CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

 

 

I woke up and found myself lying between starched, brilliantly white sheets. A muted light next to the bed revealed light-green hospital walls. It was dark outside the window.

I turned my head and saw two figures at the end of the bed. I blinked and they came into focus. One was Nicholson. Slightly behind him stood Lieutenant O’Brien.

Nicholson moved over and sat in a chair close to me. The bed was high, so our heads were nearly level.

“You goddamn foolish, stubborn old coot,” he said.

“Is this some new kind of treatment? Verbal abuse?” My throat was incredibly raw, and my voice was little more than a croak.

Nicholson snorted, then shook his head. “In case you’re interested—though the way you act I don’t see how you could be—you’re going to be okay. It was just a flesh wound. In and out. Clean. You’ve got lots of bruises and you’ll be sore for a while, but other than that, you’re fine.” He shook his head again.

“How’d I get here?”

“Your little gun battle attracted the attention of the men in the... uh... installation up there, and they investigated.”

“At least they didn’t think they were under attack and launch a retaliation.”

Nicholson looked at me, then laughed. “When they got there, they were sure they had three bodies. You were covered in blood. I guess most of it was Novallo’s.”

“He kind of upset me.”

Nicholson sighed, stood up. “There’ll be a few questions, you know.”

“I figured there would be.”

“But there should be no trouble.” He looked down at me, sighed again. “I suppose I’m glad you’re all right.”

“Only suppose?”

“Do me a favor, would you, Spanner? The next time you feel the urge to pull some stunt, do it in another jurisdiction. I got enough problems.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Sure, you will. I might as well talk to the fucking wall.” He put a large hand on my shoulder, smiled. “Take care, old man.”

After he went out, the lieutenant came over and took his place. He looked a little drawn, gray around the edges, but otherwise calm, in control.

“I thought I told you to stay out of trouble.” He smiled weakly.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Jake—”

“It was all my doing.”

“Jake—”

“I wanted to keep him out of it.”

“Jake—”

“He tried to save my life. Lieutenant, I’m so—”

“Jake, shut up a minute! Please.” I shut up. “Listen, you don’t have to tell me about my old man. I know what he was like.”

“That still doesn’t—”

“Would you wait a second! Jake, he was dying. Cancer. It was inoperable.”

The news didn’t really surprise me. I’d been reading the signs, and I knew he was pretty bad. I just hadn’t wanted to admit it, actually confront it.

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

“You know, that was his way, Jake. He only had a few more months, two-three at the most, and they were going to be bad, very, very bad. It scared him. He didn’t talk much about it, but I knew he was afraid, and it really got to me. It wasn’t the dying that frightened him, but the pain. And the waiting. Just watching, feeling himself going, and being unable to do anything. One last time he wanted to do something, Jake—feel alive, in control, to make a difference. You gave him that chance. And he found a way to go that he could accept—or that was at least more acceptable. This may sound strange, but for his sake, I’m grateful to you.”

It all made sense. His enthusiasm at being involved, his annoyance when I cut him out. I’d tried to protect him from the one thing he wanted.

“You get some rest now, lake. We’ll talk about it all later.” The lieutenant stood up. “From what Nicholson tells me, I guess your adventure is at an end.”

I looked at him but didn’t say anything.

He looked back, a curious expression on his face. “Not yet, huh?” I kept my gaze steady. The lieutenant broke into a broad grin, then winked, exactly like O’Bee used to. “Good. Give ‘em hell.”

He was partway through the door when he leaned back in. “You ever need a license-plate run, give me a shout.”

I smiled at him and nodded. Remarkable. I’d subverted another O’Brien.

After the lieutenant left I thought a lot about his father. O’Bee hadn’t just tried to save my life; he’d succeeded. Seeing him gunned down so coolly, so terribly, had done something to me that fear for myself had been unable to do. What I couldn’t decide was whether he’d given me a gift or I’d given him one.

A pretty, young nurse came in and gave me a shot that put me out for another twelve hours.