Never Use a Chicken and Other Stories (8 page)

A.K.A.

When he came out of the anesthetic his first thought was, “Where am I?” The lights were not bright, but he quickly closed his eyes again. He was obviously on some kind of bed. Wait! A stretcher. That was it, he was on a stretcher. He remembered now. He had had surgery. Without moving his head, he mentally checked his body. He wiggled his fingers and his toes, realized they were all present and apparently working. Then he opened his eyes slowly, letting even the low lighting penetrate his consciousness. He looked at his arms. The right one first. That was okay. He lifted it to check. Then the left. Aha! A tube was running into it. When he moved his head, he could see that it came from a drip bag suspended from a rack above and just behind his head. A bit of further checking and he realized there was a tube running out from the other end. It didn’t hurt. It was just there.

At that moment a pleasant voice said, “You’re awake Mr. Andrews. How do you feel?

He looked slightly to his left and saw an unusually beautiful face peering down at him from under a green cap that covered all but a little bit of dark red hair. The green eyes were laughing eyes, and the nose was just the right size to match the lovely red mouth and firm chin. In fact he took in all that information in less than five seconds, but he could have sworn that he had been looking at the face for hours.

The voice which evidently belonged to the face said again, “How do you feel, Mr. Andrews?”

When he opened his mouth to speak, the one part of his body he had not checked didn’t cooperate too well. What he said was, “Much better after seeing you,” but he wasn’t sure that was what came out. At least his ears didn’t hear it that way. “You’ve just made my day.”

She must have understood because she smiled, a slow smile that lit up her face and the surrounding area around him.

“You’re in the recovery room, Mr. Andrews. The surgery went well. We’ll let you rest a little longer before we take you back to your room.”

He nodded, or tried to, and closed his eyes again, thinking of the beautiful face, the nicely modulated voice and that smile. He wondered whether the rest of the body matched the face, and while he was thinking, drifted off to sleep. When he woke, he didn’t know how much later, the face was smiling at him again. He felt better, much better.

“Okay, Mr. Andrews, I think we’ll move you out now. You’re doing fine.”

She had evidently been checking his blood pressure, because she was unwinding a cuff from his right arm as she spoke. In a moment, he felt his stretcher begin to move. After the swinging doors shut behind him, the corridor walls in their basic hospital pastel colors passed by in quick succesion until the stretcher entered an elevator. Then the elevator doors opened and shortly, strong male arms transferred him to the hospital bed he had left earlier. Female voices around him gave instructions to each other. Nobody spoke to him, although hands were touching him, moving him, checking his tubes, both the in one and the out one. That amused him somewhat and to his surprise, embarrassed him slightly. Then he went to sleep.

When he awoke, his mind was clear. He checked the wrist watch he had left on his bedside table and discovered that it was after eight o’clock. At night, he presumed. A nurse came through the door, noticed that he was awake, checked the fluid level in the drip and asked if he were hungry? “I can bring you an eggnog, if you want,” she said.

“Put some whiskey in it.”

“Sorry. Egg and milk. A little ice cream if you would like.”

He just nodded. When she opened the door to leave, he caught a glimpse of the blue uniform sitting on a chair outside the door. Ah yes, he remembered. The guard. That was why he had the private room.

Time passed slowly for the next couple of days. He felt much better, was able to have both tubes removed, and walked to and from the bathroom. He had no visitors and didn’t expect any, or any get well cards. Most of the time he slept or watched TV. On the third day, late in the afternoon, he did have a visitor, an unexpected one. She was wearing a standard nursing uniform, this time without the green cap, but there was no mistaking the face. It was as lovely as he had remembered.

“Hi there.” The voice was the same and he could easily tell that the rest of the body did indeed match the face. “How are you feeling?”

“Don’t you ever ask anything else? I feel almost normal, thank you. Have you transferred to this floor?”

“No. I just decided to come visit you after my shift finished. I have the perfect disguise, I guess. The policeman outside didn’t even look up from his paper.”

“They give the dumb ones the job of guarding somebody in hospital. They figure there’s no way I can escape so they don’t waste any talent on that job.”

“What did you do that got you sent to jail? You look like a very nice young man and you speak very well.”

“Case of S-S-M.”

“S-S-M? What’s that?”

“‘Schooling,’ too much of; ‘skills.’ too few of and ‘money,’ lack of. I robbed a bank and was stupid enough to be recognized by the teller a month later.”

“How much longer do you have to go?”

“Two years if I’m a good boy and stay out of trouble.”

“Ouch! That’s a long time.”

“It’s not so bad. Why do you care? Why did you come to visit me, anyway? You must have a boyfriend or a husband.”

“Nope. Neither. But I had a father who was a con. For twenty years. I only knew him from visiting him in prison. Two days after he got out, he was hit by a car and killed. It wasn’t fair. Not only that, but he wasn’t guilty anyway.”

“That’s what they all say. How do you know he wasn’t?”

“That’s how he got out. The man who did the murder confessed. After my father had spent twenty years in prison.” Her green eyes snapped momentarily and blazed with sudden anger, before softening again. “Anyway, I got interested in prisons and the people in them. When I found out you were a prisoner, I decided to come and visit. Was anybody hurt in your robbery?”

“Naw. I didn’t even have a weapon, just a note.” He turned his head away, tired of questions. She could see how he was feeling, so she didn’t prolong the visit. Gathering up a sheaf of papers she had been carrying when she entered the room, she turned toward the door.

Turning her head with its shoulder length dark red hair, she smiled and asked, “May I come back tomorrow?”

It was the smile that did it. It made the whole drab hospital room light up like Christmas. He nodded and smiled back, and after she had gone, a faint scent of perfume lingering above the medicinal smells, he turned over and went to sleep and dreamed of her red hair, her smile and sandy beaches and warm breezes. He didn’t even know her name. That was the first question he asked next afternoon when she returned.

“Trish Perkins,” she said, “and yours is John Andrews.”

“Trish,” he repeated. “I like that. It goes with your face. I like that, too.”

“Well thank you, John. I like you, too. In fact I did some checking on you today. I talked to the legal aid lawyer who represented you and discovered that what you said was true. He was very friendly. Told me you came from a broken family and had a tough background but that you are basically a very nice man.”

“You did?” He hesitated and looked at her thoughtfully for a long moment. “How did you get my lawyer to talk to you?”

“Easy. I told him I was the new social worker assigned to you and that was all it took.” Her face turned serious. “Look John, they’re going to release you tomorrow. Would you like to escape?”

He sat up in bed with a blank stare. “Are you serious?”

“Never more. I even have a plan all figured out.”

“Why? You don’t know me, and I don’t know you? How do I know I can trust you? How do you know you can trust me?”

“I know about you, and I’m a pretty good judge of character. I got interested when you woke up to in the recovery room. You were the first person I met there who was more interested in me than in himself when he came out of the anesthetic. You didn’t talk about you, but about me, and that was different. I liked it. Now answer my question. Do you want to escape—safely and permanently?”

“Sure. How?” He had no doubt she had concocted some silly plan because she had a crush on him, but he was willing to listen to prolong the visit, and see that gorgeous smile again.

“John, haven’t you noticed that the fire escape runs right past your window? Are you well enough to climb out the window and over the rail and then walk down the stairs? You’re on the third floor so it isn’t far. I’ll be waiting at the bottom with my car.”

“I don’t have any clothes except this hospital johnny shirt and a hospital bathrobe.”

“No problem. I’ll have clothes in the car and you can be dressed by the time we get to my apartment. It’s in a big block with underground parking and no curious neighbors. There are two bedrooms,” she added arching an eyebrow, “so don’t get ideas too far too fast.”

“And what time are you expecting to pull this caper, and more to the point, why?”

“Three-thirty tomorrow morning will be fine. Tomorrow is my day off, and three-thirty is a slow time around here when there are no medications to give or reason to check on patients. Like you said, the guards they send over are not too swift and chances are pretty good yours will even be asleep.”

“But why?”

“I told you. I’m the daughter of a con who was wrongfully jailed, and I like you and want to do something good for you in his memory.”

He thought for a while, thinking about what she had told him the day before, and deciding that maybe she wasn’t so dumb. The plan seemed sound, and what the heck, even if he got caught, it would only amount to six months or a year and she’d be the one who took most of the heat. After about five minutes of silence, he nodded his head slowly.

“Yeah. Okay. You have a flashlight down there and flash it three times when you see me open the window and climb over the rail. That way I’ll know it’s you.”

More to his surprise than anything else, the plan worked perfectly. His legs were a little weak, but he managed the climb without problems, got into the back seat of her car where there were clothes that almost fit, and got himself decent before they drove into her parking spot. Nobody seemed to be around and he only leaned on Trish a little bit as they walked to the elevator and then down the corridor to her apartment. He found a comfortable bed waiting and almost immediately fell asleep.

His watch told him the time was almost noon when he awoke. He somewhat shakily headed for the living room, stopping at the bathroom on the way where he found towels and a toothbrush obviously waiting for him. She was in her dressing gown, relaxing on the couch, watching the television news when he appeared.

“How’re you feeling, John?” she asked jumping up and guiding him to a soft armchair. “The TV news is full of your escape. The police say they are completely baffled.”

“I feel fine, just tired. I hope the cops meant what they said. I’m still not sure I know why you’re doing this.”

“Don’t worry about it. You just rest and relax for a couple of days until you get your strength back. I looked at your hospital records yesterday and everything was fine with your innards. Just take things easy and you’ll be feeling great in a couple of days.”

They discussed clothes and she agreed to buy some that would fit a little better. There was something else she was planning to do for him as well—get him a new identity.

“That’s so we can get you a passport and go to the Caribbean,” she said. “Turks and Caicos Islands would be just great, I think. They won’t find you there. I can get a job as a nurse and there must be lots of things you can do. How do you feel about that?”

“Sounds good to me. It’s your money. How do you plan to go about it?”

“I’ve got it all figured out. We’ll watch the west coast papers until we find an obituary for somebody about your age and then you’ll go to the unemployment office and say you’re him and just moved here and during the move you lost your Social Insurance Number and want to apply for a new card. With that I can get my parish priest to sign your passport application. He’s old as dirt and has known me for years.”

This is some kind of woman
, he thought,
or some kind of dream. I may have fallen into something very good here
. He sat back and gave a big sigh. “It sounds great. Might even work. Right now, though, the thing I would like most is some breakfast and a shower in that order. You sure you don’t have a boyfriend or husband around here somewhere?”

“No husband because I haven’t found a man I liked well enough to stay with so far. Maybe this time I’m lucky.” That smile again, and she headed to the kitchen. He looked around the room. The apartment seemed to be comfortable and the furnishings, including the prints on the walls, were good if not expensive.

Making all the necessary arrangements took about three weeks. During that time, at her insistence, he had let his beard grow and she shaved the top of his head every other day to make him appear to be balding. His medical problems were fast disappearing but still such that they did not become lovers, although it was very evident that they both expected that to happen when he became physically fit.

“A couple of weeks on the beach in the sun and things will be different,” she promised one evening after a long session of cuddling on the couch, a session which promised future delights he could only imagine, and which Trish seemed to be looking forward to providing.

Every day they searched the west coast paper she brought home from the newsstand down the street until one day they found an obit that matched perfectly. Charles Henry Steadman, age 31, of 267 Grenfell Street, in a west coast city, died suddenly at home. Getting the Social Insurance Number proved to be no problem at all. The disinterested clerk had him fill out a form, went to a computer, came back with the required nine-digit number and promised to send out the new card when it came in. Then they stopped at a photo shop and he had his picture taken, beard, bald head and all. Trish took the passport application to Father O’Brien who looked at it but failed to recognize the name.