Everybody in town knows me,Virgil thought vaguely, and, safe for the moment, he let himself relax and let other people take care of him.
—
He was aware of the transfer to the ambulance, although he felt himself to be some distance from that event. Once in the ambulance, he tried to sit up but found that he was held down by a safety harness. A man’s face loomed over him and said, “Easy, there. Stay down.”
A minute later, they were at the Trippton Clinic, not his first visit. When they rolled the gurney inside, a familiar doc looked down at his face and said, “Virgil fuckin’ Flowers. How are those stitches holding in your scalp?”
Virgil said, “Aw, jeez...”
The doc said, “Good. You’re talking. I’m going to wash your face here.”
He did, and Virgil could see from both eyes, and again tried to sit up, but the doc put a hand on his chest and said, “Count backward from ninety-five by sevens.”
“I couldn’t do that unhurt or sober,” Virgil said.
“Okay, good, you’re not too concussed... But you’re going to have amazing black eyes. I’ve got to do something about your nose... Do you hurt anywhere else?”
“Hip.” Virgil had one hand free enough that he could pat his right hip.
The doc said to somebody Virgil couldn’t see, “Let’s get his clothes off,” and to Virgil, “We’re going to give you something to relax you. You’ll feel a little sting...”
—
When Virgil woke up, he was in a small room with a lot of electronic equipment, some of which was attached to him. He had a needle at the crook of his elbow, and a tube that led back to a bag on a rolling rack. A nurse stuck her head in the door and said, “You’re awake.”
“I could use some water,” Virgil said, his voice sounding like sandpaper on Sheetrock.
“I’ll get the doctor.”
Virgil didn’t know exactly how long it took before the doctor showed up, but it was long enough for him to realize that his nose hurt so bad that his upper teeth hurt as well. He wiggled his teeth with a finger, but everything felt solid. The doc came in with a bottle of water with a straw, held it while Virgil took a sip, and asked, “How do you feel?”
“Hurt.”
“You’ve got a displaced septum—not the nasal bones—the septum, the cartilage, which has been pushed off to the left. I can’t do much for you now except put a gel retainer on it to hold it in place until the swelling goes down. In two or three days we can take another look and come up with a permanent solution, which will probably involve wearing a brace for a while. In a few weeks, everything ought to be back to normal.”
“Goddamn them,” Virgil said. He would have ground his teeth, but that would have hurt too much. He took the water bottle from the doc and swallowed another sip.
“Yeah, whoever ‘them’ is. We’ve got a deputy hanging around waiting to speak to you.”
“Bunch of women,” Virgil grunted.
“Women?” The doctor’s voice had a query in it as though he suspected Virgil might have taken a harder hit to the head than he’d believed.
Virgil took another pull of the water, added, “Four of them. Red pickup. Caught me behind Shanker’s. Could have hurt me a lot worse. Must’ve weighed six or seven hundred pounds... piled on.”
“Ah, I see,” the doctor said, reassured by the detail. “One of them also spent some time kicking you in the right hip and leg. Your leg looks like somebody was hitting you with a baseball bat. No bones broken, but you’ll hurt for a while.”
“Can I walk?”
“Oh, sure. Want to take it easy at first, to make sure all the ligaments and tendons and so on are still hooked up where they’re supposed to be, but we did some X-rays and range-of-motion tests while you were asleep and I don’t see a problem. Wouldn’t want you using any aspirin or other blood thinners for a while.”
When the doctor ran out of diagnoses, Virgil asked, “When can I leave?”
“If you’re concussed, it’s not too bad. I’m told you never completely lost consciousness, although you got your bell rung pretty good. I want you to take it easy here the rest of the day and overnight.”
Virgil didn’t protest because he really felt like he could use the rest. The doctor said, “I’ll check in on you every once in a while, but, right now, go to sleep.”
“Gimme my cell phone,” Virgil said. “As long as my tongue isn’t crippled, I need to make some calls.”
