shot for an hour, comparing the three pistols for accuracy. When they showed the target sheets to the range clerk, he nodded in admiration. As they left, Pat asked, “Want to get a beer, Doc?”
Checking his watch, Charlie said, “Ok, but I can’t stay long.”
“No problem, I got stuff to do, too. Follow me.”
Pat led them out of the suburban parking lot down to a bar near the city limits with a giant black horse hanging over the front entrance. Inside, it was dark and cool, and Pat was relieved there wasn’t anyone who might be a student inside. The doctor carefully poured a Michelob into a pilsner glass while Pat sipped a Schmidt’s draft.
“That was good Pat,” Charlie said. “I know it’s not real combat shooting, but I appreciate you showing me how you guys do it.”
“Yeah,” Pat said, a flood of sudden skirmishes during the war coming to mind. “Sometimes your mind gets so sharp you think you can hit a mosquito on a branch, and sometimes, nothing goes where you aim it... it all happens so fast.”
“Hmm. I guess I’ll probably never know.”
“You’re not missing anything,” Pat said. “Hell, if you’ve worked on shooting victims, you’ve had to keep your wits together under pressure.”
“Yeah, the ER can get pretty hectic when they bring a shooting victim in.”
“Where’d you work in emergency rooms, Doc?”
“Columbus Hospital downtown and Sister’s on Main Street. Sister’s used to get a lot of stabbings on weekends, especially when it was hot.”
“You ever work at the VA, Doc?”
“I did a rotation there when I was in med school.”
“See any guys in there come back from Vietnam?”
“No. This was several years ago,” the doctor said, thinking of the men Pat’s age who were long missing limbs and eyes.
“My oldest boy got wounded over there. He’s in the Philippines now, at Clark Air Force Base Hospital.” Pat watched the bubbles rise in his glass. “They say he’s going to Walter Reed next.”
“How... badly was he hurt, over there?”
“A commie mine got Rory,” he said, turning the base of the beer glass.
“What are his injuries, if I may ask?”
“His left eye’s gone. They, they’ve got to rebuild his face. Left arm’s gone below the elbow and his leg below the knee. They can get him artificial limbs. They think he can hear, but they’re not sure how much his brain works. He’s in pain all the time, doc. His face... the way he’s all tore up, he can’t talk.
“I was talking to a sheriff’s deputy that was over there. They’re doing what they call ‘hamburger cleaning’ now – they don’t even close the wounds until they’re sure he won’t get some infection. My boy hurts all the time, Doc. Rita and I want to visit him, contact him somehow, but we can’t we call the Philippines to find out how he’s doing, and the people at Walter Reed don’t know anything.”
They sat for a good ten seconds in silence. Pat felt embarrassed about blurting all that out to this young guy he’d just met.
“Shit, I’m sorry, Doc. I must sound like an idiot talking like that.”
“No, not at all, it’s ok. I’ve had to talk to a lot of family members whose relatives get injured. My oldest boy is fourteen and the prospect of him going to Vietnam terrifies me.”
“Yeah. I thought I’d seen it all in the war, but when your own boy gets...”
After a few more moments of silence, the doctor finished his beer. “Well, I’ve got to be going, Pat. Thanks for coming with me...care to do it again? Firing that .45 is tricky, like you said.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure. Just make sure you clean it with the Hoppe’s when you get home, Doc. Gimme a holler next time you want to go shooting. You’ll get more accurate with practice, but not much, with that weapon.”
They both rose and shook hands. Charlie reached for his wallet, but Pat waved him off saying, “Nah, it’s on me.”
The doctor left, and Pat stood there, contemplating another beer. Checking his watch, he paid and left, then headed home to call Walter Reed with Rita again to see if they had any updates.
18.
Pat was sorting through the boxes on his new desk when District Attorney Daniel Butler strode into the outer office. He was muttering to himself when he picked up the phone messages from the receptionist, dropped a file on one secretary’s desk and then stopped in front of Pat’s desk.
“Patrick. How’s it going so far?”
“Not bad. Got my shooting qualifications taken care of, parking permit and keys to the investigator’s car. Right now, I’m organizing the office stuff.”
“Good, good. We’re busy here, but I’ll try to keep breaking you in easy. Cases that should be pieces of cake for an old pro like yourself – insurance frauds, gathering witnesses’ statements, background checks, matters of that sort. I’ll keep you working a lot with A.D.A. Roth. I believe you and he go back to the pinball investigations under my predecessor Mr. Stone. That will be good, I think the two of you will make a good team. Have you met everyone here in the office?” he said, waving a hand around the room.
“Yes, I’ve met them. Some I knew from my days in the Buffalo Police.”
“Excellent...I was wondering if you might step into my office for a moment.”
“Sure,” he said, putting a dictionary down on the green metal desk.
Pat closed the door and the DA waved him to a chair as he sat down behind the stacks of paper on his desk.
“Pat,” he said. “It’s terrible what happened to your son Rory over in Vietnam. I was told that he’s very badly hurt and will take a long time to recover. I want you to know that if there’s something we can do...”
“I appreciate that,” Pat said, eyes lowered.
“I mean that, Pat. I know you just started here, but if you need time off to visit him...”
“Yeah, I might need that. We’re not sure how he’s doing now, but he’s headed for Walter Reed in Washington...”
“Don’t they keep you updated?”
“It’s the Army, boss. Delayed, incomplete, stiff messages. My wife’s – she’s a nurse – going crazy trying to find out what’s going on, what his condition is, what they’re doing for him...”
Dan Butler nodded and knit his brows. “I might be able to help there. Do you know Max Reilly?”
“The congressman? I know of him.”
“Let me make a phone call to Max. He and I go back to Troop 163 together. Still play handball with him when he’s in town. He should be able to get this straightened out.”
Politician, Pat thought. Campaign contributions required.
As he picked up the phone, Butler caught Pat’s look. “Don’t worry, Max is all right. He always does the right thing by the good people.”
19.
After the Army told Pat and Rita when Rory was going to be transferred to Walter Reed, Rita called the evening charge nurse that she knew at the VA Hospital in Buffalo and asked about the Walter Reed doctors, then tried again to get in touch with them. After a week, Rory’s attending physician called her back.
“May I speak to Mrs. Rita Brogan?”
“This is she.”
“Mrs. Brogan, this is Dr. Pancescu.