“His boots,” Ben said. “The ones you had on when we caught you running. His boots and his coat.”
The Mazz looked at Harper with aggrieved, pleading eyes. “The guy, this Father of yours, he gave me his boots when he saw I didn’t have any. Coat, too. He gave ’em to me because I couldn’t feel my feet what for the cold. Is that the kind of guy you pay back with a rock to the head? Look, I’ve been tellin’ this dude, I told him. The holy Father and I came back ahead of the other two boats. He was nothing but good to me. He gave me his boots and coat, ’cause he saw I couldn’t stop shivering. When we got to shore, he led me into the woods. We walked, I don’t know, couple hundred feet. Then he pointed at the church steeple and said stay on the path and in another minute or two I’d come to the chapel and there would be people to help me. He said he wanted to go back and make sure everyone else got to shore okay. I offered to give him his boots back but he wouldn’t take them. And . . . all right. Look. I don’t know none of you. I saw the chapel, but I also saw a perfectly good Buick parked around behind it, and I thought, Shit, maybe I ought to go someplace where I do know people. I didn’t mean anything by it. I didn’t know the car belonged to anyone.”
“That’s right. You didn’t know it belonged to anyone. And the world is just full of free cars. They’re like picking daisies at the side of the road,” Ben said.
“The world is fulla free cars now,” said the Mazz. “On account of a person relinquishes ownership of their wheels after goin’ up in fuckin’ smoke. There’s probably a thousand cars in this state ain’t no one ever gonna claim.”
Harper stepped toward the convicts. Ben leaped up and caught her wrist.
“Don’t. I don’t want you near him. Stay behind me. This guy—”
“Is in need of medical treatment. My arm, please, Mr. Patchett.”
He seemed almost to flinch from the formal use of his name. Or maybe he was flinching from her tone: calm, patient, but impersonal, quietly in charge. He let go of her arm, and if there was unhappy surprise in his face, perhaps it was because he understood he was letting go of his control over the situation as well. He could argue with Harper, but not with Nurse Willowes.
He looked past her to the prisoners. “You touch her—either one of you—I won’t be using the butt of the gun on you, understand?”
Harper came close enough to the Mazz to smell his breath: a metallic odor of fresh blood. She leaned in to inspect his pink teeth.
“You won’t need stitches,” she said. “But I’d like to get a cold compress against your mouth. How are your feet?”
“Been a while since I could feel them. Gilbert is worse. Gil can hardly stand.” He gestured with his head toward the other convict, who had not spoken yet. “And my hands . . . the cuffs . . . I got no circulation.”
“We’ll get those right off. Mr. Patchett?”
“No. They stay on.”
“You can cuff them to something else if you think it’s necessary, but you can’t keep them like this, in a stress position. That has to stop. Whatever you think they’ve done, it doesn’t justify abuse.”
“I’ll tell you about abuse!” cried the Mazz. “Keepin’ us strung up here is the least of it! You ought to hear how I wound up with a busted mouth. See, I could take being locked up with my arm coming out of the socket, and I could take no food, nothing to drink, and no rest. What made me lose my composure is the feeling like maybe I need to have a crap. This one says he’d be glad to help me with that, soon as I start answering his questions the way he wants ’em answered. He said the next thing to come out of my mouth better be something good. I didn’t want to disappoint him, so I spat in his fat cop face. Then he smashes me one. He would’ve hit me again, but I put my knee in his stomach and dropped him on the floor, which just goes to show I can whip his ass with one hand cuffed behind my back. Literally.”
Ben said, “Why don’t you shut up before—”
“Before you give a handcuffed man another pistol whipping, Mr. Patchett?” Harper asked quietly.
Ben shot a startled, embarrassed glance at Harper, an expression that made her think of a sixth grader caught looking at a dirty picture.
“Shoot,” he whispered. It was obvious he didn’t want the convicts to hear him, but the acoustics of the bare metal room made a private conversation impossible. “Now, Harper. Come on. It wasn’t anything like that. I cuffed ’em there because it was the easiest place, not to cause suffering. The towel full of rocks—that was just to scare them. And this guy tried to stomp my head in, same as he stomped in Father Storey’s skull. I was lucky to get clear. I can’t believe you’d take his word over mine. I have to think that’s hormones talking.”
“I don’t care which of you is telling the truth,” she said. It was an effort to keep the anger out of her voice. Hormones. “My concern is medical. This man is injured and can’t remain hung up like he is. Get him down.”
“I’ll let him down. But he can wear the cuffs right into the crapper.”
The Mazz said, “Fine by me. Long as you promise to wipe my ass when I’m finished. And I better warn you, brother, this one feels like it’s going to be wet.”
“That’s not helpful,” Harper said.
“Copy that. Sorry, ma’am.” The Mazz cast his gaze downward, but a smile teased the corners of his mouth.
“What about you?” Harper asked, turning to the man who hadn’t spoken. “Gilbert. Do you need to use the facilities?”
“No, thank you, ma’am. I’m fairly constipated. I’ve been buttoned up for several days now.”
This was met by a moment of silence and then Harper laughed. She couldn’t help it. She could not even say why it was so funny.
“Gilbert. What’s your last name?”
“Cline, but you can call me Gil. I don’t need the bathroom, but I’d commit any number of crimes for a bite to eat.”
“Don’t worry,” said Renée Gilmonton. “We won’t let you go hungry, Mr. Cline. No felonies required.”
Harper wheeled and saw Renée standing in the open locker door. Renée went on, “I don’t know how you can maintain an appetite in here, though. Whoo, it smells bad. Is this the best we can do for them?”
“Jesus,” Ben muttered. “First her, now you. I’m sorry the frickin’ Hilton didn’t have any rooms available for an attempted murderer and his accomplice. What the heck are you doing here? You ought to be asleep. No one should be out during the daytime. We have rules for a reason.”
“The girls wanted an update on Father Storey and when I checked the infirmary, Harper wasn’t there. I figured the cafeteria was the next best bet. Anything I can do to help?”
“No,” Ben said.
“Yes,” Harper told her. “This man needs a cold compress for his face, a cup of hot tea, and a visit to the bathroom, although probably not in that order. Both of them ought to have breakfast. And you’re right, this is a filthy place for them. There’s two unused beds in the infirmary. We ought to—”
“Out of the question,” Ben said. “They stay here.”
“Both of them? Right. I was meaning to get to that. You said Mr. Mazzucchelli assaulted Father Storey. I’m not clear why Mr. Cline is also locked up.”
“Because they’re in it together, these two. They already partnered up to break out of one place.”