Split Black /#Wattys 2021

Chapter Twenty-nine

"We're still having a party!" said Mike. "I mean, she did the commercial, right? She's going to do a Super Bowl commercial, right? And if she doesn't get it, the commercial will still be on, and she'll need some cheering up."

Savonn cupped his hands around his mouth to shout across the room. "Surprise party! I'm bringing the beer!"

"Y'all, that's great. Really," John said. "I know that'd mean a hell of a lot to Lizzie, whichever way it goes."

Everyone laughed and clapped.

John got up and dumped the old coffee in the pot, dumped the grounds out and set up some of his most special brew, one he'd tucked away like gold and saved for either a really great collar or a day so bad nothing else could save it. The coffee was El Porvenir, a 2009 Cup of Excellence award winner, the finest out of Columbia, and his stash was almost gone.

He wandered out into the hallway while he waited for it to brew, and into the men's room, which actually had a small window. It didn't look out on much, but John stood there looking at the sunlight and feeling like the floor was floating under his feet.

Things with Ma weren't great, but then, they never were. But they were finally going to get their search warrant for 842 First Street. He and Mike were both going to make important collars. Finally, John was going to put Pride's killer away, after all kinds of hell and high water.

He thought of the row of memorial portraits that hung in the atrium of the police academy—all Richmond police officers who had died in the line of duty. For decades there had only been one detective honored there. Now there were two. John remembered the day he had stood there leaning on a cane and made a silent promise: I'm going to get the guy who did this.

And then there was Lizzie. After all she had been through, what a lift. If she could get this close to one movie role, she could do it again.

He blew his nose on a paper towel and walked back to the squad, the delicious aroma of brewing El Porvenir drawing him down the hall.

He walked back into the squad room, heard the coffee pot beep, and grabbed his mug off his desk. The phone rang, and he heard Trish say, "Little! Phone call for you from the jail."

John poured coffee. Fragrant notes of berry and nuts floated into the air with the steam.

"What?" Mike demanded on the phone. John looked over. Mike's face went pale, then flushed red. "What did you say? Jesus fuck! Is the guy going to make it?"

John froze mid-sip. For the second time in an hour, the whole squad was staring.

His shoulders sagging halfway to his desktop, Mike hung up the phone. "You're gonna love this, Johnny. Silvano just got shanked in the lock-up. Blood all over the place. They're rushing him to MCV now." He put an elbow on the desk and his forehead into his hand. "Jesus fuck. We knew Richmond City Jail was bad, but this is unbelievable."

                                                                                        ***

John was up in the rotation again and caught a drug murder in Mosby Court. Silvano had been taken to surgery, was in there two hours, and might have to go back. They were watching him carefully for any signs of further bleeding. He was spending the night where John had spent many of his—in the ICU at MCV. No visitors.

John feverishly questioned witnesses, trying to get his case off the board before the weekend. Barred from working any current cases, Mike had stormed off to the jail vowing to find out what had happened. Savonn and Arlene each had their own cases, but Trish Newsome, assigned to the shift before his this week, stuck around to help him out. By about eight p.m. they had decent descriptions and a name; the suspect's mother, predictably, had no idea where he was. John put out a BOLO for the suspect's car and tumbled home.

He walked into the row house to find Lizzie sharing a bottle of red wine with a brunette so thin and angular she had to be a model. Unfamiliar red luggage stood against the wall.

Lizzie set her glass down and ran over for a huge hug and a long kiss. Then she turned. "Johnny, this is Marina Sergeyevna, from Ukraine. We were inmates together in the Largo model apartment, and then we moved out and we were roomies for a while. She called me from the airport needing a place to stay, so I brought her home. I hope you don't mind if she's here while I'm gone. I'm flying out early tomorrow morning. Back in two days."

"Do you think they'll tell you before you leave?"

"I have no idea." Lizzie threw both arms out to her sides in a dramatic gesture. Her eyes looked huge. Clearly, her nerves were eating her already.

When Marina stood up, she was as tall as John. Her cheekbones looked as sharp as razor blades and her collarbones stood out. She held out a skinny arm and John shook her hand. "Johnny, you are police detective. Lizzie has told me all about you. Good to meet you."

John struggled to keep his eyes open and smile. He couldn't really say, "I've heard so much about you," because he hadn't. He shook Marina's hand and said, "So what brings you here from the Big Apple?"

"I am here for my boyfriend. He was driving through on 95 for job interview in Atlanta and got rear-ended on interstate." She demonstrated, her hands lined up and thrusting forward in a sliding motion. "Big pickup truck pushed him into car ahead, put him into orthopedic unit at MCV. He had a big surgery two days ago and I was in Germany shooting catalog. I flew in as soon as I could."

"I hope he's going to be okay," said John.

"He will be fine. But broke both legs and bad concussion. I go to see him tomorrow morning."

Lizzie cast him a despairing glance that told him she had hoped for a more private evening. But after last night and tonight, John felt like he was literally about to fall over. He made his excuses and stumbled into the bedroom, grateful to leave the celebration until later.