“I just wish they’d let the bastard die,” Ramsey said. He couldn’t move his right shoulder or his right arm. He looked down at a white sling. He remembered now how they’d wheeled him up to the operating room, side by side with Dickerson, Molly and Emma beside him, both of them white-faced and silent. He remembered Emma’s small fingers lightly stroking his forearm. As for Molly, she’d held on to his hand for dear life. He vaguely remembered waking up in the recovery room. They’d just wheeled him into a private room, and he was alone with the lieutenant.
“Yes,” Lieutenant McPherson was saying, “I hope he expires. It’d sure save the taxpayers a lot of money. Well, at least you’re going to be all right, Judge Hunt.”
“Do you know what they did to me?”
‘The surgeon spoke to you in the recovery room. You don’t remember?”
“No, just this voice that wouldn’t shut up. Do you know anything?”
“Yes. They worked on you for a good two hours. When the surgeon came out, he said you were lucky. The bullet went through your pec, and all you’ve got there is skin, muscle, and fat. He said you’d hurt like hell because the bullet also broke your collarbone and grazed a rib, but there wasn’t any bad damage, it would just take a while to heal. You should be ready to take out more crooks in your courtroom in three or four months. Oh yeah, the doc also said he was real pleased that the bullet hadn’t hit anything important, said he didn’t want any complications with a big-time federal judge. He gave a big belly laugh then.”
Ramsey couldn’t think of anything to say. His brain seemed to be going in and out on him. At least he felt blessedly numb, all of him. He just wished Dickerson was dead. Surely it wasn’t asking too much after what the bastard had done. If he lived, if they brought him up on kidnapping and attempted murder, he could still get out. Emma still wouldn’t be safe.
He was losing it. Yes, she would be safe. By the time Dickerson ever got out of prison, Emma would be an adult. She’d be safe from predators like Dickerson just because she’d keep accumulating birthdays.
“Judge Hunt? Can you hear me? Do you want me to get a doctor for you?”
Ramsey hadn’t realized that his head had fallen back against the very comfortable pillows. He opened his eyes to see Lieutenant McPherson looking very worried. He knew he’d been speaking, he’d felt the cadence of his voice, the underlying kindness, the concern, but he hadn’t understood most of what he’d said. Ramsey managed to say, “I’m okay. I didn’t think hospitals had comfortable pillows.”
“These aren’t the hospital’s pillows,” McPherson said. “These are from Mrs. Hunt, who’s right now changing clothes along with your daughter. Actually they’re from Mrs. Rallis, who went out and bought you pillows and your wife and daughter new clothes. She didn’t like seeing them in hospital scrubs. Evidently she saw the whole thing on the wharf. She’s a big name here in Monterey. If she says that you should have soft pillows, no one’s going to argue with her.”
Ramsey wanted to ask about Molly and Emma, find out if they were okay, but somehow, he just couldn’t get the words out. It was a weird feeling, this knowing words, feeling what those words meant to him, yet being unable to get them out of his mouth. He felt the man lightly pat his arm. “The doc gave you a shot of something really strong. He said you didn’t seem like the sort to kick back and relax, so he said he’d lay you out, it would be the best thing. Did you hear me tell you about your daughter and Mrs. Hunt? They should be here soon. The last I heard, Mrs. Rallis insisted that your wife and Emma have coffee and hot chocolate. I tried to stop the doc from giving you that shot, but I couldn’t. Can you talk, Judge Hunt?”
“No. I’m laid out,” Ramsey said, but McPherson never said anything more, so he guessed he’d spoken to him only in his mind.