about it makes me happy, sad, and scared.”
“Me too.”
My doorbell rings.
“Someone come?” she asks.
I scoot my chair back. “A little surprise for you—actually, a big one. Be right back.”
“Hey, Todd,” I say after opening the door. “Thanks so much for doing this. I would have come after her.”
“No problem, Sensei,” the big man says, stroking the white cat cradled in his arm. She looks lazily toward me and her eyes widen in recognition.
“Hi, Chien. Have you missed me?”
She meows and reaches a paw toward me.
“Aaw,” Todd groans. Then in baby talk, “I sure have, daddy waddy. I missed you sooo much I cwy and I cwy.” Todd stands six foot three and is a second-degree black belt.
“Uh, ooookay, Todd.”
He laughs and hands Chien over to me. She snuggles into the crook of my bent arm like it was designed with her in mind. “Like I said on the phone, I was coming this way, anyway.” He picks up a bag of cat food from the porch. “She went through two of these while you were gone. Eats like a Marine.”
Chien is rubbing the side of her face against my chest. “Just let me know how much I owe you for litter, food, and shredded curtains.”
“No charge, Sensei. The kids loved her and she didn’t hurt a thing. Of course, now I got to get them a cat. Have you ever noticed Chien is more dog than cat? I mean it’s like eerie. She even fetches.”
We say our goodbyes and I head for the phone. Chien is really Mai’s cat. She gave her to me to take care of when she went back to Saigon. I was going to try to take it to her when I went there, but Chien got sick and the vet said she shouldn’t travel. Chien means warrior in Vietnamese, a name Mai chose after the cat attacked a fellow student who thought studying together meant he could cop a feel.
“You still there, Mai?”
“No, I have gone to Timbuktu.”
“Cute. Okay, listen.” I put the phone next to Chien’s purring face and hold it there for a moment. Then into the phone, “Guess who?”
“Chien! I miss her so much. How are you my little warrior?”
“She misses you too. You can see her when you come.” I refuse to say Chien “cwyed and cwyed and cwyed.”
“Okay,” she says softly. “Oh, Mother is ringing for me, Sam.”
“I will talk to you tomorrow. I’ll get my Skype set up and we can use it from now on.”
“I am glad you are in my life, Sam. I love you.”
“I love you too. Goodnight.”
“It is ‘good afternoon,’ Sam. It is lunchtime here.”
“Phở?” I ask, referencing the Vietnamese soup I had there so often.
“Yes. Talk to you tomorrow.”
CHAPTER TWO
What a crappy night. I went to bed at ten p.m., which is early afternoon in Saigon, so I mostly tossed and turned and tossed some more until about four when I finally conked out. Woke up at eight with Chien trying to snuggle under my chin. Now I’m working on my second twelve-ounce coffee. I miss having Trung-Nguyen, Vietnamese coffee, though Starbucks French Roast is a distant second. My usual English muffin hidden under a ton of peanut butter isn’t even close to the fresh Vietnamese fruit and French croissants I enjoyed with Mai.
Today’s agenda: buy groceries, a toy for Chien, mow the lawn, call Doc Kari and set up an appointment, call Captain Regan and talk about the job, and call Chris Graham to see how the school is doing. Chris, known affectionately by all my students as “Padre,” is a brown belt and a Baptist minister at the Davis Street Baptist Church. He and his church elders have allowed me to hold my martial arts classes in the basement until I can get established again in a place of my own. Which reminds me: I need to call the insurance company and check on the status of the payout for my lost school.
My cell sounds. Where did I leave it and who would be calling so early? I find it on the dining room table. It’s a PD number. I answer.
“Detective Reeves?” Female voice, official sounding.
“Yes?”
“Good morning. This is Karen, Deputy Chief Rodriguez’s assistant. The Deputy Chief would like to see you in his office this morning at ten.”
Oh man. Early call, emphasis on the Deputy Chief’s title and name, official tone, precise time, no discussion. How could a fella resist? The hell with any plans I might have.
“See you at ten, Karen.”
“I’ll advise the Deputy Chief. Thank you.”
I can only guess what the look was about he gave me yesterday at the hospital. “Old salt,” “old school,” “old timer,” “kill ‘em all and let God sort ‘em out” are just some of ways the troops describe him. The scuttlebutt is he despises the social worker approach police work has been moving toward the last fifteen years or so. He thinks police psychologists should be put in the same category as sacrificing goats to the Hawaiian volcano Goddess, Pele. At one of our in-service training sessions last year, he said, “You fall off a horse, you get back on. Likewise, you blow some son-of-a-bitch out of his socks, you go back to work the next day.”
In honor of Rodriguez’s opinion, I call Doc Kari’s office knowing it’s too early for anyone to be there.
“This is Doctor Stephens.”
“Doc Kari! Hi. Didn’t expect you in this time of the day. Thought you worked the eleven a.m. to one p.m. shift.”
“Sam. How was Vietnam?”
“Hot. Tarzan jungle hot. I’m back and was hoping I could get a session in.”
“Today at one. I’ll work overtime.” Kari is as tough as a Marine drill sergeant and looks even tougher. She doesn’t spare words, she tolerates no b.s. and definitely no whining. She invented tough love.
“One it is. Thanks so mu—” Dial tone. Guess we’re done chatting.
I tap in Mark’s cell number.
“Sam,” he says.
“How’s it going?”
“David is still out. They’re calling it a coma now. Jesus, Sam. A coma.”
“Oh man. I suppose it’s too soon for them to say what’s going on.”
Mark doesn’t answer for a long moment, then, “An MRI showed blood in his brain and an EKG revealed some kind of an electrical pattern in his heart Doctor Vale said is abnormal. Right now, there’s some concern he might lose his reflex for swallowing and … for keeping his tongue forward. If it goes, his tongue can slide back and occlude his … breathing.”
“Oh, Mark. This is awful.” When he doesn’t say anything, I ask, “How are you?”
“I don’t know. I’m probably hurting but I can’t tell, they got me on some good meds.”
“You decided when you’re going home?”
“No.”
“Okay. Just let me know. I got to see Rodriguez this morning.”
“Shit.”
“Well put. I don’t know what he wants. To give me a medal, you think?” Mark snorts. “Then Doc Kari at one. I’ll call you after my appointment with her and see how you’re doing.”
“Thanks, hoss. Good luck with Rodriguez. He’ll probably threaten you or something. You know how he feels about officers