Roy stood slowly and stared at McThune. “It is imperative that we know everything Mark Sway knows. Do you understand?”
McThune returned the stare and said nothing.
8
Karen checked on Mark throughout the night, and brought him orange juice around eight. He was alone in the small waiting room. She woke him gently.
In spite of his many problems at the moment, he was falling hopelessly in love with this beautiful nurse. He sipped the juice and looked into her sparkling brown eyes. She patted the blanket covering his legs.
“How old are you?” he asked.
She smiled even wider. “Twenty-four. Thirteen years older than you. Why do you ask?”
“Just a habit. Are you married?”
“No.” She gently removed the blanket and began folding it. “How was the sofa?”
Mark stood, stretched, and watched her. “Better than that bed Mom had to sleep on. Did you work all night?”
“From eight to eight. We’re doing twelve-hour shifts, four days a week. Come with me. Dr. Greenway is in the room and wants to see you.” She took his hand, which helped immensely, and they walked to Ricky’s room. Karen left and closed the door behind her.
Dianne looked tired. She stood at the foot of Ricky’s bed with an unlit cigarette in her trembling hand. Mark stood next to her, and she put her arm on his shoulder. They watched as Greenway rubbed Ricky’s forehead and spoke to him. His eyes were closed and he was not responding.
“He doesn’t hear you, Doctor,” Dianne said finally. It was difficult to listen to Greenway chat away in baby talk. He ignored her. She wiped a tear from her cheek. Mark smelled fresh soap and noticed her hair was wet. She had changed clothes. But there was no makeup and her face was different.
Greenway stood straight. “A most severe case,” he said almost to himself while staring at the closed eyes.
“What’s next?” she asked.
“We wait. His vital signs are stable, so there’s no physical danger. He’ll come around, and when he does, it’s imperative that you be in this room.” Greenway was looking at them now, rubbing his beard, deep in thought. “He must see his mother when he opens his eyes, do you understand this?”
“I’m not leaving.”
“You, Mark, can come and go a bit, but it’s best if you stay here as much as possible too.”
Mark nodded his head. The thought of spending another minute in the room was painful.
“The first moments can be crucial. He’ll be frightened when he looks around. He needs to see and feel his mother. Hold him and reassure him. Call the nurse immediately. I’ll leave instructions. He’ll be very hungry, so we’ll try and get some food in him. The nurse’ll remove the IV, so he can walk around the room. But the important thing is to hold him.”
“When do you—”
“I don’t know. Probably today or tomorrow. There’s no way to predict.”
“Have you seen cases like this before?”
Greenway looked at Ricky, and decided to go for the truth. He shook his head. “Not quite this bad. He’s almost comatose, which is a bit unusual. Normally, after a period of good rest, they’ll be awake and eating.” He almost managed a smile. “But, I’m not concerned. Ricky will be all right. It’ll just take some time.”
Ricky seemed to hear this. He grunted and stretched, but did not open his eyes. They watched intently, hoping for a mumble or word. Though Mark preferred that he remain silent about the shooting until they discussed it alone, he desperately wanted his little brother to wake up and start talking about other matters. He was tired of looking at him curled up on the pillow, sucking that damned thumb.
Greenway reached into his bag and produced a newspaper. It was the Memphis Press, the morning paper. He laid it on the bed, and handed Dianne a card. “My office is in the building next door. Here’s the phone number, just in case. Remember, the moment he wakes up, call the nurses’ station, and they’ll call me immediately. Okay?”
Dianne took the card and nodded. Greenway unfolded the newspaper on Ricky’s bed in front of them. “Have you seen this?”
“No,” she answered.
At the bottom of the front page was a headline about Romey. NEW ORLEANS LAWYER COMMITS SUICIDE IN NORTH MEMPHIS. Under the headline to the right was a big photo of W. Jerome Clifford, and to the left was the smaller headline — FLAMBOYANT CRIMINAL LAWYER WITH SUSPECTED MOB TIES. The word “mob” jumped at Mark. He stared at Romey’s face, and suddenly needed to vomit.
Greenway leaned forward and lowered his voice. “It seems as though Mr. Clifford was a rather well-known lawyer in New Orleans. He was involved in the Senator Boyette case. Apparently, he was the attorney for the man charged with the murder. Have you kept up with it?”
Dianne actually put the unlit cigarette in her mouth. She shook her head no.
“Well, it’s a big case. The first U.S. senator to be murdered in office. You can read this after I leave. There are police and FBI downstairs. They were waiting when I arrived an hour ago.” Mark grabbed the railing on the foot of the bed. “They want to talk to Mark, and of course they want you present.”
“Why?” she asked.
Greenway looked at his watch. “The Boyette case is complicated. I think you’ll understand more after you read the story here. I told them you and Mark could not speak with them until I say so. Is this all right?”
“Yes,” Mark blurted out. “I don’t want to talk to them.” Dianne and Greenway looked at him. “I may end up like Ricky if these cops keep bugging me.” For some reason, Mark knew the police would return with a lot of questions. They were not finished with him. But the photo on the front page of the paper and the mention of the FBI suddenly sent chills over him, and he needed to sit down.
“Keep them away for now,” Dianne said to Greenway.
“They asked if they could see you at nine, and I said no. But they won’t go away.” He looked at his watch again. “I’ll be here at noon. Perhaps we should talk to them then.”
“Whatever you think,” she said.
“Very well. I’ll put them off until twelve. My office has called your employer and the school. Try not to worry about that. Just stay by this bed until I return.” He almost smiled as he closed the door behind him.
Dianne ran to the bathroom and lit her cigarette. Mark punched the remote control by Ricky’s bed until the television was on and he found the local news. Nothing but weather and sports.
Dianne finished the story about Mr. Clifford and placed the paper on the floor under the foldaway bed. Mark watched anxiously.
“His client killed a United States senator,” she said in awe.
No kidding. There were about to be some tough questions, and Mark was suddenly hungry. It was past nine. Ricky hadn’t moved. The nurses had forgotten about them. Greenway seemed like ancient history. The FBI was waiting somewhere in the darkness. The room was growing smaller by the minute, and the cheap cot on which he was sitting was ruining his back.
“I wonder why he did that,” he said because he could think of nothing else to say.
“It says Jerome Clifford had ties with the New Orleans mob, and that his client is widely thought to be a member.”
He’d seen The Godfather on cable. In fact, he’d even seen the first sequel to The Godfather, and he knew all about the mob. Scenes from the movies flashed before his eyes, and the pains in his stomach grew sharper. His heart pounded. “I’m hungry, Mom. Are you hungry?”
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth, Mark?”
“Because the cop was in the trailer, and it wasn’t a good time to talk. I’m sorry, Mom. I promise I’m sorry. I planned to tell you as soon as we were alone, I promise.”