Knight had felt well-rested enough to putter around the house, but not ready to go back to work. He did some cleaning and laundry, when the doorbell rang at the elevator.
He went to go get the door, dressed in only a pair of shorts. Music blared from the stereo, a collection of AC/DC, so he assumed he was probably going to be told to turn it down. He opened the door.
A slight woman stood there, dressed in a light brown suit, tastefully accessorized, carrying a leather briefcase. “I’m here to see Mr. Knight?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Tha’s me.”
She held out her hand. “I’m Tracey Rickard of Swenson Law Agency.”
He looked at her hand, “Shit, already?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I jus’ got outta th’ hospital, an’ the lawyers’r already swarmin’ all over me?”
“Mr. Knight, I’m here to represent you.”
He shook her hand, and said, “Come in, I’ll turn th’ music down.”
He went to the stereo and turned it down as she stepped into the apartment. “Nice place.” She looked at the kitchen, gleaming white in the sunlight. “Nice kitchen.”
“Was taugh’ t’ keep a clean kitchen. Getya anythin’?”
“Just water will be fine.”
He took out a bottled water and handed it to her. She chuckled, took the bottle. He went to the table and sat down, and she followed. “Mr. Knight, are you aware of what happened?”
“I took a corner too fast an’ I hit a car.”
“That’s it, in a nutshell. I have the police report, and that’s what you said, in the hospital. Which means, Mr. Knight, that you admitted fault.”
“But it was my fault.”
She smiled, “Never admit fault in these kinds of situations. That just means her lawyers are going to be circling you like sharks in bloody water.”
“Shit…”
She reached out a hand and patted his arm. “That’s why I’m here, Mr. Knight.” She took her arm away and went to her briefcase. “Now, we are prepared to make an offer to the driver. You’ve totaled her car – which was old, anyway. We’re going to make an offer to cover any damages she may suffer after the accident – ”
“Like what?”
“Counseling for PTSD, or sometimes the mysterious illnesses that some people get after their accident.”
“Is she otherwise okay?”
“Shaky, but otherwise fine. She doesn’t seem the type of person to abuse the system.” She smiled, “She stayed with you while you were in the ditch, until police got there.”
“I musta looked like shit.”
“Oh, you did.”
He remembered the doctors telling him the extent of his injuries – he’d hit the car on his left side, so he broke all of his ribs on that side, his thigh was fractured, his shin broken, dislocated shoulder, broken right wrist, not to mention his head smashing the windshield. He should have been dead.
He said quietly, “I should apologize.”
“If you can, but not yet. Let’s do our thing here, and then you can make your apologies later.”
They discussed the offer, which was very generous even to Knight’s ears. He hoped she would take it.
“Kitty,” he said, “My bike.”
“It’s in the impound yard. They’re done looking it over for any kind of structural failure – if the brakes failed, your tires were bad, etc. I can get it released to you and towed to wherever you like.”
“I need t’ find a garage. How long will they keep her?”
“Not more than a couple of days. We know of a garage, comes very highly recommended, and does custom work. He might be able to save what’s left of your bike.”
“Know th’ place?”
“I have his card here somewhere,” she pulled out a small wallet with different business cards. “Ah, here he is.” She passed the card over to him. He looked at it, studied it. He knew him. He had done work for Knight before, creating the special “Hand of God” bullets that he had stashed away.
“Yeah, bring’t to him. I’ll go down t’morrow or sometime t’ give him the specs an’ some pics. I made some modifications.”
“I understand.” She had put the wallet away, and then showed him the papers. “If you’ll sign here and here, we’ll release the bike…and here to retain me – ”
“How much are you?”
“Pro bono, but if you’re feeling guilty, you can make a donation to the Swenson Law Agency. And here, you sign…”
He signed at least ten sheets of paper, and she packed them away in a special place in her huge bag. “Do you have any questions?”
“Why?”
She smiled. “I like cut and dry hopeless cases. And I’m curious as to how you survived.”
“I’m a were.”
“Wolf?”
“Cat.”
“Ah.” She got up, gathering her things. Again, she held out her hand. “It’s been very good to meet you, Mr. Knight.”
“Thanks. An’ you too, Ms. Rickard.”
He escorted her to the door, as he held the card, flipping it in his fingers. He felt that if anyone could fix Kitty, it would be this man, Brixl.