At the hospital entrance, Sean stepped out of the police car but didn't immediately head inside. Instead, he turned and blocked Roberts' door, leaning down to address the young detective.
"You're new to this, aren't you?" Sean's tone was casual but pointed. When Roberts remained silent, his face dark, Sean continued. "If I were you, I would have closed my apartment door and handled things differently. No witnesses, and Captain Thompson certainly couldn't testify about something he didn't see."
He gestured toward the hospital entrance. "And now I'm about to get a full medical examination. Every injury will be documented." A slight smile played across his face. "Unfortunately, detective, you've missed your chance to vent that anger."
"You—!" Roberts' jaw clenched audibly.
Captain Thompson stepped out of the car, his movement deliberate. "Trust me, son, even without physical means, there are plenty of ways to make life difficult for someone."
"No ill intentions here," Sean said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Believe it or not, I'm trying to help. Being too righteous as a cop can get you killed in this city."
They made their way to the examination room, with Sean and Thompson walking ahead while Roberts trailed behind, his mind working overtime to piece together the puzzle that was Sean.
The young doctor held up the X-rays to the light. "The bullet appears to have ricocheted before hitting the back of your head. You're lucky – if it had hit you directly, you'd be in the morgue instead of my examination room."
He pointed to the film. "There's a three-centimeter wound, and you've got a mild concussion. Expect some disorientation over the next few days – memory gaps, dizziness, nausea, ringing in your ears, trouble sleeping, sensitivity to light. Standard symptoms, should clear up within a week."
"The Lord must be looking out for you," the doctor added.
Sean flashed his perfect smile. "I feel blessed."
When they moved to the surgical bay for stitches, Sean waved away the anesthetic. "No need."
"Are you sure?" The doctor looked skeptical. "It's going to hurt."
Sean's eyes took on a distant look. "Pain helps you remember. And I intend to remember never to let anyone get the drop on me again."
The doctor shrugged and began suturing. Sean's facial muscles twitched with each pierce of the needle, but he remained perfectly still. Roberts watched, growing increasingly unsettled. No ordinary civilian could endure that kind of pain without flinching.
Thompson studied Sean thoughtfully before stepping out to lean against the wall, closing his eyes but remaining alert.
In the waiting room, Saul Goodman had nearly dozed off when he spotted Sean walking between the two officers. He jumped up, straightening his rumpled suit, and approached with his practiced smile.
"Officers, I'm Sean's attorney, Saul Goodman." He presented his credentials with a flourish.
Roberts examined the lawyer's license with surprise – they'd been with Sean the entire time, and he hadn't made a single phone call.
"Your client fled a homicide scene with injuries," Roberts said coldly, returning the credentials. "He's a person of interest in an active investigation."
Saul's friendly demeanor shifted instantly to aggressive advocacy. "My client is a law-abiding citizen and taxpayer who was injured in a violent crime. The deteriorating law enforcement situation in Newark raises serious questions about police effectiveness. Where exactly are our tax dollars going? I'll be filing a formal inquiry into police response times and—"
Saul continued his rapid-fire legal threats, but Sean merely watched with amusement. Though he hadn't called Saul, he had to admire the lawyer's initiative. In a city like Newark, it seemed even guardian angels wore cheap suits and drove beat-up Suzukis.