CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

T he patient is in a room that should be large, but it’s filled up by all the machines around the bed. Curtains hang open by a large observation window on the hallway side of the room. As soon as we get inside, I tell Carlo, “Shut those.”

I pick up the charts at the end of the bed, but they only give timed reports of his vital signs, along with ticks and signatures for medications and observation.

There’s almost nothing to be seen of the person in that bed. He’s got a surgical cap on. His body and face are obscured and covered in tubes and wires.

No parts of him are visible, other than his big, strong work-worn hands.

And the watch my daddy gave him. The heavy Longines chronometer that he’s had since he drove me to school. I take his hand and hold it.

His hand and arm are heavy, and so are the big rings, the rubies and sapphires he used to give me to play with in the back of the black Eldorado when he brought me home from school.

Mikey.

A tear wells up in my eye. He’s warm. My heart aches.

I ask Carlo, “Where is Diabolo?”

He tells me, “They don’t allow dogs in here.”

“Bruno, go and get Diabolo. Quickly.”

I felt the tiniest buzz run through Mikey’s finger.

A nurse comes briskly into the room.

“What are all of you doing in here? Visits are two at a time, near relatives only, and this is not visiting hours –”

Still holding Mikey’s hand, I ask her, “What’s his condition?”

The nurse raises her voice a notch. “You must not touch the patient.”

I look up at her. She tells us, “If you’re next of kin or close family, you need to talk to the consultant.” Her hands are on her hips and her feet are apart. Her mouth tightens. “If not, then you cannot be here. Visiting hours are–”

I say, “This man is never going to recover without his emotional support animal.”

“Nobody told me anything about that.”

“I’m telling you now.”

“I will have to call the consultant.”

“You can call whoever you like. I’m getting his dog brought here.”

“Hospital regulations –”

“If the hospital regulations don’t allow his dog in here, then we’re going to have to take him out of the hospital. And you should expect a suit for malpractice.”

The nurse hurries away. Less than a minute later, a tall, heavily built ward sister arrives. She’s neat, smart and radiates capability. This is a woman in charge, without a doubt. Her name badge identifies her as Sister Tharpe. She stops by the side of the doorway.

“You all need to leave. These are not visiting hours. HD and critical care patients are allowed two close family members only. At visiting hours.”

I ask her, “HD?”

“High dependency. You see all those machines and tubes and drips?”

I say, “I want to get him moved out of the hospital.”

“Oh, do you now? And are you his daughter, his wife or his mother?”

“No–”

“You’re not a next of kin? So are you his consultant?”

I take a breath. “Is it possible we could do that? What would it take?”

She pauses for a moment. “He’s on very high dependency support right now. He would need a minimum of six nursing staff, full time. Two at a time in three shifts. As well as all the equipment you can see, he has care needs that would be hard to meet outside the hospital.”

“You’re telling me that it’s expensive.”

“No,” she says, “I’m telling you that it would be dangerous to the patient and I would strongly advise you against it.”

“What if it were your father in that bed. You know that he would be happier and more likely to make a better recovery at home, right?”

She takes a step toward the bed. “In this patient’s condition? No. If he were my father I would want him right there where he is. For the next few days at the very least. Moving him would be a risk, and having him farther away from emergency care that he might need at a moment’s notice, it could be a death sentence.”

“Don’t sugar-coat it for me.”

“I understand you want to do something.” Her head turns and she nods. “Trust me, moving him should not be it.”

“Then I need to get his dog in here.”

She blinks slowly. “We don’t allow dogs or pets of any kind.”

“He’s not a pet. He’s an emotional support companion.”

“Good luck with that. I can’t authorize it. Now. Visiting hours are from five till seven. Two immediate family members only.”

She stands by the door with an arm out.

I lean to put my lips close to Mikey’s ear. “Hang in there, Mikey. We’re going to get you well.” I squeeze his hand and I lean closer to stroke his face. I whisper, “And I’m going to crucify the fucker who did this to you.”

A tiny nerve under his eyelid twitches.

“I’ve been there, Mikey. You’re going to be fine.” I’m able to believe it for the time it takes to say it. So I get out of there as fast as I can after that.

I thank the ward sister, without going too close. I reckon she wants to look like the boss here. I tell her, “You’re taking great care of him. Thank you.”

She nods. I say, “I really appreciate what you’re doing but, please. Keep the curtains shut. He’s a very private man. If the world can see him, he won’t want to wake up.”

There are plenty of other reasons I want him to have privacy, but that’s the one that I figure will get the ward sister’s co-operation.

As we move away down the corridor, Alessio and Carlo walk either side of me. I ask Alessio, “How many men have we got around the hospital, protecting Mikey’s room?

“Six altogether.”

“Double it. In fact, make it twenty.” With my voice low, I say, “All our businesses are going to hell, right?”

His lip hardens. “Right.”

I say, “That means we don’t have anything more important to be focussed on.”

He nods. “I’ll put all the best people on it.”

“Our best man is in that hospital bed.”

Then I think of something else. “Yeah, all except for Catlin and Erin. Have them call me.”

Alessio says, “You’re remembering more and more.”

Before he can go on, I say, “I’m remembering an old school friend who’s a hospital administrator.” Then I tell them, “You two need to be getting everybody together.”

Carlo says, “Most of the soldiers we have are out protecting premises and businesses.”

“Waste of time,” I tell him. “Close them all up.”

They both straighten up.

“Until we get all of this turned around, any business we do is just going to be trashed within a day or two.”

Their eyebrows rise. They both nod.

Alessio says, “That’s whats been happening all over,”

“Playing Whack-a-Mole,” I say, “with brush fires breaking out, right?”

They both nod.

“Time to stop that,” I tell them. “You two take cabs. I’ll ride with Bruno when he gets back with Diabolo.”

Carlo says, “You really think they’ll let Diabolo stay in the room?”

I ask him, “Care for a bet?”