by Frank Zafiro
Once I was inside, someone in blue scrubs took one look at me and said, “Holy shit.” He turned and called into the back. “I need a gurney and a doc right now!”
I stumbled, reached out for one of the chairs in the waiting room, and collapsed to the floor.
SEVENTEEN
I didn’t entirely lose consciousness again, but things became a little surreal over the next hour or so. People in hospital uniforms came and went. An IV went in my arm.
A man who I thought was a doctor asked me a series of questions about my general health, then about specific injuries. He pointed to my face first.
“We’ll get some ice on that right away,” he said. “And we will need to X-ray it to make sure your cheekbone isn’t broken.”
“Okay,” I said, my voice thick. Then I pointed at my groin and my kidneys. “Kicks. Both places.”
“That will take a different test,” he said. “Soft tissue needs an MRI or a CAT scan.”
“Thanks,” I grunted.
“That’s really where your greatest danger lies. A hard kick can split open a kidney or a spleen. Or rupture a testicle.”
I grimaced. “Let’s hope not.”
After that, he left me alone. People shuttled in and out including a chubby woman dressed in business attire. “I need to get you checked in, sir.”
I gave her my basic information through clenched teeth.
“Insurance?”
“None.”
She gave me a questioning glance. “So is this out of pocket, or…?”
“I don’t know right now.” The pain medication that they gave me was starting to kick in a little. Combined with the dissociative feeling that was still hanging around, the whole thing gave me a strange perception. “Can we figure this out later?”
She gave me a look that said she didn’t want to put anything off until later but she left it alone. “I’ll be back when you are more up to talking,” she said.
“I can hardly wait,” I said, but she was already out of the room by the time I spoke the words. Besides, I think they came out as something closer to “I-ya kun hawdly wheat.”
It seemed as if Helen was there a moment later, though I couldn’t tell for sure. She sat at my bedside holding my hand and talking to me earnestly. At that point I wasn’t hearing the words she spoke. I just stared at her.
Matt and Brent hung back at the foot of my bed. Matt cast nervous smiles that were probably meant to encourage me. Brent looked on with a flat expression. Even so, I was glad they were there too.
We all sat together in the emergency room for a minute or an hour or year. Sometimes I floated nearby and watched the whole thing.
All in all, a pretty fucked up situation.
Still, it was strangely comforting to have everyone present as I slipped into sleep.
Waking up was harsh. Whatever wonderful medication they gave me the night before had faded. My head pulsed with pain. My kidneys ached. The only good news was that my balls weren’t throbbing anymore.
Helen still sat in the chair beside my bed. Her head lay across her upper arm as she slept. Her hand rested next to mine. Matt and Brent were both sprawled across chairs against the far wall.
I nudged Helen. Her eyes fluttered open and she raised her head. Her expression was tranquil in that first moment of waking, then concern flooded her features.
“Jake,” she said, reaching out tentatively toward my face. “Are you all right?”
I thought that was a stupid question but she looked so beautiful I immediately forgave her. Besides, she just spent the night at my bedside, like something out of a movie.
“I’m fine,” I rasped, then coughed a little.
Helen looked left and right and found a water glass. She held it out to me. I reached for it but she shook her head, turning the straw. “Just drink. I’ll hold it.”
I leaned forward to sip. The water was room temperature but still went down as nice as any ice water I’d ever had. After three long sips, I sat back onto my pillow and nodded my thanks.
Behind Helen, Brent stirred in his seat and sat up. He seemed immediately alert and reached out to Matt on the next chair to whack him on the shoulder.
“Wha…?” Matt protested.
“He’s awake,” Brent said.
Matt snapped upright, rubbing his eyes. “You mean he’s not in a coma?”
Brent smacked him in the shoulder again.
“Ow,” Matt muttered, rubbing his shoulder and glaring at Brent. “What the hell? It’s an honest question.”
Brent ignored him. He stood and came to my bedside, stopping just behind Helen. “How’re you doing, Boss?”
“I’m better,” I croaked.
“Better than what?” Matt asked, coming forward to join the others. “Better than Rocky Balboa after Mr. T got through with him?”
I smiled, even though it hurt a little.
“How do you know that movie? Way before your time.”
“Netflix, man. ‘Sides, Eye of the Tiger is the shit.”
Sometimes I forgot how young he really was, which was further complicated by the fact that, in some ways, he hadn’t ever grown up.
We sat in silence for a moment. I reached up and touched my face gingerly. The swelling seemed to have gone down.
Brent cleared his throat. “Uh, Boss?”
“Yeah?”
“Was it…” He cast a careful glance at Helen. “…our friend?”
Helen didn’t seem to react to him talking around her. She just took my hand and squeezed.
I nodded. “His guys, anyway.”
“Which ones?” Matt growled. His hands clenched into fists and the muscles of his broad shoulders bunched. “I’ll fucking –”
“You’ll do nothing,” I said.
He gave me a confused look. “What? Boss, they—”
“I need to think about how to respond,” I said. “Need to work it out. Going off half-cocked after his muscle isn’t going to solve our situation.”
“That boat has sailed, it would seem,” Brent said.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t be so sure.”
He held up his hands, placating. “All right.”
“Let me get out of here, get my head together, and we’ll meet.”
“All right,” he repeated.
I looked at Matt. He squirmed. “I wish you’d still let me kick the shit out of one of them. Send a message, y’know?”
“I don’t want them getting any messages. I don’t want them thinking of me or any of us. Let them think this is over.” I looked back at Brent. “But it’s not.”
He didn’t reply this time, only nodded.
Matt shrugged. “I’ll follow your lead, Boss. You know that.”
“Good.”
“When are you getting out of here?”
“As soon as they let me.”
The two of them stayed for a little while longer, pulling chairs closer to the bed. We made small talk for a while. Helen joined in, and the scene quickly became something that could have taken place around my kitchen table instead of a hospital bed. I looked to each of them as the discussion rolled around. All very different people. But Matt and Brent were like family to me. And Helen…well, she was Helen, wasn’t she?
A doctor arrived, breaking up the party. Brent rose.
“We should go,” he told Matt. “I’m sure the doc wants to talk privately with him. Besides, he needs his rest.”
Matt didn’t argue. The two them said goodbye and left the room.
“You want me to step outside, too?” Helen asked me while the doctor waited impat
iently at the foot of my bed.
“No,” I said. “It’s all right. Stay.”
She smiled and squeezed my hand. Then we both turned our attention to the doctor.
“What’s the damage?” I asked him.
He scowled slightly. “There was plenty. Frankly, given what you looked like when you came into the ER, I was surprised not to find internal bleeding or organ damage, but your MRI checks out. Those kicks caused significant tissue damage, but that is essentially bruising.”
“Good,” I breathed. Bruises healed. I didn’t know if a split kidney or a burst testicle did.
“Your face is another matter,” he said, gesturing toward my left cheek. “We managed to get the swelling down by icing it overnight, but your Zygomatic bone is broken.”
“What’s that?”
He tapped his cheek. “Your cheek bone. It’s fractured.”
“How bad?”
He gave me a tight, humorless smile. “I’d argue that a break of any kind is still a break, and all breaks are bad. But this is a fracture in the center of the bone, not a complete break.”
“So what do you do for that?”
“We can operate,” he said. “That entails putting in a metal plate and securing it to the existing bone. But that’s usually a procedure we reserve for instances when the bone is shattered. In cases such as yours, sometimes the best policy is to just let it heal in place. As long as you don’t have any more trauma to the location, it should be fine.”
I took a deep breath and let it out. Then I nodded. “Okay, let’s go with that.”
He didn’t seem surprised. “All right,” he said, making a notation on my chart. When he looked back at me, his partial scowl had returned. “It’s not my place to tell someone how to run their life, but when it becomes a medical question, I feel obligated to say something.”
“About what?”
He motioned to me. “This assault. I wish you’d let us notify the police on your behalf.”
“No.”
The frustration was clear on his face. “Listen, this injury to your face needs to heal without any further trauma.”
“I get that. What does that have to do with the police?”
“Perhaps they could assist you in keeping this from happening again.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“It can’t,” he said. “If you sustain another blow on top of this injury –”
“I understand, doctor,” I interrupted. “I can’t get my face broken again.”
He stopped. “Fine,” he said, in a clipped tone. “The discharge nurse will be in to see you in a few minutes.”
“ Discharge nurse?”
“Yes. There’s no medical reason to keep you here.” He scrawled while he spoke. “All you need is rest to let your body heal. Do you need me to write anything up to give to your employer?”
I shook my head. “I’m self-employed.”
His gaze flicked up to me for a moment, then back to his chart. “Then go easy. There will be a pain medication prescription if you need it.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s only Tylenol-3,” he said.
“Still.”
He turned to leave, but stopped after just one step. “You should count yourself lucky with this one,” he said, motioning toward Helen. “She kept the ice pack on your cheek most of the night. That helped a lot with the swelling.”
I looked at Helen, who beamed back at me.
“I’m surprised we didn’t have to treat her fingers for frostbite.” The doctor waited another moment, then turned around and left the room.
“Thanks for taking care of me,” I whispered to her.
“I’ve got a lot of time to make up for,” she said.
“I guess we both do.”
Then the insurance lady came into my room and destroyed a beautiful moment.
EIGHTEEN
After I signed enough paperwork to buy a house and a half, they discharged me. When we reached my car, Helen held out her hand.
“I can drive,” I told her.
“Just a precaution,” she said. “You never know how much the medication they gave you is still affecting you.”
“I’m fine.”
She kept her hand out, saying nothing. Reluctantly, I gave her the keys.
The ride home was quiet. When we reached the house, I was surprised at how getting out of the car was actually a struggle. Helen came around to help me, but I made it out before she got there. Still, I leaned on her as we walked up the walkway and into the house.
I collapsed onto the couch, and sighed. My face throbbed but the pain was muted. A tightness in my back told me the kicks Mikey landed were still having an impact. Also, there was a pressure in my balls and I didn’t think it had anything to do with Helen.
Jesus. I was a mess.
I heard some clanking in the kitchen, then some water running. A couple of minutes later, Helen returned to the living room. “I’m making some tea.”
A couple of smart ass remarks popped into my head, but I kept them to myself. Partially because she’d been so nice, taking care of me and all. And partially because tea actually sounded pretty good.
“What next?” Helen asked.
“I do like the doctor said. I rest.”
“Of course. But what about after that? What about when you’re well again?”
I gave her an inquisitive look. “What are you asking me, Helen?”
“I’m asking you about your work.”
“I thought we already had this conversation.”
“Well, we’re having it again.”
“Why?”
“You just got severely beaten, Jake. I don’t want that to happen again. So if I’m going to look after you, I need to know what we’re up against.”
I gave her a long look. Once again, all I wanted to do was believe her. Believe that what we had years ago was real. Too real for her to handle. That she went away to find herself and was back because when she did find herself, being with me made sense to her.
But I’d been thinking about things, especially since the insurance lady broke the spell of perfection up at the hospital. I’d been thinking that it seemed too convenient for her to show up now. Thinking that things didn’t really start going to shit until that happened.
I was starting to think what I should have thought right at the start. Something was fucked up here. And maybe it was her.
When I opened my mouth to start asking her questions, I was cut off by pounding at my door.
“Police! Search Warrant! Come to the door!”
Helen gave me a surprised, panicked look. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” I said, struggling to my feet. “But I can guess who’s behind it.”
“Police!” The pounding resumed. “Open the door or we’ll force entry!”
“I’m coming!” I shouted. Then I turned to Helen. “Don’t answer any questions. No matter how benign they might seem, you don’t answer them.”
She nodded.
As I reached the door, the cop on the other side started pounding again.
“If you don’t open this door in three seconds –”
I twisted the knob and pulled open the door. It exploded inward, catching me in the forehead, stunning me for a moment. I was vaguely aware of staggering backward as bodies streamed into my living room.
“On the ground!” barked a black-clad cop with an MP-5 leveled at me. He wore a balaclava, goggles and a Kevlar helmet.
I blinked at him, and shook my head to clear it.
He obviously to
ok that as a refusal because he stepped forward and drove the butt of the submachine gun into the pit of my stomach.
The air went out of me instantly. I sank to my knees, struggling to breathe.
“Do it!” the cop shouted.
Going the rest of the way to my stomach wasn’t exactly difficult at that point. I knew what was coming next, so I was careful to turn my head to the left.
The cop dropped his weight onto me, driving my chest into the ground. He quickly shifted position, pressing his knee across the back of my neck and pinning my head to the ground. My busted cheek screamed in protest.
“Don’t hurt him!” Helen yelled from somewhere behind me. “He just got out of the hospital. He’s—”
I heard the sound of tussling and a thud. Helen let out a surprised grunt.
“On the ground means you, too, lady,” said another cop.
I could feel the tremors in the floor from the tramp of feet going through my house room by room. The same familiar refrain was barked out over and over again.
“Where’s your friends?” the cop on top of me asked. “Where are they hiding?”
“There’s no one else here,” I grunted out.
“You sure?”
I grunted again, in the affirmative.
It took another minute or so for them to complete their sweep of my house. I knew they’d do a second, more measured sweep immediately after that. SWAT was nothing if not thorough.
When the sounds of “clear” bellowed throughout the house, the cop on top of me finally lessened his downward pressure slightly. “I’m going to handcuff you,” he said, “and then let you up. Don’t resist me.”
I didn’t say a word.
He took hold of my wrists and slipped on the flex cuffs expertly. I didn’t resist, even when he cinched them down. There was no point in doing so.
The cop slid his weight off of me, but kept on a wristlock. “Roll up on your side,” he said. “Toward me.”
I rolled toward him. He talked me into a sitting position, then gave me ballast to push against as I stood to my feet.