Vendetta
Part 6
"You're mending very well, Tom." Dr. Power's said as she examined the incision on his left hip. Tom grunted as the nurse and orderly carefully eased him onto his back. The nurse adjusted the bed covers and then followed the orderly out of the room. Dr. Powers looked at her patient's chart. "The fever has broken and there's no sign of infection." She looked into his eyes, "You look tired, though. Are you sleeping?" Tom didn't respond. "Is it the pain?" Still no response.
She wrote hastily in the folder and then looked at her patient once again. "I think you'll be ready to start therapy tomorrow."
"Oh joy," Tom muttered, feeling the pain shoot up his back and down his left leg as a result of the pushing and pulling on his injury. The doctor laughed at her patient's veiled complaint. "Now Sgt. Ryan, your partner has given me explicit instructions to have you up and back on your feet as soon as possible. Says she misses your glowing personality."
Tom narrowed his eyes at the woman's sarcasm. "Yeah, right."
"No, no, really. She said that things just weren't the same without you. That you were the missing ray of sunshine in her life." Susan continued to chuckle at Tom's look of disgust. She leaned down over the patient, whispering, "I think she likes you."
"Oh Doc, if you only knew," he muttered and shifted his body to a more comfortable position, only to discover that there was no such thing.
Noticing her patient's discomfort, the doctor became serious, "Tomorrow morning the therapist will take you down to the gym and get you on your feet. We'll see how you handle that. In the meantime, I'll have the nurse give you something else for the pain. We'll see if that helps you get the rest your body needs."
"When can I get out of here?" Tom said, not wanting to address his sleep problems with the doctor.
"Not enjoying our hospitality?" she smiled.
Tom shrugged, looking somewhat guilty, but said nothing. "That's okay. We're use to it." She closed the folder, "Let's see how you do in therapy, then I'll make a decision. Right now, I want you to get some rest. Tomorrow will be a rough day and you need to be prepared for it."
Tom finally smiled at Dr. Powers, "Thanks, Doc. I really appreciate what you've done."
"Any time, Detective." She looked slyly at the detective, "So, you wanna tell me why you aren't sleeping?" Tom shook his head, refusing to answer. Susan shrugged her shoulders in defeat and went to the door. "Okay, you don't have to talk about it now. But if you don't get the rest you need, you'll be in here a lot longer than either you or your partner would like."
Tom leaned back into the pillow, watching the doctor leave the room. He closed his eyes and within seconds the same visions that had been haunting his sleep assaulted him once again. He kept seeing Fred's body fly backwards into the Jaguar with the force of the bullet's impact.
He raised his hand to his face and rubbed harshly at his eyes, trying to wipe the visions away. It didn't work. He saw Fred's fear, the wide-eyed shock as the bullet left the gun, the look of horrific pain as it penetrated his chest, the helplessness as the man was thrown backwards and the lifelessness as his body collapsed onto the floor. And then the scene would play itself over again, relentlessly.
He opened his eyes and looked at the clock. It was 10:00. Fred's funeral was just starting. I should be there, not here lying in some hospital bed, helpless, he thought to himself. He had seriously considered the idea of checking himself out of the hospital so that he could be there for the funeral, but knew that he wouldn't make it to the elevator, let alone to the cemetery. Not to mention the fact that Cassy would kill him with her bare hands. Instead, Cassy had agreed to be there for the kid, since there was no one else.
Tom wondered how Jeremy was doing. The only information he had about the kid's condition was what Cassy relayed to him. Jeremy hadn't come to the hospital to see Tom yet. Tom suspected it was because Jeremy was angry at him for what happened to his father. "That's okay," he muttered, "I'm angry at myself."
He looked at the large book sitting on table which had been pushed to the side of the bed. Reaching over, he carefully pulled the table and book towards his body and flipped to the bookmark placed in the middle. This was the fifth, and last book of mug shots held in the department. It had taken him every waking moment the previous day to get to this point. If Tom didn't identify the shooters from the garage then he would have to keep looking through the mug books of the surrounding area.
So far, his search for matching pictures had been unsuccessful, which only convinced him that the gunmen weren't local. They were probably imported firepower for some drug dealer operating in the area. Considering the alternative was sleep, however, Tom decided that looking at the mug shots was a productive way to spend his time and the only way he could help.
The door opened again and the nurse walked into the room. Tom could see the guard at his door. The nurse pushed the door back to that it was propped open. Procedure required that the door be left open when one hospital employee was alone with the patient, for security reasons. The guard was a cruel reminder of why Tom was in the hospital. It also brought a twinge of fear. The fact of the matter was that Tom was the only witness to the crime that had occurred at the garage. He alone would be the one to testify as to how Fred had been killed and why. That thought created an unsettling feeling in the cop, and renewed his desire to identify the killers as soon as possible. Before he could flip the page of the book, the nurse reached down and took it from him, "Dr. Powers has ordered that you get some rest, not read books." She glanced at the photos of area criminals, "especially when reading books constitutes police work." She handed Tom to tablets. This will help you sleep.
"I really would prefer to stay awake," Tom whispered.
The nurse smiled and shook her head, "Sorry Sergeant, but Dr. Powers' orders were very clear. . .you need rest." The nurse handed Tom the tablets and waited patiently for him to put them into his mouth.
Tom looked up with a grimace. "But. . .," he started to protest,
"No 'buts.' I'm not leaving here until you've taken them." The nurse stared him down, hands on hips.
Tom surrendered and placed the tablets in his mouth. The nurse handed him a glass of water and took a long drink, making sure the medicine taste did not remain.
"Why does it always rain at funerals?" Cassy muttered to Harry. The two were standing huddled beneath a large umbrella as the drizzle continued to fall. Jeremy, who was staring quietly at his father's coffin, had no protection from the weather, but didn't seem to notice.
Only a few people had attended the services. Most were Fred's co-workers at the garage, a few were neighbors, but there was no one there for Jeremy. Cassy watched the distraught man and her heart broke. She could see the pain in his eyes, the ache in his actions. She vowed to be there for him in Tom's absence.
As the minister finished his sermon, Harry whispered in Cassy's ear, "Have you talked with the garage owner yet. . .what's his name. . .Miller?"
"Charlie Miller." Cassy shook her head, "He didn't get back in town until late last night. I think that's him over there," she pointed to a man in a sports coat and black jeans, who was standing with Fred's co-workers. "I thought I'd talk to him today."
Harry nodded in agreement. "What did the co-workers say?"
Cassy shrugged, "They say they don't know anything about the shop's business. They just repair and paint the cars that come in, nothing more, nothing less."
Harry pulled Cassy away from the group around the grave, "Do you believe them?"
"I think that they are adhering to the 'ignorance is bliss' theory."
"Meaning that they don't want to admit that they suspected more was going on at the shop than car repair," Harry finished.
"Yep," Cassy answered succinctly.
"How's Jeremy doing?" Harry watched the young man who was still staring mournfully at his father's resting-place.
Cassy shook her head, "Not good. This is tearing him up."
"Is he talking about it?"
"A little. He has little explosions of anger, but there has been no real release. I'm waiting for that to come." Cassy looked at Jeremy, "I tried to get him to see Tom yesterday, but he refuses. Says he's not up to visiting him right now."
Harry's eyes narrowed, "Does he blame Tom for what happened?"
Cassy shrugged her shoulders again, "I don't know. I think he's confused. He needs to blame someone and I think Tom's an easy target."
Harry shook his head sadly, "How's Tom taking it?"
"Not well. I think he blames himself, too."
Harry rubbed his forehead, "I guess that's not all that surprising. I'm going to stop by and see him later. . .maybe talk some sense into him."
"Good luck, this it Thomas we're talking about. If he wants to feel guilty for what happened to Fred, you're not going to convince him otherwise." Cassy shook her head and watched as Jeremy finally left the grave and slowly started walking to the line of cars parked near by. "I'd better go. I don't want Jeremy taking off without me."
"Don't forget to talk with Miller," Harry reminded his detective.
"Will do," Cassy left the protection of the umbrella and quickly followed Jeremy to the car.
End Part 6
To Part 7