by Tamara Allen
The strangled call didn't carry far, but it didn't matter because Harry was already beside him, clamping a hand around his wrist. Jack resisted, but Ida, appearing out of nowhere, plucked away the kerchief and thrust her hand under Sutton's shirt. Jack realized she wanted to see if the bullet had come out and he waited, sure she would find it had. Her mouth tightened and she shook her head. "Take him to the hospital."
"Jack, let go." It was the tone Harry used when Jack had an attack of nerves. "Let go of him. Ox'll take him inside."
"Call for an ambulance." He wasn't sure Harry was listening. "You've got to go call right now. "
Harry's grip tightened. Ox loomed before Jack's eyes, worried, but as determined as Harry--and suddenly Sutton's weight in his arms was gone, taken. Jack grabbed on to Harry. "He's bleeding--"
"Jackie, it's all right. Come on, let's get you up."
Harry got him onto legs he couldn't feel. When they gave, Harry didn't let him fall. Harry didn't rush him, either, though Jack wanted to be rushed. He would land flat on his face, but he'd get up and keep going, however far, until he found someone to help Sutton.
There was no help for Vance. He lay on his back with one arm twisted under his body. Blood had saturated his shirt front. His face had lost its ruddiness and the hard curl of his mouth had gone soft. His gaze now seemed fixed on something far away. The son of a bitch. Sutton had never hurt him, never done a thing to him.
The goddamned son of a bitch. He wasn't dead enough.
"Whoa," Harry gasped as Jack lunged. "Leave it, Jackie. Leave it. There's nothing you can do to him the Lord ain't already doing."
His chest ached. "I could think of something."
He let Harry haul him to the door and into the office. Ida had found towels and one, white and folded, covered Sutton's shoulder. The amount of blood on his shirt submerged what was left of Jack's anger under fear so thick he couldn't breathe.
"Sit him down before he faints," Ida said and Harry complied, pushing a glass into Jack's hand. Scotch. He looked into Harry's worried face.
"Ambulance--"
"On the way, kid." A hand settled on the back of his neck. "It ain't bad, Jackie. You hear me? Hell, it probably won't even slow him much, playing."
Jack grabbed on to that reassurance and looked at Sutton, desperate for more. The cheeks that could blush so easily still had a trace of color to them and Jack grabbed on to that too, in an agony of need. "I'm going with him. When they come."
A horrified shriek rang from the street. "Oh my God!"
Harry groaned. "Jesus. That girl's timing."
Stomach-churning urgency swamped Jack. "Harry, she's got a car."
"Oh my God!" Gert stumbled into the room, wide-eyed. "Oh my God!" She took in Sutton lying on the sofa, then Harry and Jack and concluded, "Oh my God," in a marginally calmer tone as she dropped into a chair.
Harry handed her a scotch. "You come in your car, Gertie?"
"Well, yeah. How else?"
That was all Jack needed to hear. "Ox, can you carry him?"
The hospital, once so close, had moved a million miles away. Even their progress to the car was slowed by neighbors come down to find out what had happened. Harry made explanations all the way to the curb, then--after asking Mr. Valmeer to telephone the police--hustled Jack inside and climbed in after him.
Ignoring Gert's squawk to have a care for the seat cushions, Jack sprawled in one corner with Sutton against his chest. All through the miserable, rattling ride, Sutton stayed quiet, but the hand curled around Jack's wrist offered comfort enough. Once at the hospital, that comfort was taken, as nurses swept Sutton away and left everyone who'd come with him helplessly wandering the front hall.
The nurse at the desk offered them coffee, something Jack didn't think he could stomach any more than the scotch. Harry, Gert, and Ox joined him on the long bench opposite the doors to the ward, to watch the minutes crawl toward nine, then ten. Jack could not carry on any kind of conversation and by eleven o'clock, knew he couldn't sit through another second of the soft chatter at the desk where he hadn't heard even a mention of Sutton, couldn't listen to Gert's nervous humming or the reassurances from Ox and Harry that everything would be just fine.
But he didn't have to tell Harry that. Harry knew how close he was to crumbling apart. "I need a word or two with Mr. Bailey. You kids get yourselves some more coffee or something."
- Forty -
Harry found an uninhabited room at the far end of the hall, an office with a battered old rolltop and beat-up leather sofa. He shut the door and started to reach under a standing lamp but, at Jack's subdued protest, left the room lit by only the hall light through the window glass. "Sit down before you fall down, will you?"
"It was me he wanted to shoot. I was the one they were always after. I was the one who borrowed from Chase--"
"Jack, quit it." Harry got his arm and guided him to the sofa. "You were square with Chase. Vance did that on his own."
"I can't just sit and wait. He's in there alone--" Jack wanted to argue, but the pain squeezing shut his throat wouldn't let him.
Harry sat, pulling Jack down beside him. "Listen to me. Sutton's okay. He'll be good as new. And don't you think he knows you're here?"
"He was alone in the hospital last time." Jack sucked in a breath and his eyes burned. "I told him in the car I'd be with him. That he wouldn't go through that again. I swore it. What if something happens? What if--"
"Jack, don't. I know you're beat and scared, but don't do that. He's fine."
"People die suddenly. Who knows better than you and me? Things happen and they die and you never have time. You don't get to tell them--anything." His heart convulsed and he understood how someone might die of grief. Every thought made it worse.
"'Bout time, kid." Harry's voice sounded calm. The tears came until Jack's ribs ached, until what remained was an exhausted shell; still him, mostly alive but incapable of moving an inch. After a time, he pried apart swollen lids and stared at the soft glow of light on the dull linoleum. He could imagine how many other people had grieved here, perhaps all alone, and he didn't know how they stood it. The whole place had gone deathly quiet, but he wasn't alone. Harry's arms still held him and Harry's coat was rough and damp against his cheek.
Jack hiccupped. "I could use that scotch."
"I'll bet." Harry laid a hand on his forehead, callused fingers cool and soothing. "Headache?"
"Yeah." He remembered Ox and Gertie waiting outside. "Don't mention this to anybody, will you?"
"Damn. I was going to run a story in the Times."
"Like anyone would believe you."
"Yeah." Harry let go so he could sit up. "Jack Bailey's hard as nails."
"That why everyone keeps walking out on me?"
If it was blunt and unreasonable, it didn't faze Harry in the least. "I ain't going anywhere."
Jack wasn't taking any chances. "Swear to God."
Harry nodded. "Feel like cleaning up? There's a bathroom across the hall." He fished out a handkerchief. "Here. Got a comb?"
"Do I ever?"
He took the kerchief and comb Harry gave him and slipped into the bathroom. Feeling like hell was not too far off from resembling it, judging by the ashen face and bloodshot eyes looking back at him in the mirror. When he came of the bathroom, he saw Harry had cornered a nurse. She smiled at Jack from under a crisp white wimple.
"You're waiting to hear about the young man who came in earlier this evening. I'm sorry no one's come to you before this. We've been terribly short-handed since the war--" She stopped, self-reproach in her fleeting frown, then went on all the more gently. "The doctor was able to remove the bullet and Mr. Albright is a little weak but doing quite well."
Quite well. Two words that put the sun back in the sky. "Can we see him?"
"He's resting, but his wife may come in for a few minutes." The nurse looked at Gert, who giggled.
"Oh, honey--"
"He ain't married," Harry said, with
a warning glance at Gert.
"I see." The nurse's gentle smile didn't waver. "Better to let him sleep now. You can see him in the morning."
Jack trailed her to the door and stared through the window as she walked past the occupied beds all the way to the other end of the ward. Too far away for even a wave through the glass, assuming Sutton was awake to see it. Jack's throat tightened and he swallowed. God knew he should be finished with tears for a long time. He turned to the three sympathetic pairs of eyes on him and tried to grin. "You might as well go home." Tomorrow was--Monday? "Busy day tomorrow."
"Jack--"
"Don't ask me to get some rest. I save my sleeping for the really good nights, remember?" Jack avoided Harry's worried gaze. The goddamned tears wouldn't quit. "Look, I'd rather you went and got some sleep. I don't feel like talking." He didn't feel like anything except pushing through those doors and tearing down to the other end of that ward.
Harry said his name again in protest, Ox echoing it, though they both knew better. Gert groaned in exasperation. "Oh for God's sake." Her voice carried to the desk and the elderly nurse there glanced severely at her. Gert ignored her and swung on Harry. "This is all your fault. You know how I figure? If you'd told me the truth, I never would've flirted with Jack, and Vance never would've had the idea Jack was beating his time." She rolled her eyes. "As if he stood a chance, anyhow."
Before Harry could tell her to shut the hell up, she jerked her head in the direction of the nurses and winked. The smile on Harry's face, nearly imperceptible, became one of his more impressive scowls in an instant. "My fault? Sweetheart, the way you flirt, it'd take an act of God to even slow you down."
Gert lifted her shoulders, cat-like, and settled her hands on her hips. "You saying I ain't respectable? I'll have you know I went to finishing school."
"Yeah?" Harry spared Jack a brief glance and a furtive wave toward the ward. "That where you learned how to hunt down fellows with fat bank accounts?"
"Huh. Maybe somebody's a little jealous I ain't never flirted with him," Gert said, as the nurse left her post and headed in their direction.
Harry blanched. "Good God. Don't even kid around, will you? Threats like that could give a guy a seizure."
"I guess you're in the right place for it," Gert got in quick as the nurse tried to shush her. "It ain't no more than you deserve--"
Another nurse came out to see what the commotion was. Jack halted only a moment, Ox shielding him from view, and then he was inside, the doors falling shut behind him. He hurried along the row of bedsteads, afraid he would be discovered and ordered out. The staff had lowered the lights, but he could see well enough to make out the sleeping figures on either side.
He found Sutton in the last bed, garbed in a white gown and tucked under woolen blankets--and sleeping so comfortably, Jack didn't want to disturb him. He combed damp blond hair with careful fingers and couldn't keep from cradling a pale cheek, not only for the contact. He knew the influenza patients were isolated in another ward, but doubt dug in and made him wish he could sneak Sutton away home. Though he hadn't meant to wake him, the touch, it seemed, was enough. Sutton murmured his name, eyes opening to take Jack in with brightening gladness. Jack's heart buoyed. "Hi ya, Mabel."
Sutton smiled sleepily. "You all right?" His voice was as rough and as tender.
The ache in Jack's throat reasserted itself. "Am I all right, he asks." He brushed a sleeve over his face though it was too late to hide the evidence. "You're the one with a hole in your shoulder. What did I say about the grand gestures?"
"No obligation." Sutton lifted fingers to brush the moisture on Jack's cheek. "I'm all right. It hardly hurts at all."
Jack hoped that was as true in the morning. "You ever going to learn to get out of the way of flying pieces of metal?"
"Next war, maybe."
Jack shook his head. "You and me, we're swearing off wars." He took Sutton's hand and though he wanted to cling tight, held on gently. "Guess I ought to let you sleep."
"It's the middle of the night, isn't it?" When Jack nodded, Sutton's mouth set in a stubborn line. "You won't rest. I can't leave you."
Jack couldn't suppress a smile at the eyelids already drooping. "If I swear I'll try to sleep, will you?"
"If you promise. But stay another minute? Just until..." His voice faded and lashes fell feather soft to his cheeks.
"Just until," Jack whispered. He let go of the hand in his and tucked the blanket into place. In the quiet, he heard voices at the other end of the ward and he swiftly eased himself underneath the bed. The rustle of skirts came near and a pair of prim boots stopped at the bedside.
Jack lay frozen while the nurse examined Sutton. When her touch woke him, she uttered something reassuring and Jack recognized her voice. She was the one who had given them the news Sutton would be all right.
Jack was reluctant to get her into trouble. He decided, as she bid Sutton good night, to confess his transgression of the rules--but before he could, a pillow and folded blanket landed on the floor beside him.
"Good night to you as well, Mr. Bailey," she said with a soft laugh.
Surprised, Jack started to respond, but she was already on her way to the next ward. He waited a long minute just to be sure no one would come to haul him away. The ward stayed peaceful, hushed but for the chorus of soft snores. Maybe the young nun was as worldly-wise as she seemed.
He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and lay the pillow at the edge of Sutton's mattress, where he could just about lean comfortably from the floor. Maybe in a few minutes he'd be lying on the boards, but right now, he was where he wanted to be.
He woke aching but warm, in a rocker someone had led him to a couple of hours before dawn. Sutton was sitting in bed, Harry, in hat and coat, beside him in a chair. Jack had a feeling they'd been talking a while. He hoped Harry hadn't blabbed about what a baby he'd been the night before. "Why didn't you wake me?"
"He wouldn't let me," Harry said.
"You've got to give me the dope on bossing Harry around," Jack said as he moved, still wrapped in the blanket, to sit beside Sutton.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Like you ain't got it perfected."
Jack ignored that as, under the blanket, Sutton's hand found his. He held on, half-listening as Harry sketched out the details of a morning spent dealing with the police and then the neighbors, all of whom were deeply interested in a more thorough explanation for the dead man lying outside their door. It had not been determined whether Ida's shot or Harry's had been the fatal one, but Jack didn't care. He wished he could have taken a shot at Vance, himself.
"Thanks, Harry." Jack wanted to say more, but he couldn't get out anything else.
"Thanks, he says. I cussed at a nun, for Christ's sake. You know what I'm getting for that?"
Jack nodded solemnly and came around the bed to pull him into a hug. Harry muttered, but hugged back, recovering himself by delivering a half-hearted swat to Jack's uncombed head. Jack tried to grin. "You okay?" he asked, beating Sutton to it.
The smile he provoked, one part exasperation to three parts affection, worked better than a rebuking word or a swat on the head. "My right arm healed," Sutton said. "My left will, too."
"You'd better give it a fair shot before you start playing." Harry fished out a cigar, then seemed to remember where he was and pocketed it. "You let yourself heal, kid."
"I will. Except for Friday night, of course."
Jack sat back down beside him. "Sutton--"
"I promised Mrs. Madigan."
"You just had a bullet taken out of your shoulder," Harry said. "It won't heal up that quick, no matter how many promises you've made."
"You'll have plenty of other opportunities," Jack reminded him.
- Forty-One -
After his release from the hospital, Sutton gravitated to the piano the next morning, but Jack steered him away, careful of the sling that cradled his arm.
"I can practice the melody," Sutton protested.
<
br /> "I swear to God I'm going to take you upstairs and lock you in if you don't stay away from that piano." Jack pushed him toward the office. "You can sit and rest until lunch."
Sutton moved reluctantly. "And then?"
"You can sit and rest some more."
"At least give me the music."
Jack did, dropping the pile of it into Sutton's lap once he had Sutton comfortable on the sofa. Glittering gray eyes shot him a disgruntled look. "May I have a pencil?"
Jack plucked the one from behind Harry's ear and handed it over. Harry chuckled. "If he runs out of sheet music, I'll give him a receipt book and send him back out to you."
It felt good--reassuring--to fall back into a familiar routine. Though Jack hadn't gained any new affection for selling, he relished it through the morning because it was something predictable in a world that had again turned upside down, tumbling him with it. For the moment, he was too damned grateful Sutton was recovering to worry over any of the usual--including Friday night.
- - -
By five, he decided to close early, tired of the customers who came in to gossip over Vance's death. Sutton had clerked in the afternoon, until Jack had noticed a weariness in his step and banished him back to the office. At six, Jack brought Harry the receipts and found Sutton asleep, Harry's coat over him for warmth. "Say, get us a basket from Es, will you? I'll come back down in a minute." He started to fish out his wallet and Harry stopped him.
"I'll take care of it. You want some help with this one?" he asked as Jack bent down to wake Sutton.
"Are you kidding? Do you know how many times I've staggered home with--"
"Aw, just leave it at that. I'll bring the basket up."
When Harry came by with supper, Sutton was abed and Jack too tired and chilly to eat. Jack stowed the basket in the icebox and, with little expectation he would sleep, wrapped himself around a warm and slumbering Sutton.
He woke abruptly to a room still shrouded in night, and Sutton sitting beside him, staring into the dark. Jack touched his arm and felt minute shivering. He gathered handfuls of blanket to drape over Sutton's shoulders, bare but for the bandage covering the left. "What's the matter? Hurt too much to sleep? I'll get the pills--but they'll take a while to work. I can run down for Harry's scotch. Might help until the pills do the trick--" He stopped at the sight of Sutton's face damp with tears. "What is it? Tell me and I'll fix it."
