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Tati shuffled back to the cruiser. If he weren’t so fucking mad, he might have enjoyed watching her ass in those tight pants as she skirted away.
The doctor was losing patience and becoming suspicious. “What the fuck kind of joke is this?” And then the man grinned. “Did the nurses over at Brookfields ER put you up to this? Is your partner going to return with a boom box and stripper heels?”
“Sir, you have the right to remain silent…” he read him his rights to give Tati time, and as opposed to cold-cocking him across the face for insinuating she was anything less than a lady.
Ironically, and to his eternal frustration, Tati returned with the aforementioned handcuffs.
Covered in fur.
Stepping in front of the doctor, facing Tati, he seethed, “What am I supposed to do with these?”
“What? They’re the real deal, but with embellishments.” Her face fell. “I’m sorry, I think Morales was fucking with me.”
The doctor laughed. “This is really good stuff, and I plan to get Jeanine and Sharice back for this, but I need to get to a patient, so can we wrap this up? Do your thing, dance for me or whatever, and let me get back on the road.”
Tati smiled at him. “Of course. We can wrap this up.”
The whole hand-cuff snafu seemed to work in their favor as the doctor chuckled at the supposed setup as they turned him around to put the furry handcuffs on him and then back to face them.
“This whole getup is priceless.” The clueless doctor smirked. “The old-time police cruiser, furry handcuffs, hot-as-fuck female officer—”
To Grant’s utter surprise, the doctor hunched over with an “oomph” as Tati punched him in the gut and then, just as quickly, reared her knee up and into his face. The sound of his nose crunching made Grant wince, along with the spray of blood that managed to hit Tati square in the chest.
The man bent over, groaning and holding his nose.
Grant turned to Tati with a raised eyebrow. “Way to go rogue, Northrop.”
The doctor tried raising his head with his bloody hands cupping his nostrils. “You fucking broke my nose.”
Ignoring him, Tati bit her lip and began to twist her fingers. “I couldn’t help it. I just look at him and I get so pissed. I remember how…scared I was and how vulnerable. He’s a fucking doctor, for God’s sake. He took a fucking oath to heal people, not hurt them.”
Hillsboro’s timing sucked. “Do you even know who the fuck I am?”
Grant thought the man wasn’t very smart despite a fancy medical degree and carseats made of fine Nappa leather.
Tati’s face turned red as she pulled back her fist and cold-cocked the doctor across the cheek.
“Fuck!” Hillsboro croaked and bent over once again.
“Was that necessary?” Grant asked as she grimaced, cradling her hand in the other, dancing on her toes with pain.
“I know, I know. Shit,” she said, clasping and unclasping her fist. “It’s just that I was all alone…” She stopped moving around and simply looked at him with a stricken look on her face that said everything. Grant realized she was right. Maybe it was necessary. After what this man had done to her.
He backed up with his palms up and said, “You know what, you’re right. This is your moment. Have at him.”
The corners of her mouth went up, as if given a ticket for an R rated movie, well underage. And without hesitating, she turned to the man who was preoccupied, spitting blood and trying to catch his breath. Yanking his head back by the hair with one hand, she removed the prosthetic nose with the other.
“Remember me?” she hissed with a half-crazed look in her eyes. “I’m the one you and Errol kidnapped and then chained to a hospital bed. Remember? You shot me up with propofol. Put me in an induced coma. Is it all coming back to you, asshole?”
Despite the copious amount of blood dripping from his nose, Grant could see the realization dawn on his face.
Tati was on a roll. “You know what we’re going to do to you? We’re going to cut you up with razor blades and feed you to the sharks.”
Standing behind her, Grant gently shook his head.
Tati’s crazy eyes turned on him like she was going to go off on him next, and he instantly recounted by saying, “I mean, I’m not going to do that, but I can’t speak for her. She’s, like, super crazy. A real nutjob.”
Tati returned his backstepping with an expression he interpreted as a thank you and turned back to a now trembling, albeit confused, doctor. She continued with her strange monologue of torture. One she must have been rehearsing over the past few months, given the specificity of what they were allegedly going to do to him.
