was on top of everything. Crime scene photographers were already snapping away at the broken lamps, the shot-up gifts, and the busted Christmas tree. Social workers were talking to the kids-wiping faces, feeding them fruit, getting them to the bathroom. EMTs were working on Dr. Nicholson.
A gurney was brought through the front door. Two EMT guys slid a board under the badly wounded man. They carefully hoisted him onto the gurney and carried him out.
Diana followed the gurney. She stopped for a second and turned to me.
”G.o.d bless you, Detective.”
”You too. Take care of your husband, your kids,” I told her.
”Somebody close the d.a.m.n door,” Nu shouted. ”It's cold in here.”
”Yeah, you've got it rough, Adam,” I told him.
McGoey smiled and said, ”The plan worked. You're a smart guy.”
”What if it hadn't worked?” I asked. ”What would you be saying then?”
”I'd be saying, 'You're the dumba.s.s who got himself shot on Christmas morning.'”
The three of us took a last look at the living room. I doubted there was much that hadn't been cracked, smashed, broken, or torn.
”G.o.d,” said McGoey. ”Looks like there was one h.e.l.luva party here.”
”Oh, there was,” I said. ”One h.e.l.luva party.” I shook my head. I felt like I should smile. But I couldn't. I just couldn't.
I looked at my watch. It was nearly eight thirty a.m. I took out my phone and tapped in Bree's name.
”Hey,” I said. ”Save me some sweet bacon. I'm coming home.”
CHAPTER
43
SNOW IN WAs.h.i.+NGTON, DC, IS ALWAYS A DISASTER. FOUR INCHES CAN SNARL traffic inside the Beltway. Eight inches will most definitely sp.a.w.n a nightmare of accidents and near gridlock. True paralysis, however, arrives when the snow depth exceeds fourteen inches, a rare event.
Between ten o'clock on Christmas Eve and ten the following evening, nearly twenty-three inches of snow would blanket the city. It shut down the airport. It shut down the Metro and the bus system. Few cars moved that entire Christmas Day.
At around nine on that Christmas morning, there was only fourteen inches of snow to deal with, but I still couldn't get my car to move. I had to have a Metro patrol unit bring me home. The officer and I had to get out twice to push the stuck cruiser from a drift over on Const.i.tution Avenue. I'd given Nu back his extra boots, and my shoes got soaked and my toes were numb when I reached our home on Fifth Street.
Needless to say, when my family heard the front door open, almost everybody rushed over to kiss me and hug me and wish me merry Christmas. I held Bree tight, said, ”This is the best present I could ever get.”
But Nana remained seated in her chair, her little throne.
”My, my,” she finally said. ”Is that my grandson over there? Must be a real special occasion that's got him visiting. Oh, I guess it's Christmas.”
I walked to her chair and lifted her up. We stood with our arms around each other, and I never would have imagined a woman that size could have so much strength. She nearly squeezed the air right out of me.
”I just made you some sweet bacon,” she said.
”Sweet bacon and a nap sounds just about perfect,” I said.
CHAPTER
44
EVEN NANA MAMA DECIDED THAT SPENDING CHRISTMAS EVE CONVINCING A crazy man not to kill his family was enough of a reason for me to be excused from attending eleven o'clock ma.s.s.
Bree tucked me in and I slept like a dead man for four hours, up until I heard Damon cheering downstairs. He'd become a big hockey fan at prep school and was watching a television broadcast of a game being played at a rink set up inside Fenway Park.
I came downstairs groggily, smelled turkey roasting, and looked at the television. ”Snowing in Boston too.”
”It's snowing everywhere,” Jannie said. ”They say it won't stop here until, like, tonight. Kind of a waste, if you ask me.”
”Why's that?”
”If it was like two weeks from now, they'd call off school.”
”The reporters say you saved a guy's life last night,” Damon said.
”Maybe two guys' lives,” I replied.
”That's pretty cool.”
”A gift, if you think about it.”
I spent the rest of the afternoon eating too many cookies, watching the game, holding Bree whenever I could, and listening to my grandmother tell stories about Christmases past while she made yams with little marshmallows, and brussels sprouts with leftover bits of sweet bacon, and a pecan pie that I almost risked my fingers to taste.