Day 97, Chapter 97
After puking up her breakfast, Lindsay wakes up in the hospital emergency room two hours later. Her boyfriend, Joe – making a rare, non-sexual appearance – is there waiting for her.
Joe got up from the chair next to me and put his hands on my shoulders.
“Hello, sweetie. Are you alright? Are you okay?”
What does Joe’s action mean here? He “put his hands on my shoulders.” Have you ever done that when visiting a sick loved one in the hospital? Is it to restrain her? Is he trying to hold her down? Is this the start of another sexual episode?
Conklin got some stitches in his head and Brady is “pissed off” because he thinks he could have killed Gordon before he got away. Oh, and he did get away – the cops lost him after Lindsay barfed. “I felt sick all over again. All that highly trained manpower, and Gordon had made fools of us all.” Well, at least everyone remained fully clothed this time.
“He did, huh?”
“Bear hug.” Joe grinned and I laughed. I’m not sure that Jacobi has ever hugged me.
All laughing and hugging of bears aside (although, I can’t figure out why Jacobi would have been giving out hugs in the waiting room), Joe thinks that Gordon has “ditched the kid by now.” Debbie Downer. Then, friends, we return to the subject of the blasting caps. The frickin’ blasting caps without any explosive charges…
“The doorbell. When you pressed the button, signals went to two blasting caps, one in a cooler at the curb. The other blew up the back of the house – what used to be a house.”
I’m not going there again. Do your research, Patterson.
“He asked for me, Joe. He demanded that I come to the door. He planned for me to detonate that bomb. Why me? Payback because he didn’t get the money?”
“I think so. He’s putting your face on his power struggle with the city – “
I never even thought of a reason, actually. Although, that one works fine, I guess. Or that he just hates women and Lindsay was the only one he knew in the crowd. Sorry, we’re about to be interrupted by Lindsay’s doctor:
Dr. Dweck asked me to follow his finger with my eyes. He hammered my knees and made me flex my wings. He told me that I had a gorgeous palm-sized contusion on my shoulder and that the cuts on my hands would heal just fine.
Wait, there’s more! If I have to read it, so do you.
He listened to my breathing and my heart, both of which sped up as I thought about how Pete Gordon could be anywhere by now, with or without that little boy – and no one knew where in the hell he was.