Chapter 16

"Missing Out on the Action"

"WHERE AM I? AND WHO ARE YOU? SHOULD I KNOW YOU?"

THE TALL DUDE TOWERING OVER MY BED HAD A HUGE GRIN PLASTERED ON HIS FACE. HE WAS FAMILIAR AS ALL HELL. MY CHART WAS IN HIS HANDS, AND HE REGARDED ME WITH ONE OF THOSE HELLISHLY AMUSED LOOKS RESERVED EXCLUSIVELY FOR THE MENTALLY INCOMPETENT. "EASY DOES IT, MY FRIEND. YOU NEED TO LIE STILL. YOU'RE IN THE CLINIC IN HOLETOWN, DR. HOUSE, AND YOU'RE A LITTLE BATTERED UP. I'M HERE TO HELP."

"DON'T CALL ME THAT! I'M NOT HIM ANYMORE. WHERE DO I KNOW YOU FROM?"

*WHAT'S WRONG WITH MY HEAD? WHY CAN'T I REMEMBER? IT'S NOT LIKE ME TO FORGET THIS KIND OF STUFF …*

I DEFINITELY KNEW HIM FROM SOMEWHERE. HE REMINDED ME A LITTLE OF HOOLEY, IF HOOLEY HAD MORE HAIR. THIS GUY'S SKIN WAS LIGHTER AND HE HAD VERY WHITE TEETH AND GOLD FLECKS IN HIS EYES AND HEAVY EYEBROWS AND CURLY BLACK HAIR. HE KEPT SMILING AT ME WITH A LOOK OF SMUG SATISFACTION, AND I WAS CLOSE TO BEING PISSED OFF. HE OBVIOUSLY KNEW MY REAL NAME AND THAT MADE ME UNEASY. HAD HOOLEY SPILLED THE BEANS? I COULDN'T BELIEVE THAT …

I STRUGGLED TO RAISE MYSELF A LITTLE HIGHER IN THE BED TO GET A CLOSER LOOK, BUT THE MYSTERY DUDE LAID A HAND GENTLY ON MY UNDAMAGED SHOULDER AND PRESSED ME BACK WITH LITTLE EFFORT. "YOU MUST RELAX … KYLE … SORRY I CALLED YOU THE OTHER NAME, BUT THAT'S HOW YOU INTRODUCED YOURSELF WHEN WE FIRST MET."

"WE KNOW EACH OTHER? HOW?"

"SIX MONTHS AGO IN SAN JUAN. REMEMBER NOW? I'M ALFONZO RODRIGUEZ, AND I HAVE A SON NAMED …"

*HOLY SHIT!*

"MOSCHA …"

IT ALL CAME BACK IN A FLOOD OF MEMORY. I KNEW I WAS GAPING UP AT HIM, BUT I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF. WAS IT REALLY THAT LONG AGO?

"FONZE?"

His grin told me he was enjoying the hell out of this. "That's right, yes. You really impressed that boy, you know. He never stops talking about you. I don't know what you said to him on that plane, but I have to believe it was a good thing."

"Where is he? Is he here?" I didn't usually get excited about kids, but this one was …

Fonze laughed. "He's around here somewhere … probably with Packy and Amos and some of their friends … your friends too. The two of us came in with Packy last evening, and he told us what's been going on around here. When he told us about you and what you did, Moss knew who you were right away."

"'What I did'? What did I do? Could somebody please fill me in?"

A voice behind me told me Hooley was there, guarding my back as usual. "You are a big hero, Kyle Calloway. You broke the case of the drug runners and the robberies that were taking place on the island. I called Fonzie to tell him the men who threatened him a few years ago were now in custody. The police spoke with him about what happened when he would not transport their drugs."

"I don't get it," I said. "What the hell did I have to do with it?"

"You, old man," Fonze said with a grin, "threw that damn crutch and beaned the bastard on the head; knocked him right into the middle of next week. There are now four idiots in jail in San Juan, thanks to you. The police dug up a fortune in heroin from beneath your fuel tank."

"What? I did that? I thought all I did was fall on my face in the sand and bury my head in a pile of rocks. I threw the crutch so I wouldn't fall on it and knock my eye out."

Fonzie Rodriguez pressed the control at the foot of my bed and raised it slowly until I was eye-level with the two of them. It hurt less than I thought it would.

Taking turns, they told me what happened after I knocked myself out cold behind the cabin.

"Leon and Louie said they heard gunshots, so we got in the dune buggy and came looking for you. We didn't see you or Munoz laying on the sand at first. When we went into the cabin, the radio was on, but you were nowhere around. We found you both in the side yard. Munoz was out like a light with a pistol in the sand beside him, and your crutch a couple feet away. The gun had four shots fired from it, and he had a perfect imprint of your crutch tip on the side of his head. He was just coming around, and by that time Amos and Leon and Louie came running up. They held the gun on Munoz while Hooley and I tended to you."

"Yeah, Mon," Hooley continued, "your face is cut up some. You hurt your ankle, but it's not serious. You strained a muscle in your shoulder and I don't know how, but you twisted your knee, and it's on the bad side. You were fortunate you did not reopen your wound. But you stopped the bad guy with the ferrule of your crutch to the side of his head."

"You nailed him!" Fonz exclaimed. "Both the old men saw it hit."

It hurt like hell to laugh, but I found myself laughing anyway. It was nice to be told that I had done something right, even if I didn't know I'd done it.

They described the arrival of the ambulance, and the crowd of neighbors who assisted in stabilizing me and lifting me onto the stretcher. They told of the gawky little wagon train of vehicles that followed along as I was transported to the Holetown Clinic, about five miles away.

In the ER I was patched up and plunked into a hospital bed. I was injected with enough pain killers to keep me quiet for the rest of the night and into the morning.

So I languished there, blissfully unaware of everything while the local radio and TV stations pronounced Dr. Kyle Calloway a local hero …

… and I wondered briefly if the news would eventually make its way to the USA and to the ears of James Evan Wilson. Maybe. Maybe not. Probably not …

I looked from one of them to the other in disbelief. "This is the craziest damn thing I ever heard of … and what are the odds that you and Moscha would end up here, and you guys and Hooley already knew each other?"

They smiled again, glancing at one another. "You gonna tell him?" Fonze asked. "Or should I?"

"You," said Hooley.

"We are brothers-in-law. My wife and Hooley were brother and sister, you see. Until yesterday neither of us knew we had a common bond with you. Moss and I rode in the ambulance with you when they brought you to the clinic, and we learned that you are renting the 'Magic Cabin'. After that, we all put two-and-two together … and here we are. Now it's all over Barbados that you conked one of the drug bosses on the head … and they're all in jail."

I had nothing to say for a moment. At last: "Well, dammit, I'd like to see one of you jokers take out an armed drug dealer … and do it while you're unconscious." I stuck my finger in my mouth and then into the air. Then I blew on it. "Actually, I thought he got away."

I watched them remove my leg from traction, my ankle from the brace, and release my arm from the straps that held it to my body. I was still wearing an oxygen canola and a pulse ox, both of which I pulled off myself. Fortunately there was little pain, so I assumed I'd been stabbed in the butt once again with something potent. "Would somebody please help me out of this bed? I would really like to get the hell out of here," I said crossly.

I saw them exchange wary looks, followed by sarcastic grins. There was not a snowball's chance in hell that I would be able to walk, not yet, even with crutches or arm canes.

"Wheelchair or nothing," I heard Hooley grumble. "Your shoulder isn't supported and neither is your foot. You can't walk, Mon …"

*No shit!*

I nodded once in disgust.

They helped me from the bed to a lightweight wheelchair, and I rolled to the bath to relieve myself. My shoulder protested stridently, and I looked up to find that they had followed me. I couldn't even take a leak in private.

They propped me up while I whizzed; both men studying something damned interesting on the ceiling.

Back beside the bed, I was assisted in changing to sweats and a pair of soft-sole moccasins.

At that moment Amos walked into the room holding something behind his back. Wordlessly he held it out to me and I stared. Hard. I had not seen my cane for weeks. Not since before the storm.

*NOW they find it!*

I laughed at the irony. "Where was it?" I asked as I took it from him and examined the damaged wood.

"It was behind the bushes at the edge of the porch. The wind must have blown it under there. As you can see, it's pretty well beat up. One of the cops found it when he was searching the yard."

I nodded. "Thanks …"

"You're welcome," he said. "You looked pretty banged up. Fortunately most of it was dirt and sand and grit. All of your neighbors were pretty worried …"

I was puzzled. Again. "Those people don't know me … except for the nights I made an ass of myself at your place. Why would they care what happened up at the cabin? They took a big chance going up there. Some of them could have been shot."

"Yeah … well, you know how crowds like to follow the excitement. They found out you provided drinks and sandwiches when they cleaned up the downed tree from your yard. They know you've bought them drinks at the bar. They liked that you never bragged about it."

"You weren't supposed to tell."

"Anhhh … you know how it is. Your fan club came back this morning to see how you are."

"Really?"

"Uh huh. You want to see them?"

"Oh God no! Tell 'em to go-the-hell home. I'm fine."

Fonz laughed. "Oh good … I'll send 'em in."

Before I could yell at him, he was out the door.

Not only had I not known I had a 'fan club', I now suspected they would all want to hear the war stories.

My 'fan club' consisted of Amos and two of the women on his staff; one of whom turned out to be his wife. Leon and Louie Freemantle, the two old guys from the bar, and their wives; late of St. Louis and now residents of Barbados; and Packy, the island-jumper pilot. I looked up at them and they, down at me. They seemed pleased to see me in one piece. All smiles and roses.

I sighed, knowing they expected me to say something.

I searched through my bag of smart-ass remarks, but it turned up sadly lacking. I really didn't want to insult these people. They actually thought I had offered myself up in an unselfish act. No one had told them different.

Suddenly it was all academic. A small body hurled itself from behind the adults as Moscha dropped to his knees and slid the rest of the way to my side on the polished floor. My mouth hung open and my grin was the widest I could remember. I knew it spoke volumes about my state of mind. I didn't care.

"Hi Kyle Calloway. I'm really glad you're all right!" (Somebody had filled the kid in. He did not call me 'Greg'.)

"Moscha …"

I was actually glad to see him. His black, curly, fish-line hair was a little longer, and he was even looking a bit taller. Maybe because I was sitting in a wheelchair and he was now standing up. His delight at seeing me in one piece was obvious. He was all smiles, and it made me feel weird. And pleased. He was the one person who never thought I was a jerk. And he was the little guy who did not mind being little. Like he told me, I shouldn't fight being crippled. It was what it was, and I could handle it.

Grinning like the cat that got the canary, he leaned across to me and paused for a moment. Then he bent down and put his arms carefully around my neck for a hug.

A year ago I might have turned beet red and stalked away.

I hesitated a second and then hugged him back with the only arm that still worked.

The room filled with appreciative laughter.

"So when can we get him out of here?" Moscha demanded. "This place is for sick people."

I almost wanted to kiss him …

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