The halls of Good Samaritan Hospital were clear of the usual flurry of family members coming and going, soothing or irritating the patients, and testing the patience of the nursing staff who were hoping to get their charges settled down to sleep through the night. The third floor was almost all post-op recovery and was usually a mausoleum by eight at night.
The two men walked quietly down the linoleum hall looking into dimly lit rooms with monitors blinking or the bluish-gray wash of color from televisions hung from the ceilings. The large shopping bag hung heavily from Hooker’s left hand. The occasional movement in the paper bag was lost in the gait of his injured leg.
The doorway was lit, and the two entered single file. The nurse was holding the young man’s wrist, taking his pulse. Her back was to the door. She stiffened at the sound of the hushed voices.
“I hope this means he still has a pulse.”
“He looks like something even Box wouldn’t chew on.”
“Do you think he’s still in a coma?”
“Was he before?”
“Well, he was stupid enough to dive in the way of a buck sixty in change.”
“He must have been hanging out with you.”
“Are you saying I’m brain dead?”
“Well, you are nothing more than a two-bit survivor of the same killer.”
“You do know he has the same amount of change still stuck in him, don’t you?”
“Are you calling him a two-bit zombie, also?”
A low moan came from the bed. The nurse was both amused and annoyed at the two characters for disturbing her patient. “Nurse, can I get a better room with intelligent conversation?”
Hooker laughed. “Squirt, you better stay here. Your nurse is the best looking one on the whole floor. But if you want us to leave you two alone, we can close the door and go talk to Helga, the night duty nurse, who has been known to twirl rectal thermometers in ice water before administering them.”
The young nurse opened her mouth in shock. “She does not. I will have you know his night nurse is kind and caring.”
“Must be you,” Willie was warming up to the young lady. He wasn’t attracted, but he did have a knack for drawing the best out of people.
“Well, um, yes. Yes, it is.” She blushed slightly.
The smooth talker moved in close to her. Draping a gentle avuncular arm around her shoulder, he led her to the door.
“Well, we are glad you will be taking care of our young friend tonight after we are done with him. He will probably need a nice long sponge bath, as well as a very long special massage.” He winked at her and smiled his winning smile. “But first, so you don’t lose your job, and we accomplish what we need to do to the young man, you need to go find something else to do.”
She turned and looked over Willie’s shoulder as Hooker opened the top of the bag as a large orange missile ejected from it. “Is that a...”
Willie turned her out the door as he swung it shut. “Goodbye.”
The cat stalked up the young man’s chest as he sniffed around and between the hospital smells for a hint of his young friend. Only Hooker and Dolly had ever been allowed the privilege of touching him—until this scrawny kid walked into Hooker’s life, and the picky cat had added him to his social circle.
“Hello, Box,” the voice groaned from the large white ball of a bandage wrap. “Good to see your mangy butt—or is this your face?”
The cat stood on top of his chest and touched his nose to what should have been a human nose but was just an opening in the gauze. Box took in a long breath. Somewhere between the conflicting acrid and sweet odors of medical pollution, he found the familiar scent of his young man Johnny—who had become known as the Squirt, shorthand name cops usually hang on any new guy. The cat relaxed and lay down on his chest and began to purr his signature uneven rumble.
Hooker looked at Willie and smiled. All was right with the world.
The young man moved his one un-bandaged hand onto the cat and was soon asleep. The two older men sat quietly soaking in the tableau of their friend and the cat. They also needed the calming coming from such a strange yet familiar place.
A while later, the light from the hall split the gloom of the room as the young nurse silently slipped in, and upon seeing the cat, closed the door.
Willie leaned his head back and saw the concern on her face. “We’re sorry, but he was uncooperative, and we had to knock him out.”
At first, she looked shocked, and then she realized Willie was joking. “It looks like you did a good job of it. Why... he looks almost... um... catatonic.”
Hooker groaned. “Oh, you went just a bit too fur.”
Willie choked, and then offered, “I had to paws and think about that.”
Hooker rose, putting an end to the punishment. “Seriously, we would leave the mange bucket here all night, but you will probably have to give the kid some more drugs later, and Box wouldn’t let you near him. But for now,” he looked at the drool coming from the kid, “I think he’s good for a few hours.”
He held the bag open for Box, who lay ignoring him. “Box, come on. We’ve been busted, so it’s go time.”
The cat jumped off the bed, grudgingly crawling into the bag, which Hooker picked up and carried. Turning back to the nurse, he shrugged. “It’s a medicinal cat.”
The two men walked down the hall. They had not gone far before the giggles settled in. The wiggle in the bag didn’t help. The cat in the bag routine just barely made it to the elevator.
Box may have had only one eye and one ear, but his deadly claws were all intact. The bottom of the bag hung in loose shreds as the doors of the elevator closed on the three standing males.
Willie giggled. “Left him catatonic…”