"Know how I happened to come up here?"
"No."
"Mary called me. Didn't know where you were. Know how much trouble you're in with her?"
"I can guess."
"Well, we got your assistant to spill the beans on where you'd a gone. You're just lucky I'm not going to fill out a report."
"You're not?"
"No. Not my jurisdiction here, dummy. Although as an off duty policeman I'd be well within line if I did."
"It surprises me that you're not."
"Yeah, well I figure that after Mary gets through with you, you'll wish you were in Walpole instead."
I thought of what awaited me back home. It made my forehead ache, so I must have been wincing to myself.
"Can I spend the night in the Concord jail?"
"No. You may not."
We drove on into Concord, and I noticed that Brian seemed to doze off and on. I didn't like this, or his slurred speech. I pulled into the emergency parking lot at Emerson Hospital, where we dragged ourselves out of the car, across the lot, and into the waiting room. We were a couple of tough guys, all right. We were right out of a Charles Bronson or Clint Eastwood flick.
"You poor, poor old men," purred the young nurse who examined us.
"We're not old," snarled Brian.
"Aaaannything you say, sweetie," she said, patting him on his stubbly cheek. Then she went to get us booked for the CAT scan. The very fact that they thought we should have the scans disturbed me. When the attending physician said he thought everything appeared normal I felt better, but Brian was diagnosed as having a mid-sized concussion. Needless to say, I didn't feel good about this, and neither did he. They laid him down in a bed with his head between sandbags, and he was to remain in situ for at least twenty-four hours.
"I'm going to get you for this, Doc. Count on it. Sooner or later you're gonna pay. And I'm in this case now too. I've got my damaged skull invested in it. I'm going to be hanging around like a wind chime."
A dark hand shot in front of me and swept gently over Brian's forehead. He smiled at its owner..
"Hi Mary. See what your husband did?"
She bent down and kissed him and murmured kind words. He reached up and squeezed her arm. It was a touching scene.
"That's nice of you, honey," I said. "I'm sure that-"
"You be quiet!" she snapped without turning around. "The car's outside waiting. We're going home and you're going to stay there. You're grounded."
"You can't do that to me."
"Hell I can't." She turned around and looked at me for the first time. "So you'd better get- Charlie! Your head!"
She stared at me for a few seconds and then started crying and swearing at me. I was glad she was letting off the steam, anyway. But closer examination of my head convinced her that I needed stitches. It was good to be with her; it almost made me forget the pain.
They had to drain the swelling first, since enough time had elapsed for the lump to grow and spread the cut wide apart. They were able to use butterfly bandages instead of sutures. Scarring would then be absent or minimal, and my forehead would not look like something Dr. Frankenstein put together.
After it was over they had me wait in the recovery room. It was a sit-up recovery room and had a TV. After all I'd been through I sat rather mesmerized, watching a special report on the upcoming gubernatorial race. Apparently the reporters expected a close race, with Joseph Critchfield III having announced his I candidacy a week before.
Mary sat with me, her gaze leaving the television now and then to glare in my direction. At quarter to ten we were finally ready to leave. We went in and said goodnight to Brian. He was not in a particularly good mood. Neither was Mary, considering other minor matters like my stolen wallet and car keys. I sat in front on the way home in Mary's Audi. We got settled on the couch and she wanted to hear all about what happened in the little gray house up in Lowell, and I told her. She listened intently, and I felt confident she'd approve of the way I attacked old Four-Eyes, since he had whopped her with his loaded coat as well. But she just sat there holding the bridge of her nose and squinting. She was repeating a word over and over, mumbling it. I listened close and heard it: "dumb… dumb.. . dumb."
But little by little she began to calm as we sat and visited. Some music, some beer (I was still terribly thirsty), and some rock lobster tails and we were as good as new. Except that during dinner I realized that my left rib cage had been aching. I pulled up my shirt to reveal a mass of dark bruises there. The sumbitches had kicked me when I was down. I swore inwardly to get even with them. But I didn't tell Mary. We had hot raspberry tarts and vanilla ice cream for dessert, and Irish coffee. I had talked myself into believing I really wasn't beat up and weak. But halfway through the laced coffee I felt the room shift a bit, as though we were dining in a stateroom on the Cunard Line. I began to nod, and Mary helped me into the bedroom and into the sack.
When I woke up I realized how seriously I'd been hurt. My left side had stiffened up badly, and I had a permanent headache from the blow to the head and a forehead that itched and stung from the dressing. I sat up in bed and drained the ice water waiting for me on the bed table. Under the big frosty tumbler was a note: Dear Charlie:
I meant what I said: you're grounded. I will be out till four. I had Susan cancel all your appointments. Stay in bed. If you get up, don't leave the house. Joe's coming for dinner.
M.
Well of all the nerve, I thought as I drew on my clothes. I'd show her who ran things; I was going to hop in the car and go in to Louis's and buy a sport coat, then go over to the Rod and Gun Club for some silhouette shooting. Grounded my ass. But as I was eating breakfast it occurred to me that I had no car; it I was sitting up in Lowell on a side street. I had no car keys, and Mary had taken the other car. I looked at the key rack and noticed she had also taken my motorcycle keys. That made me angry.
But I had a spare set hidden away in the garage. I put on my jacket, grabbed my helmet and the extra keys, straddled the big BMW, and started it. Those big transverse cylinders thumped and purred with about as much fuss as a Singer. I would show her who was grounded. Then I tried to put on my helmet and almost fell off the bike from the pain. There was no way that that snug Simpson full-face brain bucket was going to fit around my swollen and bandaged head. And also, I considered as I hefted the big machine back onto its stand, riding a bike when you're not 1oo percent fit is just dumb. I switched it off, dismounted, and went back inside.
Well, she was right. Two hours were spent calling emergency credit-card numbers to report my lost cards. I wanted to run but knew it was unwise. So I took my ten-speed out and rode over to the hospital to see Brian, who was due to be released that evening. His mood had not improved, and in fact he had reported the incident to Joe, who was none too pleased either. As I left the hospital I was considering joining the Foreign Legion, except I doubted they'd take me.
It was only half a block to the Concord Professional Building, so I went to the office and did some paperwork and went over some castings. A gaunt, shaggy head poked in through the doorway.
"Well well well, if it isn't da cat burgIar," said Moe. "I saw Mary earlier when she was chewing out Susan for letting you sneak off like dat. Wow! Some clout, eh? Did they knock any sense into your thick skull?"
"No. I'm still the same."
"Pity."
"Where's Lolly? I need to be cheered up; the sight of her prancing around bare-assed does me a world of good."