Victor Gischler - Gun Monkeys

“Yeah… I… uhhhh.” A couple of sad dribbles into the jug. I felt a cold sweat break out over my eyebrows and behind my ears. I was bone dry.

Jimmy frowned. “You want me to call a nurse?”

“No.”

“You’re turning all red.”

“No!”

“But you look like you’re gonna fucking rupture-”

“Uhhh. Arhh!” I got off a couple of good squirts and brought out the jug. The nurse must’ve had her piss-radar on, because that’s when she walked in.

I handed her the jug, and she held it up to the light with disdain. Jimmy scooted in next to her, so he could squint at my piss for himself.

“Sheesh, Charlie-boy, if you were a horse, they’d shoot you.”

The nurse swirled it around in the jug, still examining it closely.

Jimmy said, “Sniff the cork, why don’t you?”

She scowled and left.

Jimmy shook his head. “If that’s how you look when you’re taking a leak, I’d hate to be around when you’re dropping a log.”

“Don’t worry. You’re not invited.”

Jimmy produced a toilet bag from under the bed and dropped it on my lap. “I thought you’d need a few things. Toothbrush, whatever. Maybe one or two other useful things.”

I unzipped the leather bag and looked in. Jimmy had smuggled in my.38 revolver, and some extra shells rolled around the bottom of the bag. Good. I’d been feeling a little naked. I zipped the bag back up and tucked the whole package under my pillow.

“Thanks, Jimmy.”

“The rest of your stuff’s in the trunk of Marcie’s car. She’s nice, Charlie. You done good.”

“Sure.”

He looked at the door, then spoke in a hushed tone. “We checked you into the hospital as Ian Janus. Marcie thought of the name.” He shrugged. “The doctor’s name is Garrity. I had to slip him some big bills, so you owe me, but Stan’s used him before when we needed to keep something on the QT. Our story is you had a mishap with a power tool out in the workshop.”

I nodded. “Good.” Doctors and hospitals were required by law to notify the police when anybody stumbled in with a bullet wound.

“We had to grease two of the nurses too,” said Jimmy. “I think they’ve worked with the doctor before. Still, you’re not gonna want to stick around here too long.”

“I’m way ahead of you. As soon as I can walk okay, I’m out of here.”

“The doc said he’d be along in a few minutes. He should okay you to check out.”

“Good.”

Jimmy held up a paper sack where I could see it, then set it down next to my bed. We looked at each other a minute. I waited for him to start.

“Like I said, we found it,” said Jimmy. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

I wondered what the hell he was talking about, so I asked, “What the hell are you talking about?”

He frowned at me, then lowered his voice. “The stash, Hookman. The cash. I told you. We found it. All of it. The whole enchilada. That’s why Beggar’s men were guarding the place.”

“What?”

“You’ve done your part,” said Jimmy. “So while you were in surgery, I went back and dumped all the lighters and tennis shoes out of the moving van. All those cardboard boxes were filled with cash. Ones, twenties, fives, hundreds. It’s all mixed up. A big mess, but don’t worry. You rest, and I’ll sort it out.”

I couldn’t believe it. Jimmy’s Flying Dutchman stash of money had been real. But what about Stan? I asked Jimmy if he’d seen anything of the old man.

“Not a clue, buddy. Sorry.”

I’d figured as much.

“Listen, Charlie. I think we need to face reality. Either Stan’s run for the hills a long time ago already or…” He trailed off. We both knew the other option.

“I need to get back to Jimmy Jr.,” said Jimmy. “Maria’s probably drinking all my liquor, and God knows what all’s happened since I been gone. And I got to get some things in order before the shit hits the fan. I just wanted to check in before I split.”

“I appreciate everything, Jimmy. Get back to your kid.”

He pointed at me and winked again, then was gone.

I settled back into my pillow, wondering what to do with myself. My hand was sore, but not quite enough to call the nurse for drugs, although I wanted some. The TV was off. I still couldn’t find the remote control.

When the doctor finally showed up, my hand was throbbing so badly, I thought my eyes would pop. The doctor had a nurse in tow- the same one who’d made off with my urine- and he looked at what I presumed was my chart, grunting and wrinkling his brow like he was reading VCR recording instructions.

“Well, well, Mr. Janus, how’s the hand?”

“Like it should be replaced with a hook.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll prescribe some painkillers.” He patted the pockets of his lab coat. “Nurse, fetch me a prescription pad please.”

She left.

“Listen, are you feeling okay, or what?” Doctor Garrity’s composure faltered. “I mean, are you okay to check out? Do you feel up to it?”

“Yeah. Is there a problem?”

He grimaced. “Let’s just say next shift will look at things a little closer. We don’t want any hard questions. At least, I don’t.”

“Right. What about the hand?”

“You’ll need to get your local doctor to check on it in about a week. Eventually the stitches will have to come out. The ear too. I hope you’ll find somebody that won’t feel the need to call me and follow up.”

“I know the drill.”

“I have some things to tell you. To help you get the hand back into shape after it’s healed. It might never be exactly as it used to be, but you’ll get use out of it again.”

Great.

He asked, “Do you need me to call you a taxi after we check you out?”

“Somebody’s coming to get me.”

I popped two of the painkillers. Marcie pointed her Volvo toward Ma’s house, and I dozed off in about three seconds flat. I woke up when we stopped for gas. I offered to pump.

“I’ll pump it,” she said. “You don’t even know what planet you’re on.”

“I told you I’m not good with drugs.”

It was well after dinner when we arrived at Ma’s house. My car was in the driveway, and Marcie told me Jimmy had arranged it.

“What are we doing here?”

“Charlie, you said to come here.” A hint of exasperation.

I didn’t remember telling her that, but my hand felt okay.

I checked the mail on the way in. There was one envelope. I put it in my jacket pocket for later.

“I’ll get the bags,” said Marcie.

“Leave them for later.”

We went inside, and I stood there in the hall, looking around and wondering what to do next.

Marcie touched my shoulder lightly. “Charlie?”

“Go get the hotel room again. Watch out nobody’s following you.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to do some things here.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll be along. I just need to tie up some loose ends.”

“Okay.” She looked at me funny. “Are you okay? Can you drive?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Maybe.

She kissed me, and I remembered she was there in time to kiss back and make it convincing. It was hard to listen to her. My head wanted to think about something else. It just wasn’t sure what yet.

I stood and watched her pull away in the Volvo, waved. Back in the house, I made coffee and settled into Dad’s chair. The house was dead silent. My hand throbbed a relentless rhythm in time with my heartbeat.

The house was bigand quiet after Marcie left.

My ear hurt.

My hand hurt.

There wasn’t really much that felt good.

I knew I wasn’t in any shape to drive, not yet.

I hobbled up the stairs, thought about calling Ma in Michigan, but let it go. Okay. I was exhausted. Nothing much to do now except pop one of my delicious prescription pain pills and take a nap. Funny, but it was my ear that hurt the most.