Sin City Assassin (The Bill Dix Detective Series Book 3)
Page 22
Dix’s wife began to sob uncontrollably and individuals shared stunned glances and looks of dismay.
“However, I was able to make a clean amputation and leave the last digit, so with a little rehab he’ll be able to partially grab a firearm, that’s if he ever wants to again.”
Some people seemed happy with the update, but Petersen picked up on the doctor’s emphasis on the word if. “What do you mean, if? It’s Bill Dix, for Christ’s sake. He’ll want to carry a gun again.” He looked around the room. “Right?”
The doctor shook his head. “The medical injuries he sustained, although terrible, are not life threatening; however, the mental anguish is immeasurable. He’s not responding to medications, and he’s staring blankly out the window.”
Around the room, jaws dropped and small discussions broke out.
“And, he doesn’t want any visitors,” the doctor concluded.
Petersen was speechless. He looked at his wife and Dix’s wife. They too were shaking their heads and crying. It sounded like Dix would be physically fine, but he had given up emotionally.
Very quietly and slowly, Dix’s wife stood up and the room became silent again.
“Listen up. He’s no quitter, and I’m gonna need all of your help to get him back.” She walked over to Petersen, hugged him, then continued, “I’ll go see him and report back to you guys.” She turned to leave the room and the doctor raised an eyebrow.
“I’m sorry, but he said no visitors,” said the doctor sternly.
She smiled. “Try to stop me.” She motioned to the people in the waiting room. “And I’m pretty sure they’ll have something to say about it.”
Dix had given up. He was in another damn hospital bed and he’d had it. He stared out the window and wondered about what he’d do next. He knew about his teeth and finger, and it didn’t even bother him. The fact was he’d survived. He’d been in hospital beds several times before, the smells and feelings were always the same. But, he just couldn’t wrap his mind around being drugged by some sick serial killer, the grandson of a notorious killer. He wondered if Pierre had a child. This single thought made him want to retire, run away, and never look back. Twenty years he’d been working the endless war on killers and drug pushers. And look at him now, barely able to use his hand and lucky to be alive.
He heard the door to his room open and shut and assumed it was medical staff since he demanded no one come see him. I don’t want anyone to see me like this. If they see my finger, it’s gonna hurt them more, not to mention me.
“Babe, there’s no way this is the end.”
He instantly recognized his wife’s voice and rolled over to see her there. She’d obviously been crying and he felt like all the other crap he’d just been feeling sorry for was nothing compared to seeing her hurt. She walked over and embraced him. All at once, every emotion in his body, every image from every case, the dead bodies, the time away from his family, and all the rest of it poured out as he cried hard in her arms.
“The son of a bitch took my finger,” he finally said in anger and disgust. His face turned red and his heart rate accelerated as he resisted an urge to punch the wall.
She nodded. “Yes, but he could never take your spirit. There’s plenty more like him out there, Bill, and you’re one of the few people wearing a badge who can find them and take them out.” She slowly rubbed his back and gently kissed his forehead.
“I’m too old, babe, this is a young man’s game. He drugged me and tortured me for God’s sake!” He felt the area where his finger had been severed throb. For a brief moment it felt like the whole finger was there, causing him to look quickly at his hand, but when he looked down, it clearly was not.
She rubbed his back and held him. “I didn’t marry a quitter,” she pointed to the door, “and that whole room full of people won’t let you quit either.”
He loved his wife and knew she was right. A small flicker of justice ignited in his heart. They’re right, he thought, I’m not a quitter, and if I survived this, I can push forward. But if I retired, we could live out the rest of our lives without all the stress and danger at work. He bounced the idea of retiring back and forth in his mind. “I guess the boys at the shooting range can work on getting my grip adjusted so I can qualify again.”
Dix’s wife smiled and cried some more while giving him a great big hug. They kissed and embraced for quite some time. Finally she pulled away from him with an amused look in her eyes.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Well, at least you have one less fingernail to gnaw on!” she said playfully.
He pulled her close and whispered, “I love you, silly girl.”
She smiled. “I love you, too.” They embraced and cuddled like the old days, before he wore a badge. She motioned to the door as if to ask if she could send the visitors in.
He smiled and nodded. “Let’s see if anyone tops your comment about my finger.” They laughed like teenagers. And things, at least for a brief moment, felt like they could get back to normal, whatever that was.
THE END
About the Author
Chris Swinney (C. L. Swinney), @clswinney, writes crime fiction based on what he experiences as a homicide and narcotics investigator in the San Francisco Bay Area. As an avid reader, he developed a passion for the written word and took to writing novels, short stories, and poetry.
His work has been featured in Fly Fisherman Magazine, PointsBeyond.com, Alaskan Peninsula Newspaper, and California Game & Fish Magazine. He's now a contributor to PoliceOne.com, the nation's premier law enforcement online magazine.
His debut novel, Gray Ghost, and second novel, The Cartel Enforcers, made the best seller's list on Amazon. The novel is important to Chris because it features his mentor, Koti Fakava, who passed away leaving behind his lovely wife and five wonderful children. Proceeds from the sales of his novels go directly to Koti's family. He also donates proceeds from his sales to groups like Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation (JDRF), Cancer research, and PTSD/ Military support groups.
He spends time volunteering for his church, at schools, he coaches, and every once in awhile, he fly fishes.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Chapter 1:
Chapter 2:
Chapter 3:
Chapter 4:
Chapter 5:
Chapter 6:
Chapter 7:
Chapter 8:
Chapter 9:
Chapter 10:
Chapter 11:
Chapter 12:
Chapter 13:
Chapter 14:
Chapter 15:
Chapter 16:
Chapter 17:
Chapter 18:
Chapter 19:
Chapter 20:
Chapter 21:
Chapter 22:
Chapter 23:
Chapter 24:
Chapter 25:
Chapter 26:
Chapter 27:
Chapter 28:
Chapter 29:
Chapter 30:
Chapter 31:
Chapter 32:
Chapter 33:
Chapter 34:
Chapter 35:
Chapter 36:
Chapter 37:
Chapter 38:
Chapter 39:
Chapter 40:
Chapter 41:
Chapter 42:
Chapter 43:
Chapter 44:
Chapter 45:
Chapter 46:
Chapter 47:
Chapter 48:
Chapter 49:
Chapter 50:
About the Author
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