The Old Man in the Club

by Curtis Bunn

  The men locked eyes. They knew each other, too. But from where?

  They shook hands, but stretched their brains to recall how they had met. After a few minutes of cordial conversation, Elliott excused himself. A moment later, Brian came up behind him and patted him on his lower back.

  “I remember you now,” he said to Elliott. “You were the guy who got smart with me at Compound that night.”

  Elliott looked away as if to visualize what Brian was referring to. And it hit him. They had had a contentious few minutes when Brian was talking to Nikki, when Elliott returned from the bar.

  “Yeah, what’s up?” he said. “I do remember meeting you briefly.”

  “You was talking shit,” Brian said, with anger in his voice. Elliott could smell the alcohol on his breath. “You said you were her bodyguard. Well, you need a bodyguard tonight.”

  “Look, man, I don’t know why you’re all angry,” Elliott said. “But I do know you’d better back up off me.”

  He surely did not want a fight, but he had been conditioned from prison to not allow someone to get the angle on him and to protect himself by scoring the first punch, a knockout punch. So he positioned himself to do that. If Brian had said the wrong thing or moved the wrong way, he would have been decked.

  “Yeah, okay, old man,” Brian said. “I’ll see you again.”

  He turned and walked away and Elliott kept his eyes on him until he was at a safe distance. He thought: I guess I do need a drink.

  He returned to the bar area, but there was such a crush that ten minutes later he still had not made his way close enough to order. His night was blown by then anyway. He had reverted to prison mode in the moment he felt threatened by Brian. Instead of watching women, he watched out for Brian.

  Every instinct in him told him to watch his back. And so he soon was uncomfortable among so many people. Many prison stabbings came in crowded conditions, where the attacker could emerge from the crowd from behind to make his assault. Elliott went to the bathroom, but waited at the door before going in to make sure he was not followed. He urinated as quickly as possible, fearing Brian would come in and attack him while he was vulnerable.

  After finishing and washing his hands, he decided to leave. It had been a long day and he had a lot to consider. So he searched for Brian as he headed toward the door, but did not see him. Stepping outside into the warm night air gave him a sense of relief, and he let out a big sigh. He had not felt that kind of anxiety about his safety in some time.

  His car was parked across the street in an open-air lot. He stood at the corner of Twelfth and Peachtree and watched two attractive ladies exit their car and walk into the spot. He shook his head, as much in response to his relentless interest in women as to their beauty.

  He crossed Twelfth Street to his car, using the remote to unlock it as he heard a chime alerting him he had a text message. When he noticed it was from Lucy, he stopped in his tracks instead of entering the car to read it.

  Things went dark after that. Brian came up from behind him and smashed the right side of his head with a tire iron. Elliott crumpled to the ground, his phone and keys dropping a few feet from his body.

  Brian stood over him for a moment, looking around to see if anyone witnessed the attack. He saw no one, and kicked Elliott several times in his midsection before the lot attendant noticed his movements from a distance.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” he yelled, and Brian fled the scene to a car waiting for him on Twelfth Street. The attendant hurried over to tend to Elliott. He saw a gash on the side of his head and blood flowing down his face and neck. He was scared.

  “Please hurry,” he said to the 9-1-1 operator. “He’s unconscious and bleeding a lot.”

  In minutes, the police arrived, retrieving Elliott’s phone and keys and asking people nearby what they had seen, particularly the escape vehicle. Not long after, the ambulance pulled up, tended to Elliott and whisked him off to Piedmont Hospital, which was minutes away. En route, Elliott’s eyes opened and he slowly regained consciousness. He was confused. He did not know where he was. Then he felt his head pounding, and that’s when he became alarmed.

  The EMS technician spoke to him. “Hey there. You’re going to be fine. We’re almost at the hospital.”

  Elliott remained confused. The blow was so exacting that his short-term memory was erased. He closed his eyes in the hope that the pain in his head would diminish as they hurried him out of the EMS truck and rolled him into emergency.

  “Can you hear me?” the doctor asked when he arrived in an operating room.

  Elliott nodded his head. “Good. I’m Dr. Roland. You have a gash in your head that we have to close up right now. It will be all right. We’ll close it, get you some more blood, because you lost some, and get you all fixed up.”

  He asked Elliott questions about what he was allergic to, past surgeries, previous head injuries, if he were on medication, et al. A nurse looked through his wallet to find an emergency contact number, but there was none. The police provided his phone and she went through it and dialed the last numbers called. Those were numbers for Henry, Daniel and Tamara.

  She reached them all and explained what happened. Before long, Elliott was in surgery, where he had ten staples in his skull to close the gash and three ribs tended to.

  In the waiting room, Daniel, Danielle and Lucy arrived first and were directed to an area to wait. Danielle cried, even though she had no news about his condition. The police came to the visiting room and questioned the family.

  They wanted to know if Elliott had any enemies, if he complained about someone threatening him. “I spoke to him today,” Daniel said. “He was happy and hopeful.”

  One officer told them the parking lot attendant did not see the initial blow, but did see Brian kicking Elliott. He gave the cops a description of the car and one of the valet workers at STK caught some of the numbers off the license plate. Lucy took his business card and shared her information and was told she would be kept up-to-date on the investigation.

  After more than an hour of waiting and worrying, Dr. Roland came over. “He’s sleeping now. He took a really nasty blow to the head by an iron object, believed to be a tire iron. He’s lucky. Maybe an inch lower and it would have struck his temple, and it could have been fatal.”

  Danielle cried more and Lucy put her hand over her mouth. Daniel listened intently. “But he’s going to be fine. Mr. Thomas is in great shape, especially for a man his age, and that is serving him well. We closed the hole in his head with ten staples. Once his head heals, the scar will, too, and it will hardly be noticeable over time. But he does have a concussion, so his head will hurt for a while and he’ll have to return for tests.

  “He lost a lot of blood, but we’re replenishing that. Also, he apparently was kicked several times and suffered three badly bruised ribs. So, he’ll be sore for a few days and will be moving kind of gingerly. But we’ll manage the pain with medication.

  “We’re going to keep him overnight to monitor his head and make sure no more damage was done that we believe. We have to be really careful with the brain. He should be discharged tomorrow afternoon if he tests out okay. I would say in the next thirty minutes we will have him moved into a room and you can go and see him.”

  “Wow, this is crazy,” Daniel said as the doctor left. “I was just talking to him about your client, Mom, who you spoke to the day she died.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought about,” Lucy said, “because I texted him tonight around the time this happened.”

  They sat back down and looked up at the TV that was set on CNN. President Obama was speaking from earlier that day, but the sound was muted. There was relief that Elliott was okay.

  Henry came hurriedly into the emergency room next. Lucy noticed him because he wore the same Atlanta Hawks red T-shirt he wore when she last ran into him, at Philips Arena the previous month at a playoff game.

  He hugged Elliott’s ex-wife and kids. “What the hell hap
pened? I was just with him today. We had lunch.”

  They explained what the doctor had shared. But they were curious about a friend Henry had with him. It was an obviously gay man who stood off to the side. No one said anything, but Henry noticed them glancing over in the man’s direction.

  So, Henry waved him over. “This is Harold,” he said, introducing him. “We were finishing dinner over at Einstein’s, which isn’t too far from here.”

  Daniel’s attention rose and suspicions were confirmed. Einstein’s was a restaurant in Midtown, the area of town where many homosexuals lived. That restaurant, on Juniper Street, was a favorite spot for gays in Atlanta.

  They all sat down, with Harold, light-skinned and soft-spoken, leaving to find a men’s room. When he got there, he sent Henry a text message that read: “This isn’t the time to bring your personal stuff to this family. I will wait in the car.”

  Henry was relieved and appreciative of his friend’s gesture. But Daniel had questions.

  “So, Mr. Henry, I haven’t seen you since, you know, the funeral. How have you been?”

  “I was sitting here thinking about how much I hate hospitals,” he said. “Really, I guess, you either hate hospitals or love them depending on when you come. When my son was born, it was a difficult delivery for his mother, but the doctors were great and he came out fine. I loved hospitals then.

  “But to be in Grady that night, and for them to tell me that my son was gone… I hated hospitals then.”

  It was more of an answer than Daniel expected, and no one said anything. Then Henry went on. “I told your father today, ironically enough, that I would never be the same after losing him. There’s a hole in my heart that cannot be filled.”

  Lucy moved over a seat and rubbed him on his back. “I know, Henry. I don’t even want to imagine. You’re obviously a strong man to move on with your life.”

  “It hasn’t been easy. But friends like Elliott and Harold have been very helpful.”

  Daniel got a little concerned then. He had seen the movie, Waiting to Exhale, and recalled the part where the son learned his estranged father was gay. Here was Elliott’s friend using Daniel’s father and this obviously gay man’s name in the same sentence… Daniel wanted to know more. He needed to know more.

  “So, how do you know—what did you say his name is—Harold, Mr. Henry?” Daniel asked.

  Lucy looked at her son with an I-can’t-believe-you-asked-that-question look. Danielle looked down at her feet.

  “He’s also into real estate. Mortgages,” Henry said as casually as he could. “We send each other business all the time. He has clients that need homes. I have clients that need mortgages. So it has worked out.”

  Before they could dissect that answer, the nurse came out to let them know Elliott had been moved into a room. He could have two visitors at a time and for a few minutes each.

  “Go ahead, Mom, you and Danielle,” Daniel said. “Mr. Henry and I can go next.”

  They made their way to the third floor and Danielle and Lucy went into the room. The sight of him laid up with his head bandaged, his midsection wrapped and an IV in his arm—in addition to the heart monitor and other machines going “beep…beep…beep” —scared the women. Lucy’s eyes welled up.

  “Oh, my God,” Danielle said when she walked in. “Daddy.”

  Elliott was awake but groggy and in pain. “There goes our lunch,” he said to Lucy.

  She smiled. “We just have to move it back a few days, that’s all.”

  “Daddy,” Danielle said. She couldn’t say anything else; she was so emotional.

  “Hey,” Elliott said in a low voice. “I’m fine. Give me a week. We’ll be on the golf course.”

  He was trying his best to minimize his condition while, at the same time, fending off immense pain to the head and ribs. So, he pushed the button in his right hand that delivered morphine into his bloodstream.

  “I know you’re sleepy and probably in pain,” Lucy said. “But do you know who did this?”

  He lied. “No.”

  There was only one possible culprit, he had deduced after officers explained what happened to him and where. Brian. He lied to police and Lucy because he had the contact info of the woman Brian was with, Yvette.

  When he was told there was no attempt to steal his car, his wallet or even his iPhone, he knew it was all about hurting him, and that meant Brian. Having Yvette’s business card was important because he was going to make sure the justice system played out on Brian. His justice system.

  His time in prison at Lorton served him for this kind of payback. He had long been out of the prison system, but the prison system still resided in him. He became good at suppressing it. Elliot thought of getting Brian back as his ex-wife and daughter stood over him, and Danielle noticed his heart monitor rapidly increasing.

  “Dad, what’s going on? Your heart is beating so fast.”

  He lied again. “Was thinking about how lucky I am to see you both at the same time again.”

  “Just think about getting better,” Lucy said. “Listen, we’re going to go. The nurse said we shouldn’t stay long and Henry and Daniel are down the hall and want to come in for a few minutes.”

  Elliott nodded his head, but he was fading. The medication and painkiller were taking effect. He dozed off and awoke to Daniel leaning over and talking into his ear.

  “You’re going to be all right,” he said to his dad. “And we’re going to find out who did this and get them.”

  He said the right thing; Elliott opened his eyes. “You goddamn right we are,” he whispered to his son.

  He looked over and noticed Henry. “How you get here?”

  “Cops called me,” Henry said. “My number was one of the last numbers you called, so they called me. You don’t put a lock on your phone?”

  Elliott said, “No need.”

  “Dad, this is messed up,” Daniel said.

  “Come here,” Elliott said to his son. Daniel leaned his ear almost on Elliott’s mouth. “I know who did this. We’re going to get him.”

  Daniel leaned back to look at his father, who had fallen asleep. Daniel’s heartbeat raced. But he questioned: Did his father really know who did it or was it the drugs speaking?

  “What?” Henry said. “What did he say?”

  Daniel did not know if he should trust Henry with his father’s words. If I tell him, he might tell the cops.

  So, the son lied. “Dad said he loved me and to not worry.”

  Henry knew of the strife between Elliott and his children, so he considered what Daniel said important and typical of someone in a traumatic position.

  “This room is creeping me out,” he said. “Come on. Dad is asleep.”

  As they took steps to rejoin Lucy and Danielle, Daniel told Henry that he left his cell phone in his father’s room and that he’d catch up to him.

  Daniel went back in and woke his dad. When his eyes opened, Elliott said, “It takes me getting bashed to bring the family together.”

  “I see you’re thinking just fine,” Daniel said. He moved in closer and spoke in a lower voice. “Did you tell me you know who did this?”

  “I said that?” Elliott said, speaking softly. “I thought…I was…dreaming. Yeah, I know the punk-bitch-ass fool who did it.”

  Daniel had not heard his father speak that way. It was like he had transformed into someone he did not recognize.

  “Don’t tell your sister or your mom. This is our project. They don’t need to know.”

  What Daniel knew was that his father was serious about getting his payback.

  “We gonna get this fool, Dad,” he said. “Dad, Mr. Henry is here. His friend Harold is here, too.” He wanted to know if his father knew who Harold was. It would give him some insight into who his father was.

  “Who’s Harold?” he asked.

  “He said you met at the funeral,” Daniel said.

  Elliott nodded off without responding.

  When they got back
to the waiting room, Danielle was waiting; their mom was in the bathroom. “She said she’ll meet us in the car,” Danielle said, and they hugged Henry and headed to the parking lot.

  In the bathroom, Lucy encountered a young woman who was in the mirror, applying lip gloss. They spoke. Both women looked distressed.

  “You okay?” the young woman asked.

  “I don’t know,” Lucy answered. “My ex-husband was admitted here. I think he’s gonna be all right. But seeing him in that bed, hooked up to machines and in so much pain, it…”

  “It scared you?” the woman asked.

  “More than that, it confirmed that I’m still in love with him,” Lucy said. She looked at herself in the mirror. “I can’t believe I said that, can’t believe I’m feeling this way.”

  “Wow,” the young lady said. “Do you think he still loves you?”

  “He hasn’t said it, but I think he does,” Lucy said. “I hope he does.”

  “Well, good luck. I’ve got to go see a friend upstairs myself,” the woman said, extending her hand. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Lucy Thomas,” she said, surprising the woman. “And your name is…?”

  “I’m Tamara. Nice to meet you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Coming Clean

  Tamara flirted with a male nurse who walked her to Elliott’s room, even though visiting hours were over and she was not immediate family. “He’s my mentor,” she told the guy. “I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t see him… And maybe we could talk about it when you get off. When do you get off?”

  “I’m just getting here, so I’m working through the night,” he said. “But maybe we could do dinner this week. I’m pretty open.”

  “Me, too,” Tamara said. “You can put your number in my phone after you walk me to his room.”

  Looking down at her breasts through the V-neck top she wore, the man said, “Definitely.”

  They got to the room and she stepped back when she saw how Elliott looked all bandaged up. “Here,” she said, handing the guy her cell phone. He punched in his name and number.

  “You can only stay about five minutes,” he said. “I’ll come back to get you and walk you out.”