“How is myfather?”
“We won’t knowanything until the scans are done. For now, we’ve had to put him ina medically induced coma.”
“What? Why didyou do that?” I say, panicking.
“Because he’ssuffered significant head trauma and we need to reduce the swellingin his brain.” I have no idea what to say. All I can do is stare athim.
“Can I seehim?”
“No. I’m sorry.Not yet. We’re trying to perform scans and x-rays on him and you’djust be in the way. The paramedics took your number and we have iton file. We won’t know anything for a number of hours. If I wereyou, I’d go home and get some rest. We’ll call you as soon as weknow anything.”
Go home? I’d gomad if I went home. All I’d be doing is worrying and pacing thefloor.
The doctorleaves so I go back to sitting. After about fifteen minutes, I hearmy name and turn around. Katie is running up to me, panting andlooking flushed. She doesn’t say anything, she just runs straightup to me and wraps her arms around me. “I’m so sorry, Jules. Howthe hell did this happen?”
“I wish Iknew.”
“He was finewhen we left him at the apartment last night,” says Katie.
“By the driedblood all over him and the rusty colored droplets in the hallway atthe apartment. iIt must have happened sometime last night.”
We sit andKatie puts her arm around my neck. “Jules, why don’t we go to myapartment and I’ll make you some tea? You’re no use to your dad ifyou’re exhausted and stressed out. I’m sure they’ll call you whenthey know something. Then, I’ll drive you back here right away,ok?”
She’s right.I’m useless to Dad just sitting here. What I really want to do isgo to the bottle depot and speak to Jim. Last night, Dad said thathe was going to go for a coffee with him. I need to find out ifthey did go out and what happened?
“Ok. I’ll comewith you but I need to make a quick stop on the way.”
“Whatever youwant, Jules.”
It’s 4 PM andan hour before the bottle depot closes. Katie lets me out in frontof the depot and parks the car while I go into the small, paintpeeled building. When I walk in, I see a large room with a wetcement floor. There are sorting tables with different colored trayson them and a small white door to the side that says Office on it.It’s hard to picture my father working in this cold place, hours ata time standing on his feet. My bones feel sore even thinking aboutit. Just as I approach the office, a tall thin man with frizzyblack hair walks out and shuts the door behind him.
“I’m lookingfor Jim,” I say.
“And who areyou?” he says.
“John Gordon’sdaughter.”
The guy nods.“Well, Jim up and quit this morning and your dad didn’t even botherto show up at all.”
“It’s a littlehard to show up when you’re in critical condition in thehospital.”
The guys eyeswiden, “Oh, wow. That’s terrible. I’m so sorry. Is he gonna beok?”
“Can’t tellyet.”
“So why youlookin’ for Jim?”
“He wassupposed to meet my dad last night and go for coffee. I came hereto see if he did meet with my father and what happened?”
The guy nods.“Well, he’s not here. I’m sorry.”
Katie walks inand up to where the guy and I are talking. I tell her that Jim quitthis morning.
She stepsclosely up to the guy and puts her hands on her hips, “Where doesJim live?”
The man’s eyeswiden, “Why the hell would I tell you that?”
“Because I’msure your boss doesn’t want a flock of cops down here askingquestions and taking up your time. Just think of the money you’llbe losing.”
He stands andlooks at her with his mouth open. “Who the hell are you?” heasks.
“Just a girlthat works at the police station.”
“Stay here, hesays, sounding pissed off, and then walks into the office.”
“Wow, girl.That was awesome.” I say.
A few minuteslater, the guy walks back out with a sheet of paper, “Here, this isthe address he gave us on his application. Don’t know if it’ll doya any good. Guys like him tend to bullshit a lot about where theylive.”
“What do youmean, ‘Guys like him’?” I ask.
“Crackheads.”
“What? He’s acrackhead?” I say surprised.
Katie takes thepaper out of the guys hand and then nudges me to leave.
Outside, I stopbeside the car and look at her, “What the hell would my dad bedoing making plans with a crackhead? He knows that he’ll breech hisparole if he’s caught with any druggies or criminals. It doesn’tmake any sense.”
“Maybe hedidn’t know?”
“If Jim is acrackhead, my dad knew. Addicts can spot each other from milesaway.”
We get into thecar and Katie hands me the paper. Jim Mayhew is written in blue inkwith an address on East Hastings Street.
Katie leansover and reads the paper, “Do you want to go there?”
“Are you sure?I mean, shouldn’t you be at work?”
“This is moreimportant. Besides, maybe I’ll be useful to you,” she smiles.
“You’re provingto be so far,” I say, putting my hand on her leg.
After weavingin and out of rush hour traffic, we arrive at the address, arun-down shit hole of an apartment with a discarded stainedmattress and bags of garbage on the front lawn.
“Lovely. Whenwe’re leaving here, remind me to see if they have any vacancies,” Isay sarcastically.
Chapter Nine
There are nosecurity measures at the door. We walk in and continue down a longnarrow hallway. When we come to apartment number 14, I rap hard onthe door. Hearing no response, I knock twice as hard a second time.We hear a rustling sound from behind the door. I’m just about toknock again when the door unexpectantly swings open and startlesus.
A man aboutfifty wearing stained pajama bottoms and a white tank top standsangrily in front of us. His hair is sticking up in all directionsand his eyes are sleepy and red. “Jim, I presume?” I say.
“So what ofit?” He answers grumpily.
“Sorry tobother you. Were you sleeping?”
“Or partying?”adds Katie.
He looks at meand then shoots Katie a resentful glare.
