Fuckin’ A it hurt! Hurt like a bitch and Lieutenant Detective Bud White yelped on the examining table while the female doctor probed her finger against the gunshot wound. Women doctors? What the hell had the world come to? Not that Bud spent a mess of time in emergency rooms, but it was the first time he’d come across such a thing. Weren’t women supposed to be nurturing? Gentle?

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ! It’s a goddamn bullet! Get it out and quit pokin’ at it, dammit!”

“Mr. White, we’ll need X-rays to be sure where it is.”

“It’s in my fuckin’ shoulder! Ow!”

“Yes, but how deep is the question,” she turned to speak to the nurse who was acting far more like Bud expected women to act, looking at him with sad doe-like eyes and gently holding his good hand. “Send him up for X-rays then prepare him for surgery,” and Doctor Bitch walked out.

“Surgery for what? It’s just a fucking bullet?”

The nurse fussed over him and his Captain walked in. “What the fuck are you doin’ here?”

Exley grinned and stood back to avoid watching as the nurse inserted the needle for intravenous. He swallowed hard. He hated this part of the job, checking in on his wounded men. Especially checking in on White. Last time White ended up in medical care, Ed got the black eye. The bastard was tough and he was hoping they had the right dosage of whatever they needed to really knock the man out. 

They’d come a long way, him and White. Except for that brief time Bud was in Arizona recovering back in ’54 with Lynn, the two men seemed always locked together … whether it was a case or a division issue, a social gathering or disagreement. Those were the times locked together in battle. White didn’t fuck around. Justice was his thing. Took him years to discover he wasn’t the only fucker in the LAPD who felt that way.

It had been a precarious friendship but a friendship all the same and Exley knew that if it was him lying on that examining table, White would be there, probably just as squeamish, but still there at his side. Finally the nurse left, alerting Ed that he had fifteen minutes before they’d be taking the patient upstairs. Bud bristled and grunted, tried to sit up and Ed knew better than to even try to restrain the man. Didn’t matter anyway. They must have notes on how much sedative to pump into the brute’s veins to calm him down. “What the fuck,” Bud hissed. “Why can’t they just dig the bullet out and let me outta this damn place?”

“Bud, it’s not just the shoulder they’re worried about.”

White blinked, he’d been so irritated he’d forgotten about the shot near his spine, the one that didn’t even tingle, much less hurt since the moment he dropped to the ground. The one that someone in the ambulance said could leave him in a wheelchair. Nope, he wasn’t thinking about that because it wasn’t gonna happen. Period.

“So, they gonna do surgery to get them both out? Fine. When can I get outta here?”

“Soon as they say you can. Just shut your trap and do what they say. I’m waiting outside ‘til it’s done, Bud.” Ed didn’t make eye contact; he simply turned and walked out.

And Bud White drew in a deep breath. No one was ever gonna know how grateful he was that Exley would be waiting … ‘cause no one could ever know how fuckin’ scared Bud White actually felt.

w

The case that put Bud on the operating table was hideous; a well known Hollywood director, dead of a gunshot wound to the head. White and two of his best detectives had been working it for months. It was clearly drug related, the director supplying his contract actors with H for years. Ugly as it was, it didn’t really get bad until two detectives, remnants of Dudley Smith’s old regime, were found murdered in Redondo Beach, gouged with knives and pumped full of heroin. The case became an even higher priority and Exley got in on the act.

Even though it was common knowledge within the bureau that White and Exley mixed like oil and water, every morning Bud could be found sitting in the captain’s office, going over leads and discussing tactics. White had an instinct Ed admired, skill he needed and if Bud’s men weren’t afraid of him, they were damn smart enough to listen to him. White was as good as a Lieutenant Detective got.

Ed sat alone in the waiting room for hours as the night crawled past. When or how he and Bud became friends was still a conundrum to him, but a lucky one. He had the best leader for his homicide division, and White had a confidant who could handle his blazing sarcasm and easily heated blood. Oil and water don’t mix, but when they’re put together with a common goal, they sure as hell can ease the path to success. It wasn’t always that way.

When Bud first returned from Bisbee, leaving Lynn behind for reasons he never disclosed to Exley, the man had begun to take on the habits of his former, very dead partner. Like Stensland, White had sought his comfort in a bottle. Soon after Bud’s reinstatement, Ed was promoted and he took the bull by the horns, not an easy task since White carried a near hundred pounds on him. Late on a Friday night and in response to an unofficial report from a uniformed officer, Ed found Bud slumped over in the alley outside a Hollywood bar. He promptly dragged the monster to a nearby motel and cuffed him to the bed.

For three days White ‘motherfucked’ Exley, kicked and shouted but when it was over; the man was fairly clean and sober. Something snapped inside Bud White during that time, something that had kept him reeling for most of his life, anchored to his anger and frustration and acting out like a mindless thug. And even though to that day Bud would swear he had his drinking under control and could have a fucking Scotch any time he damn well felt like it, Ed would bet his bottom dollar that Bud hadn’t touched a drop.

Ed groaned, rubbed his eyes and glanced out the window. The hospital parking lot was filling and the sun was fighting its way through the steamy summer morning haze. He looked at his watch. Six-fifteen. He grunted to his feet and headed for the payphone.

“Hey darling.”

“Well?” Marlene Exley was one of the few respectable women married to men on the force who actually liked Bud White. Why she had such a soft spot for the brute was beyond Ed’s comprehension, but it did make things easier when he had ‘White issues’ to deal with. “How is he, Ed?”

“No news.”

“Oh dear God! He’s still in surgery? It’s been almost eight hours!”

“I know, I know. Baby, I’m not so sure this looks too good.”

“Ed, I’m going to church. I want to pray for him.”

“Yeah. Pray for me too. I gotta go, gotta call the office. Marlene, honey, I have no idea when I’ll be home.”

“Don’t worry about us, we’re fine. I’ll have someone bring you a change of clothes. Just don’t let him wake up alone, please. I’m sure he’s scared to death. Do you think … do you think …”

“I don’t know. We won’t know anything until they finish. But if he walks again, I swear it’ll be a miracle. Go pray for a miracle, sweetheart … and kiss Betsy for me, okay?”

Another three hours slowly dragged and finally a surgeon stepped into the waiting room. “Mr. Exley?”

“Yeah,” he almost leapt to his feet.

“Mr. White is out of surgery.”

“And?” Damn, he hated doctors, so fucking cryptic when it would be a hell of a lot easier on everyone if they’d just come out and say what they have to say.

“And … we don’t know. The bullet was dangerously close to the spinal cord, there’s a lot of inflammation and we simply can’t know just yet if there is or isn’t permanent damage. But Mr. White is alive, and for a few moments it was touch and go in there.”

Bud had lost a lot of blood, so much that even the nurses were shocked he was conscious, much less so agitated and abrasive when they got him from the ambulance. White’s adrenalin was legendary, was there a chance it was a good sign in this case?

“When can I see him?”

The surgeon rubbed his eyes, obviously finished with his part in it all. “He’ll be in recovery ‘til he wakes. Could be hours, could be a few days. Go home or go wait up on the sixth floor if you want.”

No goodbye, no nothing. The doctor just left.

“Motherfucker,” Ed hissed under his breath, realizing White was rubbing off on him more than he thought.

w

The vigil continued, two hours, five hours, six. And Ed found himself pacing, eating in the hospital cafeteria or dozing upright in his chair. He thought about Bud a lot, about how the man lived his life, about why he was the way he was. Over the past four years, it was beginning to look more and more like White was destined to live his life as a bachelor … and not one of those happy Hollywood, Rock Hudson, Doris Day farce sort of bachelors, rather something kinda sad.

Maybe it was because Ed was happy and married that he wished White could find the right woman and settle down. Maybe it was Marlene’s influence, always wanting to fix Bud up with a nice girl. Marlene, who was off at church praying for Bud. Hell, knowing his wife, she’d probably already contacted her sister, long distance in Ohio. Her sister the nun … Sister Mary Thomas Aquinas. Ed felt a grin tug at his tired face. Now there would be a good match, Sister Mary Thomas Aquinas, A.K. A. Barbara Cochran, his sister-in-law. Barb had spunk, the kind it would take to catch and hold White’s attention. Ah well, not ever gonna happen. God was playing that hand.

Of course, Bud was quiet about his private life, what there was of it. He practically lived at the station; if not there, doing stake-outs and investigating on the streets. Being so private though, for all Ed knew maybe he did have a woman, some nice girl he was keeping secret from everyone else. Ed thought about that poor woman, about how she was probably somewhere pacing all alone and worrying. But … if there was a woman, why wasn’t she at the hospital too? Nah, there was no nice girl worrying over Bud. Ed knew that White occasionally saw a prostitute, one of the girls who worked a corner of Pico in West LA. Maybe that satisfied White’s need, if not his heart. Ed shrugged, slouched deeper in the chair. It was White’s problem, not his.

“Mr. Exley?”

Ed jumped, having again dosed in the uncomfortable chair. A nurse had gently touched his wrist but he was reacting with the adrenalin of a WWII vet. He gasped and looked at his watch. He’d been waiting over eight hours since the surgery ended. “Yeah, yeah,” he cleared his throat and turned concerned eyes to her sweet smile.

“You can see Mr. White now. Follow me.”

The patient was obviously down for the count, lying on his side, propped by several pillows and white as a ghost. Ed pulled the chair close and sat quietly. The nurse smiled and checked the chart.

“Bud? Bud, you awake?”

One eye opened and Ed got a patented Bud White scowl. “What the fuck time is it?” his raspy voice growled.

“Should be asking what day it is. How you feeling?”

Now both eyes were opened, glaring but sort of blank. “Can’t fee a fuckin’ thing.”

“Morphine,” the nurse said softly then left.

Ed eyed the man carefully. Nothing, not even Bud’s brows moved and he felt his gut tighten. Morphine or not, shouldn’t Bud be feeling something? He cleared his throat. “Gonna take some time.”

“Go home. You look like shit.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just wanted to wait ‘til you woke up. I’ll be back later.” Another glance at his watch, he’d been there at the hospital now for over twenty hours. “Well, maybe tomorrow.”

“Fine. I’m goin’ back to sleep.”

And Ed watched the blue-green eyes drift closed, Bud’s breathing became deep and even. Was that a good sign?

Stepping out into the hall he nearly slammed right into the surgeon. “Mr. Exley,” the doctor said.

“What’s the scoop? He gonna be okay?”

A powerful compassion that wasn’t there right after the surgery crept across the surgeon’s face. “Mr. Exley, it’s hard to tell just yet. There’s still a lot of swelling and inflammation around the nerves in the spinal cord. We need to just wait.”

This time it was Ed who walked off without a word of farewell or thanks. His entire body shook. He got behind the wheel of his car and dropped his head back. He knew Bud White, knew him like the back of his hand. The doctor’s kind, pitying attitude had really driven things home. There was a real possibility Bud would never walk again. A real … real fucking possibility. If Bud couldn’t work …

He couldn’t think about that shit right now. He needed to get home, needed Marlene’s comfort, needed some sleep. Then maybe, just maybe he could think those possibilities through clearly. Right now, he wanted to kill someone, the whole thing pissed him off so bad.

“Daddy!” squealed Betsy as she charged him before he even got inside the door. “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! I missed you so much!”

He lifted her with a groan and kissed her cheek. Betsy was all of four years old going on forty. She could wrap him around her finger or manipulate any promise out of him she wanted and Ed suspected it would be that way all his life. He didn’t mind, except that at that moment, he didn’t revel much in all her rambunctious energy. He set her to her feet and she bounced like a dancer at his side.

Marlene came close and folded him into her arms. “What did they say?”

Ed shrugged. “Don’t know yet. He was awake for a minute or two. Maybe we get some answers tomorrow.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No, tired.”

“Daddy! Daddy! I want a hug too!”

He lowered and squeezed Betsy to his chest but released her to stand and push hair from his face.

“Sweetie, daddy is very tired. Why don’t you go and play?” Marlene smoothly suggested.

“Okay. Daddy? Do you wanna play tea party with me?”

“Sure,” he sighed and watched her drag out her boxes of little cups and saucers. He shot a begging glance Marlene’s way.

“Know what Betsy?” Marlene said with excitement. “Let’s let daddy sleep, and while he’s sleeping, we can bake him a cake to go with your tea party. Would you like that?”

“Yes! Yes! Daddy go to bed! Hurry!”

Marlene followed Ed and watched him strip and drop to the mattress, but he didn’t lie down, he sat, his back propped against the headboard as he fought a yawn.

“Everything okay at the station?” Marlene asked, folding the dropped slacks and hanging his jacket. He reached for her hand and tugged her to sit at his side.

“We gotta talk, baby.”

“You’re afraid for Bud. I know. So am I.”

“Ah … listen … I made arrangements, took my vacation now.” He watched her face carefully.

“Oh … right. That makes sense.”

“I’m sorry, honey. I know how much you wanted to go; I was looking forward to it too. But the facts are, the man’s gonna need some … assistance, ya know. Whatever comes out of this, he’ll need help. I just figured the timing isn’t right for us to take off for a few weeks next month … and,” he shrugged, placed his hand on her flat belly with a sigh.

“It’s alright, Ed. I understand. I was sort of thinking the same thing. When they let him out of the hospital, he’ll need a place to stay, he can’t stay alone in that walk up apartment, he can’t stay alone anywhere at first … no matter what the prognosis turns out to be. Right? He’ll stay here.”

Ed snorted. “Bud’s gonna have something to say about that, honey.”

“So, he can say his piece then I’ll say my piece and I’ll win.” She blinked back a threatening tear. “Is that alright with you?”

“Sure. We might kill each other and I might end up the cripple, but hey, it’s the Christian thing to do.”

She smiled and kissed his lips softly. “You know I love you, Ed Exley.”

“Yeah, how much?” Foolish question, four in the afternoon and an active kid fussing in the kitchen.

“Mommy!”

Ed chuckled.

w

Nine AM, dressed in slacks, shirt sleeves and sporting no tie, Ed walked into the hospital. He wasn’t sure he was any more ready than White for what they might learn about his condition that day, but he was determined to stay tough for it all. 

Bud had been raised into a pseudo sitting position, still leaning on his left side and glaring at a plate of food.

“These fuckin’ eggs are green,” hissed White and Ed grinned. The man’s hand was holding a fork and pushing around the mess on his plate, his head was held erect without the odd neck brace they had him locked into a day earlier. Good, good. This could be good.

“Eat ‘em anyway.”

“Fuck no, I think they’re tryin’ to kill me with this shit,” Bud pushed away the tray. It rolled past Ed and he caught it before it hit the wall. “Hey Cap,” Bud whispered. “Why don’tcha go across the street and get me a donut?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Ed’s eyes slid to the groaning man in the next bed then to Bud.

“The guy had brain surgery. Been makin’ noises like that all night.”

Ed glanced over, gave a wave but shuddered at the blank expression on the drooling man’s face.

“Get me a glazed donut; get me two, maybe three.”

But before Ed could respond, the doctor and two burley orderlies walked in. “Good morning, Mr. Exley. Maybe you can head out for a few minutes, get yourself some coffee.”

“No. I’m stickin’ around,” and he offered such a scowl, even the orderlies didn’t contradict him. He stepped back to watch.

“How are you feeling this morning, Mr. White,” the doctor slid the screen between the two beds and lifted Bud’s chart. “Any pain?”

“Hell yeah.”

“The shoulder?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“Can you feel the wound at your back?”

Bud drew in a deep breath. “Like a fuckin’ spike.”

“Good,” the doctor grinned and Bud rolled his eyes. The orderlies slowly lowered the bed as Bud grunted. They carefully removed the pillows and rocked the patient to lay flat on his damaged back, drawing a shout and hissing growl. Ed swallowed hard.

“Just breathe through it, Mr. White. Relax your muscles.” Finally Bud calmed and the doctor tugged at the sheets near his feet, exposing them and watching closely. “Now, can you move your right foot?”

“’Course I can,” and the toes moved.

“And the left foot?”

Bud concentrated. “It’s fuckin’ numb.”

Ed held his breath and watched the doctor who simply grinned.

“Quite possible, Mr. White. You’ve been lying on this side for two days now. Try again.”

Bud glanced to Ed but Ed was looking at the doctor. Again he tried, relaxing as much as possible and the doctor actually chuckled. Pulling a pen from his pocket, he dragged it from Bud’s right heel to his toes and the foot instinctively curled. Ed shifted, moving to the bottom of the bed to see what he wasn’t seeing. As the pen slid along the bottom of Bud’s left foot … it miraculously did the same thing.

The doctor covered the feet and lifted the chart. “This is very good, Mr. White.”

“Yeah? So when can I get outta here?”

“We’ll let you rest today, then see how you are at taking a walk down the hall tomorrow. If that goes well, I can release you by Thursday.”

“It’ll go just fine, doc. Get your paperwork ready cause I may just take a walk down the hall and right out of this place.” He shot a glare at Ed. “I ain’t spending six more days in here.”

Ed shook the doctor’s hand and reveled in the look of confidence on the man’s face.

“You gettin’ me some donuts or what?”

“Yeah. But listen, when they release you, you’re coming home with me.”

Bud glared.

“Don’t give me that look. I make it a practice never to fight with my wife. You’ll be staying with us ‘til you’re on your feet and that’s that. Was that three or four glazed donuts?”

“Five.” And Bud waited until Exley was out of the room before saying quietly, “Thanks, Cap.”

w

The walking went well. It wasn’t pretty and it hurt like hell, but Bud was determined. All he wanted was to get to the fucking gym and work until his strength returned. But of course, his body had other ideas. He wasn’t released on Thursday or even Friday. It was Saturday afternoon before he was finally at the Exley bungalow in Beverly Hills and tucked tight into a bed. The mere activity of going from one place to the other had knocked the shit outta him and Bud was sound asleep in a heartbeat. Until …

He could feel her close, maybe he smelled the rug rat or maybe he just had that second sense that told him someone was staring at him. He opened one eye and little Betsy Exley immediately screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Mommy! Daddy! He’s awake! He’s awake! Uncle Bud is awake!” and she scooted out of the room.

Bud moaned and grunted to sit at the edge of the mattress. What kinda parents would let their kid call him ‘uncle’? There just wasn’t something right about the Exleys. He pulled on a robe, determined to look pitiful enough to get one of Marlene’s wonderful home cooked meals and slowly walked off to find everyone.

In the living room, Marlene stood to greet him real nice with a kiss on his cheek. “Come on, Betsy. Let’s get dinner ready for our guest.”

“I’m making you cookies!” said the happy child.

“Goody,” Bud grumped and lowered to a big chair.

Marlene took her daughter’s hand. “Let’s leave daddy and Uncle Bud alone … to talk.”

“Talk about what?” Bud said, watching Exley squirm on the sofa.

“Listen, White. It’s gonna be some time before you can get back to work.”

“Fuck, I can go back next week.”

“No, you can’t. Doctors are saying no desk duty for a month, no active duty for three months.”

“So, we don’t say anything. It’s no big fuckin’ deal, I’ll be sitting at a goddamn desk.”

“Yeah, and walking three flights of stairs. Like that’s easy for you right now?”

“Fuck,” Bud hissed, thinking it through and adjusting the sling on his right arm. “I ain’t stayin’ here that long.”

“Shit, I hope not. But I got another idea. See, me and Marlene were supposed to go on a trip and we can’t make it. I was thinking you could take it instead.”

“What trip? To Havana? Wasn’t that supposed to be some kinda fuckin’ second honeymoon or something? I ain’t goin’ on your second honeymoon, Exley.”

“We can’t go.”

“Why?” Bud glared.

Exley leaned elbows on knees. “Listen, just go. Gamble, have some fun, meet some women. Relax and get stronger.”

“I wanna gamble, I’ll go to Vegas. I want a woman, I’ll –”

“Hit Pico in West LA? Listen, White. We can’t take the trip, you’ll be doin’ me a favor here.”

“Why can’t you go?” Bud’s mind clacked and he narrowed his eyes. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me you wasted your vacation babysitting me.”

“Ah … no. Bud …” Exley lowered his voice. “Marlene’s pregnant.”

Bud glanced toward the kitchen and shrugged. “So. It’s early. She ain’t showin’ or nothing.”

“That’s not the point. We thought we could do it, but then I got to thinking. Shit … she had so much trouble with Betsy. Fuck … I just don’t want to risk it, ya know?”

Bud was silent. He didn’t wanna go to Havana. He wanted to go to work.

“You’ll be doing me a big favor, White. I’ll get you back rested and recuperated … and it’ll make Marlene happy to know someone’s enjoying the vacation.”

“Dinner!” came the call from the kitchen and Bud groaned to stand.

Ed reached out, more than surprised that White would let him help when he gripped the man’s upper arm.

“What’s for dinner?” Bud sniffed.

“Some chicken something … and oatmeal cookies.”

“When can I go to my own place?” Bud glared over at Ed; he released his grip and grinned.

“After my wife fattens you up.”

Bud gave a tilt of his head and nodded. Coping with the noisy kid was tough, but Marlene Exley’s cooking made up for it. In the kitchen, she was standing, watching them with hope in her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” grumped Bud with a slight smile. “I’m goin’ to Cuba.”

She hugged him close and whispered. “Thank you.”