I’m an odd mixture of disappointed and bemused when Weaver recognizes me
immediately, even with the brilliant, funky hair.

“Cooper…” she breathes and I don’t miss the relief in her voice.

It’s a very odd thing to have people be glad to see you. It’s not
something I’m sure I can afford to become accustomed to.

But I don’t even cringe when she lifts a hand to pat me happily on one
shoulder, then squeezes my upper arm before switching her gaze to the
person who is cringing against my side.

“And this must be Angelo,” she says, smiling and holding a hand out to him.

Legaspi has phoned ahead so she will be expecting us. None of us are quite
sure what a place like an ER will do to Angelo’s finely tuned
sensibilities; even in a slow time it’s an onslaught of sound and rush and
smells.

I’ve kept a firm grip on one of his hands and can feel him trembling
slightly, the vibrations working down his shoulders to his fingers. I
squeeze his hand reassuringly and look up at him questioningly.

“It’s too white,” he whispers. “It’s cold.”

“Yeah. I’m right with you on that, buddy. This is Dr. Weaver.”

He blinks at her as if he’s blinded.

I know exactly how he feels.

Avery’s left for home to check on things there; but not before leaning
close and pointing a warning finger under my nose and informing me she
expects to be chauffeuring me to Osage Ave sometime after ten and “don’t
even think about trying to duck out of it; I’ll find your ass.”

I glance at the big round clock on the wall in the examining room and see
it’s already a little past eight.

I gulp, then frown as she punches me lightly on one shoulder.

“You’re going.”

“Yeah, okay. Alright.” I growl.

I can see the mix of curiosity and embarrassment at being caught
eavesdropping on Legaspi’s face as she studies me intently over the top of
the clipboard she’s filling out on Angelo before she drops her eyes back to
the paper. I watch the blush creep slowly up from her collarbone before
she clears her throat and the pen begins scratching again.

I open my mouth to tell her I’m going to see Jinny and it’s none of her
business~~ And then I stop realizing it is her business and that the only
reason I have to tell her about it with those words is to initiate some
sort of drama, angst, tension… because then I can run away in a fury of
temper and anger. And then instead of going I’ll get drunk and feel sorry
for myself and how everyone constantly misunderstands me and how I should
have known better than to ever even try. And then I’ll play paranoid cop
for awhile until my insides match my outs again and it just all takes so
much fucking energy.

I sigh, hard and then smile at Angelo who hears it and jerks his eyes to
mine questioningly.

He’s perched tentatively on the edge of a bed, color gone ashen. I don’t
think I could get his fingers off mine without a crowbar at this point.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, keeping my voice light. “Understanding yourself
just isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.”

“Nothing ever is,” he says weakly.
 

The blood tests show nothing; Weaver says she can’t tell that he’s ever
even had a cold. No sign of hepatitis, no STD’s, nothing venereal,
negative HIV~~

“But that’s good, right?” I ask.

We’re in the hall outside the examining room; I’m keeping an eye on him but
he’s engrossed in a sketch he’s hunkered over having asked for some paper
and snagged a felt tip marker straight out of Weaver’s breast pocket.

“Well, certainly. But it isn’t normal for a street person. Or maybe I
should say it isn’t the norm. It’s not what we expect to find.”

“So what do you think that means?”

She shakes her head, shrugging. “I don’t know. That he hasn’t been on the
street long. That he’s lucky? I don’t know.”

“He told me he was artist~~ Maybe he’s been enrolled in a school, living in
a dorm…”

“Could be, I suppose. I don’t have any way to search those particular
databases though, to check. And Cooper, you have to keep in mind that he
might have been institutionalized~~”

“Nope,” Legaspi says triumphantly, bouncing triumphantly into the room,
grinning like the proverbial cat. “He’s been in art school, alright. He’s
currently enrolled in the San Francisco Academy of Art. On scholarship no
less.”

“How’d you find that out?” I ask and she grins at me and winks.

“I called his mother.”

“Oh shit,” I say and then have to laugh. “God, I’m losing it. Whatever
cop skills I had, they’re so gone.”

“Well, you’ve got a lot on your mind. Anyway~~ Mrs. Villanueva says Angelo
was diagnosed autistic at the age of three. She refused to give up on him
and he was able to attend a regular school, although he did at some point
develop an anxiety disorder as well and was on medication for epilepsy for
a year or more when he was twelve due to some seizure activity… But that
all stopped when he was around sixteen and he’s been seizure free for at
least two years. He was attending classes, doing well up until a little
over three weeks ago when he just disappeared. The school contacted her
but until he called her today she hadn’t heard from him. She thinks maybe
something like that occurred; a seizure. Or seizures, plural.”

Weaver frowns. “It would explain the confusion, certainly. I could
contact the neurologist on call.”

“Not necessary. Mrs. Villanueva is driving up and said she would handle
all that. We just need to find him a place to stay until she can get here
and then she’s going to take him home.”

Home.

I feel suddenly desolate and abandoned, which is ridiculous.

I glance into the room where Angelo is feverishly working over the
rectangular sheet of paper with the felt marker and then enter, walking
slowly over so as not to startle him.

I don’t recognize the person; I tilt my head to the side and lean against
him slightly, watching the felt skate and flash across the whiteness in a
blur of black strokes that somehow evolves into a nose. His hand jerks
upward to the eyes and I watch amazed and silent as the ink flows
effortlessly out from the tip of the pen.

“Beautiful,” I tell him honestly when he pauses and looks at me
expectantly. “Who is it?”

“Are you serious?” Legaspi asks, from his other side. “It’s you.”

“No way,” I frown. “I think maybe its Dr. CIA.”

“Let me see,” Weaver says, taking the sheet of paper carefully from his
hands and holding it up before sliding her eyes sideways to meet
mine. “Nope. You.”

I blink at it, surprised and glance up to find Legaspi studying me
intently; God only knows what it means to a shrink when you don’t recognize
your own face.

“You,” Angelo says simply, taking it back and studying it momentarily
before handing it to me. “For you. So you won’t forget.”

“Forget what? You? Angelo, I won’t forget you.” I’m dangerously close to
losing it and I don’t dare; not with all this make up on.

“No, silly. You. So you don’t forget you.”

“Makes sense to me,” Legaspi says lightly, cupping one of his elbows and
tugging gently to ease him off the exam table. “Let’s go see where we can
find a bed for you tonight, Angelo.”

I’m shocked at how much it hurts to see him trustingly take her hand and
follow her out without a backwards glance.
 

Avery’s car pulls up to the ER’s exit ten minutes after eleven. I’m
standing outside, waiting on her and she looks curiously at the sketch in
my hand when I duck in silently.

“I’m sorry, Cooper. Trent’s taking a paramedic course at night and he had
an exam~~”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry. Shit~~”

“It’s okay, Avery. After eleven is after ten, right? It’s okay.”

“And Angelo?” she asks, putting her blinker on and checking her side
mirrors before she pulls out again.

“He’s fine. He’s an art student, on scholarship.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“What happened? Did he ever say?”

I shrug and shake my head. “Not really. He’s mildly autistic. He’s had
some kind of seizure disorder sometime in the past. He may have had a
recurrence of that.” I shrug again.

I feel her looking at me but I don’t turn my head.

“So where is he?”

“Legaspi was finding him a place to stay the night. His mom’s driving up
from San Diego to get him.”

“Well, don’t sound happy about it or anything, Cowboy.”

I slide down in the seat and cross my arms, fighting back the sense of loss
and the unexpected feeling of bereavement and neglect.

“You know what’s wrong with you?” she asks me after several moments of
silence.

“No. But I bet you’re going to tell me,” I sigh.

“You like rescuing people. But you don’t know what to do with them once
they’re okay.”

“You know, I’m so glad I’m so easy for all of you to figure out. And here
I’ve always been told me I’m real complicated, all complex, difficult even.”

“Sheeee-it,” she drawls, winking at me. “You ain’t complicated. You’re
just a big ol’ marshmallow with a bunch of conflicted cowlicks on your head.”
 

It’s a nice house; brick and set well back from the street with a gas lamp
not far off the front porch which winks light off the oval shaped inset
glass of the wooden door and the windows to either side of it.

I can hear music inside, volume low. I wave at Avery who has left the
little Chevette idling at the curb and she straightens after waving back
and pulls smoothly away, leaving me. I’ve already told her I’ll take a cab
back to the motel; I have no idea how long I’ll be.

I listen for a moment before I knock, trying to discern voices, but there
are none, just the music. I rap three times very quietly because I know
Magda’s son is young and is probably asleep since it’s eleven thirty-ish
and the last thing I need is Magda hating me even more than she already does.

I step back and wait for the porch light to flash on and when it doesn’t I
step forward and knock again, slightly harder.

Nothing.

The volume doesn’t go down, no one is talking, I can’t hear anything other
than the DJ announcing the next contest coming up at ten ‘til the hour so
stay tuned~~

I knock again and then lay my face against the glass peer into one of the
side windows; I see the back of a sofa and an armchair, some toys on the
floor and a small red jacket lain carefully over the arm of the couch.

I step back, grinning in spite of myself and shaking my head.

That bitch, I think ruefully. And I walked right into it. Jinny needs to
see you. I could tolerate it~~

“Fuck,” I say, still laughing. “Great.”

Now Avery is gone and I’m on foot and did I bring my cell phone?  Oh, no.  Lovely.

The street’s dark to my left; it’s the way we’ve driven in and I know it’s
nothing but residential so I start walking to the right. I’ve taken less
than three steps when panic hits me.

What if something happened?

What if Magda wasn’t just setting me up?

“Fuck,” I say again, but this time in a whisper.

I run and nearly knock myself out against the garage door, have to go up on
tip toes to see inside.

It’s a two car; there’s only one inside, something race-car red and compact
that looks like Magda. Jinny’s Harley leans to one side in the second space.

I sag back against the door, dizzy with first relief and then with anger.

At least she’s alright. At least she actually got here. At least there’s
that.

“And Magda’s a fucking bitch,” I say aloud as I shove my hands in my jacket
pockets and stomp back down the driveway to the street. If I could get
into her garage without actually having to break in I’d let all the air out
of her tires.

It’s a quiet neighborhood. Other than the occasional dog in a back fenced
area, it’s silent. I can hear sirens several streets over, but all is
peaceful here, quiet, nothing like the part of the Mission where Avery
lives, nothing like what’s around the motel where I’m staying.

I can see lights ahead, what looks like a convenience store maybe, across a
larger main thoroughfare which I am guessing has to be 22nd Street unless I
am completely turned around. There’s a school to my left, set far back
from the street, parking lot well lit and a chain link fence surrounding
what has to be a basketball court because I can hear the thonk! thonk! of
roundball on concrete and the squeak of running shoes punctuated by grunts
and gasps for breath.

I’m less than ten feet past it when I realize the dribbling has slowed; I’m
fifteen when I hear the unmistakable clang and rattle of a chain link gate
slamming shut and then the slap of feet running to cross the street.

Oh, good. I’m going to get accosted by some rabid B Ball fan in Magda’s
neighborhood. If she’s lucky, they’ll kill me and she can take Polaroid’s
of the Chalk outline and use them in her Christmas cards. Or
fuck~~ Maybe have an annual picnic, complete with fireworks, right under
the willow tree here, which judging by the speed of the foot steps is
exactly where they’re going to take me down.

I’m watching the shadow to my left as it bobs and weaves, slowing to a walk
across the pavement of the street and when the stride changes, about to
take the step up to the pavement, I reach for the SIG and spin, grabbing
and catching one arm and using the subject’s own momentum to fling them
around once and then down on their ass and level the gun~~ straight at
Jinny’s nose.

“Shit,” I hiss at her, lowering the gun, my whole body sagging with relief
and shock. “Goddamn it, Jinny~~ Do you know how fucking stupid that was?”

She’s gone visibly white even in the light from the street lamp. But she
grins up at me and in one smooth reach of leg, she crooks one ankle behind
my left knee and pulls me down, sprawled on top of her.

“Not as stupid as falling down on the suspect,” she whispers and then pulls
my head to hers.

I feel myself melt into her at the first thrust of tongue and don’t miss
the pleased little chuckle that vibrates through both of us. She tenses
slightly and then rolls us on the damp grass so she’s pinning me down, one
thigh wedged snugly into my crotch, one hand threaded through my hair to
slant my mouth against hers, the other sliding down to cup my ass and pull
me tight against her, hips rolling into me in a slow, smooth rhythm.

It’s when I whimper and push myself against her that she loses control;
it’s such a helpless sound I can barely believe it came from me and I feel
her stiffen and moan, feel her head and shoulders droop, feel her hand
clutch me closer as her mouth traces a searing line along my jaw and then
down to the tender place in my neck beneath my ear. The sound I make when
she reaches and gently bites and breathes against the skin there is
animalistic and she pauses, shaking, pushing herself up on her forearms in
the grass, staring down at me.

“Magda’s right behind me,” she whispers hoarsely and I groan and work
myself against her thigh, then pull her back down into the shadows with me
and guide her mouth back to the place, panting up through dark hair when
she finds it.

“Christ…” she says, then resolutely scoops me bodily slightly further up in
to the shadows under the boughs of the willow, peeking through the hedge to
where Magda has now stopped uncertainly in the middle of the street,
basketball propped on one hip.

“Jin?” she calls and Jinny’s voice is husky and breaks when she calls back
to her.

“It’s okay. It was Cooper. You can~~”

I pull her head to me and the rest is lost in a strangled moan which
apparently does not reassure Magda any because she comes forward a few
steps before stopping again.

I’m past the point of caring. When my hand slides up her thigh beneath the
loose gym shorts and finds heat and wetness to stroke, my fingers slip into
her greedily.

She whispers some sort of breathless protest, rocking against me and then
grips my wrist firmly and pins it and the other one above my head, grinning
when my hand finally relaxes and the SIG slides out of it.

“No.” It’s a whisper, said just above my face. Dark hair falls to either
side and frames her, hides me.

I sigh and pump against her and she lets me for a moment before she pulls
the thigh back out of reach and shakes her head.

“I need you.” It comes out strangled and rough and above me she grins,
then brushes a kiss across my mouth before whispering into my ear, the
sensation of lips and breath making me gasp and writhe.

“You’re going to have me. But not here. Not like this.”

I frown up at her, disgruntled and aching.

“Cooper, my partner is less than twenty feet away. We’re in someone’s
front yard.”

“You started it.” My voice is cranky.

“And I shouldn’t have. I just was really glad to see you.”

“Well, can’t you be glad for just a few more minutes?”

“How about we stop now and then I can be glad later for a lot longer than a
few minutes?”

“How ‘bout I get the hose and turn it on you like a couple of dogs?” Magda
demands from the sidewalk.

Jinny’s head turns slightly as she looks at Magda over her shoulder.

“Go easy there, Mags,” she says her voice light but the tone clear as she
eases herself off me and then stands, brushing loose bits of grass and
twigs from her legs.

“I fucking live here, Jinny,” Magda says crossly, hands of course on her
hips. I can’t see her face in the low light from the street but I don’t
have to; I know the look. “These are my neighbors.”

“Who are all safely asleep in their little beds and won’t be coming out to
investigate unless you don’t lower your voice and stop having a tantrum.”

I lay there, sprawled out and panting trying to get my body under control
and eye them for a few moments before heaving a heavy sigh and getting to
my feet. I lean and retrieve the SIG, check it for debris, then shove it
into my waist at the back, under my jacket.

“If you hadn’t set me up, Jinny and I’d be talking in your living room like
normal people. Or maybe we’d be fucking, but on your porch out of sight.”

“What?” it’s hissed and Magda takes four steps towards me, clearly furious.

Jinny rolls her eyes and looks skyward, shaking her head, muttering an
audible, “Oh fuck….” at the same time I pull myself to my full height and
respond, “You heard me.”

“Set you up? Set you up?” Magda demands.

“Could we maybe have this discussion about six houses down, guys?” Jinny
asks. “You know, Magda, in your house instead of your neighbor’s yard?”

“You heard me,” I repeat.

“Yeah, but I have no fucking clue~~” she stops, then looks at Jinny,
half-smiling incredulously. “You think because we weren’t at the house
that I intentionally got her out of it and down the street, just to make
your life hard? Is that it, Finn?”

“That’s it.”

She nods, shaking her head, smiling mirthlessly.

“We left because neither one of us really thought you’d show, asshole. We
waited until eleven fifteen and then we walked down here to work it
off. We left because I am sick of watching my partner rip her guts out
over you~~”

“Magdalena,” Jinny says, voice low. “That’s enough.”

There are leaves in my hair and I lift my hands and shake them out, then
look at Jinny.

“That true?”

“Yeah.” It’s one word, sighed out, hard.

I nod. Then take a deep breath and look at Magda, squaring my shoulders.

“Then I apologize.”

“Ooooh,” she says, widening her eyes and lifting both hands, palms turned
towards me. “And I guess that’s like a big deal, huh? Cooper Finn
admitting she’s wrong?”

“Oh, fer fuck’s sake!” Jinny screams, startling the two of us and setting a
whole pack of dogs to barking. Various porch and inside lights click on a
scant ten seconds later while Magda and I both blink at her in shock. I
feel my wrist gripped and I’m slammed up against the trunk of the tree in
the little island of grass between the sidewalk and the curb and grunt in
sympathy as Magda is thumped against it beside me, our shoulders touching.

“Both of you; shut the fuck up. Christ!”

She takes a few rapid steps away, hands jammed into her hair, cursing under
her breath before stomping back, glaring at us both.

“You,” she hisses, thrusting a finger under my nose, less than an inch from
my upper lip, “Are my lover. And you~~”” she growls, stabbing it at Magda
now, “~~are my partner.” Her voice goes softer as does her face before she
adds, “I love you. And I am in love with you,” she tells me, voice softer
still, expression open and vulnerable. I see her blink back tears and feel
my nose prickle in response to the emotion.

“And I am sick of having to referee this…” she waves her hands around
helplessly, shaking her head, “…thing you’ve got going on between
you. Just call a truce. I’m not going to choose one of you over the
other; I’m not. So deal with it. Shake hands. Spit and turn around three
fucking times, bow to the four directions, I don’t fucking care but I am
sick of this bullshit and it has to stop. Alright? It has to stop.”

She pauses, breathing hard, then looks at me, head to one side, waiting.

I nod. “Alright.”

Beside me Magda grunts something and crosses both arms, thumping her
shoulders against the tree in irritation.

“Mags? C’mon,” Jinny wheedles. “Please? For me?”

“I don’t like her,” she says, voice low, furiously contained. “I don’t
like her and I don’t trust her.”

“Yeah? Well, you don’t have to,” Jinny says softly. “I do though. I love
her and I trust her. Both. So you don’t have to do either; you just have
to stop tugging at me like I’m a bone caught between two starving female
dogs.”

She snorts. I glance at her briefly and see she’s studying me at close
range, eyes picking over my face as she shakes her head in disbelief and
then sighs, looking back at Jinny.

“Fine.”

“Good. Thank you. And can we please go to your house now before the squad
car arrives to pick up the disorderly lesbian threesome causing a
disturbance on Osage?”

“Whatever,” Magda snaps, coming off the tree in a huff and stalking a few
feet away on the sidewalk before turning and glaring at Jinny.

“And was it me? Or did you call us both bitches?”


END OF FIFTY SEVEN