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“You got it. You need anything else?”
“Can’t think of anything.”
“I’ll come see you when I get off. But I’d better get going now. Quinn’s sitting in the car about to shit a brick.”
“Thanks, Charley,” Matt said.
Dennis V. Coughlin closed the door after McFadden, and then exhaled audibly. He walked to the bed and sat down on it.
“Jesus, Matty, you gave us a scare. What the hell happened?”
This is more than a godfather, more than my blood father’s buddy, doing his duty, Matt suddenly realized. This man loves me.
He remembered that his father, the other father, the only one he had ever known, Brewster C. Payne, had told him that he believed Dennis V. Coughlin had always been in love with his mother.
“Lieutenant Suffern let us out of his car in the alley behind Stevens’s house—”
“You and O’Hara?”
“Yeah. We were waiting for the ACT team and the sergeant to bring Stevens down so Mickey could get a picture. Then I heard a noise, a creaking noise, like wood breaking. I think now it was Stevens coming over a fence. Anyway, all of a sudden, there he was shooting at us.”
“He shot first?”
“He shot first.”
“That makes it justifiable homicide. You’re absolutely sure he shot first?”
“Hey, I thought you were here to comfort me on my bed of pain, not interview me?”
“Are you in pain?” Coughlin asked, concern and possibly even a hint of pity—or maybe shame—in his voice.
“No, Uncle Denny, I’m not,” Matt said, and touched the older man’s shoulder. After a moment, Coughlin’s hand came up and covered his.
“It’ll probably start to hurt later, Matty,” he said. “But they’ll give you something for it. I’m sure.”
Their eyes met.
Coughlin stood up.
“I got to go. You need anything, you know how to reach me.”
FIFTEEN
A motherly, very large black woman wearing a badge identifying her as a licensed practical nurse delivered a fried egg on limp toast sandwich, a container of milk, and a Styrofoam cup of coffee.
“Lunch is at eleven-thirty,” she announced. “Unless you like beans and franks you won’t be thrilled.”
“Thank you.”
“You know how to work the TV clicker?”
She showed him, walked to the door to leave, and then turned.
“I heard what happened,” she said. “Good for you. Animals like that bum you shot are taking over the city.”
Matt found the controls for the bed, adjusted the back to his satisfaction, and turned on the television. Not surprising him at all, there was nothing on that he would watch if he were not in a hospital bed feeling lousy and with his leg wrapped up like that of an Egyptian mummy.
If it were Saturday morning, he thought, at least I could watch the teenagers flopping their boobs around on that dance show on WCAU-TV.
