School of Fish (Fish Out of Water #6) - Amy Lane Page 0,92
remembered that Sean wasn’t the only person in the hospital at the moment. In fact, he had a contact who could get him info on the guy who tried to shoot up the public defender’s office the morning before.
But first, call Kryzynski.
“Hello, Officer Rivers,” Dave said when Jackson was put in touch with Kryzynski’s room number. “Are you behaving today?”
Jackson had to laugh. Dave and Alex may have been the best nurses at Med Center, but they had almost written him off when his heart had threatened to fail in June. They both agreed that they had seen far too much of him in the past ten years and they would rather he invite them to pizza, thank you.
“I am resting after lots of water and a good meal and a day of moderate activity,” Jackson lied amiably, but Dave interrupted him before he could go any further.
“Deb Choi is a friend of mine, you big fibber. We just shared a soda on the back dock, and she told me about a PI who had to get his ass stitched up and then refused to come in for treatment. Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes, pretty boy. I can see right through you.”
Jackson groaned. “Okay, well, the resting and hydrating and the good meal are the truth,” he said. “But, you know, glass on the ass—not dignified.”
Dave snorted. “I’m supposed to accept that? She said you looked like shit, by the way.”
“Did you notice the hot?” Jackson complained, hating that he was complaining. “I didn’t use to notice the hot, but I sure as hell am noticing it now.”
Dave laughed ruefully. “Yeah, one of those things that doesn’t always end up in the instruction books for recovering cardiac care. Okay. I guess you get a pass, seeing as you’re all hydrated and fed and shit. Fine. I’ll let you talk to my patient. He knows how to behave.”
“I’m sure he’s very docile,” Jackson muttered, and Dave gave a bark of laughter as he handed over the phone. “Sean?”
“I preferred K-Ski,” Kryzynski said. “When you call me by my first name, I think I’m dying.”
Jackson snorted. “You’re like a cockroach. Ain’t gonna happen.”
“Pot. Kettle.”
And some of that rare peace stole over him. “Yeah, maybe,” he admitted. “How you doing?”
“In. Pain.”
“Sorry about that, big guy. I was hoping you were stoned to the gills. Don’t be embarrassed. It’s how I spent most of my time in the hospital.”
“I can see why,” Kryzynski said. “How are you doing?”
Jackson thought for a moment about lying completely, but he decided against it. The story might make K-Ski smile. He gave an abbreviated version of the case so far, from getting Tage into custody to the mob being involved in human trafficking, to how he and Henry had been taking a lunch break with a sweet middle-aged teacher when someone wearing outsized cleats had tried to shoot at them through a steel door, and finishing with having to bend over the ambulance bay, ass out, while he gave his statement. By the time he was done, Kryzynski was chuckling rustily into the phone.
“God. Only you.”
“Very possibly. Anyway, I’m going to hit Christie and Mira up and do some cop work from my lacerated ass. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“That’s nice. So the guy who got me—he’s a mob soldier?”
“Yeah, we put that together this morning when we got the kid protective custody from the human trafficking division. We flashed his picture around a lot by the way.”
“Rivers,” Kryzynski gasped, interrupting with sudden urgency. “Why you? Why would they target you like that?”
Jackson frowned because this had bothered him and Henry too. “We’re not sure. We’ve been poking a lot of hornets’ nests.”
“But did you poke them all with that picture?”
And Jackson had to think, and think clearly. He was suddenly very, very grateful for the past hour of rest. “Showed the DA’s office, showed the cops, showed your partner. I mean, we were trying to get the guy who shanked you. We tried to make Ziggy very popular.”
“’Preciate it,” Kryzynski wheezed. “Did Henry show him to the guy at the high school?”
“I’m pretty sure, but I know I didn’t have time to show the teacher lady. We were still talking to her. Does it matter?”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Kryzynski took a deep breath. “Maybe I’m being para—” He breathed out. “—noid. But you saw the guy who got me. You can be a witness.”