Chapter 6
Loco
The hospital was too bright for what I’d just seen.
Fluorescent lights turned everyone’s skin the same sickly shade, like the building itself drained color out of you the second you walked through the sliding doors.
The air smelled like disinfectant and overheated coffee, and every sound carried through the entire space—heels clicking, gurney wheels rattling, the low murmur of voices trying not to be loud.
Lamonte and Char were rushed in different directions the moment EMS hit the loading bay.
A trauma team peeled Lamonte off to the left.
A swarm of blue and green scrubs, blood already soaking through the gauze at his neck, his eyes fixed on me for one second as they rolled him away.
He lifted two fingers—an exhausted version of a salute. His affirmation he was still with me.
Then he disappeared behind swinging doors marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
Char went the other way. The general emergency department.
A place filled to the brim at the moment.
Not a single station or room open. She was wheeled on her stretcher to a spot in the hallway directly across from the center nurses station.
Paramedics had resumed compressions something they didn’t do when taking her out of the apartment.
Her status had changed in the ride. Everything was going so fast and yet agonizingly slow as I heard a call for code blue, crash cart needed.
Before I could register what was happening, they had the machine and paddles out.
I heard the word asystole and then someone yelling “clear,” and I swear my soul left my body.
The shock snapped her back into the world, her body jerking, and I didn’t know whether to scream or fall to my knees. I did neither.
I couldn’t react. The emotions were too much and I was only back there as a cop, not a family member.
With Char’s state, they wouldn’t allow anyone to be with her right this second.
I couldn’t fuck this up because they would kick me out.
I stood there, frozen, watching strangers fight for her pulse like it was just another Tuesday.
A nurse noted my presence and guided me away from the chaos.
An officer from another shift, I didn’t even register who—hands on my shoulders, turned me toward a waiting area I didn’t remember existing.
I sat down hard on a plastic chair that felt like punishment.
My hands were still stained and damp. Not wet with sweat. Wet with blood.
And I couldn’t stop seeing it, the whole thing. Char’s lips blue, Lamonte’s blood pulsing through his fingers, the ex’s face twisted with something feral as he charged.
I stared at my palms until the lines blurred. A nurse approached, clipboard held like a shield. “Sir? Are you the reporting officer? Or family?”
I swallowed. My throat scraped raw, like I’d been screaming for hours, but I couldn’t remember making a sound.
“I’m law enforcement. I was on scene. But I’m also Lamonte Davis’ emergency contact.
” Something we both did when taking the jobs on Metro Police.
Since I didn’t have family left and neither did he, we were each other’s emergency contact.
I knew he would respect my wishes and I would have do the same for him.
Her eyes flicked to the blood on my sleeves. She softened a fraction, but only a fraction. “We have strict visitor protocols. The patient in the ED, do you know their name?”
“Charlaina Banks,” I managed, and my voice cracked on her name.
“The patient in trauma? What do you know?”
“My partner,” I said, forcing the words out like I was pushing them through cement. “He’s in surgery.”
“Name?”
“Officer Lamonte Davis” I gave his last name, watched it register in her expression the way it always did when you said officer in a hospital. Not respect. Not pity. Something like a grim understanding.
She nodded. “He’s in emergency surgery. The bullet is lodged very close to a major artery. They’re trying to—”
“Save him,” I finished.
Her lips pressed together. “Yes.”
I exhaled shakily. “And Char?”
“She’s stable,” the nurse explained “For now. They had to shock her back. She’s in ICU.
They had a bed open and needs that level of care because we are overwhelmed in the back.
Once we confirmed they had room, they moved her on upstairs.
We’ve ordered labs, but the doc in ICU will be handling her care now.
For your report, though, there’s a tox screen pending. ”
Tox screen. I closed my eyes. Images flashed, powder exploding in the air, the ex’s glassy stare, the chemical bite in the apartment air.
“What drugs?” I asked.
“We don’t know yet,” she shared what I subconsciously knew but obviously wasn’t clear-headed enough to think about. “That’s what the screen is for.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket for the third time in a minute. I hadn’t heard it over the pounding in my ears. I pulled it out and saw Nita’s name lighting up the screen.
I answered on instinct, voice low. “Nita.”
“Where are you?” she blurted, words tumbling out like she couldn’t catch her breath. “Where is she? Lamonte said, he said he was going to check and then he didn’t call back, he hasn’t answered. Dante, are you at her place? I’m on my way, I’m stuck in traffic.”
“Hospital,” I shared. “Washington Memorial. ER entrance.”
There was a choked sound on the line. “Is she—”
“She’s alive,” I cut her off quickly, because I couldn’t make her wait for that word. “They shocked her back. She’s in ICU. She’s stable right now.”
Nita made a sound like she was trying not to sob while driving. “Oh my God.”
“And Lamonte,” My voice broke because I failed him. “Lamonte’s in surgery.”
“What?” she whispered.
I gripped the phone tighter. “Shot. He’s in emergency surgery.”
“No, no, no—” Her voice fractured. “Lamonte was with you. How?”
“Just get here,” I said, because I couldn’t explain it over a phone, not without reliving the sound of the gunshot. “Please.”
“I’m coming,” she replied, and then the line went dead. That was Nita, though, it wasn’t meant to be rude or harsh even if I felt like I deserved the world to turn their backs on me because I didn’t protect my partner. Nita was just a to the point woman who didn’t waste words.
I sat there for a long time after that, staring at the blank phone screen, trying to understand how the night could shift so fast. How a routine shift could turn into the kind of call you never washed off, no matter how many showers you took. It seared a man’s soul.
A doctor walked past, glanced at the blood on me, then kept going.
I wiped my palms on my thighs. It didn’t help ease any of my tension.
In moments, Nita burst through the ER doors like a storm. Hair pulled back, face bare, eyes wide and wet. She scanned the waiting area until she found me, and then she was moving fast, almost stumbling in her haste.
“Where is she?” she demanded, voice shaking. “Where is Char?”
I stood up too quickly and swayed. My legs felt like they’d forgotten how to hold me. “ICU.”
She grabbed my forearm like she needed something solid to anchor to. “Take me to her.”
“They won’t let you in,” I explained, because the words were a knife and I had to make them cut quickly.
Her grip tightened. “What do you mean they won’t—she’s my sister.”
“They’re limiting visitors,” I stated. “She coded. They’re running labs. Tox screen. They’re trying to figure out what’s in her system. They put her in ICU because the ED is crammed to the hilt. No room for her and better care upstairs.”
Nita blinked hard, her throat bobbing as she swallowed a sob. “Where’s Lamonte?”
“In surgery,” I said. “Trauma unit down the other hall. Bullet near an artery. I was waiting for you.”
Her face went white. “Oh my God.”
“I’m trying to get updates,” I said. “They’re moving fast for both of them.”
Nita’s gaze dropped to my sleeves, to the dried blood smeared along the cuff. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Dante.”
I looked away. I couldn’t handle the look in her eyes, like she was seeing the aftermath stamped onto me.
“How bad is it?” she asked, voice small now. “Are they going to make it?”
I stared at the floor, jaw clenched so hard my teeth hurt. “Bad enough.”
Nita’s breathing turned ragged. “Was it him?”
I didn’t have to ask which him. She knew and so did I. “Yes.” I nodded.
A sound came out of her that didn’t even feel human, more wounded animal than woman.
“I knew it,” she whispered fiercely. “I knew he wasn’t done.
Char said he’d been coming around again, showing up places—she downplayed it.
She always downplays it like if she says it small enough, it won’t be real. ”
Anger flared in my chest, hot and sharp. Not at Char. Never at Char. At the man who kept crawling back into her life like a parasite.
“At the apartment,” I said, voice low. “He was,” I paused. My stomach rolled.
Nita’s eyes narrowed. “He was what?”
I wasn’t sure I should share this part, but this was Nita and Char didn’t keep secrets from her sister. She needed to know how bad the situation was. I met her gaze and forced myself to say it. “He was on top of her. Trying to take her clothes off.”
Nita’s face twisted, rage and horror battling for dominance. “Oh my God.”
My hands clenched into fists. “He charged Lamonte. There was a struggle. I was doing CPR. Then, I’m not sure what happened my back was to them. My focus was Char.” My throat closed around the next words. “He got Lamonte’s weapon.”
Nita inhaled sharply, eyes flooding. “No.”
“He fired,” I said, voice rough. “Hit Lamonte in the neck.”
Nita sagged like her bones had turned to water. I caught her elbow before she fell. She pressed her forehead into my shoulder for one second, a brief collapse, and I stood there stiffly, letting her use me because it was the only thing I could offer her.
When she pulled back, her face was wet with tears. “Did you, did you get him?”
“I fired twice as he ran,” I stated. “I don’t know if I hit him. Everything happened fast. I had to get back to compressions on Char.”
Nita’s jaw set. “They’ll find him.”
They had to. Because the alternative, him out there, breathing, moving through the city while Char lay in ICU fighting for life, was something I couldn’t let my mind touch.
A nurse approached again, this one older, eyes tired but kind. She looked between us. “Officer Verdone?”
I straightened. “Yes.”
“We have an update,” she said. “The ICU patient is stable. Still unconscious, but stable, getting stronger every minute so we are pretty confident whatever was in her system is leaving it. We’re waiting on the tox screen to identify what it was and better adjust treatment.
And the surgeon for Officer Lamonte is asking for you. ”
My pulse spiked. “Where?”
“Trauma surgery waiting area,” she said. “Down the hall, left at the elevators.”
I started to move, then stopped when Nita’s fingers latched onto my sleeve. Her eyes pleaded.
“I’ll come back, go to the ICU waiting room. I’ll go there when I finish with the doc.” I ordered. “I promise.”
Nita nodded, but she didn’t look convinced the universe still understood what promises meant.
The trauma surgery waiting area was quieter, dimmer, as if someone had decided the families of the dying deserved softer lighting. There were two other uniforms there—guys from our precinct. Their faces were tight, eyes tracking me like they were looking for answers I didn’t have.
“Verdone,” one of them said, standing. “Captain is here.”
My stomach dropped. Supervisor presence wasn’t unusual after an officer-involved shooting. Protocol. Procedure. But the word still hit like an accusation.
“I don’t care,” I said. “Where’s the surgeon?”
“Take a seat, he’ll be right back. He sent a nurse to get you.”
A door opened and a man in scrubs stepped out, surgical cap still on, mask hanging around his neck. His eyes were bloodshot with exhaustion.
“Dante Verdone?” he asked to verify my identity.
I stood up, knees cracking. “Yes.”
“I’m Dr. Patel,” he said. “I’m the trauma surgeon on Officer Lamonte’s case.”
“How is he?” I asked, and my voice sounded like someone else’s.
Dr. Patel exhaled slowly. “He’s alive. He lost a lot of blood. The bullet lodged close to the carotid artery. We were able to remove it without catastrophic damage. He’s not out of the woods yet, but the surgery went better than expected.”
My entire body went weak with relief so sudden it made me dizzy. I gripped the back of a chair. “He’s alive.”
“Yes,” the doctor said, holding my gaze. “But he’s gonna have a tough recovery. There’s swelling. There’s a risk of complications—stroke, airway compromise, infection. We have him intubated and sedated. He’ll be moved to ICU shortly.”
“Can I see him?”
“Briefly,” Dr. Patel said. “Only for a moment. He’s in critical care, but you can go to his recovery room.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. “Thank you.”
The doctor hesitated, then added, “He’s a very lucky man.”
Luck. I didn’t feel lucky. I doubt Lamonte felt lucky right now even though yes, it’s a miracle he’s alive. I felt like the universe had spun a chamber and fired, and we were all just waiting to see who it hit next.
One of the guys from the precinct cleared his throat. “Verdone, you need to talk to the Captain.”
“Later,” I snapped, then immediately regretted the edge in my voice. These were my people. They were scared too.
But I couldn’t do politics right now. I couldn’t do procedure.
I could only do what was necessary to survive the next five minutes and then the next.