"I'm just grateful Matt's not more seriously injured," Jean-nie said.
"Chief Coughlin called and told me," Mother Moffitt said. "Your mother apparently couldn't be bothered."
"She was upset, for God's sake!" Jeannie Moffitt protested. "You, of all people, should understand that."
"No matter what trials and pain God has sent me, I take pride in always having done my duty."
Jeannie Moffitt shook her head, and she and Matt exchanged a smile.
"So, how are you, Matty?" she asked.
"Aside from that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?"
Jeannie Moffitt laughed.
"What was that? I don't understand that," Mother Moffitt said.
"A little joke, Grandma," Matt said.
The nurse stuck her head through the door again.
"I'm afraid you'll have to leave now," she said.
"I just got here," Mother Moffitt said indignantly.
"Doctor's orders," the nurse said, and walked to the side of Matt's bed. "Mr. Payne needs rest."
"Officer Payne, thank you," Mother Moffitt said.
"Do you need anything, Matty?" Jeannie asked.
"Not a thing, thank you."
"I'll come back, of course, if Jeannie can find the time to bring me," Mother Moffitt said.
"Of course, I will. You know that."
"It's a terrible thing when the only time I get to see him is in a hospital bed with a bullet in him," Mother Moffitt said.
She bent and kissed his cheek and marched out of the room. The nurse went to the door and turned and smiled.
"Dr. Payne said to tell you, you owe her one," she said.
"Thank both of you," Matt said.
"There's some other people out here to see you. You feel up to it?"
"Who?"
"A Highway Patrolman, some kind of a big-shot cop named Coughlin, and a man from the district attorney's office. And his wife."
"The district attorney?"
"I think he said assistant. And his wife. I can run them off."
"No. I'm all right. Isn't this thing supposed to hurt?"
"It will. When it starts to hurt, ring for a nurse."
"I'm also hungry. Can I get something to eat?"
"I can probably arrange for something," she said. "So you want to see them?"
"Please."
Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin, Officer Charles McFadden, and Assistant District Attorney and Mrs. Farnsworth Stillwell filed into the room.
"Hey, Charley," Matt said. "Uncle Denny."
"I'm Farnsworth Stillwell, Officer Payne," the assistant dis-trict attorney said, walking up to the bed with his hand ex-tended, "and this is Mrs. Stillwell."
"How do you do?" Matt said politely. He had previously had the pleasure of making Mrs. Stillwell's acquaintance. He not only knew her Christian name, but a number of other intimate details about her.
Her name was Helene, and the last time he had seen her, she was putting her clothing back on in his apartment, whence they had gone from the Delaware Valley Cancer Society's cock-tail party.
"Hello," Helene said. "I'm a little vague about the protocol here. Is it permitted to say I'm so sorry you've been shot?"
"This is my first time too," Matt said. "I'm a little fuzzy about the protocol myself."
She walked to the bed and offered him her hand.
"I'm sorry you've been shot."
"Thank you. So am I," Matt said.
"Are you all right?"
"Just fine."
"We're all sorry you've-this has happened," Farnsworth Stillwell said. "And I must tell you, I feel to some degree responsible."
"Nonsense," Denny Coughlin said. "No one is responsible except the man who pulled the trigger."
"I'm sorry we didn't bring you anything," Helene Stillwell said. "But I didn't know who you were, what you would be like, and at this time of the morning-"
"It was good of you to come," Matt said.
Helene finally took her hand back.
"We wanted you to know that we were concerned," Still-well said, "concerned and grateful."
"I think we should let Officer Payne get some rest, darling," Helene said.
"There are some members of the press outside who would like to have our picture together," Farnsworth Stillwell said. "Would you feel up to that?"
Matt looked at Denny Coughlin, who shrugged and then nodded his head.
"Sure," Matt said.
A photographer came into the room. He asked if the bed could be cranked up, and when it had, he suggested that Mr. Stillwell get on one side of him, and Mrs. Stillwell on the other. When they had done so, he suggested that they get closer to Matt. "It feels a little awkward, but the picture comes out better."
When they had moved into the desired positions, they had to swap sides, so that Assistant District Attorney Stillwell and Officer Payne could shake hands. Mrs. Stillwell, in order to get closer, put her arm behind Officer Payne's shoulders, a position that pressed her breast against his arm, and for a mo-ment allowed her fingers to caress the back of his neck.
And then the flashbulb went off, Farnsworth Stillwell told Officer Payne that if he needed anything, anything at all, all he had to do was let him know, and they were gone.
"I don't like that sonofabitch," Denny Coughlin said, "but I wouldn't be surprised if he really does get to be governor."
"Really?" Matt asked.
"So how are you, Matty?" Denny Coughlin asked.
"Worried about my car," Matt said, looking at Charley.
"I got it downstairs," Charley said. "Aside from no radio, doors, or seats, it's okay."
"You'd better be kidding."
"I got it downstairs, all in one piece. Inspector Wohl asked me to ask you where you want it."
"In the garage under the apartment, please."
"You got it. You need anything else?"
"Can't think of anything."
"I'll come see you when I get off. But I'd better get going now. Quinn's sitting in the car about to shit a brick."
"Thanks, Charley," Matt said.
Dennis V. Coughlin closed the door after McFadden, and then exhaled audibly. He walked to the bed and sat down on it.
"Jesus, Matty, you gave us a scare. What the hell happened?"
This is more than a godfather, more than my blood father's buddy, doing his duty, Matt suddenly realized. This man loves me.
He remembered that his father, the other father, the only one he had ever known, Brewster C. Payne, had told him that he believed Dennis V. Coughlin had always been in love with his mother.
"Lieutenant Suffern let us out of his car in the alley behind Stevens's house-"
"You and O'Hara?"
"Yeah. We were waiting for the ACT team and the sergeant to bring Stevens down so Mickey could get a picture. Then I heard a noise, a creaking noise, like wood breaking. I think now it was Stevens coming over a fence. Anyway, all of a sudden, there he was shooting at us."
"He shot first?"
"He shot first."
"That makes it justifiable homicide. You're absolutely sure he shot first?"
"Hey, I thought you were here to comfort me on my bed of pain, not interview me?"
"Are you in pain?" Coughlin asked, concern and possibly even a hint of pity-or maybe shame-in his voice.
"No, Uncle Denny, I'm not," Matt said, and touched the older man's shoulder. After a moment, Coughlin's hand came up and covered his.
"It'll probably start to hurt later, Matty," he said. "But they'll give you something for it. I'm sure."
Their eyes met.
Coughlin stood up.
"I got to go. You need anything, you know how to reach me."
FIFTEEN
A motherly, very large black woman wearing a badge identi-fying her as a licensed practical nurse delivered a fried egg on limp toast sandwich, a container of milk, and a Styrofoam cup of coffee.
"Lunch is at eleven-thirty," she announced. "Unless you like beans and
franks you won't be thrilled."
"Thank you."
"You know how to work the TV clicker?"
She showed him, walked to the door to leave, and then turned.
"I heard what happened," she said. "Good for you. Ani-mals like that bum you shot are taking over the city."
Matt found the controls for the bed, adjusted the back to his satisfaction, and turned on the television. Not surprising him at all, there was nothing on that he would watch if he were not in a hospital bed feeling lousy and with his leg wrapped up like that of an Egyptian mummy.
If it were Saturday morning, he thought, at least I could watch the teenagers flopping their boobs around on that dance show on WCAU-TV.
He settled for a quiz show, quickly deciding that the partic-ipants had been chosen not for their potential ability to call forth trivia but rather on their ability to jump up and down, shrieking with joy, when they were awarded a lifetime supply of acne medication.
His calf began to feel prickly, as if it had fallen asleep, and it seemed to him he could feel blood pumping through it.
The door opened and a handsome young man with long blond hair entered, bearing a floral display.
"Where do you want this, buddy?"
"On that dresser, I suppose."
The handsome young man jerked the card free from the display and tossed it onto the bed and left.
The card read, "Best Wishes for a Speedy Recovery. Fra-ternal Order of Police."
Officer Payne was surprised at how much the gesture touched him.
There was no question about it now, he could feel the beat-ing of his heart in his calf.
The moron on television, even though he had eagerly pushed the I-know-the-answer button, erroneously located Casablanca in Tunisia, the you-goofed fog horn sounded, and the moron's face registered as much sorrow as if his mother had just been run over by a truck.
The door opened again, to another florist's delivery man, this one bearing two floral displays. One of the cards read, "Mother, Dad, & House Apes." The second, "Charley & Margaret."
He was aware that he had audibly let his breath out, and then that it was more than that; he had moaned. Every time his heart made his leg throb, it hurt.
Well, why am I surprised? They told me it would start to hurt.
With some effort, (the device, at the end of an electrical cord, had fallen off the back of the bed when he had raised it) he found the button to summon the nurse.
A minute or so later, the door opened, but it was not an angel of mercy with the wherewithal to deaden his pain, but another delivery person, this one female, fat, and bearing an expensively wrapped package.
"You're the one who got shot, aren't you?" she greeted him. "I seen it in the newspaper."
Whoopee! Ring the you-got-it-right! siren. You have just won a year's supply of Acne Free!
"I guess I am."
The package contained a pound of Barricini assorted choc-olates and a copy of Art Buchwald's latest book. The card read, "Ask the nurse to explain the big words to you. Amy."
Jesus Christ, I hurt! Where the hell is that goddamn nurse?
The nurse's head appeared in the partially opened door. A new one. This one was blond, and had intelligent hazel eyes in a very attractive face.
"Is there a problem?" she asked.
Nice voice. Deep. Soft. I wonder what the rest of her looks like?
"Actually, there are two."
"Oh?"
"I hurt."
"And?"
"Nature calls."
"Bowels or bladder?"
"Bladder," he said, and then reconsidered. "Probably both."
God, what a perfectly wonderful way to begin a romantic conversation.
The head withdrew from the door, and the door closed.
"I give you my personal guarantee," Mr. Robert Holland announced sincerely from the television screen, "that you'll never get a better deal anywhere in the Delaware Valley than you'll get from me. Step into any one of our locations today, and one of our sales counselors of integrity will prove it to you."
"You hypocritical fucking thief!" Officer Payne responded indignantly.
The nurse returned, more quickly than Matt had expected, carrying a tray with a tiny paper cup on it, and two stainless-steel devices, one under her arm, which reminded Matt of the phrase "form follows function."
The rest of her was as attractive as her face. She was tall, and lithe, and moved with grace.
Scandinavian, he thought. Or maybe one of those Baltic countries, Latvia, Estonia. Maybe Polish? Jesus, she's attrac-tive!
She put the functional utensils on the bed beside him, and then half filled a plastic glass with water from a carafe. Then she handed him the tiny paper cup. There was one very small pill, half the size of an aspirin in it.
"What's this?"
"Demerol."
"Will it work?"
"The doctor apparently thinks so."
Matt shrugged, then reached into the cup for the pill. He lost it between the cup and his lip.
The nurse shook her head, and then when Matt was unable to find it in the folds of his sheets found it for him.
"Watch," she said. She picked up the cup, stuck out her tongue, and then mimed upending the pill cup onto her tongue.
"Think you can manage that?"
"I'll give it a good shot."
She dropped the pill into the paper cup and handed it to him.
"How do I know you don't have some loathsome disease?" Matt asked.
"She said you'd probably be trouble," the nurse said.
"Who's she?"
"Margaret McCarthy," the nurse said. "Trust me. Take your pill."
He succeeded in getting the pill into his mouth and then swallowing it.
"How do you know Margaret?"
"We're going for our BSs at Temple together," the nurse said.
"Are you going to tell me what to call you, or am I going to have to ask Margaret?"
"You can call me Nurse," she said.
"Here I am, in pain, and you won't even tell me your name?"
"Lari," she said. "Lari Matsi."
"What is that, Estonian?
"Estonian? No. Finnish."
"I never met a Finn before."
"Now you have."
"How come Margaret mentioned me?"
"She knew I worked here, and she called me and said you and Prince Charming were buddies."
"How long is that little pill going to take to work?"
"A couple of minutes. You do know how to work those?" She nodded at the bedpans. "You won't need a demonstra-tion?"
"No."
"Ring when you're through," she said. "They'll come take them away for you."
"They'll?"
"I'm a surgical nurse," Lari said. "I've graduated from bedpan handling."
"I see. Then we're just ships passing in the night?"
"I'll be back when the doctor, doctors, come to see you."
She walked out of the room. The rear view was as attractive as the front.
Matt picked up one of the bedpans.
I don't really want to use that goddamn thing, and I really don't want to use the other flat one.
He looked around the room. There were two doors. One of them had to be a bathroom.
He tried moving his wounded leg. It hurt like hell, but he could raise it.
I can stagger over there, hopping on one leg. I don't have to stand on it.
It proved possible, but considerably more painful than he thought it would be. By the time he had arranged himself on the commode, he was covered with a clammy sweat.
The telephone began to ring.
Goddammit! That's probably Dad. He said he would call when he finally got to the office. Well, I'll just have to call him back.
W E B Griffin - Badge of Honor 04 - The Witness Page 27