Chapter 21
The next morning, Beau Lee woke around six and got dressed.
He let Capes sleep in, knowing the long drive had taken a toll, and he needed him well rested.
Beau Lee wished he could’ve slept in as well.
He was sleep-deprived, having spent the early-morning hours preparing Joey’s and Darian’s affidavits for the lawsuit.
He took a taxi to the hospital and arrived shortly after eight.
A modest protest for Hollis had amassed on the green mound in front of the hospital where people held signs demanding justice.
Doubt about the validity of the shooting was starting to permeate the city.
The opinion that the police had shot an innocent man was growing.
Greatly in need of coffee, Beau Lee stood in line at the kiosk in the hospital’s lobby. The barista was serving fancy caffeinated drinks and pastries. He took out his phone and dialed Gigi.
“Good morning, my love,” he said. “How are you?”
“Good morning yourself. How’s my husband faring in Chi-Town?”
“Well, I believe it’s around twenty degrees right now, but I’m coping. My body might not be equipped for this level of cold. The Texas in me is struggling, but I’m fixing to get myself a hot drink, so that should warm me up.”
“Lord have mercy, that is cold. But, you know, I wasn’t only asking about the weather. How are things going with the case?”
“Pulled another all-nighter,” he said, muffling a yawn. “Managed to find and depose the witnesses to Hollis’s shooting. I believe I’ve got what I need to file the lawsuit.”
“That’s good, baby!”
“I’m planning to get it filed by the end of business today. That should get the city’s attention.”
“I guess that’s how you let your presence be known, isn’t it?”
“You know me. I tend to make grand entrances.”
“Next!” the barista called, already irritated and looking at Beau Lee. “Sir.”
“Gotta go. My turn to order. Talk soon, okay?”
“All right,” she said. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Beau Lee ended the call and stepped forward to order.
“What’ll you have?” the barista asked, head cocked and eyes rolling. “Just so you know, specialty drinks will take some time, but you can wait over there.” She pointed to three customers waiting off to the side, heads down, on their cellphones.
“Drip coffee’s fine.”
“It’s a medium roast. We’re out of light roast.”
“That’ll do.”
“Anything else?”
Beau Lee searched the pastry case and his eyes landed on a cheese Danish. After the long night he’d had, he needed a pick-me-up. “Is that a cheese Danish?” he asked, pointing at the long braided pastry with custard-like filling.
“Uh-huh.”
“I’ll take one.”
“Warmed up?”
“Sure.”
“It’ll be a wait.”
“How long?”
“It will take a minute!”
“On second thought, I’m sure it’s delicious as it is.”
The barista grabbed the pastry with tongs and slid it into a bag. She poured the coffee into a large paper cup, pressed a lid on top, and dropped it into a cardboard sleeve.
She handed him his breakfast without a thank-you and called the next customer in line.
Beau Lee was accustomed to a certain level of geniality that was customary in down-home Texas, but he was learning that was not the case in Chicago.
Beau Lee took the elevator up to the trauma unit and stepped into the lobby, where he was greeted by Rocky and Finn, who also had a coffee and looked far from rested.
“Good morning,” Rocky said. “I hear yesterday was eventful.”
“Good morning to you both,” Beau Lee said. “And yes, it was.”
“Well, our family is eternally grateful for all you’re doing.” Rocky hugged Beau Lee, mindful not to jostle his coffee.
“It’s a team effort.”
“How’d you sleep?” Finn asked.
“I shut my eyes for a few hours. Not sure I’d call that sleep, though.”
“I take it our two witnesses are cooperating?”
“Got them on record. No issues there.”
“They seem like good kids,” Finn said.
“I still can’t get over all this unfolding right outside Joey Henderson’s house,” Rocky said. “It’s like divine intervention.”
“Divine intervention?” Finn asked.
“Sure,” Rocky said. “I’d like to think it was more than a coincidence.”
Finn held a beat, then took on a serious glare.
As the elevator doors opened, Beau Lee tracked Finn’s eyes and Finn glared as a man stepped out. He wore a baseball cap and hoodie under his biker jacket. His motorcycle helmet was in his left hand.
Finn’s reaction to the man put Beau Lee on high alert.
“You seeing this, Counselor?” Finn asked.
“I am.”
The man had a confident walk but also seemed out of place, as if he’d never visited the trauma floor before, and he was making a beeline toward them.
“What is it?” Rocky asked, noticing Beau Lee’s change in demeanor. “Something wrong?”
“That man coming toward us, have you ever seen him before?”
Rocky stared hard. “No. I don’t recognize him. Do you, Finn?”
“Never seen him before.”
Beau Lee made sure his hands were free, and he stepped in front of Rocky. Maybe he’d been a fool not to wake Capes up and have him accompany him. At least, that’s what Capes would say, respectfully, of course. Still, Finn was armed and eagle-eyed, having been first to spot the potential danger.
If the man was crazed, it wouldn’t be the first time Beau Lee had encountered such an individual.
Police-involved shootings had a way of drawing in avid law enforcement supporters with deep ties to right-wing organizations and hate groups.
Beau Lee had had run-ins with many of them over the years, especially when trying cases in Texas, Florida, and Alabama.
Since the launch of Obama’s campaign, he’d noticed a rise in more brazen activity outside courthouses, such as buckets of red paint meant to resemble blood being tossed from moving vehicles onto courthouse steps.
Someone entering a hospital with intent to cause harm was at the forefront of his mind.
“Identify yourself,” Finn said, his hand near his service weapon. “Don’t come any closer!”
The man stopped and looked at Beau Lee and Rocky. “Are you the Montrose family?” he asked.
Finn repeated his command: “I said identify yourself.”
“Okay, okay. Take it easy. I’m a cop.”
“And…?”
“Name’s Rory Caruthers,” the man said. “Can we talk?”