Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [20]
Park raised Liz into a sitting position, lifted her off the bed. She weighed scarily little and it was remarkably easy to move her into her seat.
She stared at him. Or through him, more like. He kissed her forehead. Leaned towards Mrs H, who was still spouting some crazy lingo. "What did you think you were doing?"
"Can't I help her sleep? Sometimes I sing to her. She likes that. But she likes the dark and the quiet better."
Park didn't want to leave Liz in the room alone with the old fuckwit. He took his wife's hand, encouraged her out of the chair, walked her into the corridor. She was happy to go where you led. As long as you moved slowly.
McCracken wasn't in his office. Park bumped into one of the nurses, a new one, didn't know her name, got her to track him down.
He went back to Liz's room, waited patiently. When McCracken arrived, Mrs H introduced herself to everybody again, then Park calmly told him what had happened.
McCracken said, "You don't need to worry about it."
"I don't?"
"Mrs H has a predilection for such antics." He folded his arms. "Don't you, dear?"
Mrs H said, "Achtung."
"What's a fucking 'predilection'?"
"A tendency. But it's never caused any harm, Mr Park."
Park balled his fingers, squeezed. "Is that right?"
"Sure. Mrs H doesn't want to hurt your wife. Correct?"
Mrs H nodded. "Schweinwaffen."
"Was the bag tied at the bottom?" he asked Park.
"No, but Liz could still have died."
"Don't get melodramatic." McCracken unfolded his arms, scratched his upper lip.
"Don't tell me what to do. I demand you move that senile loophead out of here."
"I already explained. That's not possible."
"My wife can't stay here."
"Fine," McCracken said. "Take Mrs Park away."
"That's it?" Park asked him.
"Seems to be."
"You really don't give a shit about her, do you? Wouldn't have mattered to you if she'd suffocated. She's just a vegetable as far as you're concerned. She'd be better off dead, right? That'd free up a bed for you, after all."
McCracken looked at Liz and said, "I can't comment on that."
"I bet." Park swallowed, shook his head. He said, quietly, "Get out of my sight."
McCracken stepped towards the door, paused as if he was about to say something, then walked out of the room.
Park bundled some of Liz's things together. However tight the space at Effie's, Liz wasn't staying here a minute longer.
Park called Effie. Told her what had happened.
"McCracken said she'd be better off dead?" Effie said. "I'll swing for that bastard."
"Don't worry," Park said. "He won't get away with it."
***
PARK LOOKED DOWN at the puddle in the doorway. A long thin strand of pee wove along the pavement.
"Come on, Dad." Grant grabbed his arm. Tugged.
"Where we going?" Park asked.
"Home to our beds."
"Ah, away and rub it." He grinned at him. "You getting some, son?"
"Fuck's wrong with you, Dad?"
Martin took his other arm.
"So," Park said, "this is gay. Where're we really going?"
"The copper was right," Grant said. "You've had enough."
He stopped. His son and future son-in-law, who was all right if a bit poofy, carried on a step, jolted, stopped too. Park said, "Don't want to go home yet." He sounded like a little boy, even to himself.
"So, what do you want to do?"
He thought for a minute.
"Come on," Grant said, tugging his arm again.
"Don't suppose we can go clubbing?" Park said.
"No." That was Grant. Martin shook his head.
Park said, "Not even a baby seal?"
***
HOME. YEP. BRILLIANT. Course, some people wouldn't call it home, cause he didn't have a bed there at Effie's, just a settee. But he'd experienced worse.
Not too long ago his bed was a pile of cardboard and a bunch of newspapers in one of the lanes at the back of Rose Street. Fine when it was dry. But there was nothing more depressing than soggy cardboard. Beat sleeping in cemeteries, though. He'd done that plenty.
Thanks to Yardie. Should never have chucked him out. Park had heard last week that he was back inside, six-monther for possession. Blow. Only enough for a couple of joints. Served