“What are his chances?”
“Let me explain his condition, then you’ll see why I can’t offer guarantees.” James brushes his hand over his head. “He’s got a little trouble breathing, so we’re giving him flow-by oxygen administered using a mask. We’ve fitted him with a catheter, and he’s got a line in. I’ve given him buprenorphine for the pain.” He pauses, sees the look on my face and wryly translates. “In other words, the first thing we’ve done is to make him as comfortable as possible.”
“He wake up?”
“Awake, but drowsy. He’s a good dog. Used to being handled, but that’s what I’d expect from a service dog.”
“You know what damage was done yet?”
James looks serious. “I’ve taken thoracic radiographs. It’s possible he has a slow bleed in the chest that those don’t show which could start to affect him hours after the initial trauma. The x-ray helps to evaluate the chest for pulmonary contusions but is only a picture of what’s happening now. He has a broken rib, but like humans, that should heal by itself. His left rear leg has a mid-diaphyseal transverse complete fracture of the left femur, but I won’t do anything about that until he’s stabilised.”
“You mean he’s got a broken leg?”
As if not realising he’s just spoken in a foreign language, James gives a sharp nod.
“How long will stabilising him take?” I want to get to Stevie and tell her Max is going to be okay.
“At least a day, possibly two, before I’d risk the necessary anaesthetic to fix his leg.” James shakes his head. “I wish I could be more positive, but the next twenty-four hours are critical. There’s a possibility of lung injuries that aren’t immediately apparent. As you will have noticed yourself, he’s got multiple abrasions on his skin affecting the dorsum and ventrum, sorry, back and belly.” He grins slightly seeing my confusion. “I’ve given him convenia, an antibiotic. You’re paying?”
Having listened to the long list of things wrong with him, I begin to regret saying that. But the memory of long hair, wide unseeing eyes that brimmed with tears and panic together with the utter helplessness of Stevie, for some reason not immediately apparent, it seems worth anything to put the smile back on her face. “Yes,” I say firmly.
A respectful chin raise, then James continues, “He’s on intravenous fluids, and we’ll monitor what pain control he needs and give it as necessary to keep him comfortable. He may need a light sedation if he gets agitated, but at the moment he’s quiet enough. We’re going to have to auscultate the chest every two hours.”
“You’re going to stay with him?”
James takes a deep breath and straightens his back. “Yeah.” He looks at me intently. “I’d do it for a normal pet, but dog like that? From what you told Vera, he saved his owner today, probably all in his day’s work, though normally he wouldn’t get hurt. I’ve got every respect for a service dog. Let’s hope this one hasn’t paid the ultimate price.”
“What’s his prognosis?”
James sighs. “If I can operate, I reckon I can keep him with four legs. But it’s too early to say—the next twenty-four, even forty-eight hours are crucial. All I can tell you is that I’ll do my best. I’ll also keep the costs as low as I can. I understand you were just a passer-by.” His eyes harden. “Do you know anything about the car or the driver? He should be sued for the fucking cost.”
Good point. “It happened so fast. I wasn’t at a good vantage point.” But it might have been caught on camera, someone’s dash cam perhaps. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
James holds out his hand. First I, then Pal and Pyro, who’ve been carefully listening shake it as well. His grip is firm. “I’ll do my best.”
Somehow I have no doubt of that. James Ransom seems to be one of the good guys.
Chapter Six
“You going to call the owner?” Pyro asks as we get outside. “Fuck me, but I couldn’t work out if that was good news or bad.”
My shoulders rise then lower. “Not much different from when Heart came off his bike. A jumble of medical terms that meant fuck all to us. It seems vets and doctors are the same in that they won’t commit themselves.”
My phone is in my cut, I make no move to take it. “Look, I think I’ll deliver what news I can in person. She cares for that dog.” Four-legged creatures can worm their way into your hearts. Something like that happened to Heart and Marcia’s dog Grunt back in Tucson? Whole fucking club would be down at the vet’s. It’s the thought of how I’d feel if it had happened to Grunt that makes me wary of delivering uncertain news via the phone.
“You know where she is?”
“I’ll try the hospital. If she’s already discharged, it will have to be a call.”
“If she’s in the hospital, she’s probably already got family or friends with her,” Pyro warns.
I think about it. “I hope she has. I can’t exactly say Max will be fine. I can give her a bit of hope, but someone will need to prepare her.” If she’s got a husband, family member or friend with her, perhaps I’ll have a word with them first. Then they can pass the news on. Then, finally, I’ll be able to get to the clubhouse, unpack my shit and have a beer at fucking last.
“What you waiting for? Let’s get rollin’.” Pyro slings his leg over his bike as Pal gets on his.
I look at them with my eyebrow raised.
Pyro interprets it correctly. “You know where this fucking hospital is?”
Of course I don’t. I’ve only just arrived.
Without batting an eye or complaining he’s got better things to do, Pyro just indicates he’ll take the lead. “Best show you the way then.”
Pal, yeah, I’ve known him, what, coming up four years now? He’d started prospecting when he was eighteen, patched in a year later. Sat around the table with him for nearly three years. I might give him shit, but he’s a man I call friend. Pyro? I’ve barely spoken to before. Hell, I might have removed the bottom rocker off my patch, but the significance of the top patch hits me. Satan’s Devils are brothers whatever city or state they are in.
I don’t put my thanks into words, but a jerk of my chin conveys my gratefulness for a second time tonight.
Pyro takes the lead, I fall in with Pal behind him. On the way I’m running through the vet’s complicated explanation in my head, while hoping to fuck that Max is going to pull through and make sufficient recovery so he’ll be able to perform his role for Stevie again.
I hate hospitals with a vengeance, and with very good reason. Ten months ago, I took a bullet and needed surgery. That wasn’t the problem, I was healing okay from that when I developed septicaemia and ended up as close to death as anyone could be. There have been jokes that Satan didn’t want me and sent me back, but whether the Devil or God had a hand in it, in the end I hadn’t died. Much to the astonishment of the medical profession who prodded and poked me far too much, trying to analyse what I’d done to fight such a serious infection. I came through and made a complete recovery. But I’d spent far too much time in that hospital bed, and the smell of the hospital, like at the vet’s, tends to bring it all back. I’d be happier if I never had to step foot in such a place ever again.
Although the parking lot seems to be busy, fitting in three motorcycles is easier than parking the same number of cars, and we’re soon walking toward the emergency entrance. Although the place is busy as places like this usually are on a late Saturday evening, I’m hoping there’s not been too many blind women called Stevie who have been brought in after being hit by a car.
I take a deep breath of fresh air before stepping up to the entrance, pausing to hold open the door for a man walking out with his arm in a sling, then I step inside, unsurprised to find the waiting room crowded. There’s a bunch of youths congregating around a friend who’s holding a cloth to a bloody wound on his face, a couple of the others looking like they too have been in a fight. Not uncommon at the weekend. There’s an elderly gentleman who’s coughing a lot, and a young child wailing
, and that’s just part of the selection. I spare a thought for the doctors and nurses who are going to have to deal with this lot.
As the three of us enter, the room quiets. Ignoring the looks and the whispered comments, I start walking toward the queue at reception, the question I’m going to be asking already framed on my lips, when a nurse emerges, her hand on the elbow of a woman, leading her to an empty chair. If I wasn’t so tall and able to see over most other people, I’d have missed her.
I recognise her immediately, she’s the woman I’m seeking.
Changing direction, I push my way through the milling throng, making my way over to her. Suddenly quickening my pace when a drunk lurches into her. I get there in time to pull him off.
“Get the fuck out of the way,” I snarl at him.
Her head snaps up in my direction, but her eyes don’t find my face. If I was shorter, she’d have made a good approximation. “How… how’s Max?” she asks immediately, her voice shakes and her lip is trembling.
Every medical explanation goes out of my head. “Alive, broken leg.”
“Short, and to the fuckin’ point,” Pyro mumbles beside me.
Ignoring him, I continue, “How the fuck did you know it was me? Can you see?” Had I been wrong? Is she not completely blind after all?
“Your voice and you smell of engine oil and leather.” Her explanation is as succinct as my assessment of Max’s diagnosis. “Is Max going to be okay?” Her voice falters. “His leg, is he going to lose it?”
Crouching down to her level, I take both her hands in mine, squeezing them gently. “I stayed until we had news, now the vet and nurse are with him, he’ll be monitored all through the night. We won’t know much more until tomorrow or the next day. At the moment, the vet doesn’t know if there are problems that haven’t materialised yet.” And don’t I know all about those. It wasn’t the bullet that had almost killed me. “He didn’t say he’d need to amputate.”
Her head bows, I think I hear a sob, then she does that strange looking straight at me thing again. I take the time to notice her eyes are beautiful. “Thank you. Have you got the vet’s number? Can you put it into my phone for me? Name it Max Vet?” She fumbles in her purse then passes her phone over.
As I tap the number in, copying it off the card the vet gave me, I ask my next concern. “How are you, sweetheart?”
“I’m fine. Bruised but not broken. Oh, and a cop came to speak to me.”
“Any leads on who ran into you?”
“Who are you?” Her brow creases and her head tilts toward my left.
“Pyro.”
Now her hand reaches out toward me. For a second I’m puzzled, until she says, “Can I touch you?” As her hand traces my face as if trying to memorise the shape of it, I realise this is her way of discovering what I look like. “I don’t even know your name.” She says it as though surprised that it’s only just occurred to her.
“I’m Beef,”
“Beef?” While her principal emotions are worry and concern, there’s an undercurrent of mirth in her tone as she repeats my name.
“Yeah,” I grin. “Because I’m a big ugly fucker.”
Her fingers touch my face again. “No, you’re not ugly.” A fleeting smile curves her mouth, and I realise I’m enjoying her touch.
“You can’t see him,” Pal interjects bluntly, contradicting. As her head tilts, he adds, “I’m Paladin.”
Now her smile is larger. “Like the knight?”
“You got it.”
“Are you from an MC?”
I’m still crouching, and my muscles are complaining, but her comment makes me look at her sharply. “What do you know about MCs?”
“Nothing.” Her skin has got a pink tinge. “Only what I picked up from watching Sons of Anarchy and the books that I read.”
I note the strange use of the words watching and reading, but now’s not the time to question her. I just want to put her mind at rest. “Yeah, we’re from the Satan’s Devils MC, sweetheart, but mean no harm to you.”
“I know that. I know there are people here frightened of you, but I’m not. You looked after Max, Beef. You’ve taken the time to come to tell me about him when you could have called. You’ve got friends with you. That’s what I know of you. I heard people move aside as you were coming over, the whispered comments they made. But actions speak louder than anything else.”
The more I talk to her, the more she impresses me. Maybe it’s because she knows who I ride with and accepts it, not from any pre-conceived notions, but only judging from experience. Extrapolating from a man spending a Saturday evening at a vet’s, that he must be a good person. I might not be able to say I haven’t got a stain on my character, but I don’t think of myself as bad. It’s refreshing to find someone who doesn’t start with poor judgement as soon as they know who I ride with.
A shift by my side. Glancing up I see Pyro glaring. The room’s filled up more since we’ve been talking. The man Pyro’s directing his expression at holds up his hands, but his eyes indicate the room around him. Yeah, probably wasn’t his fault that he bumped him. I don’t need to hear what Pyro’s murmuring to Pal to know they want to get out of here.
“You got anyone coming for you?” My attention turns back to Stevie.
“No, I’ll call an Uber to take me home.”
No family or friends? I frown. What will she do when her ride arrives? Ask someone to take her to the entrance? Ask the Uber driver to come in and collect her? How will she know she can trust whoever comes along? She could end up getting in a car with anyone.
“You up to riding a bike?” I surprise myself with the question.
“A bike?”
“Yeah, I’ll take you home. Don’t like the idea of you going off with a stranger.”
She frowns, then snaps out, “I’m blind, not helpless.”
I nearly smile at the vehemence in her tone. “Not suggesting you are. But this place is crammed, Stevie. Don’t know how long you’ll need to wait for a ride. It is late on a Saturday. Fastest way to get you back is for you to come with me.”
A snort makes me look up. Pyro’s eyes have widened. But he doesn’t know my philosophy of thinking the pillion seat comes in useful for anyone needing to hitch a ride. Doesn’t mean anything more to me. Waste of time having one if you’re not going to have a passenger, and no point me reserving it for an old lady seeing as I’m not going to go down that route again.
“Ever been on a bike?” Pal asks, dubiously, his eyes studying hers. I’m just about to reply and say her sight or lack of has nothing to do with her ability to hang on when she replies.
“Not for a while, but back in my late teens I used to ride on the back of a bike.”
“So, not a virgin?” I grin, though she won’t be able to see it.
Her cheeks flash red. “No.”
“Well, come on then. Let’s get you home.” At last I get to my feet and hold out my hand.
She hesitates.
It hits me I’m exactly what I warned her of. “Hey, I know I’m a stranger…”
“It’s not that. I don’t think of you that way, not after everything you’ve done for me. But, could you give me your hand?”
Well, fuck. Stupid fucking idiot. This time, my hand reaches out further and grasps hold of hers.
She takes it but doesn’t keep hold of it. Instead, once she’s standing, she moves it until she rests her fingers in the crook of my arm. “Lead on.”
Pyro’s watching her, then giving a jerk of his head, steps in front of me. He clears a path ahead, and I lead her through. All’s well until we get to the door and instead of taking the ramp, I step down…
Luckily my reactions are fast and I manage to catch hold of her before she topples right over. I hear a muttered ‘fuck’ under her breath.
“Jeez, babe, I’m sorry.”
“Beef, if I had a dollar for the number of times people have forgotten to warn me about a step, or a curb, I’d be a very rich woman. That’s
where Max is good.”
“Your dog warns you?”
“Yes. He stops.”
“Dog’s got more fuckin’ brains than you, Beef.”
“Can it,” I growl. But Pyro’s observation has made Stevie giggle, even though she’d stiffened at the reminder she was without her dog.
Steps, curbs. Stop at them. If a dog can be trained then so can I. But why the fuck am I trying to commit that to memory? I’ll take her home, drop her off, make sure she’s okay, then go get that fucking beer that has my name written on it.
Chapter Seven
The lamps around the parking lot cast good light in places, poor in others. For the first time in my life I’m studying where to place my feet. While Pyro and Pal squeeze through narrow gaps between the cars making a direct beeline to our bikes, I lead Stevie up and down the rows taking care there’s no obstacle in her path.
By the time I’ve reached my bike, I’ve a new admiration for Max. While I’ve only led Stevie a short distance, it’s clear that no distractions are allowed, and the job requires complete concentration. Somewhere in the depths of my memory I recall being told you shouldn’t interact with a service dog while it’s working, and now I understand the reason why.
When we reach my bike, I remember that my saddle bags are still full of my clothing, and the pillion seat is heaped high with the rest of the shit I brought with me. But I needn’t have worried. Pal’s already unhooking the bungee cords and Pyro’s piling my bags on his bike. True brothers jumping in and sorting out a problem you didn’t even know you had. Pal even extracts a helmet from his pannier.
“Jay’s,” he explains, “but I think it will fit.”
I approach Stevie. When the helmet touches her head, she jumps. “Fuck, sorry. Just putting a helmet on you, okay?” She can’t see, dumbass.
Devil's Due: Satan's Devils MC Colorado Chapter #3 Page 5
