The Never Game

Shaw sat. He noted flowers and cards and candy and a balloon. He was not a bring-a-present kind of person. Not averse to the idea; he just tended not to think about it. If he came back, maybe he’d bring her a book. That seemed practical; you couldn’t do much with balloons.

“What do they say?” He glanced at Standish’s vastly bandaged arm and was surprised they’d been able to save the limb. The belly wound was hidden under functional blankets.

“Broken arm, nicked spleen — I’ll probably get to keep it. You don’t need a spleen, Shaw. You know that?”

He recalled something about that from his father’s lectures on emergency medicine in the field.

“If they take it out, you can get infections. My doctor” — she floated away for a moment, the painkillers — “he said the spleen is like a bush league pinch hitter. Not vital but better to have one. I can’t believe I fell for that, Shaw. A car horn.” A faint smile. “The doctor said you knew what you were doing. You treated gunshots before?”

“I have.”

It was one of the first lessons their father gave them in emergency first aid: pressure points, tourniquets, packing wounds. Other advice too:

Never use a tampon in a bullet wound. People say you ought to. Don’t. It’ll expand and cause more damage.

Ashton Shaw was a wealth of wisdom.

“When’re you getting sprung?”

“Three, four days.”

Shaw asked, “You heard the whole story?”

“Dan told me. It’s about disinformation, propaganda, lies, getting the kids to vote... and vote certain ways. Starting rumors. Last thing in the world we need now. Destroy lives, careers... Lies about affairs, crimes. Bullshit.” Standish drifted away, then back. “And Knight?”

“Vanished. They locked down his airplane and detained his minders — conspiracy. But no sign of him.”

Which is why a Task Force officer was stationed outside her door.

Karen handed a picture book to Gem, who was growing restless. She’d brought a bag filled with books and toys. Shaw’s sister did the same and had taught him the art of distraction for the times he babysat. He didn’t do so often but when he was called for duty, he made sure he was prepared.

He knew survivalism under all circumstances.

Then the tears appeared in Standish’s eyes.

Karen leaned forward. “Honey...”

Standish shook her head. She hesitated. “I called Cummings,” she said.

Karen said, “Looks like Donnie’s going to administration.”

Standish said, “He didn’t want to tell me. Not now, when I’m laid up. But I had to know. He said my job’s safe. Just no street work. It’s policy. He said nobody wounded this bad’s ever gone back in the field.”

Shaw thought of her plan to get onto the street, which would now apparently be permanently derailed.

Or not. The tears stopped and she roughly wiped her face. There was something in her olive-dark eyes that suggested there would be future conversations with the JMCTF about the topic. His nod said Good luck.

Karen said to Shaw, “When Donnie’s back home, if you’re still here, you’ll come for dinner? Or will you be on the road?”

“She’s a” — Standish whispered the adjective — “cook.” Because her lips didn’t move much when she spoke the censored syllables, Shaw assumed they were “kick-ass.”

“I’d like that.”

Wondering where the stack of his father’s documents would lead him in his search for the answer to the secret of October 5. Maybe he’d still be here. Maybe he’d be gone.

They talked for a bit longer and then a nurse came in to change dressings.

Shaw rose and Karen threw her arms around him and whispered once more, “Thank you.”

Standish, bleary-eyed, just waved. “I’d do that too. But I don’t think... you’d appreciate the screaming.”

He stepped to the door. Standish whispered, “Hold on, Shaw.” Then to her partner, she said, “You bring it?”

“Oh. Yeah.” The woman dug into her purse. And handed him a small brown paper bag. He extracted a disk of cheap metal about four inches in diameter. In the center was a five-pointed star embossed with the words:

OFFICIAL

DEPUTY SHERIFF

70

“You’re a hero.”

This was from she’s-sweet-on-you Tiffany.

“TV and everything. Channel 2 said they invited you in for an interview. You didn’t respond.”

Shaw ordered a coffee and deflected the adoration. He did, however, say, “Was a big help — the video. Thank you.”

“Glad for it.”

He looked around. The man he was going to meet hadn’t yet arrived.

A pause. Tiffany napkin-wiped her hands, looking down. “Just... I thought I’d put this out there. I’m off later. Around eleven. That’s pretty late, I know. But, maybe, you want to get a bite of dinner?”

“I’m beat.”

The woman laughed. “You look it.”

True. He was tired, to his soul. He’d taken a fast shower at the camper, changed clothes and then headed here. If he hadn’t gotten the phone call, he’d be asleep by now.

“And I imagine you’re headed out of town pretty soon.”

He nodded. Then glanced at the door.