On the streets of... #8

It was barely lunchtime and we already solved our first case. Hell, I already solved my first case, Rourke had me do all the work.

But the day wasn't over. After a quick lunch and a coffee from the coffee house across the road (boy, was it terrible…) we were back in the car.

'Where to?' I asked.

'St. James Memorial,' Rourke answered. 'We gotta interview someone. Guy got robbed and beaten up by someone he thinks was a vampire.'

'Why does he think it was a vampire?'

'Read the file,' Rourke said.

So I did. The victim, Mr Umberto DeCotis had suffered from a serious assault: four broken ribs, concussion, two missing teeth, three broken toes, one broken finger, some internal bleeding, a dislocated shoulder and a broken nose. Ouch. Even though medical sorcerers can heal a broken bone in hours, those must have hurt. Not to mention the dislocated shoulder: there was no spell for that, the best you could do was to pop it back in. I had it once, and let me tell you, it's not fun.

Anyway, Mr DeCotis was sure that his attacker was a vampire, because, for once, no human being could beat him up that badly, and even so, "sure as hell not a girl". His words. Plus he claims he saw the girl jump up to the roof of a moving bus.

'Can a vampire even do something like that?' I asked Rourke. 'I mean, Mr DeCotis had a concussion, after all. He might not be the most reliable witness.'

'They sure can,' nodded Rourke. ‘But victims tend to exaggerate. Best we can do is to talk to Mr DeCobra.'

'DeCotis,' I corrected.

'Whatever. So we can see just how reliable he is. Pop quiz, kid: if he is the most trustworthy witness you have ever seen, what would be your next move?'

'Man, I solved a case before lunch, do you really want to continue testing me?' I snapped. Rourke glanced at me.

Now, how fast were we going? I mean, if I were to jump out, how badly would it hurt? Or better question yet, would it be worse than whatever Rourke was going to do to me?

He took a deep breath and rubbed his nose.

'As you have already pointed out earlier today, kid, my job is to teach you. To hell with all the crime-solving and murderer-catching, I am here to teach you. Right? Right. So when I ask you a question, you will answer, and when you get fed up with my questions, you will remind yourself that you asked for it. Because if I have to remind you one more time, so help me God, I'm gonna shoot you like a dog.'

'We don't have guns, sir,' I said because I was an idiot.

Question for the medical experts: can you actually see a vein popping on someone's forehead? Asking for a friend. Anyway, after a short silence (in which I assume Rourke counted to ten) he said, very, very slowly:

'Answer the question.'

'If Mr DeCotis is telling the truth, and actually even if he doesn't, I would go out to the scene and check if there were CCTV cameras around. I would also do a quick Internet search because things like a girl beating up a big man often end up on YouTube. Also, I'd check what kinda buses ran there at the time of the robbery, maybe the driver or passengers saw something. Plus of course, we need to send a sketch artist to the hospital so Mr DeCotis could give him a description and we can see our perp.'

I might be an idiot sometimes, but I'm also one hell of a detective. Or so I thought.

'You see, that's your problem, kid. Not just yours, but all of the new kids who want to play detective. You know the textbook inside out, I give you that, but you don't use your brains.'

'What do you mean?' I asked, trying to figure out what I missed.

'I will tell you when we got there.'

And the bastard didn't say anything else indeed.

The hospital was actually the one where Laila was stationed, so at least I got to say hi to her if she was in. Turned out, she was, talking to the nurses at the reception when we arrived.

'How is your first day going?' she asked.

The room was where they welcomed the outpatients, a bigger room with a neat view of the parking lot. A lot of sick people sat around and I wish I had a mask or at least a bandana to cover my face with it. I always got nervous around sick people. That's because I didn't become a doctor, actually. That and the fact that I sucked at biology and chemistry big time.

'Well, my new partner is a first-class asshole, but apart from that, I'm having the time of my life,' I said.

'You know I can hear you, kid, right? I am standing right beside you,' said Rourke. 'Detective Gregory Rourke, by the way,' he smiled at Laila. I didn't think his face could do that. 'And you are…?

Laila looked all over Rourke, up and down, giving herself enough time to check out the broad shoulders, muscular arms, the slightly receding but still great hair, the intense grey eyes… Okay, do I have a crush on the guy or what?

'So not interested, grandpa,' nobody could give the attitude like Laila could. She was a pro, nay, a world champion. I grinned.

'Uncalled for,' Rourke groaned. 'I'm only 44. But have it your way,' Rourke shrugged and turned to the nurse behind the counter. 'Could you please tell us where can we find Mr Umbrella…'

'Umberto…'

'Shut up! Umberto DeCotis?'

The nurse looked him up.

'Second floor, room 217.'

Rourke groaned as thanks and started for the stairs.

'Pete, can you pick up dinner on your way home?' asked Laila.

'Nah, I'm only gonna pop in to change, I got a date tonight,' I said.

'Do tell,' Laila leaned towards me, but Rourke grabbed my arm.

'He is about to sell his soul for the she-devil, but we got things to do, sweetheart. So If you will excuse us…'

'Call me sweetheart one more time, grandpa, and see what happens,' Laila said with a sweet smile. I knew and grew to fear that smile.

'Fair enough,' nodded Rourke. 'Same goes for grandpa, though.'

'Deal,' Laila said.

And off we went, aiming for the staircase.

'So what, is she your sister?' asked Rourke.

'She is black, man,' I pointed out.

'And? We are detectives. We shouldn't assume.'

I sighed.

'She is my roommate. One of my roommates, more precisely. And she is taken.'

'Yeah, she made that very clear,' murmured Rourke. 'Do I look old?'

'You’re over forty and doing one of the world's most stressful jobs, for like twenty years now. Do you really want me to answer that?'

'I… Shut up.'

Weirdly, I did shut up.

Mr DeCotis was in a much better shape than you'd expect, but magic literally can work miracles. He was in his thirties and was only slightly bigger than the wardrobe I kept my clothes in. Even Rourke looked skinny next to him. Whoever sent him to the hospital, was indeed either a vampire or a martial artist with a black belt.

We introduced ourselves. The room was very small with two beds, but the other one was empty. There was a TV mounted on the wall, but DeCotis was on his phone.

'I will give you a chance to guess what doesn't add up here, kid,' my partner said.

DeCotis looked at me puzzled, and I looked at Rourke the same way. Then I looked back at the victim.

‘He has his phone,’ I said slowly.

'And a fairly battered one at that judging by the scratches on the screen. That smartwatch on your wrist surely comes in handy checking his heartbeat during cardio, right?’

‘I don’t do cardio. I lift,’ DeCotis said, frowning. He still didn’t understand what was going on.

‘Of course, you do,’ Rourke nodded. ‘Now, kid, if a victim claims he was robbed, first you check if he was actually robbed, or just got beaten up because he picked the wrong woman to mess with.'

Umberto looked at me, then looked at Rourke, then me again. Then he sighed exasperatedly.

'Shit. Okay, fine she didn't rob me, I grabbed her ass when I thought nobody can see, happy now? It was just a joke but she lost her cool. Seriously, man, sometimes I just don't get bitches…'

‘Yeah, women are enigmas,’ said Rourke sarcastically. ‘So, the way I see it, you have two options here. You can push it and waste our time, but then if I find the girl I will advise her to press charges for sexual harassment. Or you can drop the case and learn how to behave because next time you might not be this lucky…’