Page 17 of Torch Songs

He was waiting to be checked out by an EMT (and to use the porta-john somebody had installed near the op center where the rest of the force had set up) when he thought about his conversation with Guthrie.

Oh God. He hadn’t checked his pocket since two in the afternoon, and it was 4:00 a.m. now?

He looked and saw zero texts, and his heart fell. He accepted the bandages on his knees and knuckles, gulped the Gatorade gratefully, and finished using the john so he could eventhinkstraight before he rinsed his hands off and texted,Good night playing?

He got back an immediate text.

Wasn’t bad. Got mugged for tips, though. Still at hospital—fine, but needed to bandage my hand. Hope your night was better. I’m assuming you’re safe?

Tad’s heart almost launched itself out of his throat.Now, yes. Long night. Will catch you up tomorrow when Chris and I clear the paperwork. Still playing at the Washoe?

Yeah. I can do drums, but Berta may have to get a fill-in for guitar for a week.

Oh hell. Tad wanted to haul ass down the roadnow.

I’ll be there, he texted.I can visit April Sunday.Oh God. That was presuming a lot.I’ll crash on your couch, if that’s okay.

No worries.There was a moment of thought bubbles before Guthrie texted,It’ll be nice to see you.

You too.

At that moment Chris wandered by, looking as dazed and out of it as Tad felt. Tad needed a shower and a meal and bed.

And to know Guthrie was okay.

“He still there?” Castro asked.

“He got mugged,” Tad told him, sighing. Claudia Romero had been hysterical and angry and absolutely sure that if she, and nobody else, went to talk to the guy shooting a handgun from an apartment building filled with kids, then everything would be okay.

She’d broken free of them once, and Fitton had shot at her close enough for her to feel the wind of the bullet pass by her ear. She’d gone limp then, terrified, almost catatonic for the rest of the siege, which had ended with Fitton’s death, but fighting with her—and fighting not to hurt her—had strained a lot of their muscles and resulted in a lot of bruises.

“Did you get some ibuprofen?” Chris asked.

“Need some food or it’ll rip up my stomach. We didn’t get lunch, remember?”

Chris stared at him, then pulled out his phone.

“Brother, it’s fuck-you in the morning—not even DoorDash can find us food.”

Chris shook his head and then smiled slightly when his phone flashed. “My wife doesn’t sleep until I get home,” he said softly. “I asked her very nicely if there was anything in the house to eat. Come home with me, sleep on my couch, and have somecasserole and a beer.” He met Tad’s eyes. “It’s not a night to be alone, brother. Until you’ve got a bird in your nest, you can come to mine.”

“Thanks, Chris,” Tad said gratefully. “So… when do they cut us loose?”

Chris flagged down their lieutenant, who was on-site and who had supervised the sniper shot that had taken Fitton out.

“You guys good to go?” Lieutenant Gresham asked. She was a tiny, weathered White woman in her late fifties with hair she was letting gray naturally and eyes that were still sharp and bright.

“Yes, sir,” Chris replied. “Paperwork in the morning?”

“On my desk by two,” she said and then gave a faint smile. “So we can all have a Sunday morning, right?” She winked at them both.

“Yes, sir,” Tad murmured, and then he smiled a little. “Could you, uh, thank Lieutenant Johnson for that nice shot at the end? I was getting tired of all the fuss.” Janine Johnson was the leader of the SWAT unit, and Tad wouldn’t trust anyone else with a kill shot in a place so full of friendlies.

“Thank her? I’m buying her a bottle of wine!” Gresham laughed. “And maybe helping her drink it on Sunday. Today was a helluva thing.” She sobered. “Nice work tonight, guys. Thanks for keeping the stupid civilian safe and not getting dead.”

“That last one was our pleasure, LT,” Chris told her, and then he went and claimed the department issue and shooed Tad in, calling dispatch to let them know he was keeping the vehicle so they could go home and get some sleep.

The next morning, Chris dropped Tad off at his apartment on the way to the precinct building so Tad could get his own vehicle, water his plants, take out his trash before it stunk, and pack a couple changes of clothes, as well as put on another pair of jeans and a button-down for work.

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