Ford County Read Online Free PDF

obvious neither had a clue. The bouncer waited impatiently, then said, “You got ten hospitals in this city. Which one?”
    “Uh, the nearest one,” Aggie said.
    “That’ll be Lutheran. You know the city?”
    “Sure.”
    “I’ll bet you do. Take Lamar to Parkway, Parkway to Poplar. It’s just past East High School.”
    “Thanks.”
    The bouncer waved them off and disappeared inside. They dragged Roger to the truck, tossed him inside, then spent half an hour roaming midtown Memphis in a hopeless search for Lutheran Hospital. “Are you sure that’s the right hospital?” Calvin asked several times.
    In various ways, Aggie answered, “Yes,” “Sure,” “Probably,” and “Of course.”
    When they found themselves downtown, Aggie stopped at a curb and approached a cabdriver who was napping behind the wheel. “Ain’t no Lutheran Hospital,” the cabdriver said. “We got Baptist, Methodist, Catholic, Central, Mercy, and a few others, but no Lutheran.”
    “I know, you got ten of ’em.”
    “Seven, to be exact. Where you from?”
    “Mississippi. Look, where’s the nearest hospital?”
    “Mercy is four blocks away, just down Union Avenue.”
    “Thanks.”
    They found Mercy Hospital and left Roger in the truck, comatose. Mercy was the city hospital, the principal destination for late-night victims of crime, domestic abuse, police shootings, gang disputes, drug overdoses, and alcohol-related car wrecks. Almost all of said victims were black. Ambulances and police cars swarmed around the ER entrance. Packs of frantic family members roamed the dungeonlike hallways searching for their victims. Screams and shouts echoed through the place as Aggie and Calvin walked for miles looking for the information desk. They finally found it, tucked away as if it were intentionally hidden. A young Mexican girl was at the desk, smacking gum and reading a magazine.
    “Do ya’ll admit white people?” Aggie began pleasantly.
    To which she replied coolly, “Who are you looking for?”
    “We’re here to give blood.”
    “Blood Services is just down the hall,” she said, pointing.
    “Are they open?”
    “I doubt it. Who you giving blood for?”
    “Uh, Bailey,” Aggie said as he looked blankly at Calvin.
    “First name?” She began to peck at a keyboard and look at a monitor.
    Aggie and Calvin frowned at each other, clueless. “I thought Bailey was his first name,” Calvin said.
    “I thought it was his last name. They used to call him Buck, didn’t they?”
    “Sure, but his momma’s last name is Caldwell.”
    “How many times has she been married?”
    The girl watched this back-and-forth with her mouth open. Aggie looked at her and said, “Got anybody with the last name of Bailey?”
    She pecked, waited, then said, “A Mr. Jerome Bailey, aged forty-eight, black, gunshot wound.”
    “Anybody else?”
    “No.”
    “Anybody with the first name of Bailey?”
    “We don’t enter them by first names.”
    “Why not?”

    The shooting was a gang skirmish that had begun an hour earlier at a north Memphis housing project. For some reason it resumed in the parking lot of Mercy Hospital. Roger, dead to the world, was jolted from his blackout by a burst of gunfire close by. It took a second or two for his brain to react, but before long he knew damned well that, again, someone was shooting at him. He eased his head up, peeked low through the passenger’s window, and was struck by the realization that he had no idea where he was. There were rows of cars parked all around, a tall parking garage nearby, buildings everywhere, and in the distance flashing red and blue lights.
    More gunfire, and Roger ducked low, lost his equilibrium, and was on the floorboard, where he frantically searched under the seat for a weapon of some sort. Aggie, like every other boy from Ford County, wouldn’t travel anywhere without protection,and Roger knew a gun was close by. He found one under the driver’s seat, a 9-millimeter Husk automatic