I watch the goldfish. They’re still swimming, lap after lap after lap. They don’t know they’re in a hospital. They just keep going in circles because that’s all they know to do.
Chapter 7: Mickey
Tex strolls back into the room carrying one coffee instead of two and drops into the chair beside my bed. He left twenty minutes ago to get us both a cup from the machine downstairs.
“Tex? Where’s my coffee?” I ask. “I thought you were getting us both a cup.”
“I gave it away,” he says and takes another sip.
“What? For heaven’s sake, Tex! Can you not be trusted five minutes by yourself? I swear to God, I don’t know how you keep a business going or even clothes on your body the way you give every damn thing away. Food, drinks, shoes. Let me guess. You saw someone in the elevator who you thought probably needed the coffee more than you. Right? Because that’s always the story. Then you gave away a cup of coffee which happened to be mine.”
“We can share,” he says, handing me the cup which is only half-full now. “Here.”
“What if you have cooties? And I catch them and spread them to everyone on this hospital floor?”
He grins at me. “Since when do you care about that? Remember the time in seventh grade when we kept a single piece of Juicy Fruit chewing gum going for a week between us?”
“We could’ve made it to two weeks if you hadn’t accidentally swallowed it while you were asleep,” I remindhim. “Stop changing the subject and tell me. Who is drinking my coffee right now?”
He takes the coffee back out of my hand, drinks another sip and looks at me over the rim. “I gave the coffee to your guy.”
“My guy? Want to be more specific? I don’t have a guy. I haven’t had a guy in forever.”
“I gave it to Benji. The blonde guy that got beat to hell. He’s hanging out downstairs in the lobby, hiding behind the fish tank.”
I stare at him. My brain, which has been running on painkillers, takes a second to catch up. “Huh, that’s not what I expected you to say. He’s downstairs?”
“Sure is. Sitting in a plastic chair by himself looking pitiful in the main lobby. He’s been there at least an hour. Maybe longer. I happened to see him on my way to the elevator.”
“How did he know I was here?”
“He went to the station to give his statement. The detective told him you’d been transferred. He drove here to check on you.”
“That’s weird. Why did he do that?”
Tex shrugs. “I don’t know. Guess he wanted to know how you’re doing and there wasn’t anyone who would tell him. Patient confidentiality is a big thing. He didn’t have my number and I guess he didn’t want to come by the Roadhouse. Can’t blame him for that. He just drove here, walked into the lobby and sat down.”
“Did you talk to him? Or did you just shove my coffee at him and walk away?”
“For a few minutes,” he says. “He looks bad. Rough as hell. Bruised face, split lip, dark circles under his eyes. He’s carrying this hard.”
“It’s not his fault.”
“I told him that. He didn’t believe me. I don’t think he’s going to believe it until he hears it straight from you.”
That sits heavy in the room between us while Tex drinks my coffee.
“I felt kinda bad and gave him your room number,” Tex says casually. “He didn’t ask for it.”
“Oh, you did?”
“Yeah, I figured it might be okay. He seems harmless enough.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. There’s no point in arguing.
“I told him it was up to him whether he came up to see you or not,” he says.
“And? Is he coming?”
