bottle over him right away., He kept puffing away at the oxygen mask. Still, when I put the cuff on him, his blood pressure wasn't even registering on the gauge. Poor O'Shaughnessey had kept himself going the past hour on adrenaline and Celtic pluck. He certainly had no blood left.
I was hunched over him in the ambulance as we headed for the hospital. As the big van wheeled and started its siren, I looked out the back and could see the police cutting through the inner fence, then barreling through the gate in their cruisers. The blue lights were winking, sweeping along the old dirty buildings.
In the emergency room they typed him as A Positive; I rolled up my sleeve and they pumped a pint of mine into him. Then he got two more bags, and they had a third ready. As soon as he was stabilized he would undergo surgery to close that blood vessel. Then they would set the leg. It would require a steel pin, they told me, because the X-rays had shown a big hunk of femur gone. But I'd guessed as much earlier; that big. 45 slug had walked away with it, and taken the vein too.
An internal specialist looked over my Sport Section and pronounced it reasonably intact, though I still fairly rang with pain down there. My ribs were taped (two were cracked) and they placed a special walking cast on my left heel for the time being. It would be several months-at least-before I could run again. I didn't like that. During all this time the Law had been waiting patiently, unobtrusively, in the background. I had almost forgotten the polite young officer until O'Shaughnessey dozed off and the nurse came in to give him a bath prior to surgery. Then he oozed up into the foreground and requested I accompany him back to Cordage Park, the last place on earth I wanted to go.
We swerved into the complex and I wobbled out of the cruiser. The night's adventures, coupled with the missing pint of blood-now hopefully speeding the Irishman's recovery had done me in. The police had finished photographing Thug Number Two, and now drew a coverlet over him. Poor kid.
'Any idea who he was, Doctor?'
'No. He was an American though. He talked like an American, not from across the water-'
'Thank you. Now if you could just come with us back here…'
Oh no. I had to go and view Schilling's remains again. They had the body covered for obvious reasons. Even the hardened law officers couldn't stand the sight of the Headless Horseman. But three of them were staring into the pipe, transfixed. I bent over. The first thing that caught my eye was a gleam of gold amidst the clots of red tissue. The gold was set on yellow-white. It was one of Schilling's molars, riding on the jawbone that was packed tight into the pipe with the rest of his head. And then I saw a bright white dot amongst the gristle and gore: Schilling's hearing aid. `
It was as if the head had been canned. I found the notion outrageously funny. And then I imagined shopping at the supermarket, throwing things into the cart: can of beans, cling peaches, asparagus, human head, corned beef hash-
A demonic, aching giggle was trying to surface. I knew if I started laughing perhaps I wouldn't stop for days and days.
Watch it! Watch it, Doc… y0u're letting this thing get to you
… you're taking it way too seriously-
I grabbed at my sides and sat down. Faces peered into mine, asking me questions. I told them to leave me alone. They persisted. Then I heard a faint but familiar voice:
'Yeah I know this isn't my jurisdiction, but I am a law officer. Matter of fact I am Chief of Police, OK? And this is Detective Lieutenant Joseph Brindelli of the-huh, you know him? Well good because we're here to stay.'
Brian Hannon, my brother-in-law in tow, stomped around the corner of the building and toward me. He was flicking his eyes everywhere, his trenchcoat flapping open in the wind of his walking. He stuffed a Lucky into his mouth and cranked fire to his Zippo, trailing clouds of pale blue smoke behind him. Joe gambled along in his wake, murmuring apologies and explanations to the local officers.
'We're gonna nail this thing down. Bell, Donnato, get moving. Each of you take a building. We're gonna swarm over this place like flies on dogshit.'
I waved my arms and they caught sight of me. DeGroot, bless his heart, had called them after the alarm went off, only he'd waited thirty-five minutes first just to make sure I was overdue. I confided to Joe that I did not feel like answering questions and leading the fuzz all over Cordage Park, showing them exactly what happened, how, when, and why. But he told me I bloody well would have to, and to bear up nobly under it, and that he and his loudmouth friend-this was said in a whisper-would stand by me.
And so I told the whole thing, from the time I left the Whimsea in the dead of night until the first police cruiser arrived and spotted me hunched over O'Shaughnessey's prostrate form.
'And the other man,' asked Brian, 'the big man you say is an IRA Provo. You have any idea where he might have gone?'
'Laura Kincaid mentioned a boat called the Coquette. It was to be their escape. You might alert the Coast Guard and tell them to be on the lookout for it. I have a hunch it's on the big side. I kind of hope the guy gets away, this time anyway. He saved my life.'
We called Mary and she wept. But she was glad to hear Schilling was put away for keeps. Then we got into Brian's car to head for home. I saw a cabin cruiser swing into the dock. DeGroot flung a line to a waiting cop and seconds later was jogging down the pier toward us. He rapped on the window and I rolled it down.
'I see you're OK, Doc. Anything happen?'
'Nah.'
'For a minute I was worried. I was listening to the VHF a minute ago; there was an explosion not far from here. For a second I thought you-'
'Where?'
'Some boat ten miles offshore from here. Blew apart and sank.'
'Was her name Coquette?'
'How'd you know?'
'I'll bet you that blue and white boat we saw last night had something to do with it. Did anyone report seeing it'?'
He shrugged his shoulders and then asked what all the blankets were for.
'To cover the bodies, you dummy. Listen, thanks for calling for help. Can you make it back to Cape Ann alone? I gotta go home and rest. I've been puking and bleeding too much.'
At home I hugged Mary hard and lowered most of myself into a warm bath. I sat there and soaked and poured a hot toddy into self, telling her everything. She stared wide-eyed at me, shaking her head slowly, murmuring. Then I crawled into bed and passed out. I awoke in late afternoon.
The phone rang. It was the Globe. They wanted the story on how I'd smashed the gun-running ring. I told them to speak with Brian Hannon. That would keep them busy. It rang again. It was a man with a husky voice and thick accent.
'Gott-damn good, Doc! You chop them up really good, eh!'
'Who the hell's this?'
'Roantis.'
'Hi, Liatis.'
'You chop them up real good. Nice'
'I heard you were in some kind of trouble. Tommy told me. You OK now'?'
'Hmmm. I got to go to trial. Dat's all.'
'How's the uh, guy you hit?'
There was an uncomfortable silence. I heard him sigh in a resigned way.
'Well Doc. I gott some bad news I tink-'
'Oh God. You mean he's dead?' `
'No. He lived.'
'Now c'mon, Liatis-'
'No dat's the bad news. He dint die. I'm getting too old to fight I tink. But other real bad news, Doc. The boy was killed with you, he was Tomrny's nephew.'
