The Night Before

by David Fulmer

  Officer Thomas and Antonicci kneeled down. The EMT nodded briefly to Nicole, glanced at Joe’s face, then studied his arm. Joe regarded her in a daze. She had a nice face, olive-toned with freckles, a good nose, and very dark eyes.

  She was all business. “Sir?” she said. “Can you get up and walk to the ambulance?”

  Joe nodded and said, “Think so.”

  Officer Thomas bent down and he and the EMT helped him to his feet. They stood still for a moment, then Antonicci fitted herself under his left arm and wrapped him around his waist, as if they were lovers embarking on a stroll. He felt like giggling as she managed him across the sidewalk toward the back of the ambulance.

  Nicole said, “My daughter. She’s inside.”

  Office Thomas said, “Go ahead, ma’am. Just don’t leave the scene, please.” Joe and the EMT had gone only a few steps when he stopped.

  “Wait a minute.” He moved his good arm to pat his pockets in a clumsy way. “Where is it?”

  “Where is what, sir?”

  “It was in my pocket,” Joe said. “A box.”

  The officer patted Joe’s coat and then the front of his jeans. “What kind of box, sir?”

  “Something I bought. I think I dropped it.”

  He tried to turn around but Antonicci was holding him fast. “We’ve got to get into the vehicle now.”

  Joe turned his head to call over his shoulder. “Nicole!” The movement made him dizzy and his legs went loose. The EMT lifted his foot onto the metal step and she and the cop hoisted him into the back of the ambulance.

  Antonicci peeled off Joe’s coat and then his sweater and shirt. After cleaning the wound with a solution that shot shards of pain through his arm, she bound it with a bandage and draped a blanket over his exposed side. She explained that he had suffered a gunshot wound to his bicep. That part he knew. “It was a small caliber,” she said. “A .22 or a .25. The bullet passed through the back without striking the bone, so the damage is all to tissue. But you’re going to require treatment at the ER. We’ll be transporting you in a few minutes.”

  “Transporting me where?”

  “Charity.”

  Joe said, “Shot?” He was back to being stunned by the news. Antonicci peered more closely. “Is there anyone you want to call?” Joe thought about it. He shook his head. “Not now. Later.”

  The EMT gave the bandages another inspection, then told him they’d be leaving directly and made her way back to the cab.

  After a few numb seconds, a film began rolling in his head. First came the blunt, sudden shock, followed by the bolt of pain. The sidewalk tilts and he’s on his knees, staring at the dark stain seeping through the fabric of his coat. In the next instant, he turns his head to see Terry standing twenty feet away, a shaking wreck, the pistol dangling from his hand. Reverend Callum appears from out of the frame moving with an agility that’s amazing for such a large man, grabs Terry’s wrist, twists the weapon away, then slaps him to the ground with a thick palm. Only after he kicks the pistol down the sidewalk and plants one large shoe on Terry’s chest does he clutch his own bloody left hand. Nicole is kneeling at his side, her eyes wild, wailing, Oh, my God! What should I do? What should I do? Joe says: My cell phone. 911 - And she fumbles into his coat pockets until she finds it and starts punching numbers. He looks past her to see Malikah gaping in wonder at his arm, her mouth a wide O as the projector winds down and stops.

  A magazine article he had read came to mind. It was a story about movie deals falling through because the incidents they were based on were so improbable that no one would believe something that crazy could have happened. Now he understood.

  Officer Thomas reappeared, clipboard in hand. He climbed into the ambulance, sat down on the opposite bench, and spent a few minutes letting Joe walk him through the crime, starting with the call to the church and ending with the reverend slapping Terry to the ground. The cop closed his clipboard and told Joe to expect to be contacted about a court date. He called up to Antonicci that he was finished and with a perfunctory nod, stepped down. In the next moment, Nicole climbed inside and handed Joe the zebrawood box. He sighed with relief and clutched it tight.

  She went back to tend to Malikah and Reverend Callum appeared at the ambulance door. “How are you feeling, son?”

  “I’m all right,” Joe said. “How about you?”

  The reverend flipped his bandaged hand. “This ain’t nothing,” he said. “Just barely got me.” Nicole and Malikah sidled up next to him and peered inside. Behind them, the car with Terry in the back seat pulled out, blue lights flashing in the darkness. “You taking him to Charity?” the reverend called to Antonicci. “Yes, sir,” the EMT said. “We’ll be leaving in just a second.”

  “We’ll follow you, then.” He smiled at Joe. “You know, we’re both lucky it wasn’t worse. Boy would have pointed that pistol an inch or two left or right and…” He lifted his arms and said, “I guess God had other plans for us tonight.”

  Joe stared at Reverend Callum’s retreating back. He was still working to get his mind around the reverend’s parting words when the male EMT stepped up to strap him to the steel cot and then join Antonicci in the cab.

  By the time they reached the hospital, Joe was wondering frankly if he had been transported into someone else’s movie after all. Never one to shy away from trouble, he had never hidden behind his computer and then pretended to know life’s raw realities. He had worked blue-collar jobs, construction and such, and had always felt more at home on the funkier side of a street. It was yet another point on which he and Mariel diverged, but he believed his books were the better for it and so did the critics who had reviewed them. He was not afraid to get his hands dirty, get into it, engage.

  But this night was beyond ridiculous. If it wasn’t for the hole in his arm, the stricken looks on the faces of Nicole and Malikah, and the gleaming display of steel, glass, and plastic apparatus around him, it could have been a silly dream, a plot line he made up and then discarded.

  The ER nurse, a brisk and cheerful Latina, escorted him to a gurney and then closed the curtain. He sat there for a little while, trying to piece together the fragments of the last ten hours and wondering if it would ever make sense. Heroes got shot, but he didn’t feel like a hero. Mariel and Christian would be distraught when they found out. He hoped Hannah wouldn’t think it had been a thrilling adventure. Maybe the reality of his wound would shock her out of such notions. He could only hope.

  The curtain opened and the nurse was back with a doctor who looked like a gawky kid. He asked Joe some general questions and his condition. Neither he nor the nurse was all that excited about his wound, just another entry in a catalog of damaged body parts. In what seemed a matter of a few busy seconds, the doctor had cleansed and stitched his flesh and the nurse had re-bandaged and wrapped and taped his bicep. The doctor wrote out some prescriptions and now it was the nurse asking Joe if there anyone he wanted to contact.

  Joe thought it over and pictured Mariel answering the phone in the middle of her frenetic night to hear him babbling a story about getting shot and going to the hospital. She’d think he’d lost his mind. Also, there was the chance that she wouldn’t pick up, fearing what she might hear. He shook his head. “My friends are outside.”

  The nurse said, “All right, then. Someone’s coming in to get your insurance information and all that.” Joe made a face and she said, “I know. But as soon as she’s done, you can go.”

  “Okay,” Joe said. He was noticing how nicely her curves filled her scrubs. Maybe he wasn’t in such bad shape after all.

  When she pulled back the curtain, Joe saw Reverend Callum, Nicole, and Malikah waiting. The reverend’s hand had been bandaged so that he looked like a boxer in wraps. Nicole stepped to Joe’s side while the reverend settled in the chair. There was nothing gory for Malikah to witness so she contented herself with studying all the shiny medical gear. However the shooting had alarmed her, she wasn’t showing any signs. Nicole appe
ared far more shaken over what had transpired.

  Joe asked what time it was, then said, “You’re still coming to the house, right?”

  The reverend and Nicole exchanged a glance. Reverend Callum said, “We can carry you there, but we weren’t sure… “

  “What?”

  “That it’d be right. With what happened and all.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Joe said. Malikah piped up. “I want to go.” Joe nodded. “I’d say that settles it.”

  The reverend said, “We’ll talk about it once we get you out of here.”

  Joe was on his way to insisting when a woman in slacks and a white blouse approached on quick clicking heels, pushing a laptop cart. She introduced herself as Ms. Tolliver from Accounting. From her curt voice and the pinched way she peered at the computer screen, she was not happy about having to work the holiday. It didn’t seem to occur to her that no one else wanted to be there, either.

  Joe asked Nicole to go into his pocket for his wallet and dig out his insurance card. Ms. Tolliver used the mobile stand to copy his information.

  “This is the policy from your wife’s employer?” she asked.

  Joe felt his face reddening. “That’s right.”

  The woman typed in the account number from the card and hit a few more keys. Peering over the top of the screen, she said, “Mr. Callum?”

  “It’s ‘Reverend,’” Joe said.

  “Sorry. Reverend. Do you have insurance coverage, sir?”

  “I’m a veteran. I go to the VA.”

  “Yes, sir, I understand. However, there’s going to be a charge for the EMT treating the wound at the scene. And some Emergency Room charges. What arrangements -”

  “Hey!” It came out sharper than Joe had intended and the woman stopped, frowned, and hiked her eyebrows. “How much?” he said.

  Ms. Tolliver’s lips pursed. “I don’t have the exact final to—”

  “Okay, about how much?”

  “About… eighteen hundred dollars,” the woman said.

  The reverend held up his bandaged hand, appalled. “For this?”

  As the three adults and the child stared as Joe bent down and retrieved the sheaf of bills from his sock. “I’ll cover it,” he said and passed the stack to Nicole. “Count out two thousand.” The reverend said, “Mister Joe, I can—”

  “It’s not charity,” Joe said quickly.

  It was true; the woman’s tone had set him off. Reverend Callum leaned forward to speak, then stopped when Joe shook his head. Joe watched as Nicole dropped one c-note after another onto Ms. Tolliver’s keyboard. The woman’s grimace of distaste deepened. Too bad for her; Joe was in no mood to be charitable.

  “Okay, let’s go,” he said when Nicole had delivered the last bill.

  She helped him with his jacket and she and the reverend started for the door.

  Ms. Tolliver said, “Wait, please. I’m printing a receipt.”

  Joe stood by while the paper rattled out of the printer that was perched on the shelf below the laptop. Ms. Tolliver handed him the page. “If you’re due a refund, you can -”

  “He’s a man of God,” Joe told her tight face. “And a veteran.” He walked away. Reverend Callum and Nicole were waiting by the ER door. “You didn’t need to do that,” the reverend said. “I got money.”

  “I wanted to,” Joe said. “And I can.” The reverend treated him to a baffled look. “It’s all right. I’ll explain it later.”

  Nicole called, “Malikah?” The child had disappeared. Nicole called out again. “Malikah!”

  The adults stepped into the corridor and circled the floor, arriving back where they began. Nicole was starting to get frantic and Joe had just asked a nurse to call security when she noticed the directory on the wall. She peered at it for a few moments, then said, “It’s okay. I know where she went.”

  She stood at the bright window, peering wide-eyed at the half-dozen tiny bodies in their bassinets. Joe caught up with Nicole at the top of the stairs and they stood in silence in the doorway, watching Malikah as she pressed her nose to the glass. Joe stole a glance at Nicole and saw something sad and unreadable in her eyes. “How’d you know she’d be here?”

  “I just figured…” There was more to it, but he didn’t press. After a few moments, she said, “She’s looking for her little brother.”

  “What little brother?”

  “The one we lost.”

  She moved off. Joe watched as she slipped next to her daughter and bent down. Together, mother and child gazed in at the newborns. Then Nicole put her arm around Malikah’s shoulder and murmured, “It’s time to go.”

  Reverend Callum drove with Joe giving directions. Malikah was asleep with her head in her mother’s lap. The city was quiet under the blanket of snow and a pre-dawn sky the color of slate.

  Joe asked the reverend to retrace his path through the night, driving past the church and through the neighborhoods. Jimmy’s was closed and he peered along Queen Street, where Gina and Sonny were nestled. He thought about rousing them to come along to the house. And what about Billy and the friend that he had surely found? The more the merrier. No, let them all huddle in warm beds. For this night and a thousand more, if they could manage it.

  The reverend interrupted his thoughts. “You don’t think you should maybe call ahead?” he said.

  Joe said, “That would just get everybody excited. It’s better this way.”

  “I don’t remember when’s the last time I was in a home on Christmas morning,” the reverend said. “With the church and all, I don’t get to.”

  “Where are your people?” Joe said, feeling the sweet respite of talking about common matters.

  “In Georgia,” Callum murmured. “What’s left of them, I mean. They’re all mostly gone.” He fell silent, leaving only the sound of the hum of the engine, the whirr of the heater fan, and the tires rolling on the packed snow. Another few moments and he said, “I had a wife and children. They’re gone, too.”

  “Gone where?” Nicole said.

  Reverend Callum didn’t speak for several seconds and Joe wondered if they had stumbled onto something tragic.

  “The whiskey bottle,” the reverend said at last. “That was how the devil got hold of me. I was weak. Couldn’t fight him. And so he won out. They up and left me. Moved away. I don’t know where.” It had all come out in a deep and measured voice, like slow-running water. “I imagine my little girl has her own family by now.” He smiled in a distant way. “Means I’m a granddaddy. Or so I expect.”

  “You don’t want to track them down?” Joe said.

  Reverend Callum was quiet for another few moments before saying, “I will someday. Yes, I will.” They passed under Highway 12 and turned onto College Avenue. “Don’t get up this way much,” the reverend murmured.

  Joe said, “I can help you. Find your people, I mean. I know how to do research. I have to do it for my books.”

  “What books?” the reverend said.

  “I write books. That’s what I do. For a living.”

  “Is that so?” The reverend’s brow stitched as he watched the road. “I never asked you, did I?”

  “What kind of books?” Nicole said.

  Joe turned in his seat. “Novels. Historical.” He felt as if he was confessing to something. “So I do a lot of research.” He looked at the reverend again. “I could help. If you wanted to find someone, I mean.”

  The reverend met his eyes, then returned his attention to the road. “Well, maybe…”

  “You in the bookstores?” Nicole said.

  “I have been, yeah.” Joe felt himself blushing again, though now with pride. “And I will be again soon.”

  Nicole eyed him. “So what’s your next one about?”

  “My next one?” Joe felt a fresh throb in his arm. “I don’t know. Maybe about tonight.”

  “That’d be some story, all right,” the reverend said.

  He directed Reverend Callum onto his street. As the van rolled t
o up the house, Joe saw Don whisking away with a heavy broom at the patches of drifted snow that had sullied his driveway.

  The reverend shut off the engine. Don stopped and stared wide-eyed as the three adults and the child piled out. By the time he discerned that one of the passengers was Joe, it was too late to make a run for it. So he stood still, broom in hand, his face blanching from winter-morning red to a sickly white that was clear even at that distance.

  Nicole glanced his way. “Jesus,” she said under her breath. “Him?”

  “Him,” Joe muttered back.

  “I guess ugly ain’t against the law,” she said, causing Joe to cough.

  Don stood frozen in a fearful sort of wonder, and whatever dreams of violence Joe had been entertaining dwindled away. He couldn’t muster the passion to fix him with as much as a vile glance as they made their way up the walk. No one looked at Don anymore and he was a snowman melting into a greasy puddle of his own making.

  It was not until the middle of the night that Mariel fell into a sleep that was assailed by odd and disjointed dreams. She jerked awake, dozed, then came alert again. Twice she felt her stomach churning so roughly that she thought she’d have to run to the bathroom, but both times the spasms passed and she sat on the edge of the bed, her dull eyes fixed on the floor while she waited for her nerves to calm.

  As the hours wore on, her sense that something had gone wrong with Joe grew. He wouldn’t stay away from his kids that long, not him, and not at Christmas. He wouldn’t hurt them because of her treachery. He was a good man that way.

  Who was she kidding? He was a good man in most ways. His poor earning potential wasn’t a crime. She had known his slapdash nature all along, starting with their very first months together. He dreamed and chased rainbows and left the worries over money to her. She knew that he possessed a remarkable talent, that he worked very hard, that his books were accomplished. All that, and a dollar-fifty, got him a ride on the #6 bus. It was something he repeated when things were slow, which was most of the time. But his negligence didn’t make him a felon.