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Jet

Page 30

by Russell Blake


  ~ ~ ~

  When David awoke, it was early evening. Jet raised her head and studied him from her vantage point in the chair.

  He tried to get up, with difficulty.

  “Do you need help?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I want to use the bathroom.”

  She disconnected the IV and supported him as they shuffled to the door. He gave her a pained grimace.

  “I can take it from here.”

  “It’s not like I haven’t seen the goods before, but okay. Scream if you need anything.”

  A few minutes later, the door opened, and he stepped out, still weak.

  “How’s it going?” she asked.

  “So-so. Rani told me to stay in bed. But it’s not every day that I have company over, so I thought I’d at least greet you…”

  “With a forty-caliber welcome mat. Very touching.”

  “It’s been a while.”

  “Not that long.”

  He returned to the bed and slid back onto it with a sigh of relief.

  “Can you eat yet?”

  “Given the injury, Rani suggested I stick to liquids for the first three days. Nothing too acidic. Vegetable and mild fruit juices blended with some of the protein powder and yogurt he’s got in the fridge.”

  “Makes sense. He’s got enough food to sustain a small army in the cupboards, so you’re good.”

  David smiled again. “Rani never liked to go hungry.”

  “I know. I met him, remember?”

  “That’s right. I’m sorry. I’m sort of out of it.”

  “I noticed. But, David? We need to talk.”

  “I know.”

  “Maybe we can start with who attacked me.”

  “I wish I knew. I have a suspicion, but that’s all it is.”

  “Care to share?”

  He reached out and grasped the hanging plastic tube and reconnected the IV.

  “Later. I need to do some more thinking…but the ones that came for me spoke Russian. I heard one of them call out for help.”

  “Russian?”

  “I know. It doesn’t make a lot of sense. But it will.”

  “Will?”

  He was starting to fade again.

  “Can you please change the IV bag when it runs dry? Probably in another few hours.”

  “What would you do if I wasn’t here?” she asked.

  “Rani is coming by after work. He’s supposed to be here by seven this evening to check on me.”

  Just then, she heard the front door push open against the chair.

  She grabbed the Glock and dashed into the living room, where a quick glimpse at the screen confirmed that Rani was on the stoop. “Coming,” she called, then moved down the hall to the entrance, slipping the gun into the waist of her jeans and pulling her shirt over it. She removed the chair and unlocked the chain.

  Rani pushed his way in a few seconds later, a bag of groceries in one hand and his physician’s bag in the other. She wordlessly took the food from him and carried it to the kitchen as he walked to the bedroom.

  A few minutes later, he returned.

  “How is he?” she asked.

  “Healing. There’s a danger of sepsis, and he shouldn’t move any more than necessary for another forty-eight hours, and then slowly. The good news is that he’s in remarkable physical shape.”

  “How long will he be on the morphine?”

  “He can start easing off it tomorrow. Pain is the worst during the first twenty-four hours following the surgery. From here, it should get more tolerable. But bear in mind, I had to cut part of his guts out.”

  “That’s the technical term?”

  Rani smiled.

  “There isn’t a lot anyone can do for him now, except wait. Time will heal him or kill him. My money is on a recovery.” Rani got a glass of water in the kitchen and then headed to the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow. If he starts presenting with a fever, call me – that could be infection, and we need to keep a close watch on it. Beyond that, try to keep him down and resting.”

  “Is there anything else I can do?”

  He scowled as he opened the door and stepped out.

  “Pray.”

 

 

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