by Boyd Craven
“I… thank you,” I told him.
“Do they know what happened?”
He’d gone up top and hadn’t heard that part. “They said she had some kind of accident and then she was shot. It sounds like she was robbed. They didn’t know who she was at first.”
“Is she okay?” he asked quietly, his accent almost gone.
“They say she came out of surgery okay, but she lost a lot of blood. Said she was in a medically-induced coma.”
“Sounds serious—”
“It is!” I almost snarled.
“…but she is healing if they are spending supplies and keeping her asleep. There is much hope here, Tony. Irish John will get you there fast. Besides,” he said, pointing in the distance, “we may be in luck.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“You didn’t hear me using the radio earlier when we got closer to home port?”
“No,” I said, thinking of all the extra white noise from the rain.
“I wasn’t sure ’dey could pull it off, but it looks like you getting off ’da boat sooner ’den you and I ’tink.”
I watched, confused, as a boat powered in our direction, going a number of times faster than we could.
“Who is it?” I asked, unable to make out much beyond the fact that the boat was coming right for us.
“FWC. Irish John asked a favor.”
My jaw dropped as the boat got nearer and then slowed to match speeds with us, their wake making us all bob in the water. Agent Page and Agent Carter both gave me a nod, and Page offered me a hand.
“’Dey boat’s faster. Don’t you worry, Irish John take good care of your boat.”
“Thank you,” I said before taking Agent Page’s hand, and stepping over.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sitting and waiting. I was good at it. I didn’t like it, but when you had nothing to do, it filled up the time. The room smelled of the cleaning agents the hospital used. I had helped the nurses change the sheets, helping them gently move Carly. The bullets had hit her in the hip and stomach. She had been almost gone when somebody had found her in the ditch, half a mile from the pawn shop. Her truck had been totaled, on its side from being t-boned. The police had come in twice in the last two days to check on her. Her parents had been in the day before, once they were able to drive back down from Georgia. The long trip had worn out the older couple, and they promised to be back in today. Irish John somehow had made it every day as well.
Day four since I’d found out. Four days she’d slept. Her pale skin was even more pale, but her eyelids had been fluttering. They had done that last night since they cut off the drip of medicine that had kept her asleep. I had worried at first that she wouldn’t wake up, but the nurses assured me this was normal. Her body had gone through a great trauma, with being shot and the surgery. They usually had left people in for upwards of a couple of weeks, but a new virus had the doctors worried, and they could always turn the drip back on if needed. Either way, she had no discharge day picked out.
A text from her father came in, dinging loudly. I grabbed my phone and read it. He was wanting to know if the doctors had been in and if there were any changes. Since she had been their miracle baby and they were a bit older, they couldn’t have done what I had. There was no way they could have sat in that chair or stretched out on the horror of that sofa to catch a little sleep. They couldn’t subsist on hospital cafeteria food, something I suspected was designed to make patients want to leave the hospital at the soonest possible day and time. I answered him that her eyes had been fluttering like last night, but she hadn’t woken up yet.
I felt something gentle brush the back of my hand just as I hit send and saw Carly’s hand move, her index finger slowly moving, rubbing the back of my hand. I looked up to see her eyes open. I held her hand in mine, my eyes going to the machine she was hooked to and started reading the small dips and rises. The numbers meant nothing to me, but I could visibly see an increase in activity. I turned back to her to see a single tear run down the side of her freckled cheek. I leaned over and rubbed it away with my right hand.
She tried to speak, but nothing came out. I made shushing noises and leaned forward, kissing her forehead.
“You’re okay,” I told her quietly. “You… There was an accident, and you had to have surgery. They kept you asleep for a while. You’re going to be okay. Don’t try to talk just yet.”
She squeezed my left hand softly, a sound coming out of her mouth.
“Your mother?” I asked her.
She blinked both eyes at the same time, now welling with tears. I hit the call button with my free hand before speaking. “Your mom and dad have both been here. They ran back home to catch a nap and get changed.”
She squeezed my hand. I picked up my phone and sent a hurried text message to her parents, letting them know she’d woken up and to come back to the hospital. I hesitated for a moment, then pulled a card out of my shirt pocket and typed in a new text message.
Detective, Carly woke up. Room 734, waiting on doctors to get in here. Might not be able to answer if you call because things are about to get busy. -Anthony Delgado
Carly squeezed my hand again as a pair of nurses came in, broad smiles on their faces.
“You’re awake,” one of them spoke directly to her. She donned a pair of gloves and took Carly’s hand. “Don’t try to move too much. We had to operate on your hip and tummy, just below the sternum. The strap across your chest was just in case you woke up still wanting to fight. Your boyfriend said you’re a pretty good scrapper too, and you don’t get to my level of fabulous unless you stay away from ladies who know how to fight; know what I mean?”
The woman wasn’t as ugly as me, but she wasn’t anywhere near Carly’s level of cute. Her words were self deprecating in a joking way. Carly’s chest rose and fell, and I could hear her trying to talk through the mouth and nose piece that supplied her with a little extra air. She let go of my hand and slowly touched it, then pushed it up. I waited for the nurses to object, but they didn’t. The one who had been silent but smiling leaned in with a small foam cup with a long straw in the end.
“Wet your whistle. I’m sure your throat is dry.”
Carly took a sip and cleared her throat, then leaned in taking a longer drink. The nurse had to pull it back.
“Too much at once and you’ll get sick,” the nurse said.
Carly cleared her throat again. “You three are all fabulous in my book,” she said in a croaking voice, “but I’d like to get this strap off me. It’s making my skin raw under things.”
“As long as you don’t take a swing at me,” the first one joked.
“Won’t,” Carly said quietly, her words slowing.
They unstrapped her. “We’ll let the doctor know. He’s usually in between ten and eleven.”
“Thank you,” I told them, seeing Carly had almost fallen asleep again.
Carly made a come here gesture with her finger while looking at me. I leaned in.
She whispered to me quietly, and I sat back, surprised. He wasn’t supposed to be out.
“Are you sure?” I asked her, watching her struggle to stay awake.
“Yes,” she said softly. “Be here when I wake up, okay?”
“Your parents are on the way in.”
She knew what I was doing, not able to say more as the exhaustion kicked in, sending her into a painkiller induced healing sleep.
“You know, the police are going to want to talk to her soon,” the first nurse said.
“I know. She told me who shot her just now.” I picked up the detective’s card, punching in his number.
“I’m sorry this has happened to her, and I hope you can be the rock she needs,” the second nurse told me. “We’re going to need the room, though. We have to get her changed and cleaned up, and three’s a crowd.”
“That’s fine. I’m going to go look for some coffee. I wrote my number down on the bottom right corner of the white boa
rd, under her parents’ numbers. I’ve already alerted everyone I can think of that she woke up.”
“What about that funny man, the islander?” the first one asked.
“If you see him before me, let him know I’ll be around. He’s good at finding me,” I told them, walking out of the room and hitting send on my phone. It rang twice before it was picked up.
“Hello?” Detective Terrey’s voice came out of the other end.
“Detective, it’s Anthony Delgado.”
“I just got your message. I’m headed that way to see if she can give a statement.”
“It’s Ramon’s dad, Eduardo,” I told him softly.
“She said that?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.
“Yeah, I didn’t think he was getting out. Third strike and all.”
“Somebody posted his bail. He’s not stuck in until after a guilty verdict,” he said as suddenly the sound of wind picked up, indicating he’d stepped outside. “Stay there. I’m on my way in.”
“Okay,” I said. “See ya.”
She was awake. Even more so, she was talking and communicating, something I had been worried about despite the doctor’s assurances. It wasn’t the shell of her I loved; it was everything. Her mind, body, and soul. If something happened to change her… well, the dark thoughts of what I wanted to do to Ramon’s dad were already in the darkest of places, but if there was a hell reserved for the double damned, then that was where I wanted to send him.
I had decided to let the entire cadre of doctors and nurses have the room. Carly’s parents had also shown up, and it was hectic. My stomach had been growling loud enough to cause staring, so I’d decided to be brave once again, heading into the saddest food establishment in the entire universe. Irish John found me there, in the hospital cafeteria.
“You and Carly know ’dis man?” he asked over a cup of coffee.
He was wearing flip flops, his cleanest pair of Khaki shorts, and a polo with a lizard logo on the chest. His black and white hair was mostly shoved into his trademarked bowler hat, and he hadn’t argued when I’d offered to buy him food and coffee. We had been poking through some sausage biscuits and gravy with a side of grits to wash down the battery acid tasting coffee.
“I know his son. I did punch his dad in the face and threaten to shove that shotgun up his ass and pull the trigger,” I admitted, “but I don’t know him.”
“You know of him. So now does ’da police,” Irish John said, both hands holding onto the cup.
I was shoveling the food in as fast as I could. Of all the meals I had eaten here, the biscuits and gravy were the best, but I ate fast so I could barely taste how bad it actually was. One of life’s many little lies, I told myself.
“They do,” I said between bites, then picked up my cup of coffee that had cooled down to a less than scalding temperature.
“I can see your eyes. You’re like man who has crazy blood right now. You want to find ’dis man.” It almost came out ‘mon’ as his accent thickened, a tell he had that showed me how upset he was.
“Wouldn’t you?” I asked him.
“But what of ’da police? You could complicate ’tings.”
“I don’t honestly even have plans. I’m just thinking ugly thoughts.” The admission was out before I had a chance to quiet it.
“Hopefully, ’de kind where you make them shit in a hat and eat it.”
“Uglier than that,” I told him. “I want to feed him to your crabs.”
Irish John looked at me, then nodded. “Is good you’re telling me your thoughts. Helps get it out of system so you don’t actually do ’dem ’tings.”
“Yeah, honestly… I don’t want to go back to prison. But if I found him first…” My free hand made a fist on its own, the knuckles and tendons making popping sounds.
“Is healthy to dream, to want. It’s not healthy to plan hurt and pain on others.”
“I’m just dreaming,” I told Irish John. “Thank you for everything.”
“’Dats what family is for, my son,” he said seriously, taking another long drink of coffee. “You know, Franklin is back?”
“What?” I set my cup down before I dropped it.
“Got in yesterday at dark and came looking for you. When I left ’dis morning he was in barn, putting sandbags on pallet and opening windows and doors.”
“Oh man, I thought we had another couple of weeks.”
“Franklin tells Irish John ’dat he got phone call many days ago to come home, so he came.”
“You called him?” I asked.
“No, Irish John has no phone. I have no brain for remembering numbers,” he said, making the circular motion with one finger at his temple, the universal sign for crazy.
“You know Miss Josephine’s phone number by heart,” I said.
He had been taking a drink, and he almost sprayed me with coffee, swallowing it at the last second instead and started coughing. I got up and went behind him, ready to pound on his back or give him the Heimlich. After a moment or two, he waved for me to get my seat.
“You not be fair to Irish John,” he told me, wiping his eyes. “Also, this food tastes like what I put in somebody’s hat.”
“You got that right,” I agreed, picking up my fork.
“Oh, Irish John forgot…” He pulled out a small wad of twenties, tossing them to me.
I caught it and opened it up, noting there was a bit of cash there, and looked at him funny.
“Blackfin. After I dropped you with FWC boys, I headed to market and sold ’dem to your wholesale man for you.”
“Thank you, Irish, but you should really—”
“No, I put gas in boat for you while ’dere and took it back and parked it in spot at Franklin’s. Been sleeping in it.”
“But this money, why won’t you let me give you some?” I asked him for probably the hundredth time since I’d known him.
“Irish John the richest man in all of Florida. Well, maybe just ’dis bay. I have every ‘tings I want; the sea provides all. I even got new family from ’da sea,” he said, pointing at me.
“Thank you,” I said and went silent.
The old man… I couldn’t describe my feelings for him. He was like a big brother, an uncle, my best friend, and a father figure all wrapped up in one bundle. He’d as much already told me if he needed something only money could buy, he’d ask me for it. I made a mental note to start setting aside cash for him, so I’d never suddenly not have any if he needed it because I’d paid a bill or bought some gear, or needed parts for my boat… My boat!
“Irish, is Franklin okay with me parking the boat there? Do I need to move it? I know I owe him for plugging it in, but—”
“Irish John and Franklin shared small bottle of fine whiskey and talked about boat sitting in hammocks,” he said, a smile on his face. “He says, is good for you to find new love, well other than for womenz, and boat only needs to move if he needs to work on charter boat he leased out to other man; unless Irish John moves his boat and you dock on ’dat side.”
I blew out a breath. “Okay. I hadn’t figured that out yet, and the last few days I haven’t really thought about anything else.”
“’Tis okay, Tony.” He put his hand on my arm before going rigid, looking over my shoulder.
“Hey dummy asshole!” he nearly shouted, startling me and everyone around us as he rose to his feet, “’Da boy is over here!” He pointed down at me.
I turned, looking for who he had been shouting to, and saw Detective Terrey making his way toward us. I turned back to Irish John. “You can’t keep calling cops dumbasses,” I hissed.
“Irish John knows his business,” he said, laughing.
“How did you get back to the mainland so quickly?” Detective Charles Terrey asked.
“Irish John radioed his contact at the FWC and told them I needed help. They have those fast interceptor boats like the sheriff’s department. Two agents in the Crystal River area we knew raced me to shore. Then they drove
me here.”
“You must have some good friends and contacts,” the detective said, more to Irish than to me.
“’Tis a church ‘ting,” he said quietly.
“Uh huh. And I’ve got your statement on her conversation. That’s enough for me to pick him up, but I’ll need to hear it from her.”
“I know. She about wore herself out in the five minutes she was awake talking to me and the nurses. I’m not sure if you’ll get much out of her today.”
“That’s okay. I’m nothing if not patient. Can I give you a piece of advice?”
“Sure,” I said without hesitation.
“Go home, get cleaned up. Put on some clean clothes. I see Irish John has brought you some stuff up, but you look like three miles of a bad dirt road right now. Next time your girlfriend sees you, you should look your best. It’ll lift her spirits. Let her know things with her aren’t so dire.”
“Talking from experiences?” Irish John asked.
“My partner, when I worked in Virginia. Squad car accident, hit his head bad and broke his arm. When he woke up, he said seeing me there looking like shit scared the crap out of him. He figured I didn’t leave his side because I thought he was gonna die.”
“I’ll—”
“’Tis good idea,” Irish John told him. “I’ll make sure he does ’dis ‘ting.”
“Good, and Tony, stay away from Eduardo. I’m going to phone it in and have him picked up. Okay?”
“I’m not going head hunting,” I told him. “I’ve already served time. Don’t want to end up back on the inside.”
Detective Charles Terrey gave me a hard look, then wrote something down in his notes. Crap. He didn’t know me, and I’d just made myself a suspect. Luckily, I had about a half dozen witnesses who could verify my alibi.
“Are you going back to the room to talk to Carly’s parents?”
“Yeah,” he said, “why?”
“Will you tell them to tell her that I’ll be by later on? I’m going to take your advice. I’ll be at Franklin’s boatyard cleaning up and getting into clean clothing.”
