coming toward us. I turned. It was the kid with the flower basket. I looked around for Tacitus, but the place was almost empty, so he must have been inside.
Kim smiled as the kid approached. “Hey, birthday boy,” she said, “how about springing for a rose for the lady?”
As I reached for my money clip, the kid was about ten feet away. He smiled and put his hand in the basket. He came out with a 9mm Beretta.
And everything went into slow motion.
He shot Kim in the face. I watched the hole appear, thenfill with blood. I started to get up, and the kid casually pivoted and shot me in the chest. Then again…and again. And I was falling, and dishes were breaking. Somewhere, somebody screamed.
Kim just sat there, her head lolled back, her open eyes staring, but seeing nothing.
Just as I lost consciousness, something slipped through the fog, forcing me to remember. Like Tino, the kid had a spider tattoo on his forearm, but this one only had one leg.
9
Pain and Memories
Cedars-Sinai is a very good hospital. And it was close. It had to be. I was mostly dead when they got me there.
I regained consciousness long enough to see the Code Blue team scissoring off my clothes and jamming needles into my arms and legs. Then a pretty, young Asian lady wearing a tiny jade Buddha around her neck loomed over me with a long hypodermic. There were drops of sweat running down her forehead, and one of them started to fall. Suddenly, the sound of my heart pounding in my ears slowed and began to fade. I closed my eyes. From someplace far away, I think I heard a Marlboro-tuned voice growl, “Hit him! Now!” Then the darkness came, and I rushed into it.
In the movies, the hero gets shot, pulls himself off the operating table and goes after the bad guys. It doesn’t work that way. The pain is beyond excruciating, and there aren’t any he-men. Everyone asks for drugs—lots of them. Especially after they hack off a rib that looks like a pack of wolves have been fighting over it, reassemble a lung and dig half a dozen furrows through your upper body, chasing fragments.
One of the shots had gone through my left hand, chipping off pieces of bone along the way. The doctor said itwas probably the bullet that had been meant for my head, but I’d instinctively raised my hand, and the slight trajectory change had been enough. You don’t usually say thanks for more pain, but this time I did.
Mallory moved into the Sofitel Hotel down the street and was with me every minute. Ordering a special bed to accommodate my size, feeding me when I could eat and listening to me babble in delirium. I know I said some things to him that were cruel. But that’s why he’s the valet. He’s the better man.
Men who’ve been on the cover of Forbes and pretty young women don’t get gunned down in Beverly Hills without a media firestorm. Because they deal with so many celebrities, Cedars is used to stiff-arming the paparazzi, but this was beyond even their capabilities.
Mallory asked my friends not to visit so they wouldn’t get caught in the frenzy. He also hired round-the-clock security. Even then, some parasites still squeezed through. And I even had to admire the guy who bribed his way onto the window washing detail and took my picture from the rig.
I was half-in, half-out for a week, and all I really remember is that I kept getting Kim’s and Sanrevelle’s faces mixed up. Sometimes, I would be trying to save Sanrevelle again, only she looked like Kim. And once, I was on fire, and Kim and Sanrevelle were just watching me burn. Watching like I had when both of them died.
Two special women. Two dead women. Both only an arm’s length away. And I had done nothing for either of them. Nothing. Hospitals give you time to remember things you don’t want to.
But sometimes, they also spring the lock on the place you store memories that should be visited more often. The ones you can’t talk about but that help define you.
“Hey, Mister, wake up. Hey,
Kim smiled as the kid approached. “Hey, birthday boy,” she said, “how about springing for a rose for the lady?”
As I reached for my money clip, the kid was about ten feet away. He smiled and put his hand in the basket. He came out with a 9mm Beretta.
And everything went into slow motion.
He shot Kim in the face. I watched the hole appear, thenfill with blood. I started to get up, and the kid casually pivoted and shot me in the chest. Then again…and again. And I was falling, and dishes were breaking. Somewhere, somebody screamed.
Kim just sat there, her head lolled back, her open eyes staring, but seeing nothing.
Just as I lost consciousness, something slipped through the fog, forcing me to remember. Like Tino, the kid had a spider tattoo on his forearm, but this one only had one leg.
9
Pain and Memories
Cedars-Sinai is a very good hospital. And it was close. It had to be. I was mostly dead when they got me there.
I regained consciousness long enough to see the Code Blue team scissoring off my clothes and jamming needles into my arms and legs. Then a pretty, young Asian lady wearing a tiny jade Buddha around her neck loomed over me with a long hypodermic. There were drops of sweat running down her forehead, and one of them started to fall. Suddenly, the sound of my heart pounding in my ears slowed and began to fade. I closed my eyes. From someplace far away, I think I heard a Marlboro-tuned voice growl, “Hit him! Now!” Then the darkness came, and I rushed into it.
In the movies, the hero gets shot, pulls himself off the operating table and goes after the bad guys. It doesn’t work that way. The pain is beyond excruciating, and there aren’t any he-men. Everyone asks for drugs—lots of them. Especially after they hack off a rib that looks like a pack of wolves have been fighting over it, reassemble a lung and dig half a dozen furrows through your upper body, chasing fragments.
One of the shots had gone through my left hand, chipping off pieces of bone along the way. The doctor said itwas probably the bullet that had been meant for my head, but I’d instinctively raised my hand, and the slight trajectory change had been enough. You don’t usually say thanks for more pain, but this time I did.
Mallory moved into the Sofitel Hotel down the street and was with me every minute. Ordering a special bed to accommodate my size, feeding me when I could eat and listening to me babble in delirium. I know I said some things to him that were cruel. But that’s why he’s the valet. He’s the better man.
Men who’ve been on the cover of Forbes and pretty young women don’t get gunned down in Beverly Hills without a media firestorm. Because they deal with so many celebrities, Cedars is used to stiff-arming the paparazzi, but this was beyond even their capabilities.
Mallory asked my friends not to visit so they wouldn’t get caught in the frenzy. He also hired round-the-clock security. Even then, some parasites still squeezed through. And I even had to admire the guy who bribed his way onto the window washing detail and took my picture from the rig.
I was half-in, half-out for a week, and all I really remember is that I kept getting Kim’s and Sanrevelle’s faces mixed up. Sometimes, I would be trying to save Sanrevelle again, only she looked like Kim. And once, I was on fire, and Kim and Sanrevelle were just watching me burn. Watching like I had when both of them died.
Two special women. Two dead women. Both only an arm’s length away. And I had done nothing for either of them. Nothing. Hospitals give you time to remember things you don’t want to.
But sometimes, they also spring the lock on the place you store memories that should be visited more often. The ones you can’t talk about but that help define you.
“Hey, Mister, wake up. Hey,
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