Chapter 17 #2
I lift my shirt and show him the wound—he chuckles at the pad stuck to my skin as he peels it back to examine the wound.
He tips his head to one side, humming noncommittally.
He speaks and Dante translates. "Is no so bad as your girlfriend. You? Bullet go pew, right through. Her? Still in her middle. Maybe will be…mmmm? Infetta. Make sick, sì? Or some blood go free on the inside, you know?”
"I know," I grumble, swaying dizzily on the bed. "She needs that medico, presto. Per favore."
My shitty, mumbled, American-accented Italian makes both Dante and his uncle snicker in bemusement.
Then the uncle cuffs Dante's face with rough affection, muttering something private to him, and heads up topside.
A moment later, the engine snarls louder as it throttles up, and then there's a gentle sensation of movement as we rock and bob away from the dock.
A swaying, bobbing pause, a slow gentle tilt as we come around, and then the boat settles backward as the uncle throttles up again; minutes pass at a steady pace, and then I feel us tilt into a left turn—northward—and then he opens the throttle as we hit open water, I assume.
Dante is watching me as I sit on the edge of the bed, trying to stay awake and worrying about Story. "Riposa, mio amico americano. We are going to the medico. La tua ragazza starà bene." He scratches his temple with a thumb. "I am having a very long day, too. My English is asleep."
I sniff a laugh at his turn of phrase. “Your English is asleep." I scrub my face with both hands, and then glance at Dante. "No one can know about Story and me, okay? No one. It's vitally important. I really don't want anything to happen to you and your uncle."
“You have my promise—no one knows, okay? Okay. Riposa ora."
I let myself collapse backward, one hand pressed to my hip wound. It feels like the height of luxury to just be able to lie down, close my eyes, and just…rest.
Beside me, Story moans, shakes her head.
I really hope this is a fast boat, that Golfo Aranci is close, and that the doctor will be able to treat her.
And most of all, I hope that Dante and his uncle aren't on Pugli's payroll. I just don't know what other choice I have but to trust them.
"Stay with me, Story," I whisper. "We're gonna get you help."
“Mmm." She moans softly. "Kill?"
"Here. Right here." I roll to my right side, facing her. "I'm here."
Her eyes crack open. "Sorry."
"You just shut the fuck up, woman." I touch her lips with my fingertips. “None of that. You saved my ass."
"Stubborn."
"I know."
"Me. Not you." A soft moan that might be an attempt at a laugh. "You too."
"You were supposed to run."
"Did. Just not…away."
"You're an idiot."
"Idiot in love. You’d…ow, ow, fuck.” She hisses, arches and twists through the wave of pain, then settles once more. “You’d have done the same."
"Yeah, true."
"Where're we?"
"Dante's boat."
"Dante is your buddy?"
"Yeah." I grab her hand and squeeze gently. "You're in pretty bad shape, sweetheart. Rome is gonna have to wait. We're heading to somewhere called Golfo Aranci, sixty to ninety minutes from here."
She blinks owlishly at me, gaze scanning me, lingering on my arm; she sees the gauze wrapped around my arm, red with blood. "That's not a creased bicep." Her glance flicks to my shoulder, and then the way I'm holding my arm against my torso. "Killian?"
I grin at her, wink. "I may have underreported the severity of the injury. I took one through the meat of my arm and another bounced off the shoulder bone and broke something in there." I wince. "Doesn't feel great, but it's fine."
It's Story's turn to wince and hiss, rolling away from the site of her wound. "It fucking hurts, Killy." She sounds near tears. "I hate being a sissy about it, but it fucking hurts."
"You're hit hard, baby," I tell her. "If you were the nurse and not the patient, what would you say to yourself?"
"It's okay to admit it hurts. Being a hard-ass never healed anyone any faster." She sounds almost petulant.
"So you're not a sissy. You're in serious pain. You’re dealing with serious injuries without painkillers. I know exactly how tough you are."
She looks up at me, her gaze haunted. "I froze, Killy."
"And then you unfroze and you fuckin’ wrecked shit like a boss."
Her eyes go hazy and wet with unshed tears. "I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to kill anyone else. I'm a nurse—a healer, not a killer."
"I know, sweetheart."
"My head hurts. Everything hurts."
“Your head?"
She nods woozily, weakly. "I hit it pretty hard when I went down."
"Are you concussed?"
"Yeah. Definitely. Not…not badly, I don’t think. I don’t know for sure. Everything hurts, so it’s hard to dissect all the symptoms. It's fine for me to sleep, I think.”
"You seem lucid enough."
"I just feel…wobbly. Woozy. So tired."
"Rest. I'll take care of you, Story. I've got you."
"Who's gonna take care of you?"
“You, once you're healed."
"Well, speaking as a medical professional, that’s gonna be a while."
"I can be patient."
She sniffs a laugh. "That week alone, naked, on a beach is gonna have to take a raincheck. I'm not gonna be riding anything except a hospital bed for a few weeks at minimum."
I cradle her hand in both of mine and kiss her knuckles. "Sweetheart, all that matters is you getting better."
She writhes, arched and groaning. "Fuck, it hurts!"
"There's gotta be something we can do to take the edge off the pain."
"Does…" She breaks off, whimpering as the wave of pain takes over. "Does Dante…have anything?"
"He is a drug dealer, isn't he?" I say. "Good point."
"That's me, always thinking."
"Be right back."
I limp and shuffle and wince my way topside to find Dante and his uncle arguing. Obviously, I have no idea what they're saying, but judging by the way the uncle is gesturing, he's pissed at Dante for this whole situation.
"Dante, I'm sorry to have dragged you and your uncle into this," I say, grimacing as a wave of pain washes through me, now that I’ve finished ascending the ladder-like stairs.
"Is okay. My uncle, he no like most people. He wants nobody on his boat. He does not like anyone to know what we do."
"You're drug runners, I assume."
A shrug. "Eh. Some of this, some of that. We catch fish. Sometimes, the fish is not a fish."
"I don't want or need to know. What I came up to ask is if you have anything I can give to Story for the pain."
He rolls one shoulder. "I only sell erba."
"Erba?"
"Cannabis. Marijuana." Canna-BIS; mary-WAHN-ah. Despite the similarities of Spanish and Italian, the lilt of a Spanish word in an Italian accent just sounds funny to me. But I might be a little delirious, too.
“Oh."
The cockpit is small and cluttered with instruments and screens and controls, as well as flat stacks of paper charts and more rolled-up charts in scroll-like piles.
There's a thick glass ashtray affixed permanently to a flat section of the dashboard running at the base of the cockpit windshield, bent and crushed cigarette butts piled high.
Beside the ashtray is a wooden box with a hinged lid and a cheap brassy-gold flip clasp.
It's about the size of the black velvet box rich dudes in movies use to give expensive diamond necklaces to their wives as an apology for being a cheating ass-clown—rectangular, maybe an inch or two thick, five or six inches wide, and six to eight inches long.
Dante flips it open, revealing loose, pre-ground cannabis flower and a small glass pipe.
He packs the pipe and hands it to me, and then digs his Zippo out of his hip pocket.
"This may help, a little. Better than nothing, until we arrive. "
"Thanks."
I bring it down to Story—she eyes it skeptically. "I don't like smoking. Tastes nasty. And I'm gonna cough, which—fuck. It's gonna hurt."
"It's all we've got, for now."
She shakes her head, groaning. “No, but thank you. I'm worried—ahhhh god. I'm worried the coughing would just make things worse." She's sweating from the pain. "I'll just have to deal."
I set the unused pipe aside and then lie beside her. “Then let's just try to rest."
"You have to get cared for too," she mumbles.
"I will. Promise."
"Don't leave me." It's a faint whisper. Scared, hurting.
I snuggle closer to her, as close as I can get without jostling her, and trace the curve of her cheek. "I won't. Not ever. I'm here."
"Mom."
"I know."
"Need Mom."
"I know."
"Killy?"
“Yeah."
"I love you."
"I know."
"Arrogant."
"I love you too."