Comeuppance

Comeuppance, Part 3

I sincerely apologize for my error; this is chapter 3. The previous submission was an early draft of chapter 4! Yeah, I have no idea how I mislabeled it, but I hope I won't make that mistake again. See if this makes more sense.

Jack pushed his rifle into the hole and slithered through, moving debris until he could make a place to kneel and then stand inside the room. The wooden bedstead, box springs, and mattress had been obliterated by the impact and explosion, and pieces were scattered all around the room. Other furniture - the chest of drawers, dresser, and chairs - had also been tossed about, and the ceiling fan / light were lying atop a pile of wood and smoldering mattress.

As bad as it looked, Jack realized the wall covering had done a good job of containing the grenade blast. Had the grenade encountered only the concrete block wall, he was certain the wall would have been gone, and possibly the inside wall too.

He looked left: Carl was lying midway to the inside wall with blood running out of his exposed ear. Jack could see his chest moving; he appeared to be alive but unconscious. He considered checking his pulse, but dreaded moving the unstable rubble between them for fear of toppling the dresser that was leaning precariously toward Carl. He saw dust in the air moving away from his head, confirming that he was breathing, so Jack looked to his right.

The debris was worse on that side, and he couldn't see more of April's body than the jeans covering her lower legs and her colorful athletic shoes. As carefully as possible, he worked his way to her position, and began cautiously removing pieces of wood and concrete covering her upper body. She made no sound or movement as the rubbish was removed.

Jack removed a chunk of the headboard that was atop other debris covering her body, and discovered a 2' x 3' chunk of the concrete and block wall was lying on her upper back and neck. He made a foothold for his left foot, straddled her body, and lifted the chunk off of her. He knelt to her right, gingerly removed some small debris, and checked her neck for a pulse.

He heard cussing and people trying to push the door inward, which began moving the wreckage and threatened to topple the tall chest of drawers on top of Carl. "DON'T!" he screamed. "Shit's going to fall on top of Carl! Let me see if April's alive, and I'll come move that stuff so you can get in!"

Whoever it was stopped, and he heard his sister's panicked voice. "Is she all right?"

"Be quiet and still for one minute and let me find out!" he yelled back.

At first he couldn't find a pulse, but his trembling fingers seemed to discern a light movement, and dropping some of the fine dust from the floor in front of her mouth and nose discerned a light breath.

"I think she's alive," Jack yelled, "but she was trapped under wood and concrete! She needs medical care right now!"

He moved away from April to Carl's side, and began moving pieces of rubbish until he created two spots for his feet near the heavy chest of drawers. He got both hands under the left edge, heaved, and toppled the chest away from Carl. It made the pile in front of the door larger, so he began tossing wreckage into the middle of the room, between the two bodies. He started when he heard someone behind him, and, turning, saw an EMT beginning to stand up, with a second sliding through the hole.

"Jack, are you alright?" Janice yelled through the door.

"Yes," he replied.

"No," corrected one of the EMTs. "He's bleeding in at least two areas!"

"I'm fine," Jack argued. "Are you okay? Is everyone else okay?"

A number of 'yes' answers were immediately heard, and only seconds later he had moved enough of the pile to allow the door to be opened halfway.

"Clear a pathway so they can bring the stretchers; we need to immobilize and transport the woman STAT!" the paramedic yelled. Stretchers were already in the hallway, waiting for an opening, so Rene, Elias, and Danny pushed their way into the bedroom and began assisting Jack.

After a moment, Danny said, "Damn, Dude, you're getting blood all over everything! We've got this - there are more paramedics and nurses waiting in the living room - go get yourself checked!"

Jack took another look at Carl, who was being tended to by two EMTs, and then at April, who was being hovered over by two men working feverishly to immobilize her neck and back, while giving her oxygen. He knew he was getting weaker and seven men was too many in the confined space, so he picked up his (illegal) weapon and slipped around them into the hall.

Janice was in the living room surrounded by paramedics asking questions, so he turned left and snuck down the hall to the basement door. He opened it biometrically, went inside, shut the door, and made his way down the stairs.

"Alfred, you did a great job but I still need your help. Give me your pistol, put my carbine in the armory, then close and hide the tunnel and armory doors! I'll be back soon, but if anyone asks, you haven't seen me."

"Boss, you're bleeding bad. You need to go get help!"

"I will, but first I need to do something. Ten minutes, tops! I'll be fine for that long."

Jack slipped into the tunnel and hurried out of sight; he head the door shut and knew the walls were sliding together behind him. He'd have to return around the house, but he needed a moment with the cabrón he leg shot before law enforcement found him.

He was out of the tunnel and working his way through the heavy brush to the north, looking for the gangster while staying out of sight of the LEOs congregated on the south lawn, where the remaining prisoners were held and the dead were being aggregated. Two helicopters were sitting on the front lawn with their blades lazily spinning, which meant they weren't in the air to see him.

It took less than six minutes to find the unconscious gangster in the brush, bind his hands and mouth with duct tape, and drag him back to the tunnel. When he rolled down the short staircase and thudded to a stop on the rock and dirt floor, he awoke, crying with pain. The door closed above him, making it pitch black. Jack produced a flashlight, rifled through his pockets, found his billfold, and checked his identification.

He shone the light directly into his prisoner's eyes. "You're bleeding pretty badly from the leg wounds, Louie, so you don't have much time if you want to live. I only have one question, and it's an easy one: who sent you? Answer my question honestly, and I'll take you to the medics. But you'll only get five chances to answer honestly," the voice from the darkness warned.

"Of course, there will be a penalty each time you don't answer honestly - the penalty is, you forfeit a joint. Your left shoulder will be first, followed by your right. Then it will be your left knee, followed by your right.

"If you still haven't told me who sent you, the fifth bullet will go in at the base of your jawbone under your right ear, destroying your jawbone and brain before exiting into the floor. Then I'll haul you back outside and let the coyotes and wild hogs feast on your remains."

Jack pulled the tape off his mouth. "Do you understand me?"

The surly reply came right away, "Yuh, I hears ya, but I don't know nothin'. I'm just hired help."

"Maybe, but it's worth five bullets to make sure you aren't lying, so here we go: who sent you to kill me?"

"Man, I told ya, I don't know! Turn some light on so..."

A red beam made a dot on his left shoulder, he heard the spit of a silenced bullet, and was overcome with pain. He screamed and grabbed his left shoulder with his right hand, trying to tell how bad the wound was. He felt the flow of red blood, and screamed again.

"You bastard! I'm gonna..." He felt a sharp pain in his ribs from a boot and lost his breath.

"I'm gonna tell you what ya wanna know, or my right shoulder is going to explode! Is that what you were going to say, Louie? By the way, don't bother screaming; nothing can be heard on the surface from down here.

"Also by the way, you can quit playing the dumb gangster; I already know that you're one of the top street bosses in the organization. Now, it's jeopardy time again: who sent you?"

He searched his mind for a way to avoid answering, but when the red dot appeared on his right shoulder, he broke. "Okay! If I tell you, you'll take me to the medics, right? Promise me that, if I tell you, you won't kill me anyway!"

"Yeah, I'll promise that. But I'll also promise that you will never leave the local jail alive if you lie to me. We clear?"

"Yes, I understand."

He told Jack the name of the man who contracted for the hit and the name of the Capo they worked under. When he finished, Jack told him, "Until I tell you it's okay, you aren't going to tell anyone else the name of the man who ordered the hit. Offer up your boss and his bosses - that will get you the deal you want and witness protection. If not, dangle the other name for a month before you give it up.

"Do we have a deal?"

They did, so Jack drug him back up the stairs, one step at time, nearly collapsing with exhaustion by the time they were laying in the dirt away from the door. He caught his breath, stood up, and staggered back to the house. The sheriff saw him come in the back door, catch his balance on the wall, and start staggering down the hallway.

"Hey! I need a medic! Jack's hurt bad!"

He grabbed and steadied his friend, and heard Jack say there was a wounded gangster back in the brush line behind the house. Rene yelled for Danny and sent him out back.

"Rene, a bunch of them ran northwest toward the river earlier. Ya gotta find 'em!" Jack spit out, just before collapsing.

He was quickly examined, and then transported by helicopter to a hospital in San Antonio, with an unconscious Carl, but neither knew anything about it. Jack's wounds were serious but not life threatening; it was the amount of blood he had lost that almost killed him, and only the pints he received on the chopper allowed him to make it to the hospital for treatment.

Carl had a severe concussion, swelling on his brain, and a busted eardrum, all from the grenade explosion. They were placed in a semi-private room together.

When Jack awoke, it was so dark he assumed it was midnight, not, as the digital clock proclaimed, three in the afternoon. His nurse informed him of Carl's concussion, and of the urgency that he recovers in a dark, quiet place. After checking his vitals, she told Jack he needed to rest too, because of the excessive blood loss, and then injected something into his IV that put him right back to sleep.

The next time he awoke, a nurse was in their room, checking Carl's monitors. She saw he was awake, and gestured for him to be quiet, but then brought him a tray of food and a small lamp. He ate in silence, with a million questions running through his mind. The med-tech who took his tray knew the answer to none, and the nurse's response to his questions was "Shhhh!" and another injection.

The third time he awoke he was in a sunny room by himself, which startled him. He found the red button and waited for someone to respond. It took a while, but this time the nurse was accompanied by a doctor. They said hello, whispered to each other as if he weren't in the room, and then the doctor leaned over his bed.

"I'm doctor Kumar, Mr. Armstrong. I'm sure you have a million questions, but first, let's see how you're recovering."

Jack found the accent hard to follow, but he certainly understood "Tell me when this hurts." The doctor pulled his gown up, inspected, prodded, and probed, drawing several gasps from Jack and nods from the doctor.

He stopped, pulled the gown down and the sheet over his patient, and proceeded. "The gunshot wounds are healing, but you lost a lot of blood - perhaps more than three pints, which is enough to kill a person. I've been told the story of your heroism, but you need to understand that your actions almost killed you, and certainly aggravated the wounds. The bullets passed through muscle and tissue, including nerves, that need time to regenerate, and your body will need time to replace the plasma and red blood cells you lost.

"And that, Mr. Jack Armstrong, means you need rest! Bed rest for a few more days, then a few days of sitting up and maybe walking part of the day, and then we'll see.

"Now, do you have any questions for me?"

"How are Carl and April, the man and woman who came in when I did?" He managed, although it was more croaking than speaking.

Kumar replied, "Mr. Carl Lee was transferred to BAMC at Fort Sam Houston for treatment of a severe concussion and a ruptured ear drum. They are better equipped to help with the kind of 'war wound' he suffered. Our doctors were keeping him in a medically induced coma to let his brain heal, but I don't know more."

Jack did not want to ask the next question, but he had to know. "What about April...uh...Armstrong?"

He consulted his iPad. "She's not in our records, but Suzanne will check area hospitals for you, if you'd like." He took his iPad and hurried down the hall.

Jack turned to Suzanne and said, "Please?"

She smiled, "Is she your wife, Mr. Armstrong"

Jack sighed. "Yes, but we're estranged. She was badly injured in the same fight I got shot in. Part of a wall and other heavy things fell on top of her. It's a long story, but I'd like to know her condition if you can find her."

"If her injuries were that grievous I'm sure they took her to University Hospital or to BAMC. They both have Level 1 Trauma Centers. I'll confirm and let you know."

****

Three days later, Jack was wheeled to the waiting Uber. He slowly worked his way inside the car, which wore him out, and was delivered to BAMC at Fort Sam Houston a half hour later. After he and the driver were questioned and all their identification was thoroughly reviewed by the armed guards at the gate, Jack was delivered to the proper building.

He then learned that getting out of a car with a wound in one thigh and another on the opposite side of the abdomen was a tiring as getting in. Add in a bit of vertigo with intermittent nausea, and by the time he made it to the doors he knew he should have stayed another day, or at least accepted the wheelchair they offered to send with him. 'It's too late now,' he told himself, as he slowly made his way toward the distant information desk, using the wall for support.

Everyone he saw was in uniform except the medical personnel, and their badges showed their rank as well as their position. He made it to the desk, leaned on the counter, and asked for Carl Armstrong's room.

Perhaps it was the weaving walk from the wall to the desk, or the swaying from side to side while he stood, or even the cold sweat that suddenly developed on his forehead, but someone brought him a nice wheelchair to sit in. A bottle of cold water was placed in his hand, and he was offered a package of peanut butter cookies. He sipped the water and ate pieces of the cookie, under the watchful eyes of a very large young man in scrubs and a woman wearing the uniform of a naval officer.

When the proper rotation of the planet was again achieved, they took turns grilling him. They were pleasant but relentless, and he foolishly told them more than he should have. It was probably the pain medication that made him such a chatterbox, he decided, but after they heard the story, he was ordered to stay in the chair and the very large young, man named Jonah, was assigned to push him around and take care of him.

Jack was surprised to see Janice in the waiting room of the Concussion and Traumatic Brain Injury Unit, and she was surprised to see him. "Jack?" "Janice?" they exclaimed at the same time. "What are you doing here?" she managed before he could ask the same question. "Came to see Carl - why are you here?"

"They won't let me near April, and they told me you weren't allowed visitors, so I check each day to see if anything's changed, and then go sit in the waiting room of whoever's turn it is. I'm staying in a hotel nearer the medical center because there were two of you there. Have you been discharged early? They told me it would be three more days."

"Yes, although reluctantly. I think they decided my chances of healing were just as good outside, and they wouldn't have to listen to me bitch all day," Jack replied with a small chuckle, and then grew somber. "Has there been any change with either of them?"

"Until today, they've had Carl in a medically induced coma to let the swelling in his brain subside. They began tapering the meds off, but they didn't expect him to respond yet, and he hasn't. Want me to ask if they will let us into his room?"

Carl was still in the dark, but there was a small night light behind his bed. Jonah rolled Jack to Carl's bedside, preceded by a nurse and Janice. The nurse put her hand on their cousin's shoulder. "Mr. Armstrong, are you awake?"

There was no reply, so she turned to his visitors and restated that they could stay, but must speak quietly and not turn on any lights. They agreed, and each whispered greetings to Carl, which went unacknowledged. Janice said, "Let me go to the other side, even though that's his bad ear, and let's tell stories about growing up together! Maybe that will jar him awake!"

They told story after story, getting a tiny bit loud from time to time, but it was Jonah that got them kicked out, even though he was a member of the hospital staff. Janice quietly told a hilarious story about the consequences of the new, shorter path Carl cut to the swimming hole with his machete - through the poison oak! Jonah's guffaw followed her description of his legs, crotch, ass and underarms two days later.

Maybe it was inadvertent, maybe it was an unconscious reaction to the loud laughter, or maybe he imagined it, but Jack was willing to swear he saw a twisted grin on Carl's face for a few seconds. The nurse was unimpressed, and ordered them off the floor, but Janice did see a blip of brain activity on the monitor before they were herded away.

Jonah accompanied them back to the ground floor, with the three laughing and joking about getting kicked out of the hospital - especially with Jonah being on duty! The elevator lurched downward, and Janice asked what Jack had planned. He told her he wanted to see April, so was going to call an Uber.

She shook her head. "No, I have your pickup here, so I'll take you wherever you want to go, but I can tell you right now we won't get in. They already told me not before tomorrow, at the earliest."

"You have my pickup?" he asked with an upturned eyebrow.

"I didn't think you'd need it, and I'm still on the insurance, so they issued me a parking pass, which is really hard to get here. I did have to flirt a little about my DC license, but the sweet young airman relented.

"Jonah, can you come with us? I might need your help getting him into the pickup."

"Yes, Mam, but first I'm getting him a couple of canes, or as we call them back home, walking sticks. Probably needs a chair too, but he's too prideful for that. After he faceplants a few times though, he'll use the walking sticks!"

When Jack was securely in the truck, Janice turned to him. "Okay, Brother, we can go through that bunch of BS about you disowning me, yada, yada, yada, but things have changed, and in the end it still comes down to this - I have your pickup and a very nice room with two queen beds. You can't walk, much less drive, and you have no place to stay. Sooo, you're going to have to swallow all that anger and pride for a couple of days, and stay with me. I'll help you get around, I'll take us places, I'll even help you buy some clothes and shoes, 'cause that stuff they gave you from Lost and Found is pretty awful!"

He wasn't happy about this option, but he didn't have another. The world he woke up in this morning was a very different world than the one he went to sleep in a week ago, before the gunfight. He still felt disgusted, disrespected, and resentful, but it's harder to hate people who insert themselves in a battle you can't win by yourself, and even harder to be angry toward someone who sacrificed her body, and possibly her life, for yours.