Vixen

30

PC McDonald had been hovering on the brink for days on end. His parents had come from Edinburgh and left in tears. Brant, Falls, Roberts had all made appearances. Then he came round with a massive headache.

The doctor asked:

‘Are you a religious man?’

McDonald, groggy but improving, stared at him, asked:

‘What?’

‘A bullet creased the very top of your brain, you should be dead… at the very least, a vegetable. I’ve never seen such a drastic turnaround. If you’re not a religious man, you better find some icon to thank because, believe you me, this is a miracle.’

McDonald didn’t feel very grateful or lucky or even miraculous; what he felt was nauseous, thirsty and a little hungry. He said so.

The doctor gave him a long look and thought: Cops, more stupid than I could have believed. He said:

‘You should make a full recovery but you’re going to have to take a time to rest and recuperate. Head wounds are very traumatic and all sorts of problems can arise so we’ll be monitoring you.’

McDonald sighed and near whined:

‘So where are we on the drink?’

The doctor stomped off and figured the worst ones always survived. He near collided with Superintendent Brown, who said:

‘Hey, watch where you’re going.’

The doctor saw the dog’s dinner of insignia on the Super’s jacket and wanted to say:

‘If you’re the top honcho, no wonder the idiot in the bed is so thick.’

The Super sat on the side of the bed and asked:

‘How are you doing?’

McDonald managed to sit up and say:

‘Bit weak but I’ll be back in jig time.’

The Super snorted, which is exactly how it sounded: the noise coming down his nose full of derision and scepticism. He drew back his shoulders as his wife was always nagging him to do and barked:

‘That’s what you think, laddie!’

McDonald was confused; he thought the Super had come to praise him.

Before he could protest, the Super continued:

‘I still have some juice despite having to eat shit over arresting the wrong suspect so I’ve persuaded the media to treat you as a hero cop. All that good nonsense about tackling an armed and highly dangerous villain — the great unwashed still love the good old British “have a go” shite. You’ll probably get a commendation.’

He paused to let this sink in and McDonald didn’t know whether to say thanks or just shut his mouth. He decided to shut his mouth.

The Super looked round and wasn’t impressed with anything he saw, then:

‘You’ll get the commendation but that’s all you’ll bloody get. I had my eye on you, was even putting you up for the Lodge, but you’re finished, you hear me? You went off on your own bat and nearly caused a huge disaster. I’ll be covering our arse for months to come, thanks to you, and worse, we have a lunatic out there with a ton of our money and a weapon.’

Brown stood up, breathed heavily, added:

‘If you do come back, you’ll be on traffic, and we can only hope you don’t make a complete bollix of that.’

Then he stomped off.

A nurse went over to McDonald, gave the hero her sweetest smile and asked:

‘Now, love, what would you like?’

‘Like? What would I like? I’d like you to fuck off!’

It took two orderlies to hold him down while they gave him a massive sedative.