Bonus Episode – 15
The hospital was quiet. Spencer’s visitors had gone, and he was lonesome. The upper-body cast made him feel like a turtle on its back…thank god his right arm was free. At least he could scratch his balls.
He lay quietly feeling the unusual sensations, the itchy plaster, the oxygen tubes, bruises everywhere….wondered about his hair…reached up to find the mop shaved, replaced by a patchwork of gauze and tape. From the waist down, he was okay except for bandaged knees.
Officer Moseley stuck his head in the door. “How you doing, sport?”
Spencer brightened. “Wow. You’re stuck with me again?”
“We flipped a coin, and I lost,” Moseley said with a grin. “Feeling any better?”
“I guess,” Spencer replied, “still pretty weird though…so, did you get him?”
Moseley shook his head. “Afraid not. Sorry you got banged up.”
Spencer didn’t answer. What could he say? He liked Moseley a lot, but remembered the feeling of abandonment as he lay helpless on the cold cement floor. Moseley watched him curiously, like he knew they’d fucked up, and wondered what Spencer thought.
“What if he tries to get me again?” Spencer asked.
“We won’t let anything happen.”
Like last time, Spencer thought cynically. “Is anybody watching downstairs?”
“No. The President’s attending a reception at the Brooklyn Museum. Everybody’s over there.”
“Wow, what if my uncle just walks in? There’s nobody to stop him, right?”
“True,” Moseley said.
“I’m a sitting duck in this cast…it scares the fucking crap out of me. A lighted match to the oxygen and that’s all she wrote.”
Moseley nodded and slipped the billy club out of his belt. “I’ll leave this by your free hand…don’t tell a soul. I could have my head handed to me.”
Spencer pulled it close. “Thanks. It’s reassuring, you know?”
Moseley nodded. “Now get some rest. I’ll be right outside.”
“Good deal.” Spencer rubbed his fingers along the club. It was old and worn…probably’d cracked a lot of heads in its time.
Two floors below, in a broom closet, a man was changing into an orderly’s uniform. It wasn’t Uncle Dwight, but somebody who knew him well…handled sticky issues for him….gathered ammunition on the most sensitive cases. He was lean and hungry, a veteran of the Gulf War…mercenary for five years after that. He knew how critical it was to eliminate the boss’s nephew. Sometimes the best witnesses were dead ones. He’d greased a lot of palms…knew the kid’s condition and exactly where he was. Wouldn’t make his move until the wee hours, when everybody was half asleep…and eager to end their shifts.
Officer Moseley made a mental note of the regulars on the floor. In spite of his assurances, he was uneasy. The boy’s uncle was more elusive than expected…maybe used disguises, but…could a pudgy, middle-aged man totally disguise himself? Moseley had reviewed picture after picture…figured he knew what to look for. The night Spencer was attacked, the only person reported on the street was a bag lady.
“Hi,” a tall, thin orderly said. “You still here?”
“Yup.” Moseley replied. They’d nodded several times.
“Wanna trade jobs?” The guy asked jovially. “You empty bed pans and I’ll sit in your chair.”
Moseley laughed. “That’s okay. You know your trade better than I do.”
“Good point,” the orderly said, fingering the blade in his pocket.