I woke up a few hours later when the door to the exam room opened up and the doctor came back in. I shook Marilyn awake and we both sat up on the exam table. Marilyn’s face showed that she had been crying. I just hugged her with my good arm and said, “Everything will be all right. Just you wait and see.”
My left arm was starting to throb. Bellinger didn’t help it when he yanked off the bandage he had slapped on me earlier. The wound started bleeding again, and he examined it closely, and then he began opening drawers and cabinets, setting up for the stitches. Thankfully, he pulled out a hypodermic needle, so I suspected I would get some pain shots first. Some places I’ve seen, that’s sort of optional at best. “Not too deep, and fairly clean, so we’ll simply scrub the wound out and give you about six stitches. How does that sound?”
“Fine by me, Doc. Do we get to leave then?” I asked hopefully.
He snorted at that, and a glance over at the cop showed him smiling. Well, it was worth asking.
“Now, this might sting a little.” The next thing I knew he had squirted something on my arm and was rubbing a small brush over it. Sting? A little? It felt like my arm was about to come off! The blood started flowing again, and I suspected Bellinger was getting back at me for screwing up his night.
I swore under my breath. “Doc, if that’s what you call a little sting, I don’t want to be around when you think something is going to hurt!”
“It’s a good clean wound. We’ll let it drain a moment, and then start sewing you up.” He washed off the surface again, and rubbed some Betadine on it. Then he filled his syringe with Novocain or something and started injecting me around the cut. That didn’t feel all that good either.
I looked over at Marilyn. “Whatever happened to good old morphine?”
“Later,” commented the doctor, “Afterwards I’ll give you something for the pain.” He opened a clear plastic envelope and removed a curved needle with some thread attached. “Now, don’t complain or I’ll make sure the scar is ugly.”
I turned my head away. I’m pretty good around blood, but if I watch, I’ll flinch. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but Marilyn’s eyes were wide. I grinned at her. “I thought chicks dug scars.”
“You’re not funny!”
I didn’t feel any pain, but the tugging on the flesh as the stitches were pulled through and knotted was disconcerting. About halfway through this, there was a knock on the door and the guard opened it. A slim man in a police uniform came in, and from the way the guard looked at him, I figured he had to be of some importance. Doctor Bellinger stopped what he was doing and glanced over at him. The new man said, “Don’t stop on my account.” He had a Bahamian accent, but used the Queen’s English and not the local dialect. Come to think of it, so did the doctor.
“I wasn’t planning to. He’ll be all yours in a few more minutes.”
“That’s all right. This will give us a chance to get acquainted.” He came closer and stood to my side, and watched what the doctor was doing, and then faced me. “My name is Assistant Superintendant Javier.”
“Hello. I’d shake your hand, but I’m a bit occupied at the moment. Or will you be slapping the cuffs on me when my hand comes up?” I asked.
“Why don’t we talk about that, Mister Buckman.”
I raised an eyebrow at him, in curiosity. “You know my name.” Nobody had even asked me up to this point.
“Indeed, I do. Mister Carl Buckman, of Cockeysville, Maryland.” He put a hand in his pocket and pulled out what looked to be a couple of driver’s licenses. “And Mrs. Marilyn Buckman, also of Cockeysville, Maryland. Husband and wife, I presume.”
“How did you get my driver’s license?!” I moved my right hand back to my pants pocket, but it was empty. My wallet was gone!
Assistant Superintendant Javier smiled and nodded. “Yes, we found your wallet, also your wife’s purse. Was that the reason you attacked those men?”
I had to be very careful. This man was smart, and I could easily talk myself into big trouble. Back home, in the States, I’d just shut up at this point and demand a lawyer. Here, things were different. This wasn’t the United States, I no longer had any constitutional rights, and I might never see a lawyer. I wasn’t afraid; the Bahamas are a civilized place and had a British common law legal system, but it would be best to watch my mouth and not be funny.
“I did not attack them, Assistant Superintendant. I think you have been misinformed.”
“Then maybe you should tell me what happened.”
I took a second to collect my thoughts, simply nodding in understanding. Fortunately, Doctor Bellinger took that moment to finish his sewing, and he started commenting. “Well, if you didn’t attack them, I’d hate to see what you could do if you were attacking them!”
“Thank you, Doctor!” said Javier, pissed at being interrupted.
I kept my mouth shut. Better that he be angry at the doctor than at me. When the doctor didn’t respond, he turned back to me, “You were saying?”
“I was saying, I didn’t attack anybody.” I gave him a straight retelling of the events of the night from the moment I stood up to go to the bathroom to the point where I was grabbed by the bartender. By the time I finished, the doctor had finished with me, but he was leaning against the wall listening in, with no intention of leaving.
“So, you’re telling me that you were attacked by three armed men, and all you got was a cut on the arm, and all three of them are in the hospital?” he asked.
Always turn a hostile question back on the questioner. “Are you saying that it makes more sense that I would attack three armed men?”
He didn’t answer either. He’d be a dangerous poker player. He changed the subject. “What is that around your neck?”
For the life of me I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about. It took me a second to realize what Javier was referring to. “My dog tags? These?” I lifted them and jangled them. I still wore them, and realized I probably always would. I had kept my draft card back the first time around, tucked in my wallet behind my Social Security card.
“You are a soldier?”
“I was. I left the Army in January,” I told him.
“Why?”
Was his theory now that I was a crazy soldier killing for no reason? I reached down and pulled up my pant leg, exposing the zipper factory that my right knee had become. “I made one jump too many.”
“A jump?” he asked, confused.
Marilyn spoke up at this, angrily. “My husband was an officer in the Eighty-Second Airborne, and decorated for bravery! Why are you treating him like a criminal?! Those men stole my purse, and a bunch of others, and he stopped them! Why are you arresting him!? You should be arresting them! Let us go!”
I took her hand and pulled her close. “It’s all right, just settle down. Things will be fine.” I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and hugged her. The last thing I needed was to have Marilyn thrown in jail with me. If nothing else, she needed to be free to call a lawyer!
Javier looked at me with a wry smile. “Are you sure you were the soldier and not your wife?”
“My wife is very protective,” I replied, also smiling.
He turned to face Marilyn. “You are not under arrest. You have never been under arrest. I simply wanted you kept together so we could talk. We have already arrested those men. I simply wanted to hear your side of everything.”