Blind Side
Page 23
Katie said, seeing that reaction, “She’s got three hundred horses at forty-four hundred rpm. Isn’t that something?”
“She?”
“My truck. I know she’s female. She just doesn’t have a name.”
“Three hundred horses, yeah, that’s something, all right.”
His eyes closed a moment; it was time for her to move on, time to get serious here. She said, “My mom told me once that learning lessons always hurt, only this time you took the hit for me. I owe you, Dillon. You saved my life.”
“Everything’s looking good, Agent, sir,” Mackey said. “Your EKG’s A-okay, and the bleeding’s nearly stopped. I’m sorry we can’t give you anything for the pain. You hanging in there?”
“I’m hanging in,” Savich said. “Katie, would you please call my wife in Washington, D.C.? She’s not much into truck engines, though, so you might not want to go there.”
Katie pulled out her cell phone from the T-shirt pocket beneath her wet sweatshirt. “I could teach her.”
He smiled. That was good.
“Okay, give me the number.”
Savich closed his eyes as he gave her the phone number, to keep the moan in his throat.
“What’s her name?”
“Sherlock.”
Katie guessed he wasn’t kidding about her name. One ring, two, then “Hello? Dillon, is that you? What’s going on? Are you all right? What about Sam—”
“I’m calling for your husband, Mrs. Savich,” Katie said, and automatically lowered her voice to make it soothing and calm. “I’m Sheriff K. C. Benedict calling from Jessborough, in eastern Tennessee. Your husband asked me to call you, ma’am. Let me assure you that he’s all right, Mrs. Savich. He—”
“Put Dillon on, please, Sheriff.”
Katie held the phone to his ear.
Savich drew a deep breath, hoping he was wiping all the damnable pain out of his voice. Sherlock could hear the smallest sound; she could even hear Sean’s breathing change before he hollered. “Sherlock? It’s me. No, no, I’m okay, just a little problem. Yes, we got Sam back. He’s fine. So is Miles. What little problem? Well, you see this van blew up and I was a bit too close to it. I got hit in the back by some flying metal.”
He closed his eyes, feeling the pain trying to draw him in. He really wanted to give in to it, but he wasn’t about to scare Sherlock out of her wits.
Katie simply took the cell and said, “Mrs. Savich, he’s going to be okay. We’re on our way to Johnson City Medical Center. Your husband will be all right. I’m not lying to you. I will stay with him. Don’t worry.”
Savich managed to say “Tell her not to come here” before his brain swam away.
He heard the sheriff talking, but he didn’t know if she was still speaking to Sherlock. He knew Sherlock was scared. If he’d gotten a call like this about her he would freak himself. He saw the sheriff lift her wet sweatshirt and slip the small bright blue cell phone back into the T-shirt pocket.
He couldn’t seem to stop looking at that cell phone even after she’d pulled the sweatshirt back down over it. Blue, it was a bright blue, ridiculous, really, but on the other hand, she’d never lose it. Blue for cops. He liked that. He closed his eyes, wanting very much to control the blasted pain. He could picture the sharp slice in his back, not an appetizing image. He really wished Sherlock were here even though he’d asked her not to come. Of course she’d be here as soon as humanly possible.
He was vaguely aware that Katie was speaking in a slow deep voice. “—my truck also has stainless-steel exhaust manifolds.”
Manifolds?
“And a high-capacity crankshaft that’s internally balanced. That reduces stress on the crankshaft, don’t you know. Did I tell you it was raining so hard this afternoon that I could barely see ten feet in front of me, even though I have the remarkable high-speed and twice-as-thick grade F windshield wipers on my truck?”
He wanted to laugh and she saw it.
But Savich didn’t hear any more after that, just sounds that were soothing, as she was used to speaking to someone who was hurt or not quite with it. Like him.
He didn’t rouse his brain until they were in the hospital emergency room and a nurse came forward and directed the four men to lift him from the gurney onto one of the narrow beds.
He heard the nurse speaking to the paramedics, heard Bueller give her a report on what had happened, heard the nurse greet the sheriff. She checked his IV and began cutting off his clothes. “Goodness, you’re dirty, Agent Savich. Not to worry, we’ll clean you up. You just keep holding on to his hand, Sheriff.”
“She?”
“My truck. I know she’s female. She just doesn’t have a name.”
“Three hundred horses, yeah, that’s something, all right.”
His eyes closed a moment; it was time for her to move on, time to get serious here. She said, “My mom told me once that learning lessons always hurt, only this time you took the hit for me. I owe you, Dillon. You saved my life.”
“Everything’s looking good, Agent, sir,” Mackey said. “Your EKG’s A-okay, and the bleeding’s nearly stopped. I’m sorry we can’t give you anything for the pain. You hanging in there?”
“I’m hanging in,” Savich said. “Katie, would you please call my wife in Washington, D.C.? She’s not much into truck engines, though, so you might not want to go there.”
Katie pulled out her cell phone from the T-shirt pocket beneath her wet sweatshirt. “I could teach her.”
He smiled. That was good.
“Okay, give me the number.”
Savich closed his eyes as he gave her the phone number, to keep the moan in his throat.
“What’s her name?”
“Sherlock.”
Katie guessed he wasn’t kidding about her name. One ring, two, then “Hello? Dillon, is that you? What’s going on? Are you all right? What about Sam—”
“I’m calling for your husband, Mrs. Savich,” Katie said, and automatically lowered her voice to make it soothing and calm. “I’m Sheriff K. C. Benedict calling from Jessborough, in eastern Tennessee. Your husband asked me to call you, ma’am. Let me assure you that he’s all right, Mrs. Savich. He—”
“Put Dillon on, please, Sheriff.”
Katie held the phone to his ear.
Savich drew a deep breath, hoping he was wiping all the damnable pain out of his voice. Sherlock could hear the smallest sound; she could even hear Sean’s breathing change before he hollered. “Sherlock? It’s me. No, no, I’m okay, just a little problem. Yes, we got Sam back. He’s fine. So is Miles. What little problem? Well, you see this van blew up and I was a bit too close to it. I got hit in the back by some flying metal.”
He closed his eyes, feeling the pain trying to draw him in. He really wanted to give in to it, but he wasn’t about to scare Sherlock out of her wits.
Katie simply took the cell and said, “Mrs. Savich, he’s going to be okay. We’re on our way to Johnson City Medical Center. Your husband will be all right. I’m not lying to you. I will stay with him. Don’t worry.”
Savich managed to say “Tell her not to come here” before his brain swam away.
He heard the sheriff talking, but he didn’t know if she was still speaking to Sherlock. He knew Sherlock was scared. If he’d gotten a call like this about her he would freak himself. He saw the sheriff lift her wet sweatshirt and slip the small bright blue cell phone back into the T-shirt pocket.
He couldn’t seem to stop looking at that cell phone even after she’d pulled the sweatshirt back down over it. Blue, it was a bright blue, ridiculous, really, but on the other hand, she’d never lose it. Blue for cops. He liked that. He closed his eyes, wanting very much to control the blasted pain. He could picture the sharp slice in his back, not an appetizing image. He really wished Sherlock were here even though he’d asked her not to come. Of course she’d be here as soon as humanly possible.
He was vaguely aware that Katie was speaking in a slow deep voice. “—my truck also has stainless-steel exhaust manifolds.”
Manifolds?
“And a high-capacity crankshaft that’s internally balanced. That reduces stress on the crankshaft, don’t you know. Did I tell you it was raining so hard this afternoon that I could barely see ten feet in front of me, even though I have the remarkable high-speed and twice-as-thick grade F windshield wipers on my truck?”
He wanted to laugh and she saw it.
But Savich didn’t hear any more after that, just sounds that were soothing, as she was used to speaking to someone who was hurt or not quite with it. Like him.
He didn’t rouse his brain until they were in the hospital emergency room and a nurse came forward and directed the four men to lift him from the gurney onto one of the narrow beds.
He heard the nurse speaking to the paramedics, heard Bueller give her a report on what had happened, heard the nurse greet the sheriff. She checked his IV and began cutting off his clothes. “Goodness, you’re dirty, Agent Savich. Not to worry, we’ll clean you up. You just keep holding on to his hand, Sheriff.”
