Emily left around midnight, and my cell phone rang at six the next morning.
I fumbled around on the nightstand but couldn’t find it. I sat up and realized it wasn’t in the room. I found the phone on the dining room table next to my gun.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Braddock?”
“Yeah, who’s this?”
“This is Beth from UCSD Trauma. The chart said to call this number if there was any status change with Patient Hamm.”
My stomach tightened. “Right. How is he?”
“He’s awake.”
“I’ll be there in half an hour.”
I skipped my morning session on the lonely water and made the drive to UCSD in twenty-five minutes. Beth directed me to Carter’s room and told me I only had fifteen minutes to talk with him.
His head rolled in my direction when I entered. He was stretched out on an uncomfortable-looking bed, a pale blue blanket pulled up to his waist. A tube snaked its way into his bare chest, an IV line making its way into each of his arms. His skin was pale, his eyes bloodshot. An oxygen tube curled into his nostrils.
He tried to smile anyway. “Dude.”
I pulled a chair from under the window over next to the bed. “Dude yourself.”
His eyes did a slow take around the room and then landed back on me. “This sucks.”
“I’ll say.”
He swallowed hard. “Doctor said I’m going back to surgery this morning.”
“Why?”
“Bullets and shit still in me.”
“I’m sorry, Carter.”
He stared at me for a second, his eyes trying to focus. “Why? Did you shoot me?”
“No. But I got you into this.”
He swallowed again and grunted. “Shut up, dude. You didn’t do anything.”
“You knew Costilla was bad news. Liz told me stay away. I didn’t listen to either of you.”
Carter looked at each of his arms, then the tube in his chest. “I look like a giant slurpee, bunch of fucking straws in me.”
“Carter, I’m sorry,” I said, a mixture of worry and guilt churning inside of me.
He wheezed a little and looked at me again. “Noah?”
“What?”
“Shut up.”
I figured I could badger him with my guilt another time. “Okay.”
He shut his eyes. “Know who it was yet?”
“No. Liz was here last night. They have the one I hit, but nobody else yet.”
“He talking?”
“Not as of last night. But Ken Crier told me a few things.”
He opened his eyes and shifted his head in my direction. “Like what?”
I told him about the heroin and Randall.
“Jesus,” he said when I finished. “Kate was moving in different circles, huh?”
“I guess.”
“You gonna go see Randall?”
“Yup,” I said, his name lighting a fire in my gut.
“Can’t it wait till I’m out?” he said, trying to smile. “I’d love to get a piece of that guy.”
“You know me,” I told him. “I’m impatient. And little pieces might be all that’s left when I’m done with him.”
He started to laugh, changed it to a grunt, suddenly looking exhausted.
The door to the room opened and a nurse informed us that it was time for me to go, as Carter needed to be prepped for surgery.
I stood. “I’ll be back this afternoon.”
“Good. Bring me some beer and a burrito.”
I glanced at the nurse by the door, the stern look on her face saying not a chance.
I looked back at Carter. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I headed toward the door.
“Noah?”
I stopped. “Yeah?”
He squeezed one eye shut, kept the other bloodshot eye on me. “Kick his ass.”