Sue Grafton - S is for Silence

His gaze was out of focus, giving him a cross-eyed look. “I don’t have whiskey at home. Pastor would disapprove. I live in a church cell that’s fit for a monk.”

“Why don’t we go to Daisy’s? We can take you out for breakfast and then we’ll stop by her place or we’ll drop you at home.”

“You’ve never attended an Al-Anon meeting, have you?”

“I haven’t. That’s correct.”

“This is not your job. It has nothing to do with you. I don’t need to be rescued. I don’t need to be saved. I want to sit and enjoy myself so leave me be. I absolve you of any responsibility.” He waved a hand, airily, absolving me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw BW approaching, and I remember thinking, thank god. He’d had years of experience dealing with Foley drunk. Though both hands were empty, he was clearly in bouncer mode. Jake Ottweiler was two paces behind him.

BW said, “Foley, I want you out of here right now.”

Foley’s eyes jerked from BW to Jake and that’s all it took. Foley’s demons spilled out, though he smiled as he spewed. “There’s the man who fucked my wife.”

“Dad. Please lower your voice.”

Jake had stopped in his tracks. Foley eased off his stool and steadied himself. BW moved swiftly and locked his arms around Foley’s so he couldn’t move. Foley raised his voice to a shrieking pitch. “You son of a bitch. Admit it! You used my wife and then you cast her aside like she was common as dirt. You never even had the decency to own up to it.”

“That’s it,” BW said. He lifted Foley and force-marched him through the bar. “You ever set a foot in here again and it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. I’m warning you.”

In BW’s grip, Foley’s feet scarcely touched the floor. He looked like a ballerina, up on his toes, taking light, dainty steps with remarkable speed and grace. “Warn me? Why not warn him? Why not warn every man in town has a wife as beautiful as mine. I’m telling you the truth, which he damn well knows-”

Daisy grabbed BW’s arm and she was being dragged along at the same quick clip. “Stop it! Let go of him. He can’t help himself.”

“Maybe I can help. Here, try this.” BW bumped the door open with his foot and flung Foley out. Foley landed on one hip, his momentum toppling him over onto his hands and knees. Before anyone could intervene, BW swung one boot back and his fast-moving kick caught Foley squarely in the face. The cartilage in his nose went flat with a sound like a watermelon hitting concrete. Blood spurted out of his nose and his mouth welled with red. A row of white teeth, false, had popped out intact, but others were damaged and his tongue seemed swollen as though he’d bitten himself. His eyes rolled back in his head until all we could see were two white slits. Then he went still. Daisy screamed.

My heart was knocking against my chest so hard I thought I’d see bruises the next day. Daisy dropped down beside her father, who groaned and rolled over on his back. She looked up at BW with horror, both of us expecting a second kick to land. BW turned away. He grabbed the door and his tone was filled with disgust. “Fuck. I’ll call an ambulance and send out some ice for his face.”

The ambulance arrived and three paramedics alighted, like firemen on a run. By then Foley had staggered to his feet and was ready to fight the son of a bitch who’d knocked him on his buns. He was belligerent, lashing out, fending off the paramedic who was offering first aid. With the blood oozing out of his nose and welling across his upper lip, he looked like a vampire interrupted in the course of a gory feast. The waitress brought him a plastic bag packed with ice and wrapped in a kitchen towel. Grimacing, she passed it to him and returned to the restaurant as quickly as possible. While his upper bridge had gone flying, his lower teeth had been forced through his lip. He held the ice pack to his mouth, the towel turning a saturated red. He declined medical attention, so the paramedics had no choice but to climb back in the ambulance and drive away.

Foley slumped onto the wooden steps and leaned his head against the rail, talking to himself.

Daisy bent over him. “Dad, listen to me. Would you listen? You need to see a doctor.”

“I don’t need a doctor. Leave me be.” He scanned the area around him, his eyes out of focus. “Where’d my bridge go? I can’t hardly talk without my teeth.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve got it. I need your keys.”

He leaned sideways, nearly losing his balance as he dug in his pants pocket and came up with the keys.

Daisy snatched them and passed them to me before she turned back to him. “I want you to get in the car. I’m taking you to the emergency room. Kinsey’s going to follow us in your truck. And don’t argue.”

“I wasn’t arguing,” he said in a cranky, argumentative tone.

We helped him to his feet. He was woozy from the whiskey and woozy from the blow to his face. The two of us guided him, staggering, to Daisy’s car, which was parked on the street and mercifully close. She unlocked the passenger’s-side door and opened it. Foley shrugged off any further help, claiming he could manage. He held on to the door frame, eased himself half the distance to the seat, and then fell the rest, groaning at the jolt.

“It’s your own fault,” she snapped. “Move your hand.”

He managed to remove his hand from the frame half a second before she slammed the door. She opened the trunk and snatched a terry-cloth towel from her gym bag. Disgusted, she opened the door again and tossed it to him. “Don’t bleed on the upholstery.”

She pointed out his truck in the parking lot and then slammed the trunk lid shut as she rounded the back of the car. I walked over to the truck and let myself in while she started her car. She waited until I was nosing out of the parking lot before she put her car in gear and pulled onto the street ahead of me.

She drove him to the ER at the hospital where she worked. By that time Foley had settled down, perhaps recognizing the enormity of his sins. Even having his nose broken wasn’t going to be sufficient penance to redeem him in Daisy’s eyes. She put his name on the register, and when he was called she accompanied him into the examining room. I sat in the waiting room, leafing through a magazine while Foley was being worked on. After forty minutes, she came out and sank into the chair next to mine.

I said, “How’s it going?”

“He’ll be fine. They’ve called in an ear, nose, and throat specialist to reset his nose. The doctor’s also ordered a CAT scan since he suffered a brief loss of consciousness. They said they’d bring me in again when he’s back from radiology.”

“Will they keep him overnight?”

“Doesn’t look that way,” she said as she got up. “Let me see if I can find a pay phone and call the pastor. There’s no way I’m taking him home with me.” She took her purse and headed off down the hall. Less than five minutes later she was back. “Blessings on the man. He asked a few questions and then said he’d be waiting whenever Dad was released. The parish house is right next door to the church, and he says he’s welcome as a guest as long as he needs help. I don’t know where he’d be if it weren’t for that man.”

Friday night was apparently the equivalent of date night in the ER world, a popular occasion for accidents and mishaps, pain, suffering, and near-death experiences. A kid was brought in with a bean stuck up his nose. There was a woman hacking and feverish from a case of the flu, and a man with a sprained ankle swollen to elephantine proportions. A teen arrived holding his badly broken thumb, smashed by a car door and looking so mangled I nearly passed out.