John shouts, “No!” causing us to look over to find James is pointing his gun at us from where he lies on the ground.
Nax holds up his hand as if that could stop it, and we see John’s slipper flying through the air, lost in the strength of his kick. The diverted gun goes off, its deadly bullet ricocheting down the corridor.
John lands a punch that knocks James battered head out. Yanking the gun free from a once again slackened grip, my neighbor mutters, “Never leave an unconscious killer armed. Don’t you watch the movies?!”
The elevator doors open and out run the police, four pairs of eyes scanning the scene.
Tears of relief fall down my cheeks as I turn my head to look at Nax. “You make it through this and I’ll take you up on that dinner offer.”
Through the pain he grins, “Italian? Indian? American? Thai?”
“What,” I kiss him, “you can’t guess?”
Nax
Told them I could limp out, but the EMT’s wouldn’t have it. I’m strapped to a gurney, vitals checked, rolling toward the elevators with Zia following, mascara dried on her cheeks. “Call Christina to tell Bennett which hospital I’m going to. He’ll call Josh and get Joe.”
“I’m coming with you.”
The female EMT sees my ring, “Your wife is welcome to come, Mr. Fisher.”
With reluctance Zia confesses, “I’m not his wife.”
“It’s family only.”
The detective in charge approaches, saying, “I need you to answer a few more questions, Ms. Tuck. Then you can go.”
“Of course.” Her gaze drifts over James’s unconscious body wheeled by in another gurney, and into the building’s first elevator car. “Don’t put them in the same ambulance!”
“We won’t,” reassures the male EMT as they wheel me into the second elevator, both held on this floor by the fire-button.
Zia’s eyes widen with loss. “I’ll be right behind you in a taxi! I’ll tell Christina! Don’t worry! I’ll take care of everything.”
I smile, “I know you will,” before the doors close.
We ride down in silence and I close my eyes, breathing through the pain. “This is a new experience!”
The male EMT chuckles, “One way of looking at it.”
“Is there a better one?”
“I guess not!”
Under labored breaths my chest rises, but I got the feeling the female judged us, and I’m not okay with that. Opening my eyes, I look at her. “My wife and I are getting divorced.”
Her expression is a thinly veiled, I can see why but she says nothing. People can be so small minded, making their judgments based on air. She’s known us for all of ten minutes.
“I can see what you’re thinking. So let me enlighten you. My wife is cheating on me. Zia is the cousin of my friend’s girlfriend. That guy you saw with his head all Tucked up? James? He’d been here earlier today, and scared her. That’s why I was there.” A visible paradigm shift occurs in the woman and, satisfied, I close my eyes. “Never assume you know what’s going on, when you’re on the outside looking in.”
The elevator doors open and I’m pushed into the foyer toward ramps set temporarily over stairs that lead to Varick Street. As we roll by, I glance to the framed pictures on the walls I didn’t notice before, scanning faces of men probably long gone, working in a newspaper printing house. From their wardrobe I’d guess 1940’s. Is that what this place was? I’ll ask Zia later.
It’s impressive how quickly they can roll a big guy like me into their ambulance, without bumping the rolling bed, or causing more pain. “Nicely done,” I chuckle, relieved, female jumping behind the wheel, male fastening me to an IV bag.
“This is saline to keep your fluids up. How does your head feel?”
“Like I used it to hammer a metal doorframe.” Scanning his frown I ask, “Anything I should worry about?”
“Your speech is a little…”
“What?”
“I’m afraid you may not be connecting your words properly. I’m hoping it’s not…” He stops talking, wary of misdiagnosing me and getting sued.
This kind of suspense I don’t need. “You think it could be brain damage?”
“I can’t be sure.”
“Could I get that from a bump?”
“Concussion, yes. Maybe.”
I thought I was speaking fine, so this confuses me. But he knows better than I do. Right now I could be garbling and not be aware. “What did I say wrong? Give me some examples.”
“You said all tucked up.”
“All Tucked up?”
“Yes. Instead of, you know…fucked up.”
A grin spreads into a full-on laugh that makes my head hurt like crazy. But it’s totally worth it.
He stares at me, wondering what’s so funny.
I pat my temporary bed, “Don’t worry, I’m fine. If you’ll just give me some pain meds, I’d be even better.” and close my eyes once more, muttering an amused, “Tucking hell.”
* * *
They shake their heads when I ask, “Can I keep the bullet after you get it out?” and the general anesthesia puts me out faster than I’d expect. I’ve never had it done to me before, and as the world dissolves my pain goes with it.
When I awaken, I’m not alone in my hospital room. Bennett, Josh, and all three boys are here, too, in multiple chairs they must’ve brought in. Normally there’s only one or two in any room I’ve ever visited.
Joe straightens in the one he’d pulled up by my bed. His hand had been holding mine, and he squeezes it with more than his normal strength, fear and relief empowering him. “Dad!”
My voice is ragged, everything hazy. “Hey Joe. You been there long?”
“Haven’t moved!” He stands up and leans over to hug me, “Dad!” burying his face in my shoulder and bursting into tears.
“Hey there, hey now,” I whisper, “I’m okay, Joe. I’m alright, buddy.” Over my boy’s shaking shoulders, I lock eyes with Bennett as he stands up, giving me a surgery-went-well nod, his hand reaching for Elliot’s frowning head.
Joshua abandons his chair, and crosses to my bed, curtains behind him shutting out any clue of time. “You trying to break me, Nax?”
“That was
