Kill Me Tomorrow by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pinnacle Books
Published: 2024-08-19T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

“Who is it, Marge?” Doc Portman asked.

“It’s Slim Asher, Doc,” his housekeeper answered. “He’s got a fellow with a gunshot wound in his shoulder.”

“A prisoner?” Doc asked.

“I expect so,” Marge answered. “He’s got him in handcuffs.”

“Damn, right when I’m eating supper. Why do the surgery patients always show up when you’re trying to eat? All right, take him in my surgery. I’ll be there in a minute. Then you might as well put some water on the stove.” He took his fork and stuffed several large bites of food in his mouth, then washed it down with the last half of his cup of coffee, then followed Marge to his surgery. “You got a shoulder wound patient there, Slim?” he asked the deputy when he walked in the room.

“Yep,” Slim replied. “Sorry to bother you at suppertime. I was gonna wait till in the mornin’, but he was bellyachin’ so much about how he was in pain that Sheriff Freeman said take him to see you.”

“Well, let’s have a look. You gonna behave yourself if we take those handcuffs off?” he asked Maurice. “We need to take your shirt off, but I don’t have to take it off. I can just cut the sleeve off.”

“I won’t cause you no trouble,” Maurice said. “I just want that bullet outta my shoulder.”

“All right, then, let’s get right to it. Slim, take his cuffs off.”

Slim unlocked the cuffs, but removed only the one on the wounded arm.

“What’s your name?” Doc asked.

“Maurice.”

“All right, Maurice, let’s take your shirt off. Then I want you to lie down on this table on your back and we’ll have you fixed up in a jiffy.”

After a quick look at the wound, Doc was true to his word. The bullet had avoided the bones and settled in the muscle. Anxious to get back to another cup of coffee and maybe a slice of pie, Doc cut the bullet out in short order. He packed the wound with a thick bandage and told Slim to bring Maurice back the next day to change the bandage.

To Maurice, he said, “I don’t think that wound’s gonna give you much trouble at all. Just try to keep it as clean as you can.” He helped him get his shirt back on. “He’s all yours, Slim.”

He left Marge to clean up the surgery and returned to the kitchen. Maurice didn’t wait to be told, he turned and walked out of the surgery, not stopping until he went out the front door, the one handcuff dangling from his one cuffed wrist.

“What did you do with your scalpel?” Marge asked when she walked through the kitchen carrying the bucket of water she had used to clean his instruments.

“Whaddaya mean?” Doc asked.

“Your scalpel you just used,” she answered. “What did you do with it?”

“I didn’t do anything with it. What are you talking about?”

“You did something with it,” she insisted, “’cause it’s sure not in the surgery anywhere.”

“What are you talking about?” Doc repeated, finally concerned enough to get up from the table and go back to the surgery.

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