Minka #3
“They’ve decided to wait a little longer before they bring him out of his coma.
” I snag the stupid mug and glance inside.
Who the hell drinks green things, anyway?
Science literally says green means infection.
Green means go… to the grave. “They first intended to do it around lunchtime, so while we were there, we swung by his room and spoke to the doctors. But now they want to err on the side of caution and wait another twelve hours. Which brings us to midnight.”
“They’re not waking him up at midnight,” Aubree mumbles. “They’ll reassess in a couple of hours, around dinnertime, and if not then, they’ll wait till morning.”
“It’s okay if you’re worried, Chief.” Justin’s voice turns soft. Soothing. Fatherly. That bastard. “It’s okay to feel your feelings and be a little disappointed and worried. You were expecting him to be awake by now, but that’s not what happened.”
“Don’t you have your own things to worry about?
” I sit forward and shove the mug away. “Three-quarters of your city was without power yesterday, during the hottest twelve hours on record, not only for this summer, but all summers this city has ever experienced. Dead bodies are piling up, the hospital is overflowing, and our fridges are at capacity. Instead of focusing on me, why not head on down to the electricity place and turn the switches back on?”
“The electricity place? Really? That’s the difference between me and you, Chief.
I know when to delegate a task not suited to me.
I could be at the electricity place and wearing a hard hat, maybe a high-vis vest. Take a photo and slap it on the front page of tomorrow’s paper.
But that doesn’t mean the electricity place will be any better for it.
My job is to stay right here where I am, checking in with the boss of the electricity place and offering him whatever support I can.
Checking in with hospital administrators and offering them support.
Checking in with my chief medical examiner, the one whose fridges are at capacity, and offering—”
“Yeah, yeah.” I slide my hand through my hair, finger-combing the locks off my face. “Gotcha. I’m fine.”
“You’re fine?”
“Yes! I’m fine. My building is running efficiently, staff morale is, allegedly, up, which makes the higher workload more tolerable, and even the studious Doctor Emeri—who is getting married this Saturday and should be on leave this week—is here.
She’s a toxic workaholic who secretly hates the wedding hoo-haa, but she can’t admit it or risk me being smug about it. ”
“A toxic workaholic.” He drags each word, each syllable, slowly across his tongue. “And here I thought you were the only one in that building. Give Doctor Emeri my best, try to convince her to take Friday off, at least, and keep up the staff morale thing.”
“Mmhm. Cool. Is that all?”
“No. I saw you stayed at the house last night.” His voice turns a little gentler. Could that be shyness? “I was concerned when the power went out, knowing your apartment would be horribly hot. Figured you wouldn’t welcome an offer of staying at my home.”
“Figured correctly,” I snipe. “You literally couldn’t pay me a trillion dollars to sleep at your house, Justin. I already shared a bus with your daughter for two excruciatingly long nights. I’m all tapped out on Lawrence for the rest of my life. Next two lifetimes after that, too.”
He grunts unhappily, the sound rolling from the back of his throat. “Like I said, I was glad to see you make use of the house you have. Will you be staying there on a regular ba—”
“Nope. Back to the apartment tonight, because that’s where I live. But I’m pretty sure Felix is staying at the house this weekend. Lucky you! You can stand on your porch and wave. Hi-diddly-ho Neighborino. Oh, and while I’ve got you, did you know the fifteenth floor of this building is empty?”
“Fifteenth floor of…” He stops and shakes his head. Maybe. “Which building?”
“This building. Mine. The George Stanley. It’s completely unused up there, except for a bunch of trash and old office equipment.”
“Okay… so?”
“I want to make use of it. That’s cool, right? You’re technically my boss, so I’m asking the boss if—”
“Do with it what you like, Chief. It’s your building. Keep it within budget, and you needn’t even mention it to me. Make it functional and increase overall productivity, and then we could add a new line item into next year’s budget. Do you have a plan for it already?”
“Not necessarily.” I cross one leg over the other, only to hiss and remember my stupid stitches.
“Ouch! Shit.” I set both feet on the floor again and scowl.
“I only discovered it yesterday, but it’s a goldmine of real estate up there.
I’ll think of something.” Frustrated, I hold the phone between my ear and shoulder, and tugging the leg of my pants up, I remain thankful for my desk, shielding me from anyone who might walk by outside my office.
“There are a million ways we could utilize that space, and I—”
“Are you okay?” He does that thing again, fathering me, like I don’t already have one of my own. “You sound like you’re in pain.”
“I’m not in pain.” I peel my bandage off, unwrapping the stark white covering around and around and around my swollen knee.
Normal people’s kneecaps don’t swell fat with blood just because they landed against them hard.
But I’m not a normal person, and my bleeding disorder means this shit is my normal.
My knee pulses with pain, the thump growing heavier with every layer of bandaging I remove.
Aubree pushes up from her chair and stalks out of my office without a word, rummages around at her desk, then strides back in again, tossing a pack of anti-inflammatories down beside my tea.
“Chief Mayet?”
“I’m fine.” I drop the bandage and spy the oversized Band-Aid keeping things in place, red from the blood that snuck through my sutures anyway.
I pick at the edge of the sticky covering, pick-pick-pick until I manage to pull up a fraction of the corner, then I strip the whole thing back and expose my knee for the first time since I hurt it.
A nasty purple bruise spreads far beyond the original cut, stretching around the side of my knee and down, below the socket and inching toward my shin.
A dozen black suture knots point away from my wound, like tiny spider legs—that’s what they’ve always reminded me of—and most annoying of all, the one suture that busted and I didn’t even realize it.
That’s going to scar.
“I bumped my knee.” I snag the packet Aubree tossed down and tear the silver foil off the back of two pills, and though I look around for water, desperate for something, anything, to swallow them down with, all I find is the gross green tea.
Snarling, I snatch the mug and chug two mouthfuls, screwing up my face when, against my will, the flavor touches my tongue. “That is so gross.”
“You’ll be fine,” Aubree mumbles. “Big baby.”
“Chief?”
“I took pain pills, and I’ve been drinking green tea. My second-in-charge assures me of the wonderful health benefits associated with the stuff. Other than that, all is well. Can we be done now?”
Justin releases a long sigh, shaking his head from side to side. “Fine. I’ll make calls in a couple of hours and check in with Mr. Morris. I’m invested in the matter.”
“Mmhmm. Okay.”
“Additionally, they’re predicting another rolling blackout at some point later today. If that happens, I’d like to see you at the house again. Sleeping in an overheated apartment is bad for your health.”
“Not even all that tea will counteract the heat,” Aubree deadpans.
“I’ll be around, Chief. If you don’t update me on the things happening in your life, then I’ll seek information in other ways. Volunteering will always be the least painful way.”
“Says you.” I bring my eyes up from my stitches and smile at an unimpressed Aubree. “Goodbye, Justin. Talk to you later.”
“Sure. Bye—”
I hang up before he can finish, and toss the phone onto the cradle with a noisy clatter.
“Get me a new Band-Aid, please, then we’ll do rounds and figure out where everyone is up to.
We have regular loads of work, which is already too much.
This heatwave was nothing more than seasoning on top, pushing us to our limits.
We have an hour where the world isn’t on fire, so—”
“Says you.” Smirking, Aubree meanders back to her desk, slipping through the door and rummaging through her drawers. After just half a minute, she returns with new supplies. “You never heard about how you shouldn’t jinx us by using those words?”
“I didn’t say quiet. I didn’t even say easy. I just said we should use this time to our advantage.”
“Mmhm.” She tosses a box of Band-Aids on my desk and grabs my phone, hitting the speaker button so her voice rings out at everyone’s desk. “Rounds in the chief’s office. Avengers assemble.”
Real professional. I focus on my busted stitch and press my skin back together like I’m still new at all this. No gloves. No hand washing. No worries. “I’m not restitching this. I’ll glue it back together if I have to, but I’m not going to the hospital.”
“Shimmy your ass onto my autopsy table and I’ll suture you.” She folds over my desk, scowling down at my bleeding leg. “How ridiculous is your blood? Its literal job is to coagulate, and it can’t even do that properly.”
“Its literal job is to transport oxygen and nutrients to my cells and vital organs, if we’re talking technicalities.
Coagulation is a secondary purpose, but sure.
Go off.” I tear the box open and search for an appropriately sized Band-Aid—the largest one.
“Not sure what my parents were thinking, making a dumb baby who didn’t even know how to bleed properly. ”
She snorts, shoving the unwanted plasters back into the box while, behind her, medical examiners slowly file in and pretend not to see me hunched behind my desk with one exposed leg. “Shall I get us started, Chief?”
“You shall.” I peel the back off the sticky side and eye my wound, aiming, planning, then I slap the plaster over top and snatch up my bandage for added compression. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”