Cookie's Case Read Online Free PDF Page A

not unscathed.
    She’s tall, dark-haired, and wearing a police uniform, posing aggressively with her hands on her hips. In her right hand, she’s holding a big black whip that’s curling down to the floor. But that’s not why the crowd’s wide-eyed. What’s shocking them is the thing on her head. She’s got a halo. Not an angel’s halo but rather a medical one, a brace of the sort worn by broken-neck survivors.
    Henry pokes me. “What’s that around her head?”
    I turn to Mick. “You do the honors.”
    He nods and asks Henry, “You want the simple explanation or the detailed one?”
    â€œI’m a man who prefers detail but, given the circumstances, how about splitting the difference?”
    â€œYou got it.” Mick actually looks taken aback himself. “That’s a halo brace. It’s generally used in the treatment of neck fractures located at the second cervical vertebrae, referred to by doctors as C2, just below the base of the skull. That black metal ring running around her forehead—why it’s called a halo brace—is secured by screws drilled directly into her skull. They penetrate the bone approximately one-eighth of an inch and, once tightened, exert about six pounds of pressure per pin site. So the ring is held in position by the pressure of the pins, rather than their depth.
    â€œEnough tension, meanwhile, is created to stabilize her head and neck. Underneath her shirt, she’s wearing a plastic, padded stabilizing vest, attached to which are the four metal rods you see coming up from her shoulders—two in front, two in back. These are securely attached to the halo to arrest neck movement, since the medical recommendation for halo-wearing patients is little or no activity. Pressure on the device can disrupt the anatomical alignment of the surgically set vertebral bone fractures. The danger lies in too much movement causing a fracture fragment to migrate and sever the spinal cord, resulting in instant paraplegia. And possibly death. That’s about it.”
    â€œThanks,” Henry responds. “I’ll remember to ask for the simple version next time.” He looks at us with a serious expression. “Gentlemen, we can only salute this girl’s uncommon dedication to her art form. I think it’s safe to say that never before could exotic dancing have carried the risk of such serious consequences.”
    I quickly turn my attention back to the stage. I don’t want to miss a thing.
    Strutting down the catwalk, Cookie does seem a little nervous. Suddenly, one guy initiates a loud slow clap, breaking the hush. He stands, soon joined by more and more of the audience. When the entire room is on their feet, cheering starts up. They’ve gotten over the initial shock of seeing the head contraption she’s wearing, with its daunting black rods jutting up past the top of her head.
    Cookie herself is teary-eyed and wearing a big smile. It’s plain to see how happy she is. She waves to several obvious regulars, who’re excited to be acknowledged.
    Now she picks up her pace, increasing the suggestiveness of her body language. Yet something’s not right; she begins pitching forward with her right hand outstretched.
    â€œOh, shit!” Mick yells. “She’s going down!”
    â€œHead first!” Henry adds.
    The whole place falls silent again. I realize I haven’t been breathing.
    Then, to my amazement, Cookie’s audience erupts into cheers. She’s not going down. What appeared to be a halo-busting, spinal cord–piercing forward plunge has evolved into a neatly executed front one-handed cartwheel. I can hardly believe my eyes a second time.
    She completes the maneuver with the precision of a gymnast. But my breath stopped again as I watched the rod tips barely clear the floor.
    Her fans are loving it. “More!” one patron pleads as she cartwheels again, landing in