Chapter 52 – Short straw
While Victoria hid Zorro's clothes, Doctor Hernández had a good look at the stabbing wound in his back. It was on the right side, under the shoulder blade, and it looked deep enough to penetrate into the lung, probably piercing it, but it wasn't bleeding much now. The same as it had happened to Don Luis, the edges of the wound had acquired an unhealthy looking, dark tinge. But Diego was still breathing regularly, despite the stabbing injury, and his heart rate, although slower than usual, was still regular. Don Luis had died really quickly, but Diego seemed to be holding on, whatever the unknown poison was.
"Do you need to use the bellows to help him breath?" Esteban asked. "I have to say, that was a very unpleasant experience."
"No. The symptoms are different. You became paralyzed, and none of your muscles could work for a few hours, and your heart was going so slow it could have stopped at any point. He is still breathing fine, although he is totally unresponsive. As long as he carries on like that, and he doesn't develop any other symptoms, he'll stand a chance. I think the amount of poison left on that blade may not be enough to kill a man his size. Or that's what I hope, anyway. We'll see. So far, so good."
"I guess this is the gunshot wound that got burnt," Esteban said, pointing at the oozing, small, but angry-looking open wound in his abdomen. "That looks really sore."
"Yes. It never healed properly. It's giving him trouble all the time. I think I may try to fix it while he is unconscious, to spare him the pain to do it live."
"And what's that?" Esteban said, pointing at another fresh wound in his arm, already trying to heal. Besides those, he had a handful of old scars all over his body, and he had to wonder how Diego had been able to nurse all those injuries while pretending to live a normal, careless life. How did he do it?
"I don't know. Bullet graze? But he didn't get that one today. I would say he got it at least two days ago."
"I have a similar one in my arm. And yes, it was a bullet graze I got two days ago, in San Pedro. I wonder how he got his. Probably from the same men. Yes, because if Zorro captured the robbers that same day, Diego must have ridden back there while he pretended to be resting in his room at midday when we returned from the port. Wow. When does he ever have a break?"
"Never."
While Esteban mulled over that statement, remembering how Diego had punched his face without warning that day, beginning to fully understand his cousin's frustration with him and with life in general, the doctor cleaned the stabbing wound and applied a dressing. Then he hesitated for a moment.
"We don't have a gown for him. He'll have to do without."
Right then, the alcalde banged at the tavern's door.
"Señorita Escalante, open the door!"
"Oh, shit. Not now!" Esteban said, looking at the window, which now had the shutters open to let the early morning light in. He could see a bunch of soldiers and the alcalde waiting by the front door. He dashed to the bedroom door then, and from the upper floor he could see Victoria hesitating at the hall.
"Open the door!" the alcalde roared again.
Victoria looked up at him, and he could read the question in her soundless lips: "What should I do?"
"Open it, but stall a little bit first," he said, returning to the bedroom. "Quick, doctor, let's hide Diego under the bed. The alcalde is either looking for Zorro or for me, or both. We can't let him see my cousin injured, or he'll make the connection easily, because Diego is not even supposed to be in Los Angeles."
Together, they slid Diego off the edge and dropped him on the floor, pushing him under the bed, arranging then the sheets and the quilt so they would hang over the edges, covering him, totally out of sight. In the meantime, they heard Victoria fibbing about a lost key.
"I have a plan," Esteban said while taking off his shirt quickly, displaying the large dressing supporting his ribs. When he sat down at the edge of the bed to remove his boots, he cried in pain while bending to reach them. "Shit. Please, help me with the boots, doctor. I can't reach them. My broken ribs are killing me."
"What is your plan?" the doctor said while removing them.
"Let's pretend the dagger hit me, not Zorro, and you are treating me. I'll try to be as still as possible. Have you got a blade? One not poisoned, please."
"Yes, one second," the doctor said, looking in his bag.
By then, she had opened the front door, and they could hear the alcalde shouting abuse at Victoria, who insisted they could not go upstairs for safety reasons, explaining how she had burned her dress with an oil lamp while tripping on the debris.
"Hurry up!" Esteban said.
"I got it. What do you want a knife for?" the doctor asked, handing out the blade.
"For that," Esteban said, hissing while cutting over the small wound in his left arm to make it bleed again. "Tell him you found me unconscious with only this wound, and that dagger by my side. Be creative," he said, handing the knife back. They could hear the stomping boots of the soldiers going upstairs then. While the doctor wiped that knife's blade clean and put it back in the medical bag, Esteban lied in bed and covered the lower half of his body with the blanket, leaving the left hand resting on the dressing over his ribs, and the other one hanging over the edge of the bed. The very moment he closed his eyes and lay still, the alcalde stormed into the room, followed by some soldiers and Victoria, who kept quiet when she saw Esteban in bed instead of Diego, not knowing what the new plot was.
"Ah! Here he is!" Ramón shouted, walking to the bed. "Get up!"
"Alcalde, what are you doing here?" the doctor said, getting on the way.
"Arresting this man for the murder in cold blood of Carlos Berlanga. Get out of my way, Doctor, for your own good. Esteban de la Vega, get up from that bed!"
"He can't!" doctor Hernández said. "Can't you see he is unconscious? I found him like that at the plaza, with only this small wound in his arm," he said, pointing at it, applying the same blood-stained cloth he had just used to wipe the knife with. "It's small, but it keeps bleeding and I can't stop it."
"Did you find a knife by his side?"
"Yes, that one," he said, pointing at the dagger on the side table.
"Alcalde! I think that's the poisoned knife that killed Don Luis!" Mendoza said, recognizing the distinctive handle.
"Yes, that's what I thought," the doctor said, taking it carefully to offer the blade for inspection.
"Get that thing away from me!" Ramón shouted, as the doctor was waving the blade too close to his face for comfort.
"How did that dagger find its way to Don Esteban?" Mendoza asked. "Did you keep it?"
"I kept it as evidence, yes. It was in my office, in a drawer. Those men from Spain must have taken it, not knowing it was poisoned," the alcalde said, dodging any responsibility, although he was thrilled with the unexpected outcome, because he was aiming for Zorro, not Esteban. "So, he is unconscious, ah?" he said, poking Esteban's arm, shaking him a little to make sure he was out. Esteban had to make an effort then to lie still, floppy, and not get up and punch that devious man's nose, or something worse. "Is he going to make it?"
"I don't know. I couldn't do anything for Don Luis, so I don't want to keep a high hope for him."
At that moment, Don Alejandro and Felipe entered the room. As agreed, they had arrived first thing in the morning to transfer Esteban to the hacienda De la Vega.
"How is my nephew? And what's going on in here?" the old don asked, apprehensive when he found the alcalde and the soldiers in the tavern.
"I'm very sorry, Don Alejandro, but your nephew is not going to make it. You have my condolences," he said, tapping the old man's shoulder. "Vamos, lancers. Let's search the rest of the tavern in case Zorro is here, and then we can go."
"What is he talking about?" Don Alejandro said, rushing to Esteban's side. "Doctor, is he saying the truth? Is he dying?"
"I am afraid that's a very strong possibility, yes," the doctor said, as the alcalde was still within earshot.
"No! How can that be?" Don Alejandro said, looking at Esteban more closely. He didn't look very good, with his battered face bruised, a swollen black eye, and that large dressing covering his torso. "Oh, my God! What did they do to him?" he said with tears in his eyes, kneeling by the bed, taking the floppy hand that hung over the edge. "He can't die! His father left me in charge of him only two days ago!"
Esteban had to make a titanic effort not to smile at that remark, and he carried on pretending to be unconscious, feeling sorry for his uncle. Felipe was at a lost, not knowing what to do, and Victoria and the doctor looked at each other, willing to spare the old don from that angst, but they couldn't yet.
"I'm sorry, Don Alejandro," the doctor said, tapping his back gently. Don Alejandro broke down then, sobbing.
"I can't believe this!" he mumbled through the tears. "This cannot be happening!"
"There is no one else in the tavern, mi alcalde. No sign of Zorro," Mendoza said downstairs.
"Come on, lancers. Let's go," the alcalde said, leaving the tavern to go back to his office.
"Make sure they are all gone," the doctor said to Victoria. She went downstairs, and returned after securing the front door again.
"They are gone. We are safe," she said.
"Thank God for that," Esteban said opening his eyes, stirring in bed. "Gosh, playing dead is so difficult! Sorry, Uncle. You won't get rid of me so easily," he added, smiling at the old man, who looked at him as if he had seen a ghost, but the surprised look turned into a stern one really fast.
"You are alright! What's going on in here? What are you all playing at!" Don Alejandro said, not at all pleased with the prank, instantly swapping the sorrow for anger, letting go of Esteban's hand to wipe off his tears, embarrassed, standing up quickly.
"I'm sorry, but you are going to find out really soon. And spare those tears, because you are going to need them for real in a moment. Brace for it," Esteban said, hissing and holding his side when he sat up.
"Where is Diego?" Victoria said.
"Diego? Isn't he in Monterey?" Don Alejandro said, more and more baffled with the situation.
"Under the bed. Help me out."
He stood up from the bed and then kneeled by it in slow motion, and with the help of the doctor and Victoria, they lifted the covers to reach Diego's body, dragging him out from under the bed.
"What's Diego doing there? What's wrong with him?" Don Alejandro said. "And what the fuck is going on?!"
"Who wants to tell him?" Esteban said. Victoria, Doctor Hernández and Felipe looked the other way, avoiding his eyes. "Nobody? Can we play short-straw, please?"
ZZZZZ
AN – Sorry, purists of Don Alejandro's language virtue, but a full-tone "What the F*U*C*K is going on?" is the right thing to say here, under the circumstances. More to come. Now taking bets on who's going to tell him. Take your pick ;)