“Funny man. Let’s talk about that when you’re not just out of surgery and in the recovery room.”
Hayes made a face. “Somebody’s got to feed Andy. He’ll be scared to death out there alone.”
“We have somebody feeding Andy,” Coltrain replied.
“Rex, too, he lives in the barn...”
“Taken care of.”
“The key...”
“...was on your key ring. Everything’s fine, except for you.”
Hayes assumed it was one of his deputies who was helping out, so he didn’t argue. He closed his eyes. “I feel awful.”
“Well, of course you do,” Coltrain sympathized. “You’ve been shot.”
“I noticed.”
“We’re going to keep you in ICU for a day or so, until you’re a bit better, then we’ll move you into a room. For now, you just sleep and don’t worry about anything. Okay?”
Hayes managed a wan smile, but his eyes didn’t open. A few seconds later, he was asleep.
* * *
A nurse was bending over him in ICU when he woke again, taking his blood pressure, checking his temperature, pulse and respiration.
“Hi, there,” she said with a smile. “You’re doing much better this morning,” she added, noting her observations on her chart. “How’s the chest?”
He moved and winced. “Hurts.”
“Does it? We’ll ask Dr. Coltrain to up your meds a bit until that passes. Any other problems?”
He wanted to name at least one, but he was unusually shy about mentioning the catheter.
Nevertheless, the nurse noticed. “It’s just temporary, and it’s coming out tomorrow, Dr. Coltrain said. Try to sleep.” She patted him on the shoulder with a maternal smile and left him.
* * *
They removed the catheter the next day, which embarrassed Hayes and caused him to mutter under his breath. But he went back to sleep very soon.
Later, when Dr. Coltrain came in, he was barely awake again. “I hurt in an unmentionable place and it’s your fault,” Hayes muttered at Coltrain.
“Sorry, it was unavoidable. The catheter’s out now, and you won’t have discomfort for much longer, I promise.” He listened to Hayes’s chest and frowned. “There’s a lot of congestion.”
“It’s unpleasant.”
“I’m going to write up something to clear that out.”
“I want to go home.”
Coltrain looked very uncomfortable. “There’s a problem.”
“What?”
He sat down in the chair beside the bed and crossed his legs. “Okay, let’s review the mechanics of gunshot injuries. First is the direct tissue injury. Second, temporary cavitation as the projectile makes a path through the tissue and causes necrosis. Third, shock waves if the projectile is ejected at a high rate of speed. You are the luckiest man I know, because the only major damage the bullet did was to your lung. However,” he added quietly, “the damage is such that you’re going to have a hard time using your left arm for a while.”
“Awhile? How long a while?” Hayes asked.
“Micah Steele—remember him?—is our orthopedic surgeon. I called him in on your case. We removed the bone fragments and repaired the muscle damage...”
“What about the bullet?” Hayes interrupted. “Did you get that?”
“No,” Coltrain said. “Removing a bullet is up to the discretion of the surgeon, and I considered it too dangerous to take it out...”
“It’s evidence,” Hayes said as strongly as the weakness would allow. “You have to extract it so that I can use it to prosecute the...” He held his breath. “Guy who shot me!”
“Surgeon’s discretion,” Coltrain repeated. “I won’t risk a patient’s life trying to dig out a bullet that’s basically disinfected itself on the way into the body. I’d do more damage trying to get it out than I would leaving it in.” He held up a hand when Hayes opened his mouth. “I conferred with two other surgeons, one in San Antonio, and they’ll back me up. It was too risky.”
Hayes wanted to argue some more, but he was too tired. It was an old argument, anyway, trying to make a surgeon remove potential evidence from a victim’s body, and it occasionally ended up in a legal battle. Most of the time, the surgeon won. “All right.”
“Back to what I was saying,” he continued, “there was some collateral damage to your left shoulder. You’ll have to have an extended course of physical therapy to keep the muscles from atrophying.”
“Extended?” Hayes asked slowly.
“Probably several months. It depends on how quickly you heal and how fast your recovery is,” Coltrain said. “It’s still going to be a rough ride. You need to know that from the start.”
Hayes looked up at the ceiling. “Crackers and milk!” he muttered.
“You’ll be all right,” Coltrain assured him. “But for the next couple of weeks, you need to keep that arm immobilized and not lift anything heavier than a tissue. I’ll have my receptionist get you an appointment with Dr. Steele and also with the physiotherapist here in the hospital.”
“When can I go home?”
Coltrain stared at him. “Not for several more days. And even then, you can’t go home and stay by yourself. You’ll need someone with you for at least a couple of weeks, to make sure you don’t overdo and have a relapse.”
“A nursemaid? Me?” Hayes frowned. “I was out of the hospital in three or four days the last two times...”
“You had a flesh wound the last time, and the one before that you were only about twenty-seven years old. You’re thirty-four now, Hayes. It takes longer to recover, the older you get.”
Hayes felt worse than ever. “I can’t go home right away.”
“That’s right. You’re going to be extremely limited in what you can do for the next few weeks. You won’t be able to lift much while the damage heals and you’ll find even ordinary movement will aggravate the wound and cause pain. You’re going to need physical therapy three times a week...”
“No!”
“Yes, unless you want to be a one-armed man!” Coltrain said shortly. “Do you want to lose the use of your left arm?”
Hayes glared at him.
Coltrain glared
