Below is an excerpt from Lou Aguilar’s new novel, The Washington Trail, available for purchase by clicking here. Lou will be presenting his book at the Coconut Grove branch of Books & Books at 6:30 on Thursday, October 24.
Emergency Room staffers at Howard University Hospital called it “the calm before the storm”. This was early Saturday evening, when the soon-to-be injured from shootings, beatings, and other weekend rituals were still healthy. Only five people now sat in the ER waiting area, a bright room with yellow polyester chairs, an analog wall clock indicating eight till six, and the registration-security desk. They were the burly guard at the desk, an academic with a towel around his hand, his wife and toddler, a busty mulatta policewoman in her late twenties, nametagged R. Valdez, and two seats to her right, Mark Slade.
Slade was trying to read the Washington Post capsule story on “the Capitol Hill Sniper”, but Officer Valdez’s sad expression kept distracting him, more than it would have on a less attractive face. She’d silently driven him and Amy to the hospital, where Amy’s facial bruise was being treated by an old GU friend of his. The next destination would be police headquarters – their joint appearance guaranteed by Officer Valdez. Slade addressed her.
“Hey, if you wanna grab a cup of coffee, I won’t run away.”
Officer Valdez brightened slightly. “You promise?”
“Scout’s honor.”
“You were a Boy Scout?”
“Eagle Scout, baby. Brussels Troop.”
“I hear they’re letting girls in now.”
“Someone’s gotta bake the cookies,” Slade said.
Officer Valdez almost smiled.
“How do you feel about lady cops?” she asked.
“I think they’re vital for Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion.”
“Really?”
“No, but you’re wearing a gun,” said Slade.
Officer Valdez did smile for a few seconds, then her face darkened again.
“So were Behling and Garcetti,” she said. “For all the good it did ‘em.”
“The two cops that got shot today.”
The policewoman nodded sadly.
“I dated Behling. It didn’t work out, but we stayed friends.”
“I’m sorry, Offi – what’s your first name?”
“Raquel. I think I will get that coffee. You want one?”
“No thanks, Raquel.”
Officer Valdez stood up and walked to the desk guard, who let her pass. Slade plugged his earbuds jack into his cellphone. If You Leave by OMD came on. He leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. He heard the lyric that haunted him: Seven years went under the bridge like time was standing still ….
“What was it, Mark?” said a breathy feminine voice. “More of your macho bullshit?”
“Hello, Nina,” Slade said opening his eyes.
Nina Holt stood before him looking just as she did on television – green cat eyes, shoulder-length brown hair, and a cute patrician nose that rejected whoever her rosy lips and curvaceous body – in light blue ski coat and jeans – attracted. Not a classic beauty like Amy, only she had pierced his chest like a Comanche arrow. Once upon a time in the West, he had penetrated her just as deeply.
“If I’d known you’d visit me in the hospital, I’d’ve checked in long ago,” said Slade.
“I always said brain surgery would make you more attractive.”
“Sure, ‘cause then I’d start agreeing with your views.”
Nina’s mouth formed into something between a smile and a smirk.
“I heard you came back in one piece,” she said. “When was that?”
“Almost a year ago.”
“I’m glad, Mark. I was worried about you for the last six, ever since we stopped talking.”
“No need for it. Your kiss-off gave me an edge against Taliban killers.”
Nina grimaced then suppressed it.
“So, how’re you doing?” she asked.
“Great.”
“I’ve seen you look better,” said Nina, indicating Slade’s left eye.
“You should see the other guy.”
“I did. He’s dead. So are two cops and a young man – Greg Bradford. Before he was a sniper, he was an L-A to Senator Owen.”
“And you’re here to get the full story.”
“Lieutenant Wallace said you’re part of it – and where I could find you. It’s my job.”
“And you’re great at it,” said Slade. “Detached, impartial, everything a good reporter should be.”
Nina sighed. “Look, Mark. I didn’t want to come here. It’s painful for me too. But you and Cork were involved in four shooting deaths, one of them an aide to an important Senator.”
“Who your commie network hates.”
“I’ll admit bringing down Owen would bump me up at work. But Neil said he won’t comment unless you do. God, I hate male bonding.”
“Stop trying to join the club.”
Nina winced. “Just tell me what you know, and I’ll get out of your life.
“You want a story? All right. There was a girl. She was sweet, smart, and feminine. She loved this guy, and he her. They planned to get married after his first tour of duty – and start a family. While he was in harm’s way, she went to Columbia J School. Hooked up with a real fast crowd there. They were going to change the world – a racist, sexist world run by men and ruined by babies. She got into the right racket to do it. All she had to do to was dump the toxic male cramping her style. That she did – and on video – like the pro news chick she became. I still got it somewhere. You can tell a star was born.”
Nina scowled, then with apparent effort softened.
“I did love you, Mark,” she said softly. “You were everything I wanted in a boy.”
“But not in a man.”
“That made it more complicated.”
“Tell me, Nina, how have you been? Who are you with? Seen any good movies lately?”
Nina’s eyes flashed. “None of your goddamn business.”
“That’s good, baby. Keep playing the tough bitch. Some of your viewers may buy the act. The ones that don’t wanna boink you.”
Nina’s lower lip quivered. She spun around and marched to the exit. Her stormy eyes remained with Slade like the grin on the Cheshire Cat. So did the knot in his stomach.
Amy Gallup stepped out of the inner door pressing an icepack to her right cheek, alongside young black doctor Ben Hooks. Slade and he had tried out for the Georgetown basketball team and come up short, literally in Slade’s case. Slade joined him and Amy.
“Her face should be back to its supermodel caliber in a couple days,” Hooks said. “I gave her a prescription for the … You okay, man? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
“I did,” said Slade. “Nina Holt.”
“Ouch,” said Hooks. “’Fraid I don’t have a prescription for that pain.”
