CHAPTER 19
1453 Words
CHAPTER 19
Kennedy wished the doctors and nurses believed her when she told them she was all right. She wasn’t even bleeding anymore. Why couldn’t they just clean her up, tape on a massive Band-Aid, knock her up with painkillers, and let her go to sleep?
A team of a dozen or more nurses met her as soon as the paramedics wheeled her into the back doors of the ER. One shoved a stethoscope to her chest. Another clipped a plastic clamp to her pointer finger. People were shouting, running. She felt like she was on an old episode of one of those medical dramas her mom watched.
She tried to look back to see if Carl was there, but a nurse reached down and pinned her on the stretcher.
They sped her to a little room separated from the main hall by a hanging curtain. A doctor in full gear snapped on his second blue glove when they wheeled her in.
“All right.” He gestured at one of the nurses. “Let’s cut that coat off her.”
“What?” Kennedy tried to sit up, but the same nurse held her down once more.
Another nurse reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of scissors with a little metal ball at the end.
“Not sure how these will work.” She held up Kennedy’s sleeve.
“You can’t cut my coat,” Kennedy insisted. “It was from my dad.”
“You know it’s ruined already, right?”
Kennedy bit her lip while the nurse sliced away at her early Christmas present. It didn’t matter, she told herself. She just wanted to get this whole ER visit over with.
“Oh, look at that.”
She didn’t understand the nurse’s tone. Why did she say it that way?
“That’s all?” another asked.
“Probably could have saved the coat.”
Hadn’t Kennedy tried to tell them?
The doctor gave a few orders, and everyone left except for the nurse with the scissors.
Just doing her job, Kennedy repeated to herself over and over.
“Well, looks fine to me.” The doctor also stood up. “Dolores here will clean you up, and then when the police are done with whatever questions they’ve got, I have no reason to keep you here.”
He left without any sort of good-bye. Kennedy didn’t even get the chance to thank him.
Dolores set to work, spraying her wound with a big can of saline and spreading a large blob of antibiotic ointment. The area burned hot, but the pain was bearable. Nothing like when she was in the hospital last fall.
“So, you a student around here?” Dolores asked.
“Yeah.” Kennedy didn’t necessarily like telling people she went to Harvard. That kind of confession automatically made certain people assume she was a preppy rich kid.
Dolores kept her eyes on the wound and opened a package of sterile gauze. “Whatcha studying?”
“I’m pre-med.” It sounded silly to mention here. Right now, Kennedy didn’t even have the know-how to clean a wound like hers.
Dolores frowned and muttered, “That’ll pay the bills.”
Kennedy didn’t say anything. This wasn’t the first time someone had mentioned money when they found out she planned to become a doctor. She wasn’t sure how much she believed the common perception that every MD was filthy rich. With all the student loans she was accumulating, she wondered if she’d have enough disposable income to buy her own white coat once she finally graduated med school.
Dolores was wrapping some brown stretchy cloth around the gauze when someone pulled back the curtain.
“Here she is.”
She immediately recognized Carl’s voice. She had been wondering if they would let him back here. Behind him was Detective Drisklay with his salt and pepper beard and coarse mustache.
“So, I guess our ten o’clock meeting got moved up a few hours.” He took a drink from a steaming Styrofoam cup, and Kennedy recognized the scent of coffee that followed him wherever he went. She wasn’t sure if he was in a good mood or not. She had never seen him either happy or sad and wondered if he even had an emotional life to speak of. “Well, since we’re both here, I’ve got a few questions for you.” He sat down on the doctor’s swivel chair and whipped out a notepad.
Dolores finished her work and excused herself with a promise to come back with painkillers and Kennedy’s discharge papers. Carl crossed his arms impassively by the curtain, reminding Kennedy of her childhood pet schnauzer when he tried to act territorial. Tonight might turn into an amusing memory when she looked back on it, but right now all she hoped was to stay awake to answer whatever questions Drisklay had for her.
“So, they tell me the wound was pretty superficial.”
Kennedy nodded. “Just a graze.”
He frowned. “You’re lucky, then.”
She wondered what history lay behind his hardened gaze.
“How long have you known Gino?”
“I just met him tonight. I mean, I never met him. He was just there chasing us. Oh, and before that he was on the subway.”
The detective frowned and didn’t write anything.
Kennedy decided to order her thoughts more logically. “I didn’t know who he was until tonight. I didn’t even know there was another partner involved. I saw the news before I went to bed, and then I realized I had seen him on the T earlier. Green Line.”
“Which branch?”
Kennedy had a hard time keeping all the different lines straight. “Whichever one goes to the Opera House.”
Detective Drisklay frowned. “That would be E.”
She nodded. “E, then.”
“Inbound or outbound?”
“We were headed back to campus.”
“Inbound.” He scribbled a little more. “And you hadn’t seen him before then?”
Kennedy stopped herself from shaking her head too soon. Hadn’t the man looked familiar on the T? Or was that just her memory playing tricks on her? How did witnesses in crime novels keep such great track of faces and details?
“I think he looked a little familiar, but I can’t be sure.”
Detective Drisklay kept his pen poised over his notebook. “So you’ve had previous encounters with him? Did you see him working with Vinny?”
As hard as she tried to forget everything that happened to her last fall, she couldn’t get Vinny’s face out of her mind. She sometimes replayed whole segments of her captivity at a time, as if a big projector screen took over her brain and went over every minute detail. She was certain she hadn’t seen Gino with them.
“No, he wasn’t there.” She frowned. Where had she seen his face? Maybe her memories were jumbled. Maybe she really hadn’t recognized him on the T. None of it made sense.
“He had a scar.” Detective Drisklay rolled back his sleeve and drew an imaginary line from his thumb down past his wrist. “Here on the right hand. Ring any bells?”
Kennedy frowned. Maybe if she had more sleep ...
“Well, if you remember, we’ll come back to it.” Drisklay flipped a page in his notebook.
If Drisklay was anything, he was thorough. Eventually Dolores poked her head in, handed Kennedy a huge pill and a miniature Dixie cup of water, and sneaked back out. Carl even left his station at the curtain to sit down in one of the hard plastic chairs lining the wall. He didn’t exactly doze, but every once in a while, Kennedy caught his eyes glossing over right before he shook his head and jerked himself back to attention.
Drisklay picked Kennedy’s brain completely clean of every detail from the past twenty-four hours. Finally, he took the last long swig of coffee, which must have been room temperature by now, and stood up. “I appreciate you taking the time to see me.”
It wasn’t as though Kennedy had much of a choice, but she returned what she hoped was a polite smile. Where was Dolores? She was ready for those discharge papers so she could leave.
Drisklay pulled on a pair of black winter gloves. “By the way, we’ve got men out looking for Gino now, but we’re making provisions for your security after your discharge.”
Carl leaned forward in his seat. “What exactly does that mean?”
“I understand Miss Stern will be sleeping at your house.”
Carl nodded. “That’s right.”
“We’re going to send out a car, maybe two, to keep watch at your place tonight.”
Carl let out a sigh. “Well, then, I’ll give you my address.”
The detective patted his pocket. “Already got it. The men are on their way there now making everything secure.”
Carl’s whole upper body tensed. “I got my wife at home.”
Drisklay gave a respectful nod. “They don’t need to go in or wake her up or bother your wife at all. They’ll just walk around the premises, make sure any entrances are secure.”
Carl glanced nervously at his watch. “Maybe I should call her.” He stood up and excused himself.
Drisklay turned his attention back to Kennedy. “As for you, I imagine you’ll want to sleep in tomorrow instead of coming downtown like we planned.”
Kennedy was too tired to do anything but nod.
“That’s fine. I’ll call you around noon.”
“I’m supposed to fly to my aunt’s at four. Is that going to be a problem?”
Drisklay frowned and buttoned up his coat. “We’ll talk about that tomorrow.”
Kennedy tried to ignore his ominous tone.
A young nurse in Betty Boop scrubs popped in almost as soon as the detective left. “I’ve got your discharge instructions.” Her voice was far too chipper for this time of day. Night. Whatever it was. She gave Kennedy a big grin. “My guess is someone’s ready to go home, huh?”
- Writer
