The Guilty - Jason Pinter [73]
waiting room who'd find you just hilarious."
But Curt was right. Amanda had come home to try and
make things right, only to find me passed out on the floor, my
hand flayed open, blood everywhere. I couldn't bear to think
what it must have felt like for her to see me like that. Because
I knew how I would feel if the tables were turned.
"Where is Amanda?" I asked. "Curt, is she here? Excuse
me, Nurse? Are you sure you can't give me any more novocaine? I think it's wearing off." The look the nurse gave me
confirmed that if she gave me any more novocaine I wouldn't
feel anything for a long time. She kept on sewing.
"Amanda's waiting outside," Curt said. "Girl's all broken
up, crying like she sprung a leak. Docs asked her to wait
outside while they finished upholstering you."
"Christ," I muttered. There was a dull throbbing in my
head, and my hand was stiff as a plank of wood. I watched as
the stitches were sewn in, knowing they would undoubtedly
leave one hell of an ugly scar.
"In the meantime," Curt said, "we have a security escort
looking after Agnes Trimble. Our guy would have to be crazy
or stupid to go after her now."
"He's definitely crazy," I said, "but not stupid. And he's
not going to touch her. That was just a threat. He's killing
people for a reason, and that doesn't involve spite."
The Guilty
215
"Nothing more dangerous in this world than a fool with a
cause."
Prior to being loaded with painkiller, I'd managed to give a
sketch artist the best description I could of my assailant. Of
course, due to my being knocked silly and his bandanna, it
could have been any tan young white guy in New York City.
The nurse began laying strips of adhesive tape over the
sutures. I watched with detached curiosity, like it was somebody else's hand being sewn up. From the corner of my eye I
saw Curt playing with a spool of stitching. He was threading
it between his hands and wrapping it around his fingers.
"Those are absorbable stitches," the nurse said to Sheffield.
"What's that mean?"
"They're made from specially prepared beef and sheep
intestine."
Curt smiled and gently placed the spool back on the table.
Once the nurse finished taping me up, she said, "Keep it
dry and clean for twenty-four hours. You can bathe again in
forty-eight hours, unless the wounds begin to bleed or you
notice a discharge leaking through the adhesive. The tape
should fall off on its own in about five days. You need to come
back in ten days to have the sutures removed, unless you break
a stitch during that time. But try not to. You also have a grade
one concussion. You'll have a bad headache for a few days,
but nothing that some extra-strength Tylenol shouldn't help.
If you still feel dizzy or disoriented after a week, or you find
you can't remember certain things, come back immediately."
Sheffield looked concerned. "Gonna be awful hard to type
with all that junk in your hand. Not to mention your brain
floating around in your head." The nurse shot him a look.
"I think that was the idea," I said. "Make my job a little
harder."
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Jason Pinter
"I heard they've made some really good advances in voice
recognition software," Curt added. "Or maybe you can hire
a helper monkey or something."
"I think I'll manage." The nurse gave me a gentle pat on the
arm to let me know she was finished. I stood up tentatively.
My equilibrium was still off, and I had to lean on Curt for
support. "You think this kind of thing ever happened to
Woodward?"
"Not unless Bernstein got frisky with a tire iron. Besides,
shadowy parking lots are much safer than the gutters you go
digging in. But, hey, Amanda's waiting for you outside," he
said. "I swear, that girl gains Hulk-like strength when she
needs it. They practically had to handcuff her to the bench to
keep her in the waiting room."
"I don't know if I can see her," I said. "Not like this."
"Shut the hell up," Curt snapped. "You still have your hand
'cause of that girl. That shit happened to me I'd be writing
parking tickets with