Mickey Haller 4 - The Fifth Witness

you. I seen you on the TV, right?”
    I gave up.
    “Yeah, I have a case. It gets me on TV.”
    “Right, right, right… and what’s your name again?”
    “Mickey Haller.”
    As soon as I said my name I saw the silent one take his hands out of his jacket pockets and square his shoulders toward me. He was wearing black fingerless gloves. It wasn’t cool enough for gloves and in that moment I realized that, since there were no other cars up on the second level, these guys hadn’t been going up there. They had been looking for me.
    “What’s this all—”
    The silent man swung a left fist into my midsection. I doubled over just in time to feel his right fist crush three of my left ribs. I remembered dropping my phone at that point but little else. I know I tried to run but the talker blocked my way and then turned me around, pinning my elbows at my sides.
    He was wearing black gloves, too.

Twelve
    They left my face alone, but that was about the only thing that didn’t feel bruised or broken when I woke up in ICU at Holy Cross. The final tally included thirty-eight stitches in my scalp, nine fractured ribs, four broken fingers, two bruised kidneys and one testicle that had been twisted 180 degrees before the surgeons straightened it. My torso was the color of a grape Popsicle and my urine the dark hue of Coca-Cola.
    The last time I had stayed in a hospital I got hooked on oxycodone, an addiction that nearly cost me my child and career. This time I told them I’d gut it out without the chemical help. And this of course was a painful mistake. Two hours after taking my stand I was pleading with the nurses, the orderlies and anyone who would listen to give me the drip. It finally took care of the pain but left me floating too close to the ceiling. It took them a couple days to find the right equilibrium of pain relief and consciousness. That was when I started accepting visitors.
    Two of the first were a pair of detectives from the Van Nuys Division CAPs Unit. Their names were Stilwell and Eyman. They asked me basic questions so that they could complete their paperwork. They had about as much interest in determining who had attacked me as they did in the idea of working through lunch. I was, after all, the defense counsel to an alleged murderer their colleagues down the hall had popped. In other words, they weren’t going to get their own balls in a twist over this one.
    When Stilwell closed his notebook I knew the interview—and the investigation—was over. He told me they would check back if anything came up.
    “You forgot something, didn’t you?” I said.
    I spoke without moving my jaw because somehow moving my jaw set off the pain receptors in my rib cage.
    “What’s that?” Stilwell asked.
    “You never asked me to describe my attackers. You didn’t even ask what color they were.”
    “We can get all of that on our next visit. The doctor told us you need your rest.”
    “You want to make an appointment for the next visit?”
    Neither detective answered. They wouldn’t be coming back.
    “I didn’t think so,” I said. “Goodbye, Detectives. I’m glad the Crimes Against Persons Unit is on this. Makes me feel safe.”
    “Look,” Stilwell said. “Likely this was a random thing. Two muggers looking for an easy mark. The chances of us—”
    “They knew who I was.”
    “You said they recognized you from the TV and the newspapers.”
    “I didn’t say that. I said they recognized me and made it appear as though it was from TV or something. If you really cared about this you would’ve made that distinction.”
    “Are you accusing us of not caring about a random act of violence in this community?”
    “Pretty much, yeah. And who says it was random?”
    “You said you didn’t know or recognize the assailants. So unless you are changing your mind about that, there is no evidence that this was anything other than a random act. Or at best a lawyer hate crime. They recognized you and didn’t like that you defend murderers and scumbags and decided to relieve their frustrations on your body. Could’ve been a lot of things.”
    My entire body throbbed with pain ignited by their indifference. But I was also tired and wanted them gone.
    “Never mind, Detectives,” I said. “Go on back to Crimes Against Persons and fill out your paperwork. You can forget about this one. I’ll take it from here.”
    I closed my eyes on them then. It was the only thing I could do.
    *   *   *
    The next time