Hells Kitchen Read Free Page A

clicked, looking over the imposing bandages.
    “Naw, you’re a cover girl, all things considered.”
    “You’re a mess too, John. I’m so glad you got out. My last thought as I was falling toward the alley was: ‘no, John’s going to die too!’ What a thought that was.”
    “I took the easy way down. The stairs.”
    “What the hell happened?” she muttered.
    “I don’t know. One minute nothing, the next the whole place was gone. Like a matchbox.”
    “I was shopping. I was on my way to my apartment—”
    “I heard you. You must have gotten back just before I got there. I didn’t see you on the street.”
    She continued, “I never saw fire move like that. Was like Aurora’s. That club I told you ’bout? On Forty-ninth Street. Where I sang a time or two. Burned down in forty-seven. March thirteenth. Buncha people died. You remember me telling you that story?”
    Pellam didn’t remember. He supposed the account could be found somewhere in the hours and hours of tapes of Ettie Washington back in his apartment.
    She blew her nose and coughed for a moment. “That smoke. That’s the worst. Did everybody get out?”
    “Nobody was killed,” Pellam answered. “Juan Torres’s in critical condition. He’s upstairs in the kids’ ICU.”
    Ettie’s face went still. Pellam had seen this expression on her face only once before—when she’d talked about her youngest son, who’d been killed in Times Square years before. “Juan?” she whispered. She didn’t speak for a moment. “I thought he was at his grandma’s for a few days. In the Bronx. He was home ?”
    She looked heartsick and Pellam was at a loss to comfort her. Ettie’s eyes returned to the blanket she’d been picking at. An ashen tone flooded her face. “How ’bout I sign that cast?” Pellam asked.
    “Why, of course.”
    Pellam took out a marking pen. “Anywhere? How ’bout here?” He signed with a round scrawl.
    In the busy hall outside a placid electronic bell rang four times.
    “I was thinking,” Pellam said, “you want me to call your daughter?”
    “No,” the old woman responded. “I talked to her already. Called her this morning when I was awake. She was worried sick but I said I’m not in the great by-and-by yet. She oughta wait ’bout coming and let’s see what happens with those tests. If they’re gonna cut I’d rather her come then. Maybe hook her up with one of those handsome doctors. Like on ER. ’Lisbeth’d like a rich doctor. She has that side to her. Like I was telling you.”
    A knock sounded on the half-open door. Four men in business suits walked into the room. They were large, somber men and their presence suddenly made the hospital room, even with the other three empty beds, seem very small.
    Pellam glanced at them, knew they were cops. So, arson was suspected. That would explain the speed of the fire.
    Ettie nodded uneasily at the men.
    “Mrs. Washington?” the oldest of the men asked. He was in his mid-forties. Thin shoulders and a belly that could use a little shrinking. He wore jeans and a windbreaker and Pellam noticed a very large revolver on his hip.
    “I’m Fire Marshal Lomax. This is my assistant—” He nodded at a huge young man, a bodybuilder. “And these are detectives with the New York City Police Department.”
    One of the cops turned to Pellam and asked him to leave.
    “No, no,” Ettie protested, “he’s my friend. It’s okay.”
    The officer looked at Pellam, the glance repeating the request.
    “It’s okay,” Pellam said to Ettie. “They’ll want to talk to me too. I’ll come back when they’re through.”
    “You’re a friend’a hers?” Lomax asked. “Yeah, we’ll want to talk to you. But you aren’t coming back in here. Give your name and address to the officer there and take off.”
    “I’m sorry?” Pellam smiled, confused.
    “Name and address to him,” Lomax nodded to the assistant. Then he snapped, “Then get the hell out.”
    “I don’t think