Many Rivers to Cross

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29 7 heY'd beaten the hell out of him and might have beaten him to death if that old hospital security guard named Tucker hadn't appeared in the ER doorway with his service revolver. He fired a couple of rounds over their heads and chased them down the ambulance ramp to where they'd stashed their canoe. "Better come on back upstairs and let a nurse take a look," the old man said as he holstered his weapon and bent down to examine Duval's bloody face. "Might need some stitches in that lip." Duval had been knocked down and stomped on, but he was sitting upright now and clutching his knees in the oil-stained loading zone. His lip was split open, one eye was closing quickly, and several teeth felt loose in his mouth. He'd always told Dee he was a lover, not a fighter, and this beating had been the awful proo£ He might've held his own against that beanpole Rastaman, but the thug they called B Shocker knew how to bust a head. "I cain't go back up there," he said, rubbing the side of his swollen face. "Your Nam buddy- l cain't let him down." "You don't get that lip took care of, it's gonna leave a bad scar." Duval worked his tongue around the skin shredded inside his mouth. ''I'll be ah-ight," he said, spitting blood. "Just need some bench time and I'll be good to go." Tucker straightened up, shifting his weight from foot to foot as if he'd lost circulation in his legs. He shined his flashlight down the ramp. "Where you think you going in this flood?" he asked, letting his light veer out into the submerged parking lot. "It's pitch dark out there, son. Ain't nothing but heartache everywhere you tum." Duval scooted on his ass and braced his back against the brick 217 2lB wall ofthe hospitaL He was hurting all over and feeling dizzy, the old guard and the loading dock and the starry night spinning in his head. The wall kept him anchored to something reliable and sturdy. "Do me a solid, chief," he said. "Don't tell the old man you seen me like this. We straight? He's got enough on his mind already." Long after Tucker had gone, Duval sat listening to phantom voices in the darkness. An hour passed, maybe two. He had lost all measure of time. Shadows drifted past the hospital, lost souls astray on the waters. He could hear them arguing with one another. He could hear them bawling like children. He didn't know if he had the strength to stand up and follow them to the Superdome, that lurking dark presence he could see from here, a black hole in the nighttime sky. The water was deep and the night was dark and he was afraid he might not make it, the shape he was in. He must have fallen asleep because the woman's voice startled him. He almost swung a fist. "Easy, now," she said, kneeling in front of him. "Tucker told me you were down here. Hold this on your eye. It'll stop the swelling." It was the tall white nurse who'd taken care of Hodge. She placed a hand behind his neck and pressed an ice pack to his eye. "Come back upstairs," she said in a finn voice. "We'll look at your lip." He shook his head. "Let me rest," he said, the ice sending a cold shiver straight through his eye and into his brain. "I'm gonna bounce out of this place soon as I can." The next time he woke, someone was trying to steal the Nikes off his feet. He kicked wildly and found solid bone and heard the thief skid across the dry concrete. When he opened his good eye, he saw it was a boy no older than LaMarcus. His younger brother was trying to help him up and they were laughing at the beat-up man. "Why you do my boy like that?" yelled a woman from somewhere down the ramp. Duval pulled his knees to his chest. The ice pack was resting in his lap, more water than ice. "What kind of mother tell her boys to go steal a man's shoes?" he barked at het: His lips and teeth were [3.149.251.155] Project MUSE...