Backfire
Page 9
“I’m here,” she said, squeezing his hand.
Ramsey looked back at Dillon, and now his voice was stronger, some of the familiar steel sounding through. “I remember now, someone shot me.”
Molly said, “You were turning when I called out to you and someone shot you in the back.”
“I went down like a rock, lights out,” he said. He looked thoughtful. “I was shot once before in the leg—and, you know, wherever you’re shot, it doesn’t feel too good.” He closed his eyes against a vicious lick of pain. “My chest feels like it’s been flattened by an eighteen-wheeler.”
Savich put the morphine plunger in his hand. “Squeeze this, it’s your PLA, and it’ll cut the pain.”
Ramsey had never seen one before. He closed his eyes in gratitude and pressed the button. They both waited silently until he said, “That’s better already. I can control this if I don’t move too much.”
Savich said, “I’m glad you turned when you did. Do you know what direction the shot came from?”
Ramsey looked blank. “The direction? I suppose it had to be from the ocean. Someone in a boat? It’s hard to imagine someone firing at me from a boat, what with all the motion from the waves. That would take a professional, and still I can’t imagine it’d be a sure thing.”
Savich said, “Did you see a boat?”
Ramsey looked perfectly blank, not totally with them, and then pain hit him again, and he went stone silent.
Savich said, “You feel a little muddled, Ramsey, don’t worry about it. The important thing is you’re alive, and you’re going to get better every day.”
“The Cahills?”
“It’s possible. We’re checking.”
“I don’t know why, Savich. Do you?”
“We don’t know yet, either.”
“Have they found the prosecutor, Mickey O’Rourke?”
“Not yet.”
Molly lightly shoved Savich away when Ramsey’s eyes closed. She whispered next to his cheek, “I want you to think about healing yourself, Ramsey. Think about tossing me and Emma around on the mat—you need to get better to do that. And you need a shave.”
He managed a rictus of a grin.
ICU nurse Janine Holder said from the doorway, “I like the dark whiskers. They make him look tough and dangerous. Dr. Kardak is here to see you, Judge Hunt.”
Savich introduced himself, stepped back to let Dr. Kardak examine Ramsey. He was an older man, tall and thin as a whip handle, and he looked tired, like he’d gone ten rounds with death and just barely won.
When Dr. Kardak noticed Ramsey’s eyes on him, he said, “Ah, Judge Hunt, you’re awake and with us, excellent. My trauma team and I operated on you last night, and I’ve come to check how you’re doing.” Without waiting for an answer, he started to examine the IV lines and the fluid in contraptions Ramsey was tied to. All the while, he kept up a running monologue about what they had found at surgery, the broken ribs, the torn lung, the blood in the chest cavity, as if it were all business as usual and nothing to be worried about. When he at last listened to Ramsey’s chest and examined his dressings, he said, “You sound good, Judge Hunt. I’m hopeful your lung will stay fully expanded and that we can pull out the chest tube this weekend. You need it for now, but I know it can hurt like the dickens.”
When Dr. Kardak straightened, Savich asked him, “How close a thing was it, doctor?”
Dr. Kardak said, “Tough to say, but he got to us—a level-one trauma center—in what we call the golden hour.” He touched long, thin fingers to Ramsey’s pulse. “Your major risk was blood loss, Judge Hunt, and that’s behind you. You’re going to live. That’s not to say you’re going to be happy for a while, but it beats the alternative.”
“Amen,” Ramsey said. “Thank you.”
“Make full use of the morphine. We can give you something else if it doesn’t hold you.”
Ramsey pressed the button again. “Now that I know about this magic button, I’m thinking I’ll empty it pretty fast.”
Dr. Kardak said, “Not a problem. Three of us worked on you in the OR, Judge Hunt. Dr. Janes kept reminding us you were Judge Dredd and we’d be tarred and feathered and ridden out of town if you went down on our watch.” He gave Ramsey a fat smile, then turned to Molly and took her hands in his. “Your husband is strong and healthy, and, trust me, the team here is excellent. Try not to worry. Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you. I heard your daughter play Bach’s Italian Concerto at the children’s concert with the symphony two years ago. My wife still remembers how well she played it. In fact, I remember she wept when Emma played the second movement. I read she’ll be playing Gershwin with the symphony in early December. Congratulations. She is incredible. Now, Agent Savich, Judge Hunt should rest.”
Ramsey looked back at Dillon, and now his voice was stronger, some of the familiar steel sounding through. “I remember now, someone shot me.”
Molly said, “You were turning when I called out to you and someone shot you in the back.”
“I went down like a rock, lights out,” he said. He looked thoughtful. “I was shot once before in the leg—and, you know, wherever you’re shot, it doesn’t feel too good.” He closed his eyes against a vicious lick of pain. “My chest feels like it’s been flattened by an eighteen-wheeler.”
Savich put the morphine plunger in his hand. “Squeeze this, it’s your PLA, and it’ll cut the pain.”
Ramsey had never seen one before. He closed his eyes in gratitude and pressed the button. They both waited silently until he said, “That’s better already. I can control this if I don’t move too much.”
Savich said, “I’m glad you turned when you did. Do you know what direction the shot came from?”
Ramsey looked blank. “The direction? I suppose it had to be from the ocean. Someone in a boat? It’s hard to imagine someone firing at me from a boat, what with all the motion from the waves. That would take a professional, and still I can’t imagine it’d be a sure thing.”
Savich said, “Did you see a boat?”
Ramsey looked perfectly blank, not totally with them, and then pain hit him again, and he went stone silent.
Savich said, “You feel a little muddled, Ramsey, don’t worry about it. The important thing is you’re alive, and you’re going to get better every day.”
“The Cahills?”
“It’s possible. We’re checking.”
“I don’t know why, Savich. Do you?”
“We don’t know yet, either.”
“Have they found the prosecutor, Mickey O’Rourke?”
“Not yet.”
Molly lightly shoved Savich away when Ramsey’s eyes closed. She whispered next to his cheek, “I want you to think about healing yourself, Ramsey. Think about tossing me and Emma around on the mat—you need to get better to do that. And you need a shave.”
He managed a rictus of a grin.
ICU nurse Janine Holder said from the doorway, “I like the dark whiskers. They make him look tough and dangerous. Dr. Kardak is here to see you, Judge Hunt.”
Savich introduced himself, stepped back to let Dr. Kardak examine Ramsey. He was an older man, tall and thin as a whip handle, and he looked tired, like he’d gone ten rounds with death and just barely won.
When Dr. Kardak noticed Ramsey’s eyes on him, he said, “Ah, Judge Hunt, you’re awake and with us, excellent. My trauma team and I operated on you last night, and I’ve come to check how you’re doing.” Without waiting for an answer, he started to examine the IV lines and the fluid in contraptions Ramsey was tied to. All the while, he kept up a running monologue about what they had found at surgery, the broken ribs, the torn lung, the blood in the chest cavity, as if it were all business as usual and nothing to be worried about. When he at last listened to Ramsey’s chest and examined his dressings, he said, “You sound good, Judge Hunt. I’m hopeful your lung will stay fully expanded and that we can pull out the chest tube this weekend. You need it for now, but I know it can hurt like the dickens.”
When Dr. Kardak straightened, Savich asked him, “How close a thing was it, doctor?”
Dr. Kardak said, “Tough to say, but he got to us—a level-one trauma center—in what we call the golden hour.” He touched long, thin fingers to Ramsey’s pulse. “Your major risk was blood loss, Judge Hunt, and that’s behind you. You’re going to live. That’s not to say you’re going to be happy for a while, but it beats the alternative.”
“Amen,” Ramsey said. “Thank you.”
“Make full use of the morphine. We can give you something else if it doesn’t hold you.”
Ramsey pressed the button again. “Now that I know about this magic button, I’m thinking I’ll empty it pretty fast.”
Dr. Kardak said, “Not a problem. Three of us worked on you in the OR, Judge Hunt. Dr. Janes kept reminding us you were Judge Dredd and we’d be tarred and feathered and ridden out of town if you went down on our watch.” He gave Ramsey a fat smile, then turned to Molly and took her hands in his. “Your husband is strong and healthy, and, trust me, the team here is excellent. Try not to worry. Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you. I heard your daughter play Bach’s Italian Concerto at the children’s concert with the symphony two years ago. My wife still remembers how well she played it. In fact, I remember she wept when Emma played the second movement. I read she’ll be playing Gershwin with the symphony in early December. Congratulations. She is incredible. Now, Agent Savich, Judge Hunt should rest.”
