The Struggles of Johnny Cannon (22 page)

“Then this whole thing is my fault,” he said. He let out a big sigh. “I'm going to go to the prayer room. Come fetch me when they're ready to let us back in.”

He walked off and left me and Willie alone.

I tried to think of something I could say that might maybe get me and him talking again. I decided to try a history fact.

“I know it ain't the sixth yet, but I'll give you a preview of tomorrow. September sixth is the day that the Pilgrims left Plymouth to head to America, and also the day that the Puritans first settled around Salem. So, really, September sixth is all about new—”

“Shut up,” he said. Then, after a bit, he looked me square in the eyes. “Are you really going to let your pa think you're as innocent as a baby?”

“Well, I sort of am. I didn't do nothing to nobody.”

“See, that's your problem. You don't understand that you can be just as guilty for not doing something as you can for doing something.”

Right then Mrs. Macker came out of the room.

“Come on back in,” she said.

We both got up and I didn't go fetch Pa yet, 'cause I knew how long he liked to pray and I'd hate to interrupt when he was having a little talk with Jesus. I wasn't so much scared of Pa smacking me for it, but if the Good Lord felt so inclined, he'd probably knock me into the next week.

Mrs. Macker went and sat next to Martha's bed and Willie went over and joined her. I couldn't make myself walk all the way into the room. I just stood there and watched as Willie grabbed hold of Martha's hand. She turned her head and looked at him and a tear sort of formed in her eye.

“So, where is Mr. Macker, anyway?” I asked. Willie and Mrs. Macker both gave me the stink eye, so I reckoned that meant the answer wasn't a good one.

The doctor knocked on the door behind us. Mrs. Macker told him to come on in.

“We got some of the lab work back already, and it seems as though she's out of the woods.”

“I want to go home,” Martha wheezed out.

The doctor clicked his tongue and got the sort of smile you get when a kid asks you a really stupid question.

“Oh, sweetheart, I don't think so. You have a lot of recovering to do.”

“I can do that at home,” she said.

Mrs. Macker looked over at the doctor. He cleared his throat so he could talk a little more stern-like.

“I'm sorry, but on this I must be emphatic,” he said. “Your heart stopped beating. You had no oxygen flow to your brain. We have no idea how bad the damage really was. You need to have at least forty-eight hours of observation.”

“So, she just needs observation?” Mrs. Macker said.

He winced.

“Yes, but observation by medical professionals. People who know what they're looking for.”

Mrs. Macker nodded.

“You mean like someone who went to the University of Pennsylvania and specialized in cardiothoracic surgery? Would that person be medically trained enough for you?”

“Well, certainly, but where are you going to find someone like that?”

“I just need to look in the mirror.”

He glanced over at the mirror like he was trying to figure out what the heck she was talking about. Even I got it before he did.

“Wait, you mean you?” he asked. She nodded. “You're a surgeon?”

“Was. But then I had my baby and my husband—” She coughed and rubbed Martha's forehead. “Well, he asked me to give up a lot of things.”

“Nevertheless, I must insist—” he said.

“Nevertheless nothing. You can't keep her here against my wishes,” she said.

“I should call your husband,” he said. “Get a clearer head on this.”

“Go ahead and call him,” she said. “And while you're at it, will you let him know I told his daughter about his girlfriend? Oh, and that I'm selling his golf clubs.”

The doctor looked like she'd punched him in the nose. He threw his hands up in the air. He started to storm out, then he turned and gave Mrs. Macker the meanest look I'd ever seen a doctor give.

“I might add,” he said, “it's no surprise your husband looked for a little understanding in the arms of another woman. Nobody likes a shrew.”

“You might want to go check your blood pressure, Doctor,” Mrs. Macker said, her fists clenched. “You're looking a little flush. And you're sounding somewhat stupid. But that could be normal for you.”

He left in a huff.

There was another knock on the door. Pa came walking in, and he was joined by Carlos and Mr. Thomassen. Carlos was carrying a big vase of flowers, a gift from the Three Caballeros.

“Some flowers to brighten the room,” Mr. Thomassen said.

“I'm going home,” Martha said.

All them fellas looked at each other real awkwardly.

“Uh, did the doctor say it was okay?”

“Yes, I did,” Mrs. Macker said.

Another couple of awkward seconds. Carlos cleared his throat.

“So, do you want these flowers in here or should we take them downstairs?”

I didn't much care what they decided on that, and I was tired of looking at everything and everyone in that room, so I went over to look out the window. Out there, on the streets of Cullman, there wasn't none of the mess that was inside that room. I sure did wish I was out there.

Then out from the shadows of one of the alleys, two people snuck across the street and ducked behind another building. Then they snuck a little farther down the street and hid again. They was doing a pretty good job of keeping out of sight from the pedestrians.

“Is that Eddie?” Willie said. I hadn't even realized he'd come over to the window with me.

The Three Caballeros hurried over to look for themselves.

“Well, I'll be, it
is
Eddie,” Pa said. “But who's that with him?”

Mr. Thomassen peered real close.

“Oh my God,” he said. “That's Rudy.”

That was weird. How'd he know that?

“Rudy?” Carlos said. “You don't mean—”

“Yes. Eddie Gorman is tangled up with Rudy Trafficante.”

I felt my brain exploding in my head.

“Wait, Trafficante?” I asked. “Like Santo Trafficante?”

“Yes, Rudy is his son.”

Willie leaned in to whisper to me.

“So does that mean Rudy is from Florida, like ol' Trafficante?”

“I reckon,” I said. Didn't see why that was important, but who knows what goes on in Willie's brain?

Eddie and Rudy got over to Bob's auto shop and they slipped inside.

“What do you think they're doing?” I asked.

“I don't know,” Pa said. “But I reckon I ought to call the sheriff.” He headed over to the phone. We kept on watching the empty street.

After a little bit, the street wasn't empty anymore. Instead, that brand-new Corvette peeled out of the garage, fishtailed and nearly took out Mrs. Buttke, who had just come out of the beauty parlor, and then the car zoomed away from us. Mrs. Buttke fell down on the sidewalk.

“Oh, dang, they almost killed Mrs. Buttke!” I said. And then I forgot all about it.

'Cause right then, Cullman finally got its fireworks show.

The front of Bob's shop flashed red and yellow and we heard a real loud bang, then a whole mess of smaller bangs. And whistles. And crackles. Plus there was rockets shooting, and green and red sparks flying. It was like the
Reader's Digest
version of the Fourth of July. The explosions just kept going and going.

And then I remembered them cars that was in the shop.

“Oh, dadgum, I hope the sparks don't—”

I didn't get to finish. There was an even bigger explosion than the one before. Then another, and another. If I had to guess, I'd say each one of them cars in the shop blew up, one right after the other, like a set of dominoes. The roof of the shop flew up into the air, and then the whole thing started falling in on itself. And the buildings around the shop started falling apart and crashing down on top of it all.

And then the explosions stopped and it got quiet, which was almost more creepy and scary than the explosions. There was smoke and fire blowing in every direction, running across the sidewalk and down the street. Folks that had been walking nearby was on the ground, some of them it looked like they was knocked over, others looked like they was taking cover.

Carlos dropped the vase of flowers and it broke all over the tile floor. Mrs. Macker came running over, but she didn't seem to care one bit about them flowers.

“What happened?” she asked, then she saw the scene down on the street. “Oh my God.”

The flaming smoke was gone and it was just regular black and gray soot and dust that was blowing around down there, along with torn-up papers and stuff from inside the auto shop. Some of the folks that had ducked for cover got up and you could tell they was trying to get their bearings back.

Some of the other folks stayed down on the ground. It looked like they couldn't get up at all. Mrs. Buttke was one of them.

Mrs. Macker took off running out of the room. Us menfolk looked at each other and realized we probably should have done that too, so we all headed out. Willie stopped at Martha's bed, grabbed her hand, and told her we'd be back real soon. She seemed thankful for that and so I went to grab her other hand. She flinched away from me.

“Come on, let's go,” Willie said. I ran out with him.

We got into the elevator and headed down to the first floor.

“Why was you holding her hand?” I asked.

He glared at me.

“After everything that's gone on, that's the only thing you can think to say?”

“You don't want to hear none of the other things I got to say.”

He stared straight ahead.

“I was holding her hand 'cause she was scared and 'cause that's what a friend does. Not making her go running off at Snake Pond, or getting her bit by a water moccasin, or anything else you did.”

“Hey, I didn't make her go running off from me.”

He shot me a death look.

“Sure you did. When you teamed up with Eddie Gorman, you made her run away from you. You didn't leave her no other options.”

I was tired of arguing about that, so I let it go.

“What about you?” I asked. “Did I make you run away too?”

He sighed.

“We're blood brothers, Johnny. That means I'm stuck with you.”

I started to smile.

“That ain't meant to be a happy thing,” he said. “I'm stuck with this bum leg, too. So keep in mind what sort of company you're keeping.”

The elevator doors opened and we went as fast as we could out onto the street. All the doctors and nurses had already run out and was trying to help folks. Mrs. Macker, too, with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, was running around and checking on folks. She got over by Mrs. Buttke and stopped. Mrs. Buttke was clutching at her chest. Me and Willie hurried over.

“Eleanor,” Mrs. Macker said. “Tell me what's wrong.”

Mrs. Buttke was breathing real quick and short.

“My heart, I think—”

“Are you having a heart attack?” Mrs. Macker said.

“No, it's my pacemaker,” Mrs. Buttke said. “Something's wrong.”

“Johnny,” Mrs. Macker said. “Go get a gurney and tell the doctor that Mrs. Buttke needs to get into an operating room immediately.”

I nodded and ran. I ran past folks that had giant pieces of glass sticking out of their shoulders and folks that was bleeding 'cause the bricks hit them. I found the doctor that had been up in Martha's room. He was over barking at the nurses to hurry up so he could stitch up a couple of fellas.

“Mrs. Buttke's over there and she's in a bad way,” I said. “She said something about her pacemaker.”

He didn't need nothing else to be said. He had a gurney he was sitting on, so he jumped off and pushed it through the street to where Mrs. Buttke was at.

“She says her pacemaker is malfunctioning,” Mrs. Macker said. The doctor ignored her.

“What seems to be the problem, Mrs. Buttke?”

Mrs. Buttke just glared at him.

“Pacemaker,” Mrs. Macker said. “She needs to go into surgery.”

The doctor clicked his tongue.

“Well, let's get her into an ambulance so she can get down to Birmingham.”

“Birmingham?” I hollered. Probably shouldn't have, but it was Mrs. Buttke we was talking about. “What if she don't make it to Birmingham?”

“She'll be fine,” he said, and patted Mrs. Buttke on the shoulder as they put her on a gurney. I think she almost bit his hand off. “We don't have a cardiothoracic surgeon here, so we don't have a choice.”

“I told you that I am—” Mrs. Macker started.

“Were,” he said. “You
were
a cardiothoracic surgeon. Now you're a mother. Maybe you should tend to your job and let me tend to mine.”

Mrs. Buttke yanked on my sleeve.

“Johnny,” she whispered, “hand me my cane, please.”

I grabbed it up off the ground and gave it to her. She poked him right in the gut with it.

“If she's a cardiothoracic surgeon, then let her do the surgery,” she said, still wheezing and gasping for breath.

“Mrs. Buttke, please, you have to trust me. You'd be much better off to go to Birmingham.”

“I buttered your bottom when you had diaper rash, Percival. Don't you dare let me die because you're too stubborn to let a woman do a man's job.”

They stared at each other for a spell, and then he huffed.

“Fine, if you would rather die in Cullman, be my guest.” He turned and yelled at one of the nurses. “Go with them and get an OR ready!”

Mrs. Macker gave him a hug.

“Thank you, Percival,” she said, trying real hard not to laugh at his name. She pushed the gurney along with some of them nurses and they went to go get Mrs. Buttke all fixed up.