A/N - I do not speak Spanish, so I have relied on Google Translate for Marco's mutterings. If it is incorrect, I apologize.
What a Pain! - Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chet pulled into Mike's driveway and waved to Gus and Mary as they drove past. Mary was on a mission to make sure Sir Pain was coddled and loved until Mike returned home, and they were now on their way to the pet store in Torrence. Chet, too, planned to shower the small hero with gifts and showed up with a bag full of gourmet kitty food, catnip toys and a new bowl. He sat in his van and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the Doobie Brothers' "China Grove" as he waited for Marco.
Sir Pain, however, was still napping in Mary's flowerbed and blissfully unaware of both Mary's plans for him and Chet's arrival next door. When they left Rampart, Marco decided to stop home first, with plans to call the police station to make sure they were allowed to be in Mike's house. His departure was delayed, however, once Mama Lopez caught sight of him. It took him the better part of an hour to assure her that he hadn't been sneaking into the house and avoiding her. He promised her over and over that her beloved "Miguel" and "Juanny" as well as the "wonderful Capitan" would all recover. Oh, how she loved those boys, she reminded her son, as she used a corner of her apron to dab a tear from her eye. She wanted to come along to help, and Marco squirmed as he tried to convince her that he and Chet could handle it.
"No, mamá, yo no estaba a escondidas! Está bien, van a estar bien. Tú, uh, no es necesario que venga, Chet estarás conmigo. Gracias, sin embargo, Te quiero ... mucho." (No, Mama, I wasn't sneaking! It's okay, they will be fine. You, uh, don't need to come along, Chet will be with me. Thank you, though, I love you too...very much.")
Mama wasn't very happy with being dismissed, but she loved her son and agreed to stay home. She'd keep herself busy making meals for Marco's coworkers, and have them ready to deliver when the men came home again. She kissed Marco tenderly and sent him on his way with a paper sack full of churros.
The night everything went to hell in a handbasket, crime scene investigators had gotten fingerprints and blood samples, taken photos, and collected the bullets, but wanted to make one more pass before releasing Mike's property. They had finished by eleven that morning, but had not cleaned anything up. There was still a small pool of Cap's dried blood on the entryway floor, chairs upended in the kitchen and the mess on the garage floor, not to mention the muddy footprints crusted throughout the house and backyard. Johnny's blood still stained one corner of the concrete patio, and the lawn was torn up where Johnny, Eddie Jordan and Officer Piper had struggled and lain that night. The wind had taken the wrappers and other leavings from the paramedic squads and blown them about the yard.
It was this cluttered scene that greeted the two linesmen as they wandered through Mike's house.
Chet could only sputter, "H-Holy shit!"
"Ah, Dios mio!," Marco added, "What a mess!"
"Man, didn't I just get done cleanin' this place?" Chet whined, "I don't even have Gage to help me this time. Guess you're up, Marco...let's go grab the buckets." He dropped the bag he had brought for Sir Pain on the kitchen table and took a still astonished Marco by the arm. "C'mon, most of the stuff's in the garage."
"Uh, Chet...what about the cat? Shouldn't we look around for him, too?"
"Oh, yeah, guess so. Poor little guy, I bet he's around here somewhere, all scared and hungry...let's go find him first."
The two firemen walked separately through Mike's house with the thoroughness of a fire-scene search and were becoming frustrated when they couldn't find Sir Pain.
"Ow, damn!" Chet yelped when he stood up too quickly from Mike's bedroom floor and smacked the back of his head on the dresser drawer he'd left open. Logically, he knew the cat would not have been in the sock drawer and not been visible, but Chet felt compelled to look anyway. Hearing Chet's expletive, Marco decided to find him. Chet was on his hands and knees on the floor, sniffing the air and craning his neck, and Marco entered the room in time to hear Chet say, "Meeeeeooow! Mew? Meow!"
"Chet…" Marco asked, rubbing his hands over his eyes, "do I even want to know what you're doing?"
"C'mon, Marco, I'm acting like a cat, of course! Everybody knows if you're gonna look for something, you should 'be' that thing. You know, 'become' what it is that you're searching for."
"What? Chet, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard! What if I lost my watch? Am I supposed to sit on my dresser and go tick-tock? You're crazy."
"Naw, man, it's far out! See, if I act like a cat, I'll be able to find the cat. It's simple, by bein' on the floor like this, I can see the room from the cat's perspective, and see all the places it might be hiding. It's common sense," Chet countered.
"Chet, that's...you can't…it doesn't…ahh, never mind." Marco walked away, muttering his frustrations in Spanish. "Ese hombre ha perdido por completo sus canicas. Actúa como un gato? ¡Está loco!" (That man has completely lost his marbles. Act like a cat? That's crazy!)
Marco came to the conclusion that Sir Pain was not, in fact, in the house at all and decided to give up the search entirely, but Chet had other ideas. Now he was on his hands and knees outside in the backyard, meowing and calling Sir Pain's name. Once, Marco even saw Chet up in one of the bigger trees, sitting on a branch…still meowing. Besides being embarrassed by his friend's bizarre actions, Marco was beginning to panic that they weren't going to find Sir Pain at all and that they would have to go back to the hospital and tell Mike his cat was missing.
"Look, Chet…how about we put some food and water on the patio here? The cat's just wandering; I'm sure he'll be back, and besides, we've got a lot of cleaning to do here," Marco suggested.
Chet stood up and brushed the loose grass from his hands and knees. "Man, I was sure I'd find him," he said, disheartened. "I mean, that cat saved Mike's life, Marco! Twice! We gotta find the little bugger."
Marco sighed, "I know, Chet, and we will, but cats are funny like that. If they don't want to be found, they won't be found. Maybe Sir Pain just needs some time to be sure everything is cool around here again, you know?"
"Yeah…guess so. Alright, let's go clean this place up," Chet lamented. He walked back to the garage, but kept looking behind himself, hoping to spot the wayward feline. But before starting on the cleaning, Chet went to the refrigerator, took out a hotdog, cut it up and placed it on a plate on the patio. Just in case.
Two and a half hours later, Chet and Marco stood back to admire their handiwork. Not a single drop of blood or spot of mud was anywhere and the floors all shined with a new coat of floor wax. They had vacuumed and dusted, scrubbed and washed everything they could see. The backyard looked tidy enough for company, and not a sign remained of the violence of the night before. Mike's garage was put back in order as well, with all the screws, nails and clutter put back where Chet and Marco assumed they were supposed to go. If it wasn't right, well then, Mike would have something to do once he came home.
"Looks good, doesn't it, Amigo?" Marco beamed, proudly.
"Indeed it does, Marc, indeed it does," Chet smiled. "How about a beer to celebrate?"
"Sounds good to me! Want to stay here or go out?"
Chet, still a bit heartsick about the missing cat, glanced at the kitty supplies he'd brought and said, "Uh, you mind if we stay here? We could...ya' know, sit outside and, uh, maybe Sir Pain will come back."
"Chet, you old softie! Sure, we can stay here; I'll go get the brews," Marco laughed.
E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!
Mike, with his guilt on the verge of being assuaged, decided he needed to know if Eddie Jordan was dead. If he was, he felt he could at least have closure on that part, knowing that he'd be safe again once he returned home. Safe. That was a pretty powerful word, he decided. Mike didn't know how, or even if, he'd ever be able to repay his 'brothers' for everything they did to keep him safe. He'd been with this impressive crew for a few years now, and he knew any feelings of being left out were of his own accord. They never excluded him from any sort of get-together, but rarely did he join in. He just liked his privacy, that's all, he reasoned, but lately, he could tell the walls he'd built up around himself were slowly crumbling.
Mike reached over and pressed the call button, and in a few moments, a lovely nurse walked in and smiled, "Mr. Stoker? What can I help you with?"
Mike opened his eyes and said, "Um, c-could you see if Doc-tor Early is avail-a-ble please?"
"Mike? The nurse said you'd like to see me?" Dr. Early inquired just a few minutes later.
"Uh...y-yeah," Mike said quietly, "Doctor Early...Jor-dan's dead...isn't he? I mmmean, I don't w-want you to th-think I..." he sighed, "I don't kn-know how to sssay this..."
Dr. Early spoke up, "Jordan is dead, Mike, he died within the hour of bringing him in. There hasn't been an autopsy done yet to my knowledge, but the doctor who treated him said Jordan's lungs filled up, his veins were collapsing...his heart just couldn't take any more. Everything was indicative of a heroin overdose. There, ah, really was no saving him." Noticing Mike looking down and scratching one thumbnail with the other, he asked, "Mike? Are you okay?"
Mike mulled this over; having trouble resolving this in his head. He'd always been taught, by his parents, teachers, the fire academy, that life was precious and it was a noble act to save it. Yet, Eddie Jordan had killed others- taken their lives- and very nearly killed him, his friend, and his Captain, with seemingly no remorse. Surely Jordan shouldn't be given the same consideration? Would it be a horrible thing to rejoice in that man's demise?
"Y-yeah, I just don't know how I-I ffffeel," Mike said, still looking down at his hands, "I don't w-want to be hap-py that he's d-dead...but...I am," he whispered.
"I understand, Mike, and believe me, it's okay. But...maybe you're not happy really, just more...relieved?" Dr. Early suggested.
"Ye-yeah," Mike considered, "maybe th-that's it...I'm rrrelieved...and safe." He let himself lean back on the pillows, "Th-Thanks, Doctor Early."
Dr. Early gave Mike a quick exam, patted his shoulder and proclaimed the Engineer recovering nicely. His blood pressure was lowering as they had hoped and his surgery site was continuing to heal well. Perhaps tomorrow, he'd be moved into a regular room and if things progressed like Doctor Early hoped, Mike might be out and home in just a few days.
E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!
Captain Stanley's wife was out for a few minutes and Cap was being subjected to another vitals check. Once the nurse left, he watched carefully for her return and, deciding the coast was clear, sneaked his hand under his hospital gown and carefully peeled the tape and bandages away from his wound. It wasn't an easy task, trying to do this with an IV in his other arm, but curiosity would not be denied; he had to see what it looked like. Cap lifted that part of the gown and peered inside. He was told there was a moderate amount of tissue and muscle damage and that it had bled profusely from a nicked artery. None of that, however, was visible as he looked down at his Betadine-yellowed skin, to the incision in his body, now skillfully sewn closed.
He poked it a little, but it was still mostly numb, surprisingly. He tried to move his arm, but the injured muscles underneath it protested. He lightly rubbed a finger around the wound, but didn't dare touch it. Several minutes passed as he observed the injury, and all he could manage was a half-hearted, "Hmph. What do you think of that."