Diamond in the Rough

by Peter Canning

  Sure enough, there was a money clip on the table by the door, right next to the patient’s keys and morning New York Times. Tom attended the man. The nurse wrote on the chart. The cop watched the pretty newscaster on TV talking about an accident on the highway. I put the clip in my pocket. I didn’t count it but I figured it was good for a couple nights of dinners. I was surprised at how easily I had lifted it.

  The man was delirious with a fever of 104 and had urinated on himself. The nurse said he had no family to speak of, and they would probably be moving him to the nursing unit when he was discharged from the hospital. He was ninety years old. From the pictures on the wall, I could see he had traveled the world: Japan, Europe, Africa. He had no doubt given to charities all his life. Maybe his leaving that money out, well, maybe that money was meant for me? Maybe I was a charity case? You could say I was doing some serious rationalization.

  Tom wanted to just put the old dude on the stretcher, soiled pants and all, but I insisted we take his pants off and put him in some fresh clean clothes. “He’ll be more comfortable this way,” I said. “Not having to lie in wet clothes until the hospital can change him.”

  “That’s a good idea,” the nurse said.

  Tom just rolled his eyes at me. “Mr. Compassion,” he whispered somewhat derisively. “Mr. Shit.”

  “Just doing my job,” I said.

  “What a thoughtful young man,” the nurse said after I asked where the bathroom was so I could moisten some washcloths to help clean him up.

  In the bathroom, I couldn’t help myself. I counted the money. One hundred and forty-three dollars. The clip was monogrammed, and I was sure it could fetch a pretty penny at a pawn shop, but probably was worth more in sentimental value alone to its owner. It was then I looked in the mirror and saw the devil himself. He was grey with beads of sweat on his brow, and his hands were trembling. Now, here’s the thing of it. It wasn’t just me looking at myself and seeing that I was pale and grey. I was pale and grey, but I also had horns and a tail. I felt like I was in a movie. Now this was not the first hallucination I had experienced. Since I had been sick, I’d been having them with increasing frequency. I had been trying to ignore them as merely tricks of my mind. I did not mention them for fear people would think I was stranger than I was. I just let myself go with it. So I was the devil—it wasn’t hard to understand. The sad part was, if I was going to be evil, couldn’t I be evil without all the guilt? It was destroying me. The devil is supposed to be a badass, not some shaking little guilty wimp. And then before I could stop myself, I lost my nerve and I put the clip and the money into the plastic bag with the dirty clothes and tossed them in the hamper. I came out with only the washcloths and a basin of soapy water. As I washed the filth off the old man’s body, I had a vision of a giant one day washing me off the sands of the earth like I was fungus, scrubbing me till the land was pristine again as it had been before Eve had eaten the apple. I had a bad, bad feeling. I wondered if maybe I ought to quit at the end of the shift and take a plane to Calcutta and throw myself on Mother Teresa’s mercy. Put Calcuttan rags on me and cleanse my soul. Save me from my inevitable doom. Then let me help others.

  After we packaged the man up all wrapped in clean sheets and strapped cozily to our stretcher and we were going out the door, I heard the nurse said “Wait!”

  We stopped and looked back.

  “Wasn’t there a money clip by the door here?” She looked to the policeman. “Officer? Officer? Didn’t you see it when you came in? It was right here.” They all looked at me, even Tom.

  I must have looked like a deer in headlights. I was so stunned I almost forgot I no longer had the money.

  “Oh, yeah, the money clip,” I said. “It was in the bathroom. It is in his pants pocket in the hamper. It fell out of his pants, I didn’t want to leave it on the floor, so I put it back in the pants. It’s in the hamper.”

  They all looked confused by my answer, but the nurse went and checked and came out with it. “I could have sworn it was by the door,” she said.

  “You might want to see that it gets locked up, officer,” I said. “You never know these days.”

  “Mr. Honesty,” Tom said later. “For a minute I was worried you had it in your pocket.”

  “Well, that would be wrong,” I said.

  ***

  Now those of you pulling for me, believing that this strange and too-close-for-comfort episode marked a change in my life’s course, don’t celebrate my rehabilitation too quickly. I was like the alcoholic who goes a month without a drink, for whom staying sober each day is a heroic achievement. Even if I didn’t steal, the impulse was always there. Money was still never safe around me.

  Not a week later, I encountered an unusual crowd in the hospital waiting room. They were gathered around the big screen TV that hung from the wall. I couldn’t see what was going on, there were so many people. What I did see was a wallet bulging out of the back pocket of a man in a suit. I felt someone bump me from behind and in the moment I brushed against the man, and muttered, “Hey, watch out,” to one man and “Excuse me” to the other. I found I had his wallet in my hand, then quickly secreted it in my jacket under my left arm. He didn’t seem to notice. I moved to the periphery of the crowd. I could now hear the newscast and see a part of the picture. “The resignation of the Governor is a stunning development—the result of an ongoing federal corruption investigation into bribes and other illegal activities in the state’s highest office.”

  “What a fucking asshole, I always knew he was a crook,” a man on crutches said.

  “Stealing from poor folks, the same as voted him in. That’s disgraceful.”

  “What goes around, comes around. I always said he was a crook.”

  I headed out the door, walked across the street, and went into the restroom. I counted my haul: five hundred and seventy-two dollars. What kind of person besides a drug dealer carries around that kind of cash? I looked at the patient’s driver’s license. The president of the hospital. Oh, my goodness, I thought. What have I done now? But then another thought crossed my mind. Maybe it was the money that had come from me in the first place. My bill had been outrageous. Two hundred dollars they had tried to charge me for an aspirin. Maybe this was meant for payback. I was sort of a Robin Hood for myself.

  At first, I avoided the mirror. I knew it would not have shown me dressed in green with a quiver of arrows on my back and a sturdy bow in my hand. Robin Hood. That was a joke. These people saved my life, and so what if they overcharged me? They also took care of a lot of people who could never pay them back. And maybe they overpaid their president, but they had a lot of other nice people who worked there. I cast a quick furtive glance in the mirror and was not at all surprised that I saw a big furry rat with bad teeth. I was a rat just like the fucking Governor. Except I was still free. A part of me wanted it all to be over. Let the trap fall on me and break my neck. Put me out of my misery.

  Chapter 33

  “You heard from Fred at all?” the supervisor asked me when I came to work one afternoon.

  “We were drinking at The Brickyard last night.”

  “Was he so shit-faced he wouldn’t be able to make it out of bed for his noon shift?”

  “No, he wasn’t that bad.”

  “Well, he’s on the schedule and he’s not answering his phone. Can you and Tom swing by there and shake his ass out of bed?”

  I couldn’t say it wasn’t like Fred to sleep past his shift. He’d done it many times in the past. When it came to drinking, he didn’t have the shutoff valve that most of us had. Me, I’d reach a point my body would signal my brain, woo partner, one more and you will have a nasty hangover in the morning, one more past that and you will be puking, that’s for certain, so shut it down now. Three sips max and you are done. That is not to say there weren’t occasions where I overrode that voice, when I said, dude, I know, but in my own lack of self-esteem way, I desire both the hangover and the puking to punish my no good puny self, and
if you get hurt in the barrage, well, I’m sorry, that’s just collateral damage.

  “You go in and check on him,” Tom said, holding his cell phone away from his mouth for a moment. He was talking to another one of his girlfriends. He was trying to explain to her why he didn’t see her last night like he had promised, but was hoping to see her tonight. This after just talking to another girlfriend telling her what a great night he had last night, but how he couldn’t see her tonight like he had promised.

  Fred lived in a room over the garage of his grandmother’s house. His parents had divorced when he was ten and neither of them wanted him or his brother. His grandmother had her own business selling insurance and had at first worked out of her house. By the time Fred was in high school, her business had really picked up and she had her own office on Main Street, and wasn’t around much, but she had always been nice to me.

  Fred’s car was in the drive. I walked up the outside stairs and knocked on the door. When no one came, I looked in the window. I could see him sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. I knocked again. He didn’t move. The TV was on. “Fred, hey, open up! It’s me. You’re on the schedule. Open up. What’s going on?” I was gripped briefly by panic. I tried the door. It was unlocked. “Fred! Fred?”

  The room was trashed. The wall was punched-in in several places, the stereo speakers toppled. A broken chair, a smashed mirror. There was a large bottle of whiskey on the table in front of him, but it had hardly been opened. A shot glass was full in front of him.

  “Fred, are you okay? What happened, man?”

  He looked up at me then. His eyes were red. He looked like he’d been through the wringer and back again. On his face was a look of complete devastation.

  “Fred, what happened? What’s wrong?”

  He didn’t say anything. He just sobbed.

  I finally got the story out of him. He’d found out last night when he’d come home. His brother had been badly injured when his Humvee was blown up by a roadside bomb. His brother was still alive, but in a coma. He’d lost both his legs and was being evacuated to a medical hospital in Germany.

  I called dispatch and had them take us offline for a while, and then I helped Fred get a hold of his grandmother in New Orleans where she was at a convention, and then got him a plane ticket to Germany. I promised I’d come back in a few hours and take him to the airport.

  When I came back out, Tom was still on the phone to a girlfriend. “I suppose you wiped his butt up too?” he said.

  “Fuck you,” I said. “We’re heading in.”

  I wouldn’t tell him why. We got back to the base, I talked to the supervisor, then punched out. I picked Fred up, drove him to the airport and waited with him until he went through the gate. Before he left, I gave him four hundred of the bucks I taken from the hospital president. I shoved it in his pocket. “You’re a good brother, Fred. Do what you have to do.”

  Chapter 34

  “463, 270 Capen Street for the fall, possibly lift assist, the back door should be open.”

  “Your old girlfriend,” Tom said. “Though I suppose with the way you’re hobbling, you won’t have any left over for her.”

  “Very funny. You’re a funny man.”

  “I was thinking. I think I’ve got your angle. You’re buttering her up in hopes that when she kicks, she’s going leave her fortune to you.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “You’ll inherit some old records, a pile of old newspapers, and some stained pajamas.”

  “You’re a funny man.”

  “Why are you so defensive? There must be something there.”

  “Please.”

  We pulled up in front of the house. I just brought in a refusal. Tom stayed in the car.

  I found her beside her bed, but the room was much dirtier than normal, and she looked like she hadn’t bathed in a few days.

  “What took you so long?” she asked.

  “Are you hurt at all?” I asked her.

  “No, no, I just can’t get up.”

  “Have your aides been coming in?”

  “I sent Hattie on an errand so we could have some privacy.”

  “Okay...” I said, looking at her strangely.

  I got her in bed, got her water and crackers, and then sat by her side while I slowly wrote my refusal.

  “How much longer are you going to work for your boss?” she asked. “When are you going to strike out on your own?”

  “What?”

  “You know what my father said. You have to show you can support me. I told him you had ambition.”

  “I like this job just fine,” I said. “For now.”

  “But you’ll need a better position. A girl’s father has to know his daughter will be taken care of.”

  There was a haze in her eyes.

  I reached over and touched her forehead. She didn’t have a fever.

  “I’ve been waiting patiently.”

  “I know you have,” I said.

  “Patiently…” she said again.

  I didn’t know what to say to her. I finished writing the run form and brought it over for her to sign. She wrapped her hand around mine and together we wrote her signature, and then she looked up at me, and I confess to you, for a moment I thought she was seeing her long lost lover’s face in mine and it freaked me out, although for a moment I wondered what she would do if I leaned down and gave her a big kiss. In my perverted way I might have, but her breath was really bad tonight.

  “Impress my father,” she said, “He wants me to be taken care of.”

  “I will,” I said. I pulled the cover up to her neck.

  “Turn the light off, will you, on your way out?”

  “I will, but tell me your aide is coming in tomorrow.”

  “Hurry, before Hattie returns. Steal away,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I hit the light off by the door and made my way down the creaky stairs, and let myself out the back door.

  I was disturbed by what had transpired and wondered if I should have tried to get her to go to the hospital or if maybe I should check back there in the morning to make certain her aide came in. She was clearly starting to lose her mind, and it made me sad and sort of sick. I felt like I might have an obligation where I hadn’t wanted one, but then if I wasn’t going to look after her, who was there?

  “Was she good?” Tom asked.

  “Fuck you,” I said.

  “Why are you so hostile?”

  “Don’t go there.”

  “Psycho.”

  I just looked out the window. Why was decency always the subject of ridicule?

  Chapter 35

  I was coming off a 10:30 a.m. to 10:30 p.m. shift when the supervisor said I had a phone call.

  I thought it was strange because no one ever called me at work and it was sort of forbidden unless it was an emergency.

  “Hello.”

  “Yo, dude, you won’t believe who’s here.” It was Teddy Olsen.

  “Where are you?”

  “At the Brickyard, man.”

  “Why are you calling me? It’s supposed to be emergencies only.”

  “This is an emergency. I told the fucking supervisor. You have been on one long downer that is about to end, and that serves everyone’s interest. Now, guess again, who’s here right now, nosing about for you?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “No idea. You’re worse than I thought. Get your butt down here now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Carrie’s here.”

  “So?”

  “So, here’s the scoop, she dumped Jimmie Winslow. She was telling me, she was letting him sleep late when she went to work. She comes home early one day because she left a file at home she was working on, and she finds him banging her roommate. Seems he was getting her on the nightshift and her roommate on the dayshift. She had to move out, get her own place. She’s looking good, wearing a nice perfume. I think she needs the consoling of an old friend. Get down here bef
ore last call and your long nightmare may be over.”

  “Or just beginning,”

  “Don’t be so fatalistic. Get down here. Now I’ve got to get back to the table. I’m on the news tonight.”

  I knew Carrie and knew if what Teddy said was true, I could be back in her arms again tonight. My nose filled with the ghost scent of her skin. My heart began to race. My hands began to shake. While my brain said hold on, my heart lifted with possibility. I was lonely, desperate and a dreamer. And likely not the smartest one.

  I went in the side door so I could get a good view of the layout before I went in. I wanted to be casual, cool. I needed to look like I didn’t care about anything. I was just dropping in for a beer after a hard day at work. I saw Carrie sitting with some girlfriends, their table pulled over to the others. It looked like things were starting to wind down. I walked in such a way that she would see me if she was looking toward the bar, but I wouldn’t have to notice her.

  I ordered a draft, and lit up a cigarette, and was just making conversation with the bartender. I wasn’t there two minutes when I felt her presence beside me. I smelled her.

  “Hey, stranger,” she said.

  I turned and looked at her with practiced cool. “Hey, how are you?”

  “Good. I wasn’t expecting to see you here. They said you don’t come around much anymore.”

  “Hey, once in a while I come in for a draft. How about you, how’s Jimmie?”

  She made a face. “Don’t ask. I always end up going out with losers.”

  “That makes me feel good about our time together.”

  “I wasn’t including you. It’s just I feel so gullible. Jimmie was everything I wanted. And the ring he was going to get me was beautiful. It was so big it just gleamed right on my finger. He said he was making payments on it, working extra, then what does he do? He buys a Harley. I call the jeweler—he never made a single payment on the ring. They’d even sold it two months before. Can you believe that? All that time we were together, he was living a lie.”