Sheepdogs: Keeping the Wolves at Bay Gordon Carroll (readera ebook reader .txt) 📖

50

I got to ride in a helicopter, although I don’t remember much of the trip. Just little patches as I gained consciousness before slipping back out again. I remember the throaty roar of the engine, the loud wop-wop-wop of the blades, the faces of the flight crew who worked on me as we banked and swooped through the sky.

It’s funny that even close to death, your stomach can still get butterflies when the flying machine you are in drops five hundred feet in a few seconds.

I remember the sun blinding my eyes as they raced me across a flat landing pad on a roof and into an elevator. The overhead fluorescent lights snapped past as the flight crew spit out my vitals to the doctors. The sharp smell of antiseptic, the pain in my chest; how hard it was to breathe. I remember grabbing a doctor’s shirt and pulling him close and saying, “Did I millstone him?” Another pain, this time in the side of my chest as they cut a rude hole to shove in a tube the size of a garden hose and relieve the pressure of the blood built up around my heart and lungs. Looking over, I saw about a gallon of blood splat onto the floor, spraying the doctors’ and nurses’ booties they wore over their shoes and splashing up onto their blue surgical pants. I remember thinking there was enough blood there to paint my house. And then I could breathe again and it felt so good.

I asked about Max and Pilgrim. No one seemed to know anything about them and I started screaming for them. What if they were dead or hurt or needed me? I arrested all the nurses and doctors and told them they better save my dogs or I would Whack their Pig and shove them into a computer. Things got a little wild for awhile, but then two orderlies big enough to play offensive tackles for the NFL held my arms down and another one flopped over my legs. Someone snuck a needle into my arm just below the bicep, and that’s all I remember until I woke up in the recovery room. I felt sore everywhere.

Tom and Lisa Franklin were there. So was my buddy from Aurora PD, Jared Darling, and Sarah Gallagher from CBI. My secretary Yolanda was wiping her eyes and sniffling.

“My head hurts,” I said. “Come to think of it, so does everything else.”

Jared grinned. “That’s nice. By the way, you’re under arrest.”

“Under arrest, for what?”

“Did you kill guys in three different jurisdictions in three days?”

I thought about it for a second, then did my best Arnold from True Lies, “Yes, but they were all bad.”

Jared nodded. “That’s a terrible impression.” Everyone’s a critic. “Don’t leave the hospital for a few days till we get it all cleared up. A Colorado Springs’ officer will be in later for a statement, but we got most of the story from the Franklins and their son.” He leaned close. “When you’re feeling better I want to know how three of Verick’s henchmen managed to get tied and gagged and locked in the trunk of their car at the bottom of that hill to the cabin.”

I smiled. “It’s good to have friends.”

He nodded. “Amen to that, brother. Get better.” He left.

I looked at Tom and Lisa. Tom’s arm was in a sling and he had a big white patch taped to the back of his head. They were holding hands. “Is Amber okay?”

“Thanks to you,” said Tom. They both came to my bedside.

“Joseph too,” said Lisa. “His jaw and cheek are broken, but they say he’ll make a full recovery. He told us about the flash drive and wanting to kill that man, and trying to kill himself.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry…about…everything.” She looked ashamed.

I reached up and took her hand. “It’s okay.”

She gripped my hand hard. “Thank you. Thank you for Amber and Joseph.” She looked at her husband. “And for Tom.” She let me go and walked out of the room. Two days ago I wouldn’t have given their marriage one chance in ten, but it looked like things were on the mend. I was glad.

I looked up at Tom. I had seen him flinch when Lisa mentioned Joseph’s name. “Tom, I know you may have some difficult feelings for Joseph right now.” I saw his jaw clench.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Joseph made some bad choices, but he didn’t kill Shane. Roger Doors and Arnold Verick, they murdered your son. Joseph is fifteen years old, he’s just a kid. You have to be willing to give him some leeway. He did wrong, so did Shane, but neither of them could have foreseen what it would lead to. Joseph is going to have a hard time healing, and the only way he will be able to get through this is with your help. You helped Shane to come back to God in the end. Help Joseph in the same way.”

Tom breathed heavily and I saw his eyes water. I felt my own start to sting.

“I don’t know,” said Tom. “So much has happened.”

“Listen to me,” I said and my voice may have held a bit of the edge my heart was carrying. “You weren’t there when Joseph turned that shotgun on himself — I was. I’ve seen dozens of phony suicide attempts over the years — this wasn’t one of them. He meant to kill himself. He would have killed himself. So unless you want another dead son, you better man up and be a father to him.”

He nodded, looking solemn. “I’ll try,” he said.

I lay back in the bed, my voice still a little rough. “I hope you do. He’s a good boy. Just a little lost.”

He nodded and left the room. I didn’t like talking to Tom that way but the truth is sometimes unavoidably harsh.

Sarah Gallagher handed me an envelope. “How you