Contagious Page 37

Yeah, that was more accurate.

“Clarence, leave us alone.”

His head whipped around, looking from Perry to her.

“Are you crazy? He’s down, he’s not dead.”

“I know.”

“He could snap at any second, Margo,” Clarence said. “I’m staying right here.”

She took his hand and led him out of the room, then pulled his head down so she could whisper in his ear.

“Honey, I know you want to protect me, but he’s not going to hurt me.”

“He’s a killer, Margaret,” Clarence whispered back.

“You’re going to have to trust my judgment,” she said. “I’ve taken care of him for five weeks, and I’m telling you he’s not going to hurt me.”

“Fine, then I’ll stay to watch and see how wrong I am.”

“He just got the c.r.a.p kicked out of him,” Margaret said. “I’m not a guy, but I think that makes you guys feel a little ashamed? Am I right?”

Clarence stared at her, then nodded.

“So maybe having a woman in there, instead of another man, won’t be as bad, because he won’t think I’ll be wondering if I can beat him up, too?”

“Well, that’s not exactly how I’d think of it,” he said. “But yeah, I’d be embarra.s.sed if there was another guy watching me get st.i.tched up. A non-doctor guy, of course. Doctors aren’t embarra.s.sing in a situation like this.”

“Guy logic?”

“Guy logic,” he said. “Listen, can’t we at least get Amos to take care of him?”

She smiled at him. “If you can talk Amos Braun into being in a room alone with Perry Dawsey, I’ll give you twenty bucks.”

“I’m not taking that bet.”

“Clarence, I’m a professional. I love the fact that you want to protect me, but this conversation is over, okay? Stand out here if you’re worried.

If he tries anything, I’ll scream for help.”

“That only works if you can make a noise before he breaks your neck.”

She sighed, then slapped him once on the chest and walked into Room 207. She shut the door behind her.

“Perry? It’s Margaret.”

He opened his right eye. His left was swollen shut.

“Hey,” he said.

“I’m going to fix you up, okay?”

“Just leave me be.”

“No can do. I’m a doctor. You’re bleeding. That’s the math.”

Perry looked at her with his one good eye, then slowly sat up. He scooted until he rested his back against the wall.

“Fine,” he said. “Just till you stop the bleeding.”

She knelt and opened the first-aid kit. She pressed gauze bandages against the cut on top of his head. “Hold that there, please.”

Perry did.

She put another one on the forehead cut. Blood instantly soaked it.

“Okay, Perry. Tell me what hurts.”

“My ego. I just got my a.s.s kicked by the poster boy for the AARP.”

“Maybe you’re lucky,” Margaret said.

“Well, buy me a f.u.c.king Lotto ticket. How do you figure I’m lucky?”

“Dew’s told me a couple of stories over the past three months. He’s killed a lot of people, Perry. I know you’re big and strong and athletic. You know how to fight —Dew Phillips knows how to kill or be killed.”

“Ha,” Perry said. “He didn’t do either. Does that mean I won?”

Margaret laughed. “See? You’re cracking jokes. You can’t be hurt that bad.”

“Guess again.”

She tossed the b.l.o.o.d.y gauze aside, then poured some peroxide on the cut.

“Does that hurt?” she asked.

“Compared to getting hit with a table leg? Might as well be a sensual ma.s.sage.”

“Good, then just think of this part as your happy ending.”

She proceeded to st.i.tch up his cuts. Six st.i.tches on the forehead, five on the top of the head, and three more on his lip.

“How bad is the eye?” Perry said. “Is it ruined?”

She pulled open his upper and lower eyelids and flicked a penlight at the pupil. The eye was already filled with blood, but the pupil contracted with each flash.

“You’re going to have a h.e.l.l of a s.h.i.+ner, but I think you’ll be okay.”

She made him take off his s.h.i.+rt. Her eyes lingered on the gnarled, fist-size scar on his right collarbone, then inadvertently flicked to the similar one on his left forearm. She’d treated him for weeks and knew of his other horrible scars: on his left thigh, the center of his back and his right gluteus, along with a smaller one on his left s.h.i.+n.

Margaret checked his ribs and found they weren’t broken. He refused to remove his pants, so she had to take his word for it that the thigh was okay. She finished by checking his knee, sliding up the pant leg and using her fingertips to probe the area. It was swollen, but she didn’t feel anything broken, so she dug her fingers in a little deeper to check for ligament damage.

“Does it hurt when I do this?”

“Yes,” Perry said.

“Describe the pain.”

“Is G.o.dd.a.m.n near excruciating a standard medical term?”

She stopped. “If I was hurting you that bad, why didn’t you say something?”

He shrugged. “Me and pain go way back.”

“Well, you and your old buddy pain are going to be spending some quality time together while you heal up from this. Can you make it back to your room?”

Perry struggled to his feet. Margaret tried to a.s.sist, but he was so heavy she felt like a little girl pretending to help rather than making any actual difference. She found a bottle of ibuprofen in the first-aid kit.

“Take four of these and just go to sleep, okay? I’ll come and check on you later.”

He took the bottle and hobbled to the door. He opened it, then turned back.

“Tell Dew I need to see him,” Perry said. “Tell him it’s important, and that . . . and that I won’t give him any more trouble.”

“Can it wait until tomorrow morning? I want you asleep.”