-Victor's POV-
Victor gasped. That cursed oxygen mask! Probably wasn't working well. Now he would have to call that idiota nurse to fix it, and she would take at least an hour. When she did that, he almost thought she wanted him to die early. Useless woman.
And those pigeons! Earlier, he had found them vaguely tolerable. Now, he found them a menace. Tap-tap-tapping away at the window all day, purring and cooing repetitively... were hospital windows haunted by pigeons or something? Evidently, his was.
Ah, Victor, this lung cancer seems to also have affected your temper, he thought. And what a cursed thing this cancer was! Like Ida- it was she who had given him his first cigarette. Abominable woman. He couldn't fathom how his and her relationship had even lasted three years. How insufferable she had become at the end of it- not the Ida he had met that winter night at all. Now she spent all her time traveling and working for that silly magazine of hers... what was it, now? Ah, yes, The True Photographer. And such a silly name too! And he had helped her start it- he had funded all that printing and advertising and everything she had asked for... not that money was a problem for her! Oh no, Madam just wanted to drain him of all his money and sit around and not spend a single lira of her own. Hmph! It was just as well that he hadn't even tried to meet her recently. He had even thrown away the white roses she had sent on hearing about his illness.
He missed Paula the tortoise. Her husband had died much, much earlier- he didn't even remember his name anymore. But Paula's memory was still fresh in his mind. She had lived a long, full life, everyone said. Bah! Stupid cliche.
In fact, the only joys in his life were the boys and Hornet. And someone was missing even there- Mosca had joined the US Navy two years ago and was now a busy marine. He almost never visited now, the last time he had was two weeks before Scipio's birthday last year.
Scipio... young, handsome lad. He now had to run the agency on his own. They had talked of closing it, but then they had gotten that murder case- wasn't it a politician's son who died? Yes, it was indeed. Business had boomed right then, but it was doing quite badly right now. Victor wanted to keep it open till he died. There were dramatic plans of burning it down on the day of Victor's funeral, but the neighbor had overheard them and the flowerpots thrown were quite heavy.
Victor smiled at the memory and drifted off to sleep- he had still not called that idiota nurse.