Short Straw

Fifty

VITTORIO JERKED AWAKE; THERE WAS SOMEBODY AT HIS front door. He turned and looked at his bedside clock: nine o'clock. He got out of bed, wincing at the pain in his side, and went to the door. Birgit stood there, smiling, her folding table slung over one shoulder, her huge handbag over the other.

"Good morning," she said. "We have a nine o'clock appointment. Am I waking you?"

"Yes, I overslept. Please come in and get set up. I'll be right with you." He went into the bathroom and swallowed two naproxen and an amoxicillin, then brushed his teeth and went back into the bedroom.

Birgit patted the table. "Up," she said.

Vittorio stripped off his pajamas and started to get onto the table.

"Wait," she commanded. "What is this?" She took hold of a corner of the duct tape and ripped it off.

Vittorio gritted his teeth but managed not to scream. "Just a nick," he said through gritted teeth.

"Lie down," she ordered. "On your back." She was already digging into her big handbag. "What kind of wound is this?" she asked. "I've not seen anything like."

"You've seen a lot of wounds?" he asked, avoiding a straight answer.

"I am trained as a nurse," she said. "You need sewing."

"I don't have the time to go to a doctor," he replied. "You can put another bandage on, if you have one."

"I have one; I also have the needle. What I don't have is the local anesthetic. Can you stand some pain?"

He started to tell her that he was Apache, but he didn't want to explain. "Yes," he said.

She went into the bathroom and came back with two facecloths, then dug a bottle of peroxide out of her bag, held one cloth below the wound and poured the foaming liquid on the flesh, catching the excess with the cloth. Then she produced a small, plastic box, a curved needle, forceps and thread. "Don't worry, is sterile," she said.

"I believe you."

She folded the second facecloth and held it to his lips. "Bite," she said.

He bit down on the cotton terry, and she went to work. When she was done she took some long, slender tweezers from her kit.

"Now I must dig," she said.

He nodded, and bit down again for what seemed an interminable time.

"Good," she said, finally holding out her hand to show him four tiny pellets. "What is this?"

Vittorio shrugged and took the facecloth out of his mouth. "Don't know."

She looked at him skeptically, then she bathed the area in more peroxide and bandaged it. "Now you need antibiotic," she said. "I don't have."

"I've already taken antibiotics," he replied.

"Okay," she said, "on your belly."

Vittorio turned over gingerly, but the naproxen was working now, and there wasn't much pain.

Birgit began working on his neck and shoulders. "You are tense from my medicine," she said.

"Can you blame me?" he asked. "Next time get some lidocaine for your kit."

"Good idea," she said, "but I don't do many gunshot wounds since I worked in emergency room in Stockholm. Not many then, either."

Vittorio said nothing.

She continued her work. "I am wondering how you got gunshot wound since last night," she said.

"Let's just say there was an intruder," he replied, "and let it go at that."

"You want police?"

"I appreciate your concern, but no, thank you."

"Okay," she said.

WHEN SHE WAS FINISHED she helped him sit up and checked the bandage. "No bleeding," she said. "I will give you extra bandages; you must change every day and put on peroxide."

"Thank you," he said.

The cell phone on her belt rang, and she answered it and listened for a moment. "Yes, thank you," she said, and closed the phone. "Did you see your friend Barbara?" she asked.

"No, we didn't cross paths."

"Too bad," she said. "She just cancel her ten-thirty appointment. Checked out."

"Shit!" Vittorio said.

"I think you are following her," Birgit said. "I think you are private eye."

"You've been seeing too much film noir," he replied, standing up and stretching gingerly.

"You are not getting gunshot wound from movies," she replied. "You want me to find out where Barbara Woodfield goes?"

"Can you do that?"

"Bell captain would know. He wants to fuck me pretty bad; he will tell me anything."

"Well, yes, I would like to know, but I wouldn't want you to fuck him on my behalf."

"Don't worry; I pick out who I fuck," she said, folding her table and packing her bag. "You would be good for this, I think."

"Well," he said, "you're not going to get an argument from me."

"Not now, though; when you recover from gunshot wound." She took out a card and wrote something on the back. "Cell number," she said, handing it to him. "I bet your name is not Victor Whatsit," she said.

"No."

"What is your name?"

"Vittorio."

"Just the one?"

"Just the one."

"I will go talk to bell captain. You checking out, too?"

"Just as soon as I can get dressed," he replied.

"I will come back soon," she said. "You wait."

"I'll wait," he said, heading for the shower.

VITTORIO was packing his bag when Birgit came back. "Any luck?"

"Much luck," she said. "Ms. Barbara asks him for nice, quiet apartment hotel in Beverly Hills somewhere. He books for her at Chateau Sunset." She handed him a slip of paper. "Here is address."

Vittorio took her face in his hands and kissed her gently. "You are a good guy," he said.

"You think I am a guy?" she laughed, taking his hand and placing it on her breast.

"A figure of speech," he said. "Do you ever travel?"

"When I feel like it," she replied. "You need your bandage changed, you call me, Vittorio."

He gave her his card with the cell number. "In case you can't wait," he said.

She laughed loudly. "Maybe you must change your own bandage!"

Vittorio grabbed his bags and headed for the front desk. He checked out, paid in cash and called for his car. When the car arrived the bellman put his bags in the trunk, and he drove away. Shortly, he pulled over, went to the trunk, got out his Walther.380 and slipped the holster onto his belt. He would not again approach Barbara Eagle Woodfield unarmed.

Shortly, he was headed for Los Angeles in his rented Jaguar.