Chapter Three
WES
Back in the ridiculously small car, I told Patsy about my former job working for Northrup Grumman which had ended a year and a half ago when my mom was diagnosed with stage four metastatic cancer which had already spread to her lungs and liver by the time she was diagnosed.
“I had to quit to take care of her because she had no one else,” I said.
“And ya insurance was left over from Northrup?”
I nodded. “The CObrA premiums were written into my contract which allowed me to keep the insurance for eighteen months, even with a voluntary severance.”
“Which will be endin’ soon, I imagine,” he said.
I nodded.
“And yer da?”
“He died ten years ago. It was just Mom and me. I don’t have any siblings, and mom’s sisters live in Chicago with husbands and children of their own. So, when she got sick, they couldn’t be counted on to take care of her.”
“So, ya had to take ya leave,” he concluded.
“Yes. Fortunately, I had a little savings which allowed me to keep us afloat for a while. It wasn’t until I gave up my apartment and moved back home with her that I learned how badly she’d messed up her finances.”
“How so?”
His questions were personal, and quite blunt in a way—straightforward I suppose—but I didn’t mind talking with him.
It was easy because he didn’t seem to have any other agenda than to hear my story.
I adored his melodic Irish accent as well.
It made him seem down to earth. “She mortgaged the house after my father’s death.
” Finding out she’d been taken in by an unscrupulous mortgage broker who’d given her a high interest loan, made me feel as angry now, as when I’d heard about it the first time.
I sighed. “In any case, my mom passed away in her own bed, able to look out at her garden. I couldn’t pay the mortgage, so I lost the house a few months later. ”
I glanced over at Patsy who hadn’t said anything. He stared out the windshield as he drove, but I noticed a muscle in his cheek ticking, as if he was trying his best not to grind his teeth. When he finally glanced in my direction, his face was serious.
“I’m sorry ya lost yer mam. That’s a terrible business to be dealin’ with.”
I felt my eyes burning so I looked away.
“It’s worse than I could have ever imagined.
Losing my job, my mom, and then the house she and my father had lived in all their married life was heartbreaking.
” I paused. “Still, it’s behind me. Things are looking up now that I have a job.
” I looked over at him and our eyes met a moment before he was forced to look back at the street.
“I hope you understand why I was forced to leave the store last night. I just can’t lose this job opportunity. ”
“Ya were afraid. I understand,” he said, “which is why I’ll be goin’ with ya to the hospital. If I explain I’m FBI, they won’t call the police.” He glanced over wearing a big grin. “This time, I have my FBI creds with me.”
I suddenly felt overwhelming warmth toward this small, genuinely nice man who’d probably saved my life last night.
It went without saying that I would’ve stepped between him and a bullet if that was what was needed to protect him, but I’d judged his small stature as weakness, when it was anything but.
“Patsy?”
“Aye, mate.” He glanced over as we turned onto Sunset.
“Thank you for everything. You’ve been really good throughout all of this.”
“Yer all good, Wes.” He pulled into the driveway and then took the ramp down to the subterranean parking lot.
PATSY
The hospital personnel triaged Wes in the ER, then sent him off to radiology so the docs could see where the bullet was before removing the thing.
I called Candy when he was out of earshot, just to check in and let him know what the story was.
I also called my sponsor, Greg, to give him a quick rundown about the schemozzle last night.
“Are you doing okay, Patsy?” he asked after I’d told him what’d happened.
“I’m good as gold. Really. Shite like this happens on the job. I’m not goin’ out to pick up a bottle of vodka. Have a wee bit of faith, Greg.”
“First of all, I hate your job. Second, I have great faith in you, Patsy. I’ve been your damned sponsor since you moved from Texas last summer and I’ve talked with you through a lot of on-the-job situations. This one is different, though.”
“Because I was in a shop and ran up against a robber?”
“Unarmed, Patsy.”
I knew why that made a difference to him.
He was well aware of my past struggles with PTSD after the war.
Greg had a list of my excuses as long as my arm that I’d made for self-medicating with alcohol after Candy and the guys had found me and my best mate, Tommy O’Malley.
They’d dragged us out of that hellhole where we’d been tortured for almost five days.
Tommy had carked it, internal bleeding from the beatings he’d endured.
I was a complete shambles and I’d given in to my own weakness afterward.
“Anyway, like I said…I’m grand, Greg. Ya don’t have to bother.” I cringed even as the words came tumbling off my eejit tongue.
“Bother!”
“I didn’t mean—”
“You’re supposed to bother me, Patsy. I’m your goddamned sponsor.
In fact, you should’ve called me as soon as you got done with the LAPD last night.
” He paused and I could hear his heavy breathing, instinctively knowing his next words.
“In fact…where are you right now? I’ll come over and we’ll meet for tea. ”
“Can’t right now, Greg.”
“Then right after work.”
I sighed. “I’m not at work. I’m at the Kaiser on Sunset with the fella who got shot last night. He needed me to vouch for the bullet wound since he didn’t trust the coppers not to put in a report about him.”
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, the pregnant pause on the other end of the line wasn’t good.
“What do you mean? Is this guy dangerous? Why didn’t he go to the hospital by ambulance last night?”
“Long story short, Greg. Suffice it to say, I’m takin’ care of it and no, before ya ask, the stress of the situation won’t be makin’ me pick up a bottle. I’m grand. Promise we’ll meet tomorrow. I want to get him home to my place and—”
“Why are you planning on taking a total stranger home to your place, Patsy?”
I didn’t know why I said things without thinking about them first. My best mate, Napoleon, was always telling me “to quit oversharing.” He was right.
“He’s homeless, okay? The man who was shot is homeless and I can’t let him go back to his old bomb of a car and let him sleep there when he’s just been shot!
” I could hear my voice ratcheting up in volume and indignation.
“But you don’t know him, Patsy.”
“He’s quite harmless, he is. And you’d be agreein’ with me that I’m a better judge of who’s harmless and who isn’t, wouldn’t ya say?”
“Patsy Good…you try my patience.” When I didn’t respond, he muttered, “Meet me tomorrow morning for tea and we’ll talk more about it then.”
“Goodo. That’s grand. I just wanted to check in.”
“At Candy’s urging, no doubt.”
He sounded angry but I knew his worrying came from a place of caring over dodgy past decisions I’d made. He knew I hadn’t picked up so much as a bottle of beer the last eight years, but the program motto was—take things one day at a time. “I would’ve called ya anyway.”
Greg chuckled. “See you tomorrow, Pats.”
“Aye, mate. Bye.”
“Bye.”
I waited around until Wes was wheeled back from radiology and settled back on the bed by a helpful nurse. “Your doctor will be in as soon as she reviews your films. It shouldn’t be too long,” she said sweetly, before pulling the curtain around the bed, leaving us alone.
Wes looked sheepish as he readjusted the blanket he’d been given to cover the lower half of his long body. “The radiologist says the bullet isn’t buried too deeply.”
I smiled. “That’s good news then.”
He nodded. “Hopefully, the doctor can remove it with just a local.”
I winced. “It sounds painful, so it does.” I hated being poked and prodded but I’d been in hospital for nearly two weeks after Candy and the guys came to get me. There’d been poking and prodding every day. And pissing me off.
Wes opened his mouth to say something when the curtain was pulled back by an Asian woman with long, dark hair drawn back in a neat ponytail. She looked at me and then smiled at Wes. “Hello, I’m Dr. Han. Would you like to tell me what happened?”
Wes glanced at me, and I gave him an encouraging nod. “I was in a convenience store last night when a man came in to rob the store. He shot me.”
“I see. Well, that tracks. I looked at your films just now and it seems you have a bullet lodged in your left bicep.” She glanced at me. “Excuse me, but the nurses said you’re from the FBI. Is this man under arrest?”
I blinked at her for a few seconds and shook my head before standing, pulling out my creds to show her my ID.
“We don’t arrest victims of crimes, ma’am.
” I was being a bit of a wanker by not referring to her as doctor but she’d just completely dismissed Wes’ statement which pissed me off.
When she narrowed her eyes at me, flattening her lips into a thin line, I said, “No, he’s not under arrest. As he said, this man was an innocent bystander who was shot durin’ a robbery last night. ”
“I see.” She glanced back at Wes. “You know we’re obligated to report all gunshot wounds to the police.”
“Yes.” Wes looked wide-eyed. “Which is why Agent Good is here. He was at the convenience store when I was shot last night and already gave a police report on the incident.”
“Fine then.” She pulled an X-ray out of a sleeve and snapped it into the light box.
The bullet lodged in Wes’s bicep, wasn’t far from the surface.
“I can remove the bullet without surgery since it’s not buried too deeply and then I’m going to have the nurses run an IV of antibiotics since you have a fever,” she said to Wes, sliding the film back into its sleeve. “Why didn’t you come in last night?”