by Thomas Scott
Virgil reached out and found the pain button and pushed it. Twice. He looked at Cora and motioned her over to the bed. “Where’s my gun and badge?”
“We’ve got them, Jonesy. They were there, at the scene. Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay.”
“Listen, Jonesy,” Cora said. “I’m going to get out of here and let you rest. Sandy’ll fill you in on everything. Donatti and Rosencrantz were here earlier while you were still out. They said to let you know they’d be back in the morning. The governor sends his best. I’ll check on you tomorrow.”
Virgil could feel the morphine flowing through his body as if his blood were being heated then recycled through his veins. “Okay.”
After Cora left Sandy moved closer and stood at the edge of the bed. “My god, Virgil, you could have been killed.”
He was drifting and there were still questions Virgil wanted to ask but he couldn’t seem to get them out. “I heard the sirens, Sandy. I saw my mom, too. She was there. I think she was there with me the entire time.”
Mason was sitting in a visitor’s chair in the corner of the room, and when he heard what his son said he walked over to the side of the bed. “What was that, Virg? Say that again, will you?”
But the drugs pulled him back under before he could answer.
__________
The doctor was right. The nurses did come in every time he fell asleep. It got to the point where Virgil thought they were all sadists. The doctor ordered rest, but then they didn’t let you get any. But the next time he woke on his own the light of the day peeked through the slats of the window blinds and he could hear the business end of patient care coming alive from the other side of the door. Sandy was curled in a ball on a recliner next to the window.
His leg still hurt like hell, but it was not as bad as the previous night. It was more isolated and not over his entire body like it had been before. He found the call button for the nurse and pressed it, and when she came into the room he asked her about switching to a pain pill instead of the IV drip. “It’s making me pretty loopy,” Virgil said.
“I’ll have to clear it with the doctor,” she said. “But between you and me, I don’t think you’re ready just yet. In the meantime, don’t be a hero. Hit that pain button if you have to. Loopy ain’t all bad, honey.”
A short time later an orderly wheeled in a breakfast tray and set the cart next to the bed. All the in and out woke Sandy. She stretched, yawned, walked over to the bed, and leaned in and kissed Virgil, hard, on the lips.
“You should have gone home last night,” he said.
“Would you have?”
“No.”
“So, okay then.”
His leg was throbbing now, the pain worse as he became fully awake. “I was thinking about last night. The way you called me Virgil.”
The door opened and Rosencrantz and Donatti walked in. “Of course she called you Virgil. That’s your name, isn’t it?” He looked over at Donatti. “Isn’t that his name?”
Donatti nodded. “Yep. Hey Small, what’s shaking? Did you know his middle name is Francis?”
“About time you woke up,” Rosencrantz said as he lifted the lid on the food tray. “What’s for breakfast?” He put the lid back down. “Wow, are they trying to cure you or kill you?”
“You know, you don’t get jack for workmen’s comp in Indiana,” Donatti said. “I think you’re faking.”
“Yeah, definitely faking,” Rosencrantz said.
“Hey, is it true you can predict when it’s going to rain, now?” Donatti said. “I heard TV 8 is looking for a new weatherman.”
“I’ll bet they’re giving you some good shit for the pain. Can I have some?” Rosencrantz said.
Virgil looked at Sandy with a ‘help me’ expression on his face, but when she held her hands up in a ‘what can you do gesture,’ he did the only logical thing he could think of…he said fuck it and pressed the pain button again.
__________
That made the room spin, like he was caught in a vortex. Rosencrantz and Donatti were standing under the television, their heads tilted up toward the set, watching something on the screen. A few minutes later when the rush of the morphine tapered off, Virgil looked at Sandy and motioned for her to lean in closer. “Did you hear what I was saying before Mutt and Jeff walked in?”
“Yes, I did,” she said. “But it wasn’t last night. That was five days ago, Virgil.”
Rosencrantz turned his head and said, “What was last night?”
Virgil ignored him, but Sandy turned her head and said, “We’re talking about something else. Last night was nothing.”
“You know how many times I’ve heard a woman tell me that?” Donatti said. Sandy shot him a look and then turned her attention back to Virgil.
“What are you talking about?” Virgil said. “What do you mean it was five days ago?”
Sandy had her hand on his leg. “You’ve sort of been in and out over the last few days.”
“What?” Virgil didn’t believe it. “What day is this?”
“It’s Friday,” Sandy said.
Donatti looked over at Sandy and said, “Hey, am I Mutt or Jeff? I think I’m Jeff. I’m Jeff, right?”
The door opened and a nurse came in and told Virgil the doctor had given the okay for Oxycontin instead of the morphine drip for the pain but the Oxycontin would probably, in her words, bind him up some. “Not much worse than the morphine, though.”
“That’s all right,” Rosencrantz said. “He’s full of shit anyway.”
Virgil looked at him and thought if the food in here didn’t kill him, the bad cop humor probably would. When he looked at Sandy she mouthed a silent ‘I love you’ and he felt his eyes water at the edges.
It became quiet in the room for a minute, then Rosencrantz looked at Donatti and said, “I kinda like the way she calls him Virgil, don’t you?”
Sandy shook her head, then stood and said, “Hey guys, I think we need to let Virgil get his rest. What do you say?”
“Yeah,” Doantti said. She’s right. “Virgil’s tired.”
Rosencrantz turned and gave him a little finger wave. “Okay, bye, Virgil. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Sandy waved them out. “I’ll catch up with you guys after while,” she said.
When they were out of the room, Virgil pulled himself up in the bed a little. He could feel the tape around his ribcage. “See what you’ve started,” he said.
“I’ll talk to them,” Sandy said.
“Ah geez, don’t do that.”
“Well what do you want me to do?”
The Oxycontin was working already—Virgil could feel the buzz—but he was not drowsy like he’d been with the morphine drip. The pain was still present, but it was in the background, like it was hiding inside a closet.
“It feels like…like everything is moving too fast. I was tied up and beaten and it feels like it all happened just this morning.”
“We don’t have to talk about his now, you know.”
“I think I need to.”
Sandy sat on the edge of the bed and put her hand in his. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”
“I’m not really sure. I think there might be a lot I don’t remember. In fact, most of it is blank right now, that part of it, I mean. I remember eating lunch at the diner, then nothing until I woke up tied to the post or beam or whatever it was.”
“And when you woke up?”
He closed his eyes and told Sandy what he remembered about the beatings and the torture with the stun gun, seeing Murton and how he killed the two men, and then how he saw his mother. When he opened his eyes tears were running down Sandy’s cheeks and when he reached up to wipe them away she took his hand in both of hers and held it tight against her face. She then kissed the tips of his fingers and held his hand in her lap. Virgil thought she might ask about his mom, but she shifted the direction of the conversation.
“We’ve got an I.D. on the men. Their names were Coll
ins and Hicks.”
“What about Murton? Where is he?”
“That’s a little more complicated,” she said.
“I’ll bet.”
“I might be able to help you with that,” Agent Gibson said. He was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He pushed himself upright with his shoulder and said, “May I come in?”
Virgil nodded to Gibson and he walked further into the room. He looked at Sandy and said, “Would you mind if I spoke with Detective Jones in private?”
“That’s not necessary,” Virgil said.
“It’s okay, Virgil,” Sandy said. “I’ve got work to do. A lot has happened. I’ll check back on you later and fill you in then. Get some rest.” She leaned down and kissed him on the lips, then turned and stared at Gibson, her expression a challenge for him to comment on their private life. But he just nodded at her and after she walked out he looked at Virgil and said, “How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better.”
“I checked your records. Saw you were in the sandbox.”
“That’s a term only a soldier would use.”
He pulled a chair close to the bed then sat down, a pocket of air held in the side of his mouth. “So maybe I was there.”
“In what capacity?”
He chuckled at the question before he answered. “Let’s just say I wasn’t dressed in camouflage and humping a pack. But that was a long time ago, wasn’t it? Right now you’re wondering about Murton Wheeler.”
“I’ve been wondering about Murton Wheeler for a long time.”
“So like I said, I can probably help you with that.”
Virgil thought for a moment before he spoke. “That day on the street, outside the bank…the bomb scare…the first time we met? You told me Murton was part of an on-going investigation. You made it sound like he was the one being investigated.”
“Did I? I don’t recall. It depends on your perspective, I guess.”
“So he’s with the G?”
“Something like that.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ll let him explain it. Believe me when I tell you though, Detective, he’s paid a tremendous price for his country. I personally owe him a debt I’ll never be able to repay, but that’s another story. From what I gather, that puts you and me in the same boat.”
“Where is he?”
“Out in the hall, waiting to come in,” Gibson said.
__________
Murton walked into the room and stood about halfway between the door and the bed. Virgil pushed the button on the control panel attached to the rail and elevated the bed into a sitting position. They stared at each other for a minute, neither one of them sure of what to say. It might have been the pain medicine, or it might have been the nervous tension, but Virgil felt the corner of his mouth turn upwards, then before he knew it they were both smiling.
“You’re a fed?”
“Well, I was,” he said. “But not anymore. I put in my papers this morning.”
“Why?”
He laughed without humor. “Which why are you asking me about? The why did I disappear? Or the why didn’t I tell you what was really happening in my life? Or the why I had to let everyone, including you, your parents, and even my girlfriend think I was a criminal and a complete fuck up?”
“I’m sorry about Amy.”
Murton stayed quiet for a long time before he spoke. “We buried her yesterday. Her mom slapped me in the face at the service. She thought her death was my fault. You know what? She was right, but for all the wrong reasons. After the service I told her who I was, who I really was and she didn’t believe me. So I pulled out my badge and handed it to her and you know what she did? She fainted. Just like that. I thought I killed her. I’ve been under too long Jonesy. I had to get out. I let my job get in the way of my girlfriend’s well being and it cost her and my unborn child their lives.”
Ah, Murt, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. Goddamn. I’ve been an asshole. I’m fucking sorry, man.”
They sat there with that for a while, slowly coming to terms that they’d spent the first half of their lives together as best friends and brothers, and the last half under a flag of deception that drove them apart.
“Well, at least Pate got his, huh?” Murton said.
“What? What do you mean?”
“You’re kidding, right? You mean no one told you?”
“Told me what, Murt? No one’s told me anything.”
“Ah, that’s beautiful, man. After everything that’s happened, I get to tell you. Guess you haven’t been watching the news. Pate’s dead, Jonesy. Yesterday morning at the taping of his show. Except it wasn’t just a taping. Because of everything that’s happened, he convinced the network to run a live special. The place was packed. He stood up there on the pulpit and confessed all of it. He had tears running down his cheeks and everything. It was like every other preacher you’ve ever seen on TV when they bare their soul and confess their sins, except ol’ Sermon Sam out did them all.”
“What do you mean?”
“After he confessed to burning his church in Houston, and taking responsibility for the deaths of Franklin Dugan, and Amy, and trafficking in child pornography, he stuck a gun in his mouth and blew the back of his head all over the choir. All on live TV.”
“You said with everything that’s been happening. What else did I miss?”
“Plenty. A city cop who now has the unfortunate nickname of Cauliflower shot your sniper to death and saved the Governor as well.”
“What?”
“Say, I don’t mean to change the subject, but I’ve got to tell you something else,” he said. “When I was cutting you down, I could hear your mom’s voice. In my head, I mean. It’s like she was telling me exactly what to do. Can you believe that, man?”
__________
Virgil was still processing what Murton had told him when a physical therapist came in the room and explained that it was necessary to get up and move around. Murton said good-bye, explaining that he had six or seven reams of paperwork to complete and would look in on him later. Then, before he left, he walked over to the bed and kissed Virgil on his forehead. “Never stopped lovin’ you, brother,” he said. Virgil’s lips trembled, but he couldn’t get any words out. “You’re welcome,” he said, then ruffled the top of Virgil’s head like they were kids again and walked out the door.
The physical therapist watched the exchange in silence. She was a short sassy brunette who looked like she should be working in an ice cream parlor or maybe a pet supply store.
“You can’t see it, but there’s a rubber knob on the bottom of your cast, right under the heel of your foot. Like the stopper on the end of these crutches,” she said, holding up one of the crutches. “When you’re moving around, I want you to keep as much weight off of your leg as possible. But, if you have to put any weight on it, keep it on the knob. That’s what it’s for. That, and to make sure you don’t slip and fall. She tried a smile on so Virgil tried one right back at her, and when his scar lit up, she momentarily jerked the crutch across the front of her body, like a shield. “Uh, anyway,” she said, “here, let me help you. Swing your legs off the side of the bed, but don’t try to stand, yet.”
“Just give me a minute, will you?” Virgil said. He gathered himself together and sat upright on the side of the bed and with the therapist’s help managed to stand mostly on his good leg, the broken one held at an odd angle at the knee to prevent it from touching the floor.
“Good, good. That’s good,” she said. “Now straighten your knee and let the knob on the bottom of your cast rest on the floor, but don’t put any weight on it. I just want you to get a feel for where it is down there.” Virgil did what she asked, but when he did, the pain flared and the room spun. The therapist grabbed his arm and eased him back down on the bed. “I said not to put any weight on it.”
Virgil nodded, his breath whistling through his teeth. “I didn’t.”
<
br /> “Well, maybe you did a little. Do you want me to see about getting you a wheel chair?”
“No, I do not want a fucking wheel chair.”
“All right, then, come on, let’s try again. It only gets better from here.”
“I can believe that.” He gripped the handle of the crutches, the therapist standing next to him like a gymnastics spotter. He leaned forward, put the weight on his good leg and pulled himself up.
“All right. Now, let’s try moving around the room a little. You look like a pretty strong guy. Just remember, the key to using crutches is in the forearms, not your armpits, okay? Keep your leg bent, and use both crutches at the same time. Step with your good leg, then follow with your arms, okay?”
“Okay, okay,” he said, hating her already. But after a few minutes of her help and some painful practice, he had to admit, she had him moving around fairly well.
She handed him some kind of waiver stating that she had demonstrated the proper use of the crutches and asked him to sign at the bottom. Her parting words were, “Remember, if you stumble and think you’re going to fall, and you probably will, just let your body go limp. Don’t try to save yourself. Just relax and go ahead and let yourself go. You’re more likely to reinjure if you try to save yourself than if you just go ahead and let it happen.”
For some reason, her statement made Virgil think about his relationships with his dad, Murton, and Sandy.
__________
A few hours later, one of the nurses came in and told him his ticket out would be to show the doctor he could get around on his own, and that was all the motivation Virgil F. Jones required. He picked up the crutches and made his way toward the door, leaning against the jamb for a few minutes until the hall was mostly clear before venturing out. It wasn’t too bad, the moving around, but the physical therapist was right; the key was to keep the weight off the leg. He went up and down the hall a few times, stopping to rest only once at the opposite end of the corridor. The hardest part really was holding his leg in the air, bent at the knee, and it didn’t take long before the burn in his thigh was a little too much. There was a couch at the end of the hallway next to the elevators, so Virgil decided to sit and watch the business end of the hospital for a while.
