Ogreness, Black Lake-book5

Chapter 35
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Sunday morning after being arraigned, released on my own recognizance, since they knew they were gonna get their butts sued off, my lawyer drove me to an urgent care clinic to have my gunshot looked at. As though I was a stray cur, my jailors denied my request to visit a nurse. The human doctor at the clinic looked at the hole in my chest and paled a bit.

“You have to go to the hospital,” he murmured.

“Don’t ya got some long-nose pliers or something?” I asked. “Ain’t like it’s a big deal.”

He didn’t say anything, but the nurse had a long-thingie on her tray that would work. I pulled out the wad of rag I’d stopped it up with yesterday and jabbed the plyer-thingie through the mostly dried blob of blood. Ouch. That hurt. About three inches in, metal scraped against metal. I clamped it down and pulled out the lead, which significantly widened the hole in my chest, with fresh red stuff gurglin’ down my front. I might have used a couple words my mama would whack me aside the head for usin’.

I dropped the flattened bullet on the stainless steel tray the nurse had wheeled in and asked the doc if he could clean me up at least. I told him I couldn’t remember when I last had a tetanus shot. “So maybe might need one. Oh. I’ll need to take that bullet with me. In case I go to court.”

The doc looked a lot worse off than me. Pale as a stinkin’ spring cloud. The nurse too. Must be why they don’t work in an ER. Their movements were a little awkward. Maybe they aren’t used to dealin’ with ogres. Must have scared ’em a little like that cop.

A whole bunch of those four-inch-square gauzy things ended up in the trash before all was said and done. Five gapin’ stitches to close me up halfway, the doctor wanted it to drain, he said, and a six-inch bandage, and I walked out of the little cubical to pay up at the front desk.

“They keep insisting you go to the hospital,” my lawyer mumbled. “Maybe you should listen to them.”

I shrugged. Forgot maybe I shouldn’t have done that. It hurt. My whole left side throbbed a little. I considered the hospital thing, for two seconds. “How much ya gonna sue them for?” I asked her.

“Why are you suing the clinic?”

“Keep up,” I rasped at her. “The cop folk.”

“You sure there won’t be anything on that tape that will incriminate you?” she asked.

“Well, I did fling a motorcycle helmet at him. But that was after he tried to kill me.”

“I’ll get an order filed to get a copy of the recording this afternoon, before it disappears.”

“Good idea,” I said.

I got my credit card back and followed my attorney outside.

“Take you home?” she asked.

“Out of yar way, huh?” I asked.

“Not so much.” Yeah. We were two hours from our little plains community.

“Good,” I told her. “I’m feelin’ a little tired.”

She chuckled.

I humor humans. I have no idea why. She looked down at the blood stainin’ my leather pants. The guys I’d been locked up with all night looked at that a lot too. Think it freaked them out a little. They kept to their side of the drunk tank. I still didn’t get a lick of sleep.

I crawled into the passenger side of her little car and leaned back.

“Wake up. Wake up,” she was sayin’ after a bit.

I shook my head.

“If it wasn’t for the horrible snoring,” my attorney said. “I would’ve been worried a couple times that you’d died on me.”

I looked at her. Why were her eyes red rimmed?

“You have anyone to call and stay with you?” she asked.

That confused me.

“In case,” she said. “I’ll walk you in.”

I hadn’t even realized we sat in my driveway. I told her I was good and eased out of her Mercedes. Don't know how I did it without a can opener. “Can ya look into gettin’ Darshee’s bike trailered home?”

“Least of yar problems,” she said.

“Still, if ya would. Darshee’s gonna be mad enough at me. If they put one scratch in it, she’ll kill me.”

I was steppin’ out of the shower thirty minutes later when my doorbell rang. Now what? Maybe another cop to shoot me. I strode for the door with just a towel wrapped around my waist. I opened the door to Gozer.

His eye’s opened a bit wider. “Thought I saw ya. Ya run out of clothes? What happened to yar chest?”

The poundin’ hot water had turned a blotch about twelve inches across deep purple. A bit of blood oozed from between the stitches.

“That looks like it hurts,” Gozer said.

“More than ya’d think.” I turned back for my bedroom. I was missin’ Sissy something awful. She should have been going nuts about Gozer’s visit. Hopefully Darshee would have her back this evening.

The door closed behind me. I wasn’t sure if Gozer followed me, because he wasn’t blabbin’. Gozer is usually blabbin’, so he must not have followed me.

But as I crossed to my closet and peered over my shoulder, he was leanin’ against my door jam.

“The talkin’ heads are going a little berserk,” he said.

I continued into my walk-in, glad Gozer showed enough restraint to stop at my door. I pulled on stretchy gym shorts to lounge in, and grabbed a tee. Unfortunately, Gozer followed me into my on-suite.

He pushed me aside as I dealt with the tricky latches of the med kit I pulled out of the counter. “Sit.” I walked to the John and did what he said. Not good to ignore what trolls say, in that tone.

The bull gently pressed that funky tape over the bandage he centered over my ugly volcanic-lookin’-thing. Didn’t know trolls could be so gentle. He set his warm hand on my shoulder for a moment when he was done.

“Ya shoulda gone to the hospital,” he said softly.

I pulled on my tee. Ouch. Maybe I should have gone with shorts-only. Gozer backed up enough I was able to stand. He followed me out to the kitchen, offered to make me something. I wasn’t in the mood to fiddle, so I told him, sure, and sat at the counter.

I expected him to throw some cheese between two hunks of bread, but he put lasagna noodles on to boil, and set five pounds of ground chuck to sizzle in a pan. Preheated the oven before he unloaded my fridge.

I asked him what he was fixin’, which he ignored, and asked me what happened. I thought he meant, council. I’d talked for ten minutes when he explained, “The bullet, idjit.”

Thirty minutes later he was pullin’ what he called thin-pan lasagna from the oven. “So I guess my orc issues aren’t gonna be high on yar list of priorities, huh?” He found flatware, and served me a three-pound pile of molten pasta.

I considered askin’ him, what orc issues. Then remembered his whinin’ about havin’ orc neighbors. He shouldn’t worry about no orcs. He has a crazy ogre neighbor who gets shot on the highway for no particular reason.

I burned my mouth on my first bite. I tend to do that. But when my eyes stopped waterin’, I told Gozer, “This is good. I didn’t know trolls could cook.”

“What. Ya think we only eat scorpions and grubs?”

“Well, yeah.”

“That’s just dessert. I thought my life was headachy. Ya gonna have more cops shootin’ at ya?”

“I hope not.”

He left an hour later, after we’d finished off a case of beer. The alcohol helped the pain, a lot. I shoulda thought about that before I got in the shower.

So I crawled into bed expectin’ to sleep until Monday. I did think about all my messages for a moment, until my dreadlocks got set across my sheets perfect-like. A real numbness flowed over me quickly.

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