“I do,” he said firmly, “and you can call me Andrew. You’re my responsibility until I get you home. Still fancy that McDonalds?”
Davie thought about the recurring sickness that constantly rose in his tummy and shook his head. “Thanks all the same, but I think it will just make me feel worse. I just want to go home to bed.”
“No probs. I’m parked right outside so I’ll have you there in ten.”
The two of them set off through the bleak corridors of the hospital, the silence growing more awkward with each passing step. Davie considered making a run for it, but knew he wouldn’t make it more than a few yards without having to throw up. Just strolling along like this took a concerted effort.
“This way!” said Andrew, just as Davie was about to make a turn into the reception area. “I came in through the A&E not General Admissions.”
Davie followed Andrew into a waiting room that was empty except for a young lad with a thick clump of glass sticking out of a bleeding head wound. He was sobbing to himself quietly as he sat there alone.
Someone’s bottled him, Davie thought to himself, knowing the type of injury well from experience. The scars never go completely away.
Davie and Andrew exited the hospital and stepped into the cold breeze of the car park. There was a bright red Mercedes parked askew across several parking bays and, as Davie got closer, he could see that the vehicle was plastered in graffiti – the words Pedo PedoPedo written all over it. Davie glanced at Andrew uncertainly.
Andrew seemed to realise the situation and immediately became flustered, waving his hands and shaking his head defensively. “No, no, no, you don’t need to worry. That’s just the work of some idiot that’s been terrorising the neighbourhood. His idea of a joke!”
“Ha ha,” said Davie without inflection, secretly thinking that Frankie had a weird sense of humour. “You must have laughed all night?”
Andrew looked at Davie and then suddenly broke into laughter. “Yeah, I had an absolute hoot! Now come on, get yourself inside the pedo-wagon. I want to take you home and show you my basement. I have candy.”
Davie joined in the laughter and pulled open the passenger door when Andrew disengaged the automatic locks. Despite the spoiled paintwork, it was still the poshest car Davie had ever been in. The seats were soft, stitched from leather, and the dashboard had a sleek metallic sheen that was peppered with chrome-plated dials and switches.
“Nice motor,” he commented.
“Thanks,” said Andrew, sliding into the driver’s seat and strapping himself in. “I only just got it, but I think it’s nice too. Obviously someone felt it needed some custom paintwork, though.”
“Will it cost a lot to repair?”
Andrew started the engine and looked forward. He shrugged. “I imagine so. Hopefully my insurance will cover it, but then they charge you more every month to make up for it.”
“That sucks,” said Davie, not really understanding the ins and outs of motor insurance, but assuming it was a big rip-off like everything else. “You know who did it?”
Andrew nodded but said nothing.
Davie shifted slightly in his seat as the car began moving out of the hospital car park. “You going to do anything about it? To the person that did it, I mean?”
“Don’t know,” said Andrew. “Don’t know if there’s anything I can do.”
Davie frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’m a good man. I look after my family and go to work so that I can give them a good life, but what can I do if some little shit decides to make my life hell? The police won’t help me and I don’t know how to fight worth a damn. Seems to me that it’s all too easy to be a thug nowadays. No one does anything.”
The car pulled onto a main road and picked up speed. The car’s powerful engine purred along proudly. There was no other traffic that Davie could see. The dashboard’s digital clock said that it was a little after nine at night, which explained the empty roads.