The Finder

42

The weight of a father. Terribly light in his arms; he'd carried children who were heavier.

"Thank God you came back when you did," Wendy said.

"Is he hurt?" Ray took each step carefully, turned sideways when he came to the doorway. Settled him in the hospital bed. The nurse first hooked up the hydration IV. Then the Dilaudid. He was panting and almost unconscious.

She felt his father's bones, took his pulse.

"The bleeding around the chest?"

"That's mostly seepage. I don't see any serious bleeding. He's very dry, of course."

"The nephrostomy tubes?"

"One's easy to put back in. The other will be a little bit of work."

"What was he doing down there?"

"You didn't see?" she asked Ray.

"No."

"He got into the file cabinets, all those papers."

"Which papers?"

"His old work files, I think. He had one in his hand when I found him."

"Which one?"

She pointed to a green folder on the table. "This one."

Ray took the folder. But he had already found the notes his father had written down in his now spidery handwriting: prison place/shit man building/name means winner. He glanced through the file. Victorious Sewerage in Marine Park. With a hand-drawn diagram of the building in the back of the lot.

"He was in such a good mood, too, after the visit from your friend."

"Friend, what friend?"

"That drop-dead gorgeous Chinese girl. You do know who she is, don't you?"

"Yes-"

"Well, she was here, hoping to see you, and she ended up seeing him."

"When did she leave?"

"That was hours ago! She said she might go out, then come back, I could be wrong about that. She came to see you and I said you were out."

But Ray was already running toward the truck, police file in hand.

Only later, when he was almost to Marine Park, did he realize that he'd forgotten about the guns hidden under the fertilizer bags in his father's shed. Too late to go back now.