been DOA. We’ve kept him alive so far, but
he’s young and pretty strong, so he might make it. But there’s another problem.”
“Whatsat?”
“There
was an exit wound also. As the bullet left his body, it shattered his spinal
cord. If he survives, he’ll be paralyzed from the waist down. I’m afraid he’ll
never walk again.”
The two
men stood there open-mouthed. They hadn’t expected this. Chico’s graceful
presence, his lithe gait, even when he just walked into a room, had always
signaled his charisma, his power. And now...
“You
sure?” asked Vega, as if he hadn’t heard right. “He’s never gonna walk again?”
“Yes.
But he’s not to know that until we’re sure he’s going to live, all right?”
Glassy-eyed,
Vega nodded. They started toward the room, and the doctor cautioned them once
more about keeping calm.
“Only a
couple of minutes,” he called to their backs.
He
slumped into the sofa, trying to relax his tired body. He would wait for them
to come out. Then he could finally go home.
≈≈≈
The men gasped as they entered the dim, quiet room. Chico Salazar
looked terrible. His complexion was whiter than the sheet that covered him.
Life-giving liquids poured into him continuously from hovering IV bottles.
Breathing tubes were taped to his nostrils. His arms and legs were bound up in
plaster casts, suspended from aluminum contraptions to prevent movement against
his broken spine. And all around the bed, space-age machinery whirred,
monitoring his every bodily function.
Vega
leaned in. “Chico. Chico … it’s me,” he whispered in Spanish. “Rafael. Can you
hear me? Chico?”
The
grim presence of near-death in that room held the two men motionless for what seemed
like hours.
The doc was right , thought Vega. Chico might not make it. He might. …
He
quivered. Chico. You can’t, man. You can’t
die on me.
A few
seconds later, however, Chico Salazar summoned what little strength he had
left, as he lifted his heavy eyelids to half-staff. Vega breathed an inward
sigh of relief at this tiny sign of recognition.
“Chico,
it’s me, man. Tomás is here, too. Man, we’re with you all the way.”
Vega
reached down, taking Chico’s hand in his, then giving it a slight squeeze.
Chico squeezed back as best he could, while he took a stab at a smile. He didn’t
quite make it. Vega caught the attempt, however, and exhaled as he smiled
himself.
“That’s
it, man. It’s us! Man, you got the best doctors, the best equipment, the best
everything. You’re in Ben Taub. You know that’s the best hospital for this
kinda thing. The doc says you’re gonna make it.”
Chico
gave a little nod, as he tried hard for another smile. Not yet.
A
low-wattage bulb flickered a dim yellow from a small lamp on a dresser along
the far wall. The new day’s sunlight barely trickled in around the edges of
tightly-drawn curtains. Intimidating tubes and medical apparatus cast ribboned
shadows across the faces of the three men.
A
minute or so passed in silence before Vega said, “Who did it, Chico?”
The
opening of the door startled Vega as the doctor entered. “Time’s up. He needs
rest.”
“Just
another minute, doc.” Urgency clouded Vega’s voice.
“I’m
afraid not. He’s —”
Vega
stood up, fully five inches shorter than the doctor. But when he faced the taller man
toe-to-toe, the fire in his black eyes more than compensated.
“I said
we’ll be through in a minute,” he snarled.
“All
right. But only a minute. He has to rest. His life depends on it.”
The
doctor left the room, as Vega turned back to hold Chico’s hand.
“Who
did this, Carnal?” he repeated.
With
great effort, Chico moved his lips. Vega hunched over the bed ever closer.
Finally, he heard something.
“What?
What? I can’t hear you, man. Say it again.”
He put
his ear close to Chico’s barely-moving mouth.
“T-t-two
guys.” Vega could scarcely make it out. Chico repeated his weak
he’s young and pretty strong, so he might make it. But there’s another problem.”
“Whatsat?”
“There
was an exit wound also. As the bullet left his body, it shattered his spinal
cord. If he survives, he’ll be paralyzed from the waist down. I’m afraid he’ll
never walk again.”
The two
men stood there open-mouthed. They hadn’t expected this. Chico’s graceful
presence, his lithe gait, even when he just walked into a room, had always
signaled his charisma, his power. And now...
“You
sure?” asked Vega, as if he hadn’t heard right. “He’s never gonna walk again?”
“Yes.
But he’s not to know that until we’re sure he’s going to live, all right?”
Glassy-eyed,
Vega nodded. They started toward the room, and the doctor cautioned them once
more about keeping calm.
“Only a
couple of minutes,” he called to their backs.
He
slumped into the sofa, trying to relax his tired body. He would wait for them
to come out. Then he could finally go home.
≈≈≈
The men gasped as they entered the dim, quiet room. Chico Salazar
looked terrible. His complexion was whiter than the sheet that covered him.
Life-giving liquids poured into him continuously from hovering IV bottles.
Breathing tubes were taped to his nostrils. His arms and legs were bound up in
plaster casts, suspended from aluminum contraptions to prevent movement against
his broken spine. And all around the bed, space-age machinery whirred,
monitoring his every bodily function.
Vega
leaned in. “Chico. Chico … it’s me,” he whispered in Spanish. “Rafael. Can you
hear me? Chico?”
The
grim presence of near-death in that room held the two men motionless for what seemed
like hours.
The doc was right , thought Vega. Chico might not make it. He might. …
He
quivered. Chico. You can’t, man. You can’t
die on me.
A few
seconds later, however, Chico Salazar summoned what little strength he had
left, as he lifted his heavy eyelids to half-staff. Vega breathed an inward
sigh of relief at this tiny sign of recognition.
“Chico,
it’s me, man. Tomás is here, too. Man, we’re with you all the way.”
Vega
reached down, taking Chico’s hand in his, then giving it a slight squeeze.
Chico squeezed back as best he could, while he took a stab at a smile. He didn’t
quite make it. Vega caught the attempt, however, and exhaled as he smiled
himself.
“That’s
it, man. It’s us! Man, you got the best doctors, the best equipment, the best
everything. You’re in Ben Taub. You know that’s the best hospital for this
kinda thing. The doc says you’re gonna make it.”
Chico
gave a little nod, as he tried hard for another smile. Not yet.
A
low-wattage bulb flickered a dim yellow from a small lamp on a dresser along
the far wall. The new day’s sunlight barely trickled in around the edges of
tightly-drawn curtains. Intimidating tubes and medical apparatus cast ribboned
shadows across the faces of the three men.
A
minute or so passed in silence before Vega said, “Who did it, Chico?”
The
opening of the door startled Vega as the doctor entered. “Time’s up. He needs
rest.”
“Just
another minute, doc.” Urgency clouded Vega’s voice.
“I’m
afraid not. He’s —”
Vega
stood up, fully five inches shorter than the doctor. But when he faced the taller man
toe-to-toe, the fire in his black eyes more than compensated.
“I said
we’ll be through in a minute,” he snarled.
“All
right. But only a minute. He has to rest. His life depends on it.”
The
doctor left the room, as Vega turned back to hold Chico’s hand.
“Who
did this, Carnal?” he repeated.
With
great effort, Chico moved his lips. Vega hunched over the bed ever closer.
Finally, he heard something.
“What?
What? I can’t hear you, man. Say it again.”
He put
his ear close to Chico’s barely-moving mouth.
“T-t-two
guys.” Vega could scarcely make it out. Chico repeated his weak
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