to me that hasn't been done. For Christ's sake, if I'd known something
was going down I wouldn't have been there."
The sudden disturbance out in the hall took the cops' attention away.
Phillip merely closed his eyes. He recognized the voice raised in bitter
fury.
Stoned, was his first and last thought. And when she stumbled into the
room, he opened his eyes and saw he'd been right on target.
She'd dressed up for the visit, he noted. Her yellow hair was teased and
sprayed into submission, and she'd put on full makeup. Under it, she
might have been a pretty woman, but the mask was hard and tough. Her
body was good--it was what kept her in business. Strippers who moonlight
as hookers need a good package. She'd poured on a halter and jeans, and
clicked her way over to the bed on three-inch heels.
"Who the hell do you think's gonna pay for this? You're nothing but
trouble."
"Hi, Ma. Nice to see you, too."
"Don't you sass me. I got cops coming to the door 'cause of you. I'm
sick of it." She flashed a look at the men on either side of the bed.
Like her son, she recognized cops. "He's almost fourteen years old. I'm
done with him. He ain't coming back on me this time. I ain't having cops
and social workers breathing down my neck anymore."
She flicked off the nurse who hustled in to grab her arm and leaned over
the bed. "Why the hell didn't you just die?"
"I don't know," Phillip said calmly. "I tried."
"You've never been any good." She hissed at Good Cop when he pulled her
back. "Never been any damn good. Don't you come around looking for a
place to stay when you get out of here," she shouted as she was dragged
out of the room. "I'm done with you."
Phillip waited, listening to her swearing, shouting, demanding papers to
sign to get him out of her life. Then he looked up at Bad Cop. "You
think you can scare me? I live with that. Nothing's worse than living
with that."
Two days later, strangers came into the room. The man was huge, with
blue eyes bright in a wide face. The woman had a face full of freckles
and wild red hair that escaped from a messy knot at the nape of her
neck. The woman took his chart from the foot of the bed, scanned it,
then tapped it against her palm.
"Hello, Phillip. I'm Dr. Stella Quinn. This is my husband, Ray."
"Yeah, so?"
Ray pulled a chair up to the side of the bed, sat down with a sigh of
pleasure. He angled his head, studied Phillip briefly. "You've got
yourself in a hell of a mess here, haven't you? Want to get out of it?"