But of course, there’s no rest for the wicked, which I certainly am. My cell phone rang as I turned left on Douglas.
Very few people call me, especially this late at night. I glanced at the phone; it was Deborah.
“Greetings, sister dear,” I said.
“You asshole, you said you’d call!” she said.
“It seemed a little late,” I said.
“Did you really think I could fucking SLEEP? !” she yelled, D E A R LY D E V O T E D D E X T E R
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loud enough to cause pain to people in passing cars. “What happened?”
“I got Chutsky back,” I said. “But Dr. Danco got away. With Doakes.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know, Debs, he got away in an airboat and—”
“Kyle, you idiot. Where is Kyle? Is he all right?”
“I dropped him at the Mutiny. He’s, um . . . He’s almost all right,” I said.
“What the fuck does that mean?!?” she screamed at me, and I had to switch my phone to the other ear.
“Deborah, he’s going to be okay. He’s just—he lost half of his left arm and half the right leg. And all his hair,” I said. She was quiet for several seconds.
“Bring me some clothes,” she said at last.
“He’s feeling very uncertain, Debs. I don’t think he wants—”
“Clothes, Dexter. Now,” she said, and she hung up.
As I said, no rest for the wicked. I sighed heavily at the in-justice of it all, but I obeyed. I was almost back to my apartment, and Deborah had left some things there. So I ran in and, although I paused to look longingly at my bed, I gathered a change of clothing for her and headed for the hospital.
Deborah was sitting on the edge of her bed tapping her feet impatiently when I came in. She held her hospital gown closed with the hand that protruded from her cast, and clutched her gun and badge with the other. She looked like Avenging Fury after an accident.
“Jesus Christ,” she said, “where the hell have you been?
Help me get dressed.” She dropped her gown and stood up.
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J E F F L I N D S A Y
I pulled a polo shirt over her head, working it awkwardly around the cast. We just barely had the shirt in place when a stout woman in a nurse’s uniform hurried into the room.
“What you think you’re doing?” she said in a thick Bahamian accent.
“Leaving,” Deborah said.
“Get back in that bed or I will call doctor,” the nurse said.
“Call him,” Deborah said, now hopping on one foot as she struggled into her pants.
“No you don’t,” the nurse said. “You get back in the bed.”