Chapter Five
Slade instructed Whiskey to clean off the bar top, figuring that was the correct height needed to extract the bullet. Bleach was used to scour every inch and once it dried, Slade carefully lay down. The wooziness was increasing and he decided to just give into the pull tugging on his eyelids. He didn’t exactly dream, but his mind wandered to Normandy as it usually did whenever he had time to think. Whatever bastard had killed her family and hurt her would suffer mightily at his hands.
He didn’t know how long he lingered in limbo, but sometime later he was roused awake by someone shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see a very beautiful African-American woman staring intently at him.
“I take it you’re Michael Slade,” she said.
“What gave it away?” he slurred. “My sunny disposition?”
“I followed my nose to the slimiest bar this side of the Mississippi that gave a waft of soured blood.”
“Hey!” Whiskey barked. “I resent that.”
“Yeah, the downstairs is immaculate compared to the upstairs,” Slade said. “You’d shut it down on a health code violation.”
“Last time I stash anyone from the mob,” Whiskey muttered as he left the bar and headed into the stockroom. A moment later, his footsteps were heard overhead.
“My name is Doctor Kadyn Payne,” she said. “That bullet has to come out, but it’s going to hurt.”
“I don’t care. I’ve had worse.”
She frowned. “I believe you.”
Kadyn set out her instruments along with several vials of medicine and syringes. Taking a pair of scissors, she cut his shirt and for the first time he saw the hole.
“The bleeding has almost stopped,” she informed him. “That’s good. Means it’s not too deep. Was this a ricochet, perhaps?”
“Could be,” Slade replied. “I don’t know. Bullets were flying and I was only concerned with protecting my wife.”
“Jeff said they took her.”
It took Slade a moment to remember Kix’s brother’s name. “Yeah. I think it was related to the shooting yesterday of her father and brothers.”
Kadyn sighed. “Do none of you cherish life?”
“You … as in who?”
“Your friend said mob and I know Jeff’s brother is head of a motorcycle gang—”
“Club.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever. Look, I came from these streets. My own brother lived by the gun and died by the gun. It just seems like such a waste of life.”
“Are you gonna operate, Doc, or are you gonna continue to give me a moral lesson?”
“And just as stubborn,” she muttered under her breath.
She opened an alcohol prep pad and wiped the rubber seal on the medicine vial before using the syringe to draw up the liquid. It only took a moment for the numbing effect of the medicine to work as she injected the site. Then she opened an iodine scrub and cleaned the area around the bullet hole. Once she put on sterile gloves, she got to work. Pressure, pain, and blood loss finally caught up with him and he passed out. The next time he opened his eyes, Doctor Payne was taking his pulse while staring at her watch.
“Am I gonna live?” he managed to say, although his mouth felt like he’d swallowed several cotton balls.
“Please don’t insult my skills, Mr. Slade.”
He smiled. “Only if you don’t use mister. That was my father and I’d rather not remember I came from his sperm.”
“Ouch,” she murmured. “Deal. You’ve been asleep for about forty-five minutes, but your pulse is strong and as long as you take it easy and take these antibiotics, you’ll heal fine. Not allergic to penicillin, are you?”
He shook his head.
She laid a bottle of capsules next to him. “Take one tablet four times a day until they’re all gone. If you don’t, this will get infected and then it’ll turn septic and you’ll die. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
She finished gathering her equipment and placed it all back inside a black gym bag before leveling him a long stare.
“Jeff is a … good friend of mine, so when he asks for a favor I usually don’t question it,” she said. “And you can take my advice or you can tell me to fuck off, but I really hope you find your girl and get out of this life.”
She gave him a small smile and turned to leave.
“Doc?”
She paused and looked at him over her shoulder.
“I would never tell you to fuck off, not after you helped me. I owe you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Seconds later, she was gone and Slade rested his head back against the bar with his eyes closed. He would rest until Kix called with information, and he hoped that would be sooner rather than later.
“She gone?” Whiskey asked.
“Yeah.” Slade didn’t even open his eyes.
“I cleaned up the blood. I hate blood.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Wasn’t your fault someone came and shot at you.”
He sounded a little nasally. Slade opened one eye and saw the black eye had finally engulfed Whiskey’s eye and a piece of white tissue was stuffed in one nostril.
“You should’ve let the doc look at that.”
Whiskey shrugged. “Just a flesh wound.”
“Thanks, Whiskey. For all you’ve done for me. The White Death won’t forget how you helped me and Normandy.”
Whiskey waved away the words. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all mushy on me.”
Slade’s phone rang. He stared at it for a moment before scooping it up. “Yes? Okay, tell me.”