Рита Браун - The Hounds And The Fury

“Thanks, Iffy.”

On the drive home, Gray’s teeth rattled. The shocks in Sam’s rattletrap were that bad. The checking of invoices against services and goods received must be thoroughly done.

Iffy approved invoices for payment. Although he’d just begun this task, he noted that Aluminum Manufacturing had poor internal control. He suspected as much. He observed that any purchase or service over ten thousand dollars carried Garvey’s initials. Iffy could approve anything under that sum.

Iffy prepared the checks and signed them.

A quick study, he felt that by tomorrow’s end he would have some sense of regular monthly payments and services.

All businesses exhibited a pattern.

He was reviewing this when he pulled into the drive, now hard-packed snow. Sam wasn’t home, which surprised him.

He was even more surprised when Ben Sidell called him. Sam had been shot coming home from the lumberyard and had veered off the road, totaling the Land Cruiser. But Sam was alive.

CHAPTER 13

There should be a reality show, thought Gray, where interior decorators compete to see who can put together a hospital room that doesn’t make one gag. Bad enough to be injured or sick. Worse to be flopped in a bed, an ungainly TV jutting out overhead.

Gray sat beside his brother. Odd to be once again at Sam’s side, but this time Sam wasn’t suffering from the DTs, screaming his head off. Sister, called by Walter about the same time Ben Sidell had called Gray, had hurried down to the hospital.

Sister sat beside Gray while Walter stood at the end of the bed.

Sam had been conscious during the entire ordeal. At the sight of his brother, the first words out of his mouth were “I didn’t touch a drop.”

Walter simply nodded slightly when Sister glanced at her joint-master. “He was lucky. The bullet passed through his shoulder. It entered from the front, passed through the back just under his scapula, nicked his rib, and broke it. Lower, and the damn thing would’ve blown out his heart.”

“Did you see who shot you?” Gray reached for his brother’s hand.

“No. I came around the curve at Soldier Road, just before Roger’s Corner. Next thing I knew, I heard a pop, something hit me, and the windshield crinkled into a thousand tiny pieces.” He blinked in rapid succession for a few seconds. “It took a minute for me to know I’d been shot. It kind of delayed the pain, I mean.”

“Thank God for safety glass, or you’d be cut up.” Sister cared deeply for Sam.

“Hope it was the last of the deer hunters. Thought I’d put most of my enemies behind me.” He smiled ruefully. He sat up, winced, dropped back. “Car’s trashed. I…”

Gray butted in. “I don’t care about the car.”

Walter smiled. “That’s what insurance companies are for.”

Gray murmured, “Well, brother, what else is tore up?”

“Knee.”

Walter spoke reassuringly, “The patella’s fine, bruised. We can drain the fluid off. Sam wasn’t eager to allow any procedures done to his perfect body,” Walter remarked with humor. “But Sam, your knee will swell even more. Let’s take care of it. The needle feels like a big hornet sting, but it doesn’t last long.”

“It’ll go down.” Sam was defiant.

“Sam, trust me. Drain the knee now. I can understand you feel you’ve had enough for one night, but the knee will hurt worse than your broken rib.”

“Do like he says.” Gray squeezed Sam’s hand.

“Birds in your hand,” Sam said sharply.

“Sorry.” Gray released the pressure.

“What?” Walter didn’t understand.

“When we were kids, Peter Wheeler used to tell us when we’d hold the reins too tightly, ‘Little birds in your hands. Don’t squeeze them to death.’”

“I can ride with a bum knee. Plenty of people do.”

“Yes, you can.” Walter smiled at Sam. “Running will hurt. And if you jump, landing will be a bitch. Sooner or later, Sam, you’ll need to have the knee scoped. It’s probably a torn ACL.”

“It can wait.”

“It can, but since you have your brother here and Sister, come on—let’s drain the knee.”

Sam sank deeper into the pillow. He didn’t want to look like a chicken. Truth was he hurt, he was shaken, and he hated needles. On the other hand, get it over with, because Walter wasn’t going to give up.

“All right,” Sam grimly agreed.

“Be back in a minute.” Walter walked out to the nurses’ station, had them call Margaret DuCharme, and apprised her of the situation.

Within five minutes she arrived, along with a thin nurse who carried a porcelain kidney-shaped bowl. A long, long needle was in the bowl with a towel over it. She also carried a small packet of ice in a padded circle that would conform to the knee.

“Can you sit up and dangle your legs over the side of the bed?” Margaret asked. “I’ll put a chair under your feet, if you need it.”

Gray helped Sam sit upright.

The bullet’s path stung, his rib ached, and his knee throbbed. He closed his eyes.

“I’ve seen worse,” Margaret said reassuringly.

“Dr. DuCharme, I don’t want to cuss,” Sam said, which made her laugh.

“I don’t either. This won’t be the worst pain you’ve ever felt, Sam, but you will feel it. I’m going to stick this needle in and draw off the fluid. Then we’ll pack this ice band around your knee. You’ll be surprised at how quickly you’ll feel relief. Ready?”

Sister stood to the side, placing her hand on Sam’s shoulder. Not squeamish, she was nonetheless glad that long needle wasn’t being plunged into her knee.

Sam stiffened.

As Walter and Margaret promised, it was over in a minute.

Both doctors looked at the clear light yellowish fluid. Some blood was in it, which they know was consistent with a torn ligament.

The nurse wiggled the ice bracelet up to his knee. “There you go.”

“That’s it?” Sam’s cheeks sported a gray tinge.

“That’s it,” Margaret smiled. “I’ll check on you tomorrow. You’re tough as nails, Sam Lorillard. Always were.”

“Family trait,” Gray said as he and Walter helped Sam swivel back to rest on the pillow.

“Sam, I know you don’t like drugs, but that wound is going to throb. Your knee shouldn’t hurt as much as it did before draining. Let me give you a mild sedative. You need a good night’s sleep.” Walter’s deep voice soothed.

“No. No drugs.” Sam pressed his lips together.

“Sam, you aren’t going to get hooked. We monitor those things,” Walter reassured him.

“With all due respect, Walter, my body chemistry…well, let’s just say if there’s any kind of downer, booze, or narcotic, I crave it. I fought too hard to get where I am. I’d rather deal with the pain.”

“Can he take aspirin?” Sister asked.

“Yes.” Walter admired Sam’s desire to stay straight, although he felt he could control the situation.

As Margaret reached the door Jason Woods walked in. There was a moment, a slight tension, as they acknowledged one another. Margaret left and Jason entered.

“Sam, heard you escaped an invitation to heaven,” he joked.

“Might have been the other place.” The exhaustion had begun to show on Sam.

“Very possible.” Jason smiled, then spoke to Gray. “He has friends here, Gray. He’ll be all right. Why don’t you go home?”

“No, I’ll spend the night.”

“We’d like to keep him for at least two days, but I expect we’ll be lucky if we can keep him for one.” Walter resigned himself to Sam’s determination.

Sister kissed Sam on the cheek as he nodded off. She kissed Gray. “Can I bring anything back for you?”

“No thanks.” Gray kissed her again. “We’ll both be up and out of here come morning. I’ll be fine. You go on home. I’ll call Crawford about this so that’s taken care of.”