The First Stone (7 page)

“… like none ‘a this matters, like you're just along for the ride …”

Reef watched Karl's lips move some more, thought again about the disembodied mouths he'd imagined in the courtroom. When you came down to it, that really was all people were. Mouths. Endlessly talking mouths. People didn't even need ears any more. His mother had actually been an improvement to the basic design. Too bad she never knew.

Reef's eyes returned to the article: “… the prosecution and defense presented closing statements … groups lobbying for stiffer sentences to deter youth crime … high-profile case is expected to put pressure on Judge Hilary Thomas to present her ruling soon … under the Youth Criminal Justice Act, the teenager who threw the rock cannot be identified …”

Right. Like the hundred or more people who filed in and out of that courtroom each day didn't know that the person sitting beside Hank Elliott was a ward of the court named Chad Kennedy. Not getting yourname and picture in the paper didn't exactly mean no one knew who you were. It was like being invisible in plain sight.

People knew, all right. Like the kids during those last few days at school who'd suddenly grown silent when he'd walked by, their eyes following him down the hall. Lately, he'd even begun to sense a coolness among some of his own buddies. Like Zeus Williams, who had nearly beaten that guy to death last year with a bat. Last week, Reef had walked over to see what was left of The Pit and Zeus had been standing by the barricade watching cranes loading the rubble onto a fleet of trucks. Zeus had said hey, and they'd shot the shit for a while about The Pit being gone, but there'd been something in the air between them. Like a word that hadn't been spoken. Invisible in plain sight. Zeus had left after a few minutes, and Reef hadn't seen him since.
Well, fuck him
.

“… you don't know how lucky you got it …”

And fuck you, too, Karl.

The phone on the kitchen wall rang, mercifully interrupting Karl's postmortem on the sad state of youth as he saw it. Karl reached for it. “Hello,” he said. Then, “Yeah, he's here.” Handing Reef the phone, he muttered, “It's your lawyer.”

“They're called external fixators,” Dr. Mahoney said.

Leeza had slept nearly two hours. Her tongue feltthick and her mouth was dust-dry, but she was awake and alert. Now that the curtain had lifted, though, she longed for its return. Her eyes widened in horror as she gazed down at the ruin that was her body.

Holding up the bedsheet, the doctor moved on to her other injuries, pointing to the cast that encased Leeza's left arm and carefully describing the dislocated shoulder and the two breaks that occurred above and below the elbow. But all Leeza could see was the metal hardware that seemed to grow out of her pelvis and left leg.

“I know,” the doctor said softly. “It can be frightening the first time you see them.”

Her mother stood on the other side of the bed, holding her right hand. She focused on Leeza's eyes, silently communicating her support. Somehow, though, Leeza sensed that her mother was not looking
at
her as much as
away
from what lay under the sheet. Clearly, her mother had already seen her injuries, could not bring herself to look at them again.

More tears slipped down Leeza's face as she stared at several metal bars that crisscrossed the left side of her lower body. Thick as ballpoint pens, the bars were connected to metal rods about three inches long that protruded directly from her flesh. “They go right …” Leeza choked, tried bravely not to sob. She took a shaky breath, let it out slowly. “Right into my skin.”

“Yes, they do. They were surgically implanted to keep the bones in your leg and pelvis aligned so theyheal properly. They'll be taken out after they've done their job.”

Leeza continued to stare at them, her lower lip quivering. She barely heard the doctor as she continued with the explanation of her injuries.

“Along with the fractures, two of your ribs were broken, and you had a severe concussion that caused the swelling in your brain and resulted in the coma.” She paused a moment, as if to let the reality of Leeza's injuries sink in. Then, “Your ribs, arm and shoulder are healing nicely, and we've been exercising your legs each day to keep them strengthened. We bring in a portable machine called a CPM that provides continuous passive movement so your muscles don't atrophy. You'll see it later.”

Her head raised on pillows, Leeza continued to stare at the roadmap of incisions beneath the fixators and the fading, blue-yellow bruises that ran up both legs and across her pelvis. The muffled throb of her body that had set her teeth on edge all morning was forgotten as her eyes traced and retraced the damage below her waist. Even the earlier humiliation of the catheter—”We have to change it four times a day,” Joyce had explained as she'd inserted the plastic tube—was a dim memory.

“I know it looks bad, Leeza,” the doctor admitted. “But you'll heal. You've already begun doing that. The important thing is to get you walking again.”

At last, Leeza's mother spoke. “They're transferring you to the rehab center tomorrow, honey. The sooner you start therapy, the sooner we're going to get you home.”

Leeza's eyes did not leave the wreckage of her lower body. “I need …” She choked, and her mother squeezed her hand lightly.

“Yes, dear? What is it you want?”

But the dam broke and Leeza was sobbing, unable to continue.

Dr. Mahoney lowered the sheet and reached around behind her, pulling something out of a drawer in the sidetable. “This is what you want, isn't it, Leeza?” She held out a mirror.

Leeza looked up and nodded. Releasing her mother's hand, she took the mirror and held it in front of her face. And gasped. The person who used to look back at her—the pretty, blue-eyed girl with the oval face and long, blond hair—was gone. In her place was a stranger. For a long moment Leeza stared at the fading bruises on her hollow cheeks and lined forehead, the sunken eyes that looked like holes burned in a white sheet, her bluntly cropped hair.

“There were two lacerations on your scalp that we had to suture,” Mahoney explained. “Fortunately, there were no serious cuts on your face. You were lucky. It could have been much worse.”

Leeza lowered the mirror to her chest, looked at theceiling through streaming eyes. Tried to feel how lucky she was.

“I knew things were moving quickly, but the judge surprised even me.” Hank Elliott seemed younger on the phone. Maybe it was not seeing that pasty, Legal Aid face of his when he spoke. Wearing his I-can't-believe-I'm-doing-this expression that made Reef want to puke. Or punch him out. He looked out the window at the Barkers' back yard, the grass long since choked out by weeds and cinch bugs. He said nothing.

“So,” Elliott continued, “can you make it to the courthouse by three o'clock?”

Reef looked across the table at Karl. “Oh, I got someone here who's just dyin' to take me.”

Karl glanced at him sharply. Scowled. “Smartass,” he said.

Reef flipped him the finger.

“Phone call for you, Mrs. Morrison,” the nurse said from the doorway. “You can take it at the nurses' station.”

Leeza gripped her mother's hand, then thought of all the times her sister had lain in beds like this one, being strong for everyone. Now here
she
was, clinging to her mother like Velcro. She forced herself to let go.

“Thanks, Joyce,” Diane said. She turned to Leeza. “Must be Jack.” She pointed to her purse. “You can't use cellphones in the hospital. I'll be right back, honey.” She patted her daughter's hand and hurried out of the room.

“Joyce,” said Dr. Mahoney, “I've adjusted the dosage of Leeza's pain medication. You'll see it on the chart.”

“Yes, Doctor,” the nurse replied. She came around by the bed, checking instruments and recording notes on a chart.

“And she'll be moving to rehab tomorrow.”

“Good for you, Leeza,” said the nurse. “I'll be sorry to see you go, though. We didn't have much chance to get to know each other.”

“I'll check on you later this evening,” Mahoney told Leeza. “See you then,” she said, then left.

Leeza said nothing, gripped the handle of the mirror in her white-knuckled fist.

“So,” the nurse said as she flipped through the chart, “I've been meaning to ask you about your name. I've heard Lisa lots of times, but we don't get many Leezas here.”

Leeza swallowed audibly. Forced back tears. She didn't think she could speak and was grateful the nurse pretended not to notice, busying herself with the chart.

“Is it a given name or short for something?” the nurse asked brightly.

Leeza swallowed again. “Short for Elizabeth.”

The nurse turned to her. “Is that right? I have a sister named Elizabeth. Everybody calls her Liz.”

Leeza said nothing for a long moment, and the nurse continued checking instruments and recording Information. She hummed a bit as she worked, seemingly unaware of the continued silence.

Finally, Leeza was able to force out the words. “It's the name my sister called me.”

“Really?” the nurse asked without looking up. “Did she hear it somewhere?”

Another pause, this one shorter than the last. “When I was born, she couldn't say my name. Called me Leezabit. Then just Leeza.”

“That's sweet,” the nurse said. “I had quite a few names for my little sister when we were growing up, but, fortunately for her,” she grinned, “none of them stuck.”

Despite the pain that ground its teeth along her left side, and even despite the horror she'd seen under the sheet and in the mirror, Leeza smiled. A wan. fleeting thing, but still a smile. Apparently encouraged by this reaction, the nurse was well into a humorous account of how she'd sabotaged her sister's first date when Leeza's mother returned.

“I have to go out for a while. Leeza,” she said, her face ashen. “Jack's on his way now to pick me up.”

“Where?” Leeza asked.

“The courthouse,” she replied, her voice hard as ice chips. “That was the Crown attorney on the phone. The judge is sentencing the boy who put you here. I want to see his face when she throws the book at him.”

The courtroom was packed. As soon as they'd arrived, Karl Barker had hurried directly into the courthouse, his postman pants making sandpaper sounds as he'd threaded his way inside. Unlike Karl, Reef hadn't been worried about getting a seat. The one advantage of being the guilty party. He turned now to look at the crowd and saw there was standing room only, most of which was occupied by numerous reporters at the back. The one Bigger had threatened on the steps gave him a hard smile, but Reef ignored him. Sitting on the left a few rows in front of Karl were the man and woman in the newspaper photo. The woman was looking directly at him, as if trying to fry him with laser vision. He looked away, continued scanning the crowd.

Scar and Bigger waved from seats very near the back, but Jink wasn't there. And wouldn't be. Reef had told them so when they'd spoken outside.

“Why
isn't
he here?” Scar had demanded.

“Jink's got his own troubles right now. He don't need more ‘a mine.”

“What happened?”

“Cops picked him up last night for disturbin' the peace. Fightin' at Rowdy's.”

“There's always fights at Rowdy's,” Bigger had added. “Usually better ‘n the floor shows at that dump.”

“This time.” Reef said, “the cops got there before it broke up, ‘n' they nailed Jink for drinkin' under age. They shut the place down.”

“Jesus.” Scar muttered. “How could Jink be so stupid?”

“I know,” agreed Reef. “Rowdy may lose his liquor license. He told Jink he better hope it don't happen.” Reef knew that losing the income from the run-down joint called “Rowdy's” would be no hardship for its owner—Jink had said many times that Rowdy didn't make a helluva lot off the few boozehounds that frequented the place anyway. It was the bar itself that Rowdy needed: it was a front for more than a dozen shady operations that attracted more police attention than almost any other place in the city. Everyone knew the cops had been trying for years to find ways to shut it down, even citing the place for Health Code violations—but a rumor that Rowdy had a friend in the Health Department seemed to have proven true when the violations were suddenly rescinded. Now Jink had handed them a gift that, combined with all the other infractions, could very well be the one to close Rowdy's for good.

Bigger had whistled softly under his breath. “I wouldn't want Rowdy and his goons lookin' for
me.”

If the situation hadn't been so grim, Reef would've chuckled. “That's why I told Jink to stay put,” he'd told them. “The cops don't need to see him connected with this shit. Don't need another reason to put the screws to him.”

So Jink would miss the big show. Somewhere there were hearts bleeding purple piss.