 Mercer and Fiona had met eight months earlier on a Sunday night at Good Shepherd Hospital, a high-rise medical center that crowns a steep hill just west of the freeway. Fresh out of the police academy, Mercer was working swing shift security for the hospital while he looked for a job with the local agency. That night, he was posted outside the emergency room and as a cat's claw moon rose over San Bruno Mountain, his drifting thoughts were interrupted by a black pickup truck with head-high tires squealing into the hospital driveway. The truck jolted to a stump just in front of him. A round-faced woman in the passenger seat opened the door and dropped herself to the ground. The driver got out, white male, late 30s, six foot six or seven, at least a half foot tall of the Mercer. With a thick, sandy brown mullet that dangled past his shoulder blades and a patch of beer that failed to hide puckery acne scars, he was wearing a faded black t-shirt with tuxedo silk screentime, bow tie, ruffles, pipe lapels. His walk had an angry man's purpose and a drunk man's wobble. It's his fault! What is? This is my daughter. Hey, ridgicop! Why don't you get off your ass and help us? That's what I'm here for. What's wrong with your daughter? She's drunk or in shit. It's his fault. He let her drink. Dancy, you stop her, Barb. Some mother you are. Asshole. You are such an asshole. Ma'am, let's get your daughter some medical attention right now. That's more important than a signing play. Young lady, are you all right? Oh, she isn't all right. We need help. That's why we're here. Can't you get out of there? I got her in. So yeah, probably. Should I find an orderly to help you? I'm not allowed to touch the patients for reasons of liability. Then you better find someone who is. My girl's in trouble. Don't look at me. I fucked up my back in her in. So you're saying that you won't help get her out of the truck? It's not my job. Pindex, she could die. It's not her appendix. She's just shit-faced. You're no doctor. It's okay, honey pie. Everything's gonna be all right. Once someone gets you the hell out of this truck. Inside the hospital, Mercer found an orderly, a light-skinned Latino whose name tags identified him as Moises. When they got to the curb, Moises identified, surveyed the situation. What's wrong with her? I'm fucked up and about to bust. We have to get her out of there ourselves. You're not allowed. These two have declined to help. Just don't make any mistakes, all right? Now, how are we gonna do this? Lift from the knees. Any injuries? My back. I didn't lift from the knees. We were at a wedding up along Skyline, you know? Layla got blessed. She insisted on wearing those new jeans even though we bought them a couple sizes too small. So she wanted to lose weight, right? Not that she has, of course. And I just couldn't. I should have been able to keep an eye on her. I figured Glenn could at least... Please, we're busy here. Why don't you get right out of this town? I'm security. We don't write things down. One, two, three. Stop! Can't stop. I've got to hand her to you. Ready? Okay. Now, turn around her side. She doesn't ask for it. She pukes again. Oh, that's my peeper shit. I gotta go. I'll send someone else. This girl needs attention. Immediately. Within half a minute, a purple door swung open and a nurse made straight for the girl. All business, the pockets of her cardigan heavy with medical gear. Her eyes were wide and intense and Mercer trusted her instantly. This, he would find out, was Fiona. But at that moment, he was more aware of her as someone who could help the girl. She was professionalism personified. Competence in a mint-green sweater. How much did she have to drink? Oh, it might be her appendix. I asked you how much she had to drink. It was Glenn. He gave her two. I don't care who. I care how much. Understand? I don't know how much. Drugs? I didn't give her anything. Any drugs? All right. We'll talk to you later. You. Security. Bring her in. All right, honey. Sweetie, just try to relax. What's your name? It's Laila. Like the song? Relax, Laila. I'm taking care of you now. These jeans have to come off stat. Hand me those, will you? She said, pointing to a set of shears on a metal tray. Using one hand to hold up the role of blue skin around the girl's middle, Fiona worked one jaw of the shears into the waistband. And then there was a sound like a toy gun pop. Something whined past Mercer's face and eye level and he jerked his head back. The object, wing a shade off the wall behind him, pinged across the metal tray, and rattled to rest on the floor tiles at his feet. The button from her jeans. Logo minted in shiny silver. Close call. I wasn't expecting that. No problem. What's your name? Mercer. Mike. Sorry about the projectile, Mercer, Mike. One inch to the right, we might have lost an eye. Thanks for bringing her in. It's my job. No, it isn't. You're right. But Moises asked me to. Don't get in the habit. I'll have a talk with Moises. Is that all? Is she okay? She's extremely drunk. There's that. You can go now. Laila and I need some private time. The next night, Mercer was again stationed outside the Good Shepherd ER. Bored, ignored, and oblivious to the dead. They're suffering. They're machinations. They're dread. A few hours into the shift, Moises came outside for a smoke. How's the girl? The girl from the truck? Fuck, man. It was like moving a fucking piano. You know how she's doing? She gone home. She must be okay. Hey, hey. I heard her pants exploded. Pants? Didn't explode. How can pants explode? Mercer said pants exploded. She said you almost lost an eye. The button shot off. That happened. So, what do you think of that nurse? Fiona. What do you mean? I mean, what do you think about that nurse? Well, she seems to do her job very well. I think she likes you, man. She says to me, hey, who's that new security, the guy who helps with the fat girls? I tell her I don't know you from nobody. She tells me you are cute. And she said you got good reflexes for how you lose an eye when the pants explode. They didn't explode. Explode? Don't explode, whatever, man. The nurse likes you. So? You like her? You think she's cute, too? I hadn't thought about it. Bullshit. Bullshit. You can tell me you're right. She thinks good care of herself. I don't know. I guess so. Girlfriend, she likes you, man. You should take her out. Maybe I will. Another guard in the hallway agreed to take his post for the price of a peanut butter crunch energy bar. In this new position, Mercer could see when Fiona took a break. An hour later, she appeared in the hallway retiring her ponytail. She glanced at him, then turned away and headed for the cafeteria. He felt himself flush and a terrible thought struck him. Moises had told her he was interested, and she was snubbing him. He was nothing to her. But then she stopped and turned back, looking as if she'd left something important behind. This gave him time to speak. Hi. Damn, with all that time thinking, you'd think you would have come up with a better opening of life. Mercer Mike. Fiona. That's your name, right? Nurse Wells to you. That's a joke. I heard our girls okay? She went home. Make what you will of that. The mom's a piece of work. I tell myself not to judge, but I don't always listen. Are you getting coffee? I'm about to drop. I could use some, too. For one company. You don't have things to guard? I'm due for a break. Don't cage me if they need me. Good enough. They walked together to the East Wing cafeteria, which was quiet, the last of the dinner crowd having left hours before. The smells from the days enchiladas and cheeseburgers and Cajun catfish plotted in the still air. Mercer paid for two coffees and they sat at a clean table. Why, I think this, but... you seem a little smarter than your colleagues. Thanks. I think. I mean, they installed the path of blue tiles so security guys wouldn't walk into the walls. Joke. We do that here. My point is, I don't think you're here to make a career out of hospital security. I'm guessing you're between jobs and I'm guessing that you're... And I'm what? Hang on, I'm thinking of, let's see. You're a music teacher. Can't play a note. Air guitar, steering wheel drums. Show me your hands. Okay. Nothing manual. Not construction. Priest? No, you wouldn't be hitting on me if you were. Am I hitting on you? Yes, not very well. You haven't drunk any of your coffee. You're just sitting there, listening to me. Maybe I think you're interesting. Please. So I give up. What are you? I'm a cop. A cop, huh? I can see that. I graduated from the academy a few months ago just waiting to go full-time somewhere. I'm reserved with coma when somebody's sick or they need extra health. They call me. Colma has police. Sure. Keeping the peace in a city full of dead people. That's funny. Everyone thinks that. Everyone? So I'm not special. I'm mundane. I'm trite. I didn't mean that. I mean, you're right. It is funny. But people live there too, so there's need for law enforcement. The card room brings some trouble for one thing. I met a few daily city cops when they brought people here. Bunch of good old boys. One of them called me sugar. Can I give you some advice? Don't ever call me sugar. Unless you're dancing with me. Or I get old and broken down and I'm serving coffee in a truck stop with a tank top and jiggly triceps. Then I guess it'll be all right. I don't see that happening. The dancing or the truck stop? Probably both. Not much of a dancer. Every guy says that. It's mundane. It's trite. So, Leila, when was she released? We kept her overnight, that's all. They probably sent the nutritionists to talk to her. But I'll bet she and her mom are deep into a box of ho-ho's as we speak. And the alcohol? She's a kid. They'll do what they're gonna do. If she ends up with us again, we might get the county involved. But you can't save everyone. That's the first lesson everyone here has to learn. Gotta feel bad for that kid. There are a lot of problems out there in the world. I try to fix the ones I can. Here. A present. The bullet you dodged last night. Thanks. It was surprising, huh? Surprising things happen in a hospital. Gotta be on your toes. Same goes for cops. It's a good reminder. I should get back. Me too. Thanks for the coffee. I wanted to meet you. You're alright, Mercer Mike. I like you. But I haven't said anything impressive. You're walking stiffly. Your back hurt? A little. From helping the girl out of the truck. You're not supposed to touch patients, you know? It was a tough situation. Are you off at midnight? You. Find me a drink afterward and I'll give you a back rub. I'd like that. Like that.