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I followed her down a hall to the room where they had Nicky. He was in a hospital gown and propped up on a couple of pillows. A young intern, a pale guy with straw-colored hair and a bad complexion, was seated on the edge of the bed, taking his pulse.
I realized Nicky was taking the intern’s pulse. He had a grip on the guy’s arm and was probing with the stiffened fingers of his left hand.
“—here, and here. No, here, mate. There’s seven levels of the pulse. You got to listen for it. Listen with the inner ear. The Chinese have been at this for 3,000 years, and they—” He looked up and saw me. “Billy!” he shouted, sounding only a little hoarse, and not at all weak. “Tell these wonks to give me back my clothes.”
The intern wonk had jumped to his feet looki
ng guilty. He cleared his throat and looked at the large blonde woman. “Ahem. Actually,” he said, “we’d like to keep you overnight for observation.”
Nicky made a rude noise and the intern looked indignant, turning to me for moral support. “He sustained quite a severe shock to the side of the skull and I can’t rule out the possibility of a concussion, and even a small leak in the blood vessels of the brain that could—”
Nicky made a farting sound again. “Pull the other one,” he said. “I’m fit as a fiddle. Think I wouldn’t know if I was about to pop off?”
The intern frowned. A light flush came to his cheeks. “Actually, it’s possible that a problem wouldn’t show itself for quite some time. That’s why we keep people. For observation.”
“Aw, mate, I’ve just been telling you. The third level of pulse would show it. I’ve got no concussion, no cerebral hematoma, nothing.” He threw off the sheet. “Where’s me pants, there’s a good lad.”
The intern shrugged and clenched his fists. “We can’t let you leave,” he said.
“You can’t stop me,” Nicky told him cheerfully. “I don’t actually need the pants.”
“This is against medical advice.”
“Not mine.”
The blonde woman cleared her throat like she was trying hard not to laugh. The intern took a couple of deep breaths and flushed a darker red. Nicky reached back and started to untie his hospital gown.
“All right,” the intern said, “just a minute.” He dashed over to a cupboard and came back with Nicky’s clothes. “You really shouldn’t,” he said.
Nicky winked at him. “No worries,” he said. “If I die, I can’t sue, eh?”
The blonde woman pulled a curtain around the bed and in a few seconds Nicky burst out through the screen, buttoning his pants. “All right, Billy, off we go,” he said, rushing out the door and into the hall. He turned in the hall, looking both ways and waiting for me to catch up. “Where have they got Anna? How is she?”
The door closed behind me. I looked at him. He didn’t have any idea. He was cheerful, confident and ready to go, like a small dog about to go for a walk.
I couldn’t say it. I shook my head.
“What,” he said. “What does that mean? How bad is it? Come on, Billy, I need to know.”
“She’s gone,” I said. “They took her.”
Nicky turned pale green, as if all the blood in him had suddenly poured down into his feet. “Aw, no,” he said softly. He looked for a place to sit down. There wasn’t any. He leaned against the wall, looking old and beat up.
Beyond him, at the far end of the hall, I saw The Deacon coming towards us with his easy, gun-fighter’s walk.
“They tell me you think you’re leaving,” Deacon said to Nicky as he came up to us.
Nicky turned to look at him.
“What’s that?”
“This is The Deacon,” I explained. “The man I told you about. The number I gave you.”
“The copper?”
“That’s right,” Deacon said. “And I have a few copper questions to ask you.”
Chapter Twenty-One
