Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Everything with Sam Bell happened so fast that Balta could hardly keep up.
Geronimo dumped Beau Lafitte off in the chute and Sammy jumped down there to protect him. The sickening crack had Balta reaching down to help get anyone one out, and it was Beau he came up with.
The little Cajun fought him like a landed fish, and he shook his head. He’d seen what was down there and, more importantly, he’d seen where the cameras were. Right now Beau was the champion and they were watching.
“You can’t.” Balta hauled Beau over the rail and onto the catwalk, shaking the man but good. “Cameras, amigo, sim? We go back now.”
Beau grabbed his shirt, blue eyes desperate, the fear there awful. “Balta. Please. Sam.”
“We go. We go now.” He didn’t even think, he simply picked Beau up, growling at the Gardner boy to take care of the cameras, protect their own. “Now, sim?”
Balta headed toward the back, catching sight of Joa. “Joaquim. The car, sim? Now. T?o rápido como você pode.”
“I’ll be quick as a rabbit, I swear.” His beloved nodded, then took off at top speed.
“Balta… Please.”
The plea in Beau’s voice made him weak at the knees, but he knew what he must do. He was the Líder, the boss.
“Beau. We go to the ambulance, sim? Joa will bring your things. We’ll go to hospital.”
“I have to see.”
“You will?” Balta almost ran with Beau, and they met the EMTs with Sam on the stretcher only minutes later. “You go on now. I’ll bring your things. I’ll be right there.”
He could see Joa with his truck, waiting.
“Silva! Silva, you going to drive?” Doc Madding was there, his phone in hand.
“Sim. Joa brings the truck. Now.”
“Well, come on. I need to get to them.” Doc took his responsibility to them all so seriously.
“Sim.” He headed toward the truck, his lower back screaming every time his heels hit the pavement. His leg was bothering him, too, but he toughed it out, sliding to the back so Doc could have the front seat.
Jos glanced at him, concern obvious.
“Drive, Joa. I will be fine.”
“Sim. Sim, Balta.” Joa had gathered all their gear and had even brought the cooler over, so he pulled out a water.
Deus. His friend. His dear friend. Balta couldn’t think about Sam’s head. He’d seen—no. He would pray.
He closed his eyes, his fingers clenched together as he prayed to the Blessed Mother for her help, her intervention. His lips moved, and Balta lost himself in the Virgin until they reached the hospital. Sim, she would help.
She had to. Sam Bell was special.
Doc was out of the truck before it really stopped, and Balta followed quickly, Joa pressing his hand for a moment before letting go.
“Bring Lafitte’s bag, sim?”
“Yes, Balta. I have it.”
“Obrigado, doce.” Joa was good to him. Better than he deserved.
“Sim. I prayed for him. I’ll pray more.”
“Me too.” He followed Doc, wanting to know what the prognosis was.
“Lafitte! I want you checked out!” Doc barreled through the automatic doors, leaving them to hurry along behind, and with every step Balta felt heavier, older.
All that and it wasn’t anything compared to Lafitte, who looked like death itself kneeling by the emergency room doors, so tiny somehow without his hat.
“Beau.” Doc knelt down, the old man staring into Beau’s eyes. There was blood everywhere—from Beau, from Sam. Cristo. “You know where you are?”
“At the fucking hospital in Reno? They won’t tell me nothin’, Doc. You got to find out for me.” Lafitte grabbed Doc by his shirt and shook the old man a bit.
“Okay. You let them check you out, I’ll find out, okay?”
“I’ll let you check me over.”
“Okay. Up in a chair. Silva? Give him a hand?”
It was almost more frightening, the way that Beau didn’t argue.
He nodded and lifted Beau under his arms as if the man weighed nothing. “Sure. Come on, Beau, huh? Up.”
Doc poked and prodded, checked Beau’s eyes, the back of his head. “Gonna be sore as all get out in the morning and have one hell of a bruise. I don’t want you sleeping for a few hours, either. Balta, stay with him.”
Jesus, Doc was a pushy bastard.
Balta nodded, dark eyes serious and sure. “Sim. I’ll stay. Me and Joa.”
“Sam,” Beau said it firmly, pushing back.
“I’ll see what I can find out. Sit tight.” Doc met Balta’s eyes. “Get him coffee, clean him up.”
“Yeah.” Balta took Beau’s arm, his heart slamming his ribcage. “Joa brought your bags. Come change clothes.”
Beau followed, stumbling, nodding like a puppet. “What happened, Balta? What the hell was he doing?”
“You got thrown in the chute and were out.” Balta shrugged. “He was right there.” He would do the same for Joa. For many people. You protected what you loved.
Beau stared, his mouth hanging open. “Me? He was in there saving me?”
“You were out. Bullfighters were on the outside.” What else could he say? Beau needed to think, to breathe. He would understand.
Beau shook his head like a bull hearing the buzzer for the first time. Then he eyed Balta as if measuring how much of a fight they could have. As if he needed to beat something.
“Not here.” Balta got it. “Banheiro?” He pointed to the bathroom, willing to give his pound of flesh for Sammy.
Beau turned on his heel, shoulders up around his ears.
Balta understood the cowboy way. He knew what Beau needed, so he barked at Joa to lock the door and stay on watch, never questioning that his namorado would do as he asked.
Then Balta stripped off his button-down and swelled up his chest with air to make a bigger target. “Come on.”
Wading in, Beau began swinging, head down, fighting like a man who might be losing his whole world and who was holding on for dear life.
Balta stepped into the blows, letting them glance off his body. He felt each one and he prayed that each pain was one that God Himself removed from Sam.
Beau sobbed, near screaming Sammy’s name over and over, the sound pure agony and it threatened to break him, but he couldn’t allow that.
This was not about him. When Beau tried to back up, back off, Balta stepped forward, landing his own carefully placed blows.
Not the face. Not the head. Beau’s bruise was so raw.
About the time Balta knew neither of them could take another single blow, Beau stumbled forward and slipped, landing with a thud in Balta’s arms. Balta caught him, held him, his pain huge.
Sam was his good friend, the one that had been the first to walk up to him and talk to him.
Beau stared up, but Balta couldn’t meet those desperate eyes.
He could only keep Beau with him, tears streaming down Balta’s cheeks.
Please, he prayed. Please, for Beau. Please let him live.
Beau just held on tight, letting his head drop to Balta’s chest as he cried.
Balta cradled him for a good, long while, then Joa’s voice sounded, low and worried. “Balta. Doc’s back. Come on.”
Balta sighed and let Beau back away while he grabbed some paper towels. They cleaned up, Balta splashing water on his face to wash away the tears.
Doc’s face was still as stone. “Come on. I want you to see him before they take him.”
“Take him where?” Beau asked, swaying, and Balta thought that if they lost Sam, if would not be the only ghost the angels got today.
“They’ve got to remove a piece of skull, get the swelling down.
They’ve got him on a respirator now and, if he gets through the surgery, they’re going to put him in a coma for a few days so he’s not hurting so bad.
” Doc took a deep, deep breath. “It’s not good, Beau.
You have to pray for him. Come on, now. You need to see him, in case. ”
“We will pray for him,” Joa called after Beau’s back, but Balta knew that Beau never heard him.
He glanced at Joa. “We will need coffee, sim? Beau needs to stay awake.”
“How does he take it? Sweet like you or black?”
“Black with just one sugar.” He thought. “Bring it black with some of the things, sim? The cream and sugar?”
“Sim. Anything, Balta.”
He tried to smile at Joa, but he couldn’t. Sam Bell was his friend. Balta thought he might vomit.
He sat hard and a touch landed on his shoulder. He glanced up and it was Raul Araripe. “Silva? Como posso ajudar?”
Was there anything Raul could help with? Balta shook his head, then nodded. “I don’t know,” he returned in Portuguese. “Everything is wrong.”
“Of course it is, but he will survive. He must.” Raul sounded so sure, so confident in their native tongue. Completely different from the halting English he gave interviews with.
“Joa—he will need help if I stay here.” Balta smiled, finally, because Raul’s solid presence made him feel better.
“Sim. Sim. Yes. I have my truck here this time. I can help.”
“Obrigado.” Raul barely knew Beau or Sam, so he had to be doing this for Joa, maybe for Balta. He was a good man. “I’m lost some, huh?”
“It looked bad. Much blood.”
“His head is broken, I think.” Balta had no idea why he was babbling to Raul. Sometimes it was easiest to talk to someone you barely knew.
Raul winced. “Then I will pray more. Is his…friend…with him?”
“Sim. Until surgery.” Beau. God, Beau would need to have someone with him until they knew…
Joa came back, hands filled with Styrofoam cups. “Raul. Hello. Coffee?”
“Yes, please. Only if you have enough.”
“I brought an extra. There is always need for more.” That was his Joa—always thinking about more. “There’s nothing in it, but I have cream and sugar.”
“Cream.” Raul smiled, and Balta blinked. The sun came up in that smile, surprising him.
Fascinating.
“This one is yours, Balta. Three sugars and two creams.”
“Thank you.” Balta watched Raul, who watched Joa. He needed a distraction. He let himself imagine, for a heartbeat, Joa sucking Raul off. He knew it was inappropriate, but he needed a good thought.
It didn’t make him smile, but it did make for a pleasant fantasy.
Then Beau came out of the doors the color of milk, and all other thoughts shattered. Balta climbed to his feet, holding out a hand. “Beau?”
“They’re taking him to surgery. He’s not awake.”
No. No, of course Sam wouldn’t be.
“Joa brought coffee.”
“Yeah? Thanks. I…” Beau sat down with a thump, the chair groaning.
Raul glanced at him, then moved away, coming back with a pillow and a blanket only moments later. Balta smiled his thanks, because Beau needed to rest, if not sleep. “Joa has a deck of cards in the truck.”
“I’ll go get them.” Joa took off, and Raul got the pillow between Beau’s head and the wall.
“Y’all are coddling me,” Beau accused, but he didn’t protest otherwise.
“Shut up, Cajun. The others will be here soon. Coke. The others.”
“Oui? Is that good?” Beau opened his eyes, one pupil a slightly different size.
“Pharris is always good,” Balta said.
“Sim. He always has a plan.” Raul offered Beau a hand. “Raul.”
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re burning up the arena. I remember.”
Raul smiled a bit, but Balta could tell he didn’t understand a word. He chuckled, translating quickly.
“Ah!” Raul flushed with pleasure, Balta thought. “That means much from a man like you, senhor.”
Beau nodded, then just stared at Balta, eyes lost. “It looks bad, Silva. Real bad.”
“No. No, the doctors, they will fix it. He will come home to you.”
“From your mouth to God’s ear, buddy. I just want to sleep.”
“Nao.” He snapped out the denial. “Doc says five hours at least.”
“Five hours?” Beau glared at him like he was pure evil, like he was the demon he knew himself to be.
“I’m sorry. We’ll play cards. If you sleep, I will let Coke sing.”
“God, anything but that, Silva. I swear, he’s a bullfrog.”
Joa came back with cards, laughing when he overheard. “He is a bulldog.”
Then Joa began to howl, and Beau actually chuckled, at least a tiny bit. Raul offered Power bars around, and they settled in to play cards. Balta didn’t know how long Sam’s surgery would take, but he would not leave Beau.
They would stay until Sam Bell looked at him, spoke to him.
Balta owed that to his friend Sam, owed it to the cowboy code. He checked in with Joa and Raul, who seemed to be settled in for the long haul, proud that his Brazilians were ready to fight the hard fight with Sam.