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I was second-guessing myself all the way over here for not calling somebody as soon as I saw the blood. But it’s Jimmy. Of course he checked himself out of the hospital early after taking another bullet like it was just one more punch, then hit the ground running, driving all the way into Queens to chase down a lead and driving all the way back. I’d convinced myself he was already as good as new, even knowing he couldn’t be, because I wanted him to be as good as new. Like I could wish away his physical issues.
If only.
Finally Dr. Williams comes out to the waiting area. He is a compact Black man, solidly built. Good-looking. I manage to restrain myself from telling him he reminds me a little bit of Kevin Hart, just taller.
“You were with him when he collapsed?” Dr. Williams asks, skipping any small talk.
“At my house. I called it in right away.”
“Good that you did,” Williams says. “It turns out he’s developed a post-op infection that escalated pretty quickly.”
“They told me in the ambulance his blood pressure wasn’t good,” I say.
“You could say that. It plunged is what it did. I would bet before he passed out he was displaying some warning signs. Confusion, disorientation? He’s lucky the infection hasn’t yet developed into sepsis.”
“What happens then?”
“Then it can kill the patient if we don’t get there in time.”
“Stop sugarcoating it, Doc,” I say.
“I don’t know you all that well, Ms. Smith,” he says, “but you don’t strike me as someone who wants things sugarcoated.”
“You have no idea.”
He tilts his head. “Have you had any serious health challenges as an adult?”
For some idiotic reason, his question makes me smile.
“Here and there,” I say, “along the dusty old trail.”
“And did you follow your doctor’s advice?”
I still feel myself smiling even though none of this, not one part, is funny for either Jimmy or me.
“Here and there.”
“Your friend might be clear out of good fortune after this,” Dr. Williams says. “I’m hoping that this latest episode has gotten his attention. He couldn’t do anything about being shot. That wasn’t his fault. But he can do something to take care of himself.”
“So you want me to drop the hammer on him.”
“Very much so. If he had been alone when he passed out…”He shrugs and shakes his head before finishing his thought. “It would have been the same as if he’d bled out after being shot.”
“Hearing you loud and clear,” I say.
Now he smiles. “I know how persuasive you are as a lawyer. So I want you to get him to understand.”
“Can I see him now?”
“Follow me. But don’t stay too long. He needs the rest. He’s spending a few nights here whether he wants to or not. Then you can pick him up if there are no further setbacks and drive him home and do your best to put him under house arrest.”
It’s the same room he had before. Antibiotics are being pumped into him via an IV line. I pull up a chair next to the bed. At this point my partner and I have the hospital drill down pat, like we’ve choreographed it.
“Your doctor,” I say, “told me before I came in that a couple of the warning signs for infection are confusion and disorientation. I told him no way either one of us would have picked up on that, since confusion and disorientation are pretty much your normal state.”
“Oh, look,” Jimmy says, “they’ve sent Florence Nightingale to check on me.”
“You have scared me twice in the same week.Stop it.”
