Jack O'Connell - The Resurrectionist

There was a yell and one of the bikers had a hand over an eye. Buzz stopped speaking to watch for a second, took a long drag and muttered, “Goddamn idiots.”

Nadia came out the door, moved to the railing and said, “Does the Ant need a bandage?”

“Not yet,” Buzz said. “Honey, could you get me a coffee and put a little Jack in it?”

She was looking out at the ruins a bit distractedly, but turned and went back inside.

Buzz waited till Nadia had gone, then said, “Now this is the point I’m trying to make. You look at these two out there, throwing bricks like children. They’re fucking morons’s what they are. But they’re family. And morons or not, you look out for family. I mean, you know that. Look at what you’ve done for your boy.”

The words focused Sweeney. Buzz reached across the space between them, patted and then squeezed Sweeney’s arm. “What I’m trying to say is, there’s not much difference between you and me. We do what we have to do to take care of our people. You see my point?”

Sweeney nodded and Buzz released his grip.

“Now, I don’t want you to think for a minute that we’re going to leave you hanging out there in the unknown. You take one look around, you see what I’ve made here, you know I’m not like that. You’re a smart guy. That’s obvious. You understand cause and effect. And I’m hoping that, in addition to being smart, you’re patient. I’m going to clear everything up for you. But right now, before she comes back, I want to get straight about Nadia.”

“There’s no problem with Nadia,” said Sweeney.

“And there shouldn’t be,” Buzz said. “What she done, she done for you and your boy. That’s the fucking truth, Sweeney. You’re gonna know that in time. But right now you have to take it on faith.”

Down in the ruins, the game had degenerated into a straight-out rock fight. Nadia returned to the dock with a coffee mug in one hand and a roll of gauze in the other. She crossed in front of Sweeney, her eyes on the canyon, handed the mug to Buzz and put the gauze down on the apron.

“Who started it?” she asked.

Buzz said, “Who do you think?”

“Don’t you think you should stop it?”

“We’ll let them vent a while,” Buzz said. “Fluke and the Ant’ve been hissin’ at each other all week.” He turned to Sweeney and said, “You didn’t know we had dinner theater, did you?”

Sweeney put his coffee mug down on the concrete. He stood up and looked at Nadia, then turned his eyes on Buzz and said, “You touch my son, in any way, and I’ll kill you.”

Then he walked off the dock, expecting to be tackled. Expecting Buzz to yell for his animals. But no one stopped him and no one said a word. He let himself into the Honda, kicked over the engine, and drove away.

Two miles up the road, he pulled to the shoulder, opened his door, and vomited. It took him over an hour to find his way back to the Clinic. The car spewed black smoke the whole trip.

Sweeney ran into room 103 to find the Pecks, father and daughter, on either side of Danny’s bed. Eyes burning, shirt stained with puke and chili, he stopped short in the doorway and looked from his son to the two doctors and back again. Alice seemed confused by his appearance and her father was about one step from appalled, but it was Sweeney who asked, “Is everything all right?”

The father let the daughter answer.

“Danny has a slight fever,” she said. “That’s not unusual. We’ve put him on an antibiotic.”

“Are you all right, Mr. Sweeney?” the father asked. He was wearing a banker’s suit and a red tie. There were figures on the tie but Sweeney couldn’t make them out. A nurse entered the room, glanced at the scene, and moved on to tend to Irene Moore.

Sweeney shook his head, put his hands on his hips. “Danny’s okay then?” he said.

“His condition is stable,” Peck said, then he shifted his eyes and asked, “What happened to your hands?”

Sweeney looked down to his palms. Alice stepped toward him, took a hand, and inspected it.

“It’s nothing,” Sweeney said. “I fell down in the parking lot.”

“In the Clinic lot?” Peck said.

“It’s just a scrape,” Sweeney said. “It’s nothing.”

“Did you put anything on this?” Alice asked.

Sweeney took his hand away. “I’m fine,” he said. “Can I ask what antibiotic you prescribed?”

In Sweeney’s experience, physicians tended to bristle when questioned by a pharmacist. Peck wouldn’t even acknowledge the question. But he forgot about the scraped palms and that was the point.

“Azithromycin,” Alice said. “It’s a low-grade fever. He’s running a hundred one. I’m not overly concerned.”

Sweeney stepped past her, leaned over the bed, and put his lips on Danny’s forehead. The boy was warm but he’d spiked much worse in the past. Sweeney pinched the elastic neck of the pajama top and found it dry.

He straightened and said, “Well, thank you both for looking in on him.”

“He’ll be fine,” Alice said.

Sweeney nodded. “I’m just going to grab a quick shower and change up. I should be back in twenty minutes.”

Alice smiled but her father said, “Didn’t you work last night?”

And here it was, the capper to the morning. Ernesto had reported him, had gone to Peck about the fight.

He made eye contact with the doctor and said, “I did.”

“Then shouldn’t you be getting some sleep?” Peck said.

“I sleep in the evening,” Sweeney said. “So I’m fresh for my shift.”

But he understood that Peck knew it was a lie.

DOWN IN THE CELLAR,he stripped, threw his clothes on the closet floor, and stood under a cold shower. His hands stung as he washed them and his balls were still tender from the knee he’d taken. He stayed in the shower until he shivered. Then he toweled dry and threw on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans.

He thought about brewing some coffee but settled for a glass of tap water. He thought about calling Dr. Lawton back at St. Joe’s, seeing if Danny could get his old bed back. The CVS probably wouldn’t rehire him but there were still a few mom and pops that could use a weekend druggist. He’d sell the Honda here. And if he couldn’t, he’d leave it in the parking lot. Let the Clinic deal with it. He and Danny would fly back together this time. He could call Mrs. Heller, see if she’d do some private duty again. The house was gone but he could lease one of those condos down on Mercury Drive.

He rinsed the glass, turned it upside down on the counter to dry.

People made mistakes. People used bad judgment. And it wasn’t like he’d dreamed up this whole move himself. Lawton and the rest had recommended the Peck, said it was top-notch. Just the place for Danny. Things happened in everybody’s life. You tried to make the most of it. You coped to the best of your ability. You repaired what you could and you moved on.

Better that he found out now. It was a mistake coming to this city. It was a mistake moving Danny. There was no way to have known that until after the fact. The thing to do now was to get Danny set up back in the St. Joseph and start inquiring about a job and a place to live.

He wondered now why he had ever believed in this place, why he had ever allowed himself to imagine something better. Dr. Peck was an arrogant prick at best. And maybe nothing more than a sham. This city was a circus and the Clinic was starting to seem like a freak show. Cleveland may have been hopeless but at least it was a known despair.

Once he had a bed for Danny, he’d tell the Pecks it had all been a mistake. He’d given it a try but things weren’t going to work out. Thanks for the chance and all, but we’re going home now. It would take at least a week. He’d have to find a nurse to fly with them. He’d have to book the reservations and make all the special arrangements with the airline. Goddammit, why hadn’t he turned on the phone yet?