apple. The dimple had always allowed him some slack with figures of authority—schoolteachers, dental hygienists, women standing in the express line at the Almacs. Right now he needed a shave. The stubbled pucker in his cheek only accentuated an idea of wayward innocence; it gave him a reckless look. The nurse let it go. She said, “That 3M fiberglass is good. Last fall, we have teen halfbacks come in busted up and we do those arms in their school colors.”
Willis nodded at the nurse.
“It was fun-nee. But for you, the doctor wants plaster again. He needs plaster so he can weight it more on the one side. Son, son,
son
, that wrist is pulverized.”
The nurse talked until the arm was packed andwrapped. The physician smoothed the wet plaster sheets the way he wanted. “This will have to dry some more before you leave the hospital. You don’t want to knock it when it’s wet,” the physician told Willis. Willis agreed to wait a half hour until the plaster was firmed up.
Willis might have shown up at the Navy Hospital, his file was there, but they would have written another psychological report. Willis didn’t trust the Navy doctors. When he was in Norfolk, they had prescribed a psychotropic drug. He stopped taking the drug when he started having side effects. He couldn’t make enough saliva. He asked Fritz, “If you were a doctor and could make your way, would you go near a Navy base? Would you want to ride some carrier back and forth with a mob of white hats?”
Fritz said, “It wouldn’t be my first choice. Maybe a sub.”
“Let me inform you. Submarines, you have to hot bunk with who-knows-who. Sleep in shifts. You can’t scratch your ass.”
Willis smiled again at the nurse; her dreadlocks showed several little colored balls of lint. Maybe she just hadn’t looked in the mirror. The nurse offered him a pleated cup with two tabs of Tylenol with codeine. He refused it. He wasn’t getting back on that narco merry-go-round. He had business to do and didn’t want to feel woozy.
Fritz had the car loaded with three thousand dollars’ worth of stolen tools from Metric King. One-hundred-forty-eight-piece Master Sets, metric sockets and wrenches, SuperKrome flare-nut wrenches and metric hex-bit sets, whole trays of crowfoots and wobble extensions. Along with the wrench sets, Fritz had foraged a big item—a Porsche Turnkey Diagnostic System, the whole works: computer, display terminal with keyboard, hard-copy printer with roll out,adapter cables, everything snug in a portable console on casters.
The nurse again showed Willis the pills and rocked on her heels. “It’s numb right now, but that pain will come on.”
Willis shook his head.
“Suit yourself,” the nurse said. “I’m glad I don’t babysit you.” She started to walk away holding the tiny cup.
Willis called her back. “Can you tell me something? About that baby?”
“What baby you mean?”
“My friend Sheila Boyd. Her baby.”
“Why you interested in that? That was sent someplace in Dixie. That went to the Research Triangle. A hospital down there was on a list for one of those.”
“So what happens now?” Willis said. “They dissect it?”
Fritz said, “Let’s get moving. The minute hand—”
The tools were just sitting there in Rennie’s car in the hospital parking lot. Fritz had to get rid of everything that night and he was nervous about waiting around at the hospital. “You had to break your wrist tonight. You forgot our appointment,” Fritz said. He poked Willis’s arm with his pointer to see if it was hardening. Willis’s cast wasn’t drying fast enough. Willis left the emergency room stall and went into the men’s room to heat the cast under the electric blower. Even that didn’t dry the cast, so he left the hospital with Fritz Federico when his arm was still doughy.
Willis had agreed to help Fritz only this once. After his troubles in the Navy, Willis didn’t want to be part of any wise schemes. He wanted a
Willis nodded at the nurse.
“It was fun-nee. But for you, the doctor wants plaster again. He needs plaster so he can weight it more on the one side. Son, son,
son
, that wrist is pulverized.”
The nurse talked until the arm was packed andwrapped. The physician smoothed the wet plaster sheets the way he wanted. “This will have to dry some more before you leave the hospital. You don’t want to knock it when it’s wet,” the physician told Willis. Willis agreed to wait a half hour until the plaster was firmed up.
Willis might have shown up at the Navy Hospital, his file was there, but they would have written another psychological report. Willis didn’t trust the Navy doctors. When he was in Norfolk, they had prescribed a psychotropic drug. He stopped taking the drug when he started having side effects. He couldn’t make enough saliva. He asked Fritz, “If you were a doctor and could make your way, would you go near a Navy base? Would you want to ride some carrier back and forth with a mob of white hats?”
Fritz said, “It wouldn’t be my first choice. Maybe a sub.”
“Let me inform you. Submarines, you have to hot bunk with who-knows-who. Sleep in shifts. You can’t scratch your ass.”
Willis smiled again at the nurse; her dreadlocks showed several little colored balls of lint. Maybe she just hadn’t looked in the mirror. The nurse offered him a pleated cup with two tabs of Tylenol with codeine. He refused it. He wasn’t getting back on that narco merry-go-round. He had business to do and didn’t want to feel woozy.
Fritz had the car loaded with three thousand dollars’ worth of stolen tools from Metric King. One-hundred-forty-eight-piece Master Sets, metric sockets and wrenches, SuperKrome flare-nut wrenches and metric hex-bit sets, whole trays of crowfoots and wobble extensions. Along with the wrench sets, Fritz had foraged a big item—a Porsche Turnkey Diagnostic System, the whole works: computer, display terminal with keyboard, hard-copy printer with roll out,adapter cables, everything snug in a portable console on casters.
The nurse again showed Willis the pills and rocked on her heels. “It’s numb right now, but that pain will come on.”
Willis shook his head.
“Suit yourself,” the nurse said. “I’m glad I don’t babysit you.” She started to walk away holding the tiny cup.
Willis called her back. “Can you tell me something? About that baby?”
“What baby you mean?”
“My friend Sheila Boyd. Her baby.”
“Why you interested in that? That was sent someplace in Dixie. That went to the Research Triangle. A hospital down there was on a list for one of those.”
“So what happens now?” Willis said. “They dissect it?”
Fritz said, “Let’s get moving. The minute hand—”
The tools were just sitting there in Rennie’s car in the hospital parking lot. Fritz had to get rid of everything that night and he was nervous about waiting around at the hospital. “You had to break your wrist tonight. You forgot our appointment,” Fritz said. He poked Willis’s arm with his pointer to see if it was hardening. Willis’s cast wasn’t drying fast enough. Willis left the emergency room stall and went into the men’s room to heat the cast under the electric blower. Even that didn’t dry the cast, so he left the hospital with Fritz Federico when his arm was still doughy.
Willis had agreed to help Fritz only this once. After his troubles in the Navy, Willis didn’t want to be part of any wise schemes. He wanted a
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