Chapter 7 Mickey #2
Tex glances at me. “Yeah, they sure did. Motherfuckers. I grabbed the big one and put him into the wall hard enough to crack the drywall. I need to get somebody out to repair it. He slid right down the wall. The other two were trying to move away after seeing that. And then you came barreling in having my back like you’ve always done.
The younger one, he was standing by the bathroom door and he didn’t move.
He just stood there. He seemed scared. His hand was at his side.
Fuck, Mickey. I looked right at him and didn’t see the gun.
It didn’t even occur to me that he might have a gun. I completely missed it.”
“It was a concealed weapon inside a jacket pocket,” I say. “I almost didn’t catch it and I’m trained to look. This is one thing you don’t get to blame yourself for, Tex. This isn’t on you.”
“I can’t help it,” he says. “I heard the shot. And I turned around and you were on the floor. And there was blood and I thought you were dead. I hit that guy so hard and then I slid the gun away. Then I went to you. I’ve never moved that fast in my life.
It was horrific and this is the only time I’m telling this story because I can’t do it again. ”
“I won’t ask you to,” I say. “What kind of shape was Benji in? When you got to him. After I went down.”
“He was under you,” Tex says. “Your blood was all over him. Soaking through his jeans, on his shirt, on his hands. His face was a mess from the beating and then your blood on top of it. He started freaking out and screaming, ‘what do I do?’ Sheila ran over and started applying pressure to the wound to try to stop the bleeding. She told him to do the same, then Stormy ran over too with his dishrag. They were all trying as hard as they could to keep your blood inside your body. God, Mickey, it’s a miracle you didn’t bleed out on the floor.
There was so much blood. Then the paramedics came and they grabbed Benji and threw him away from you so they could work.
They didn’t try that shit with me, though.
My hand was on your shoulder and I wasn’t turning loose for nobody. ”
Tex chokes up for a minute and stops talking.
“They loaded you up and I jumped in the ambulance with you. They let me ride because what were they going to do? Fight me? Hell no. I saw Benji at the ER waiting room later. They made him change into hospital scrubs. They wouldn’t let him sit in the waiting room chairs covered in blood.
He’s a tough little shit. I’ll give him that.
A whole lot tougher than he looks. And that’s the story.
It’s all I’ve got. Is there anything else you want to know today?
I turned over the surveillance tapes to the sheriff’s department. They’ve got everything.”
“No, that’s enough,” I say. “Thanks, Tex. Now hand me the coffee. If there’s any left.”
“There’s a sip,” he says, handing over the cup.
And just like that we put it away. We’re not going to talk it to death. Going over it again and again won’t change a single thing and we both know it.
At four o’clock Tex checks his phone and reluctantly stands up.
“I’d better head on out,” he says. “I need to get back to check on Sheila and Stormy.”
“I understand,” I say. “I appreciate you coming. You’re the best friend I could have, Tex. I know you don’t like leaving Stormy by himself for too long. You need to get on the road. I’ll be fine. They’ll take good care of me here.”
Stormy’s been alone at the bar all day and Tex gets a particular tightness about him when he’s away from Stormy. Stormy’s come a long way since the hurricane but too many hours alone and the quiet starts working on him.
“Yeah, I still catch Stormy watching the doors and double-checking the locks at night. He’s stopped sleeping with a knife under the pillow though, so that’s an improvement.
I’m not fond of sleeping with a switchblade in the bed.
And I don’t keep a gun on the nightstand anymore.
God, Mickey. I hate leaving you here alone. ”
“I know you do, but you’ve got things to take care of. Now go. You can call or text to check in. Stop worrying. You’re not a nurse and you can’t babysit me all day.”
He leans down and puts his enormous hand on the back of my head. He holds it there for just a moment. He doesn’t say anything because everything that needs to be said has been said for twenty years and doesn’t need words between us anymore.
“I’ll come back in a couple of days,” he says. “Stormy’s making a list of things for me to bring you, along with food. He’s already planning what to pack. I’ll go by your house and pick up whatever you need so text me a list.”
“Tell him I said thank you and hug Sheila for me.”
“Don’t worry about your house or your parents either,” he says.
“Whatever needs doing, I’ll take care of it.
I’ll call Mama Weaver on my drive back to give her a long update.
Give her plenty of time to talk and ask all the questions.
I’ll give her the whole two hours if she wants it.
” Tex stops at the door and turns back. “One more thing about that guy, Benji.”
“What about him?”
“If he comes back knocking on the door, let him come in and sit for a bit. Won’t do you any hurt.”
He doesn’t say more than that and doesn’t need to. I’m going to be alone in this room for a long time and if someone wants to come in and be in it with me, I should let them.
He leaves and I hear his heavy footsteps in the corridor and the elevator chime. Then it’s silent and I’m alone.
A different nurse comes in, checks the monitors, asks me how my pain is on a scale of one to ten.
“Four,” I say, which is a lie. It’s a six.
But four is the number that gets me left alone and six is the number that gets me a concerned face and follow-up questions.
I don’t want to be fussed over. I want to be left alone with my own thoughts, which is a terrible place to be, but at least it’s mine.
The nurse leaves and the room goes quiet again. The machines beep in a rhythm I’m starting to memorize. The IV drips. The clock on the wall ticks.
I close my eyes but sleep doesn’t come. I’m just lying in the dark behind my eyelids trying not to think.
The thoughts come anyway. The career and the badge and my little house with the screened-in porch.
The dating apps that are useless now because who’s going to swipe right on a cop in a wheelchair.
The sex I might never have again.
I stop that thought. I stop it hard and shove it into a box and close the lid and put the box in the back of a closet in the darkest part of my brain. The thought is still there, rattling around, because some thoughts don’t stay locked up no matter how many doors you put between yourself and them.
I’m almost asleep when the door opens with a small sound.
It’s not a nurse. Nurses push through in a hurry like they belong here.
This is tentative. A tiny crack, just enough for a sliver of light to fall across the floor.
And then a head, just barely, just the edge of a face peeking in like a kid checking on a sleeping parent.
Blonde hair. That’s what I see first. Blonde hair catching the light from the corridor. The head quickly pulls back and the door starts to close.
“Hey,” I say. “Wait!”
The door stops half an inch from the frame. There’s a pause. Two seconds. Three. Then the door opens again, wider this time, and he steps into the frame.
I recognize him immediately.
The blue-gray eyes. The face that, even through blood and tears on a bar floor, I noticed.
His hair isn’t styled today, just pushed back like he didn’t care what it did.
He’s wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt and he looks nothing like the person I remember from the hallway.
Still beautiful, maybe more so, but different.
His face is bruised, going green and purple on the cheekbone, butterfly strips on his lip.
He’s holding himself carefully on the left side, favoring the ribs.
He looks like he hasn’t slept. He’s standing in my doorway with his weight on one foot like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to cross the threshold.
“You’re Benji,” I say.
His eyes go wide. He wasn’t expecting me to know his name.
“You’re awake,” he says.
“Unfortunately.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I just wanted to...” He stops and takes a breath. His hands are moving while he talks.
“You wanted to what?”
He glances at me then looks away. “I wanted to make sure you were breathing. That you’re really alive. That’s all. I was going to take a quick look and then leave. I wasn’t going to bother you. And I did. I’m so sorry. I’ll leave now.”
“You’re not bothering me.”
He stays in the doorway. One foot in the room, one foot in the hall. Ready to bolt. Everything about him says he thinks he’s somewhere he shouldn’t be, which he is. Visiting hours are over and I’m pretty sure the spinal unit has a list and he’s not on it. He’s not family. He’s not even a friend.
“How’d you get past the nurses’ station?” I ask.
“Same way I crash parties. Walk fast. Look like I belong. Except this time, I hid my face because... well, you can see why.”
He waves a hand at his battered face. He’s still hovering in the doorway, his hands wanting to move, his feet wanting to pace, his whole body wanting to be doing anything other than standing in a hospital doorway trying not to look at a man in a bed who can’t feel his legs.
“You can come in for a minute,” I say. “If you want. It’s okay.”
He hesitates. Then he takes two steps into the room and stops. That’s it. Two steps. Like the room has a boundary only he can see and he won’t cross it.
We look at each other. This is the first time we’ve been face-to-face without violence happening around us, the first time I’m seeing him upright, standing on two legs that work.
And he’s looking at me, a man whose legs do not work, and I don’t need to be a detective to read his face.
His eyes are too bright and he keeps blinking hard like he’s holding tears back by sheer force. The guilt is written all over him.
“Tex told me you were downstairs in the lobby,” I say. “He said you drove two hours to check on me.”
He nods and looks around the room at everything except me. “Yeah, I did.”
I should ask him why he came. I should tell him what Tex told him, that it’s not his fault, that he doesn’t need to be here, that he can go back to his life whatever that is. This guy doesn’t owe me anything. He doesn’t know me. He’s here anyway.
“How are your ribs?” I ask.
He blinks and looks at me. “What?”
“Your ribs. You’re favoring your left side. How are they?”
“Bruised,” he says. “Maybe a hairline fracture. I didn’t get the X-ray.”
“You probably should’ve.”
“No, I’ll be okay.”
He takes a breath and his weight shifts back toward the door, gathering himself to leave. “Can I get you anything from downstairs or bring you anything from Panama City?”
He’s asking if he can bring me something like he’s a concierge at a hotel instead of a stranger visiting a spinal unit.
“No, you don’t have to bring me anything. Thanks for asking though.”
“I know I don’t have to. I’m asking if I can. I want to if there’s something you want or need. Just tell me. Surely there must be something.”
I look at him closer. He’s sincere.
“Well, the coffee here is terrible,” I say.
“Yeah, I know. Tex gave me a cup. It’s an insult to beans everywhere.”
“I heard there’s a better place right down the road. The nurse said their cold brew could raise the dead.”
“Got it,” he says, nodding and backing towards the door. “Cold brew from the place down the road. I’ll be back tomorrow and I’ll bring it to you.”
He’s offering to drive four hours round trip tomorrow to bring me better coffee.
I really should tell him there’s no need to make the trip.
That he doesn’t need to come back. I should say, go home, live your life, it’s not your fault.
All the right things. But I’m tired and the drugs they’re giving me are dulling my brain.
“Okay,” I say instead. “Tomorrow works for me. Is Benji your real name?”
He smiles, just for a split-second. “No, my name is Benjamin, but it never stuck. My friends and family call me Benji.”
He stands there for another second, looking at me. The guilt is still there, sitting in the tight set of his shoulders and how he can’t quite hold my eyes for more than a few seconds at a time.
“I’m very relieved you’re alive, Officer Weaver,” he says. “See you tomorrow.” Then he turns and walks out. The door closes behind him with a soft click and I’m alone again.
Well, that was odd.
I shouldn’t want him to come back. There’s no reason for him to. He’s hanging onto this like he somehow caused it, and I should probably put a stop to that.
I’ll clear it up with him tomorrow.
Assuming he actually comes back.