“He’s waking up,” Pyykkonen said.
A nurse came into the room and fiddled with an I.V. drip beside the bed. Service felt like an object. A doctor came in after the nurse. He was young and tan. “How do you feel?”
“Numb,” Service said.
“We give great dope,” the doctor said. “Do you know where you are?”
“Hospital.”
“Right, in Madison. You were transported from Jefferson. Do you remember that?”
“No.”
“You have a severe concussion,” the doctor said. “We put twelve stitches into your upper lip and fifteen into your forehead. Your nose is fractured and we played with getting that straight, but you may need more attention later. You had some gravel lodged in the back of your head, but I think we managed to get all of that. Your right pinkie is fractured and splinted. That should heal fine. It was a clean break. We’re not worrying about an infection, but we are going to keep you here tonight. We are going to be waking you up periodically to make sure your brain doesn’t try to take a vacation. If you need anything, press the button under your left forefinger. Please press it now.”
Service pressed the button.
“Okay, good. I’m sorry we’ll have to wake you up, but it’s for the best. I’m sure you understand.” The doctor left the room.
Service tried to adjust his body position, but couldn’t. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“Wayno?” Pyykkonen said.
“Masonetsky head-butted you. Blood went everywhere, but you didn’t go down. You grabbed him by the throat and head-butted him back, two or three times. It sounded like a concrete block dropped from the ceiling in an empty gym. He started to go down, but you wouldn’t let go. You had your hands locked on his throat. I grabbed at you and yelled at you to let go, but you were on automatic and I couldn’t get through. I had to snap your finger to break your grip. I’m sorry about that.”
“He kept you from doing more than hurting the boy,” Pyykkonen said.
“Masonetsky?”
“He’s a mess,” Ficorelli said. “Broken cheekbones, fractured nose, fractured jaw, concussion, cuts and abrasions. It was like two big bucks going head to head. We’ve called your captain.” Good, Nantz would know.
“They’re going to hold Masonetsky until the day after tomorrow,” Pyykkonen said, “then I’ll drive him to Houghton.”
“Why did he come out early?”
“Gage called his old man, and his old man tipped his kid that we were asking about him.”
“There’s a plane coming to fetch you, Mr. Big Shot,” Ficorelli said. “Some senator is sending it.”
Timms. “She’s a state senator,” Service said. “Not a real one.”
“Real enough to run for governor,” Pyykkonen said.
Service nodded.
When he awoke he felt pressure beside him, shifted his head and found Maridly Nantz cozied up against him, outside the covers. Walter Commando was asleep in the chair where he had last seen Ficorelli sitting.
He tried to move his left hand, but it hurt. He lightly nudged Nantz with his elbow.
“Not tonight, honey,” she whispered. “You have a headache.” She slid her hand up to his face and let it rest there. No words were necessary. He went back to sleep smiling.
12
Walter Commando was back in Service’s room, sitting in a chair, a book in his lap, but he was not studying. Nantz had gone out to make arrangements.
“What are you staring at?” Service asked his son.
The boy drew in a deep breath, seemed hesitant to answer. “You look, like . . . heinous.”
“That’s bad?”
“Like, mega.”
“Is that bad as in bad or bad as in cool?”
“Way cool. The bad guys won’t be able to look at you.”
“You’re not helping my self-image.”
“Fathers don’t have self-images.”
“This one does.”
“You really don’t remember what happened?”
Service exhaled. “There was a little wrestling.” Which was hearsay. What he remembered was a flash of white, spiking adrenaline, silence.
“Wull, Peel-grim,” Walter said, with a bad impersonation of John Wayne. “We all know yore tough. You don’t gotta be humble too.”
“I’m not humble.”
“You said it, not me,” Walter said.
“Finish your sentence,” Service said.
The boy looked puzzled. “Dude,” Service said.
“Dude,” Walter said. “Did the doctor happen to mention permanent loss of brain function?”
“Not a problem,” Service said.