Big Maria by Shaw Johnny Read Free Book Online Page A

press their hand in the spilled blood.
    He did interviews—not interrogations, he was assured—with each agency, answering the same battery of questions. For the most part, his interviewers showed little malice, seemingly sympathetic to the tragedy of the events. The CHP were the exception, displaying dollops of unnecessary arrogance. They probably perceived it as a display of power, but it came off as overcompensation.
    While the doctors had worked on him, they had done a toxicology report. Marijuana had been found in his system. While it wasn’t proof that his driving had been impaired, it was an illegal substance and complicated things. The impact would be minimal if the authorities pursued criminal charges, but it would be damning in the inevitable civil cases from the injured and the families of the dead. When the lawyers and insurance people finally arrived, they would complete Ricky’s destruction that began in the crash.
    The long and short of it was that Ricky was not only screwed, but there was no solution. Jail, bankruptcy, even death wouldn’t get him out of the jam. It was one hundred percent unfixable. It was hard to wish for a miracle when a miracle wouldn’t help.
    F rank came to see Ricky. The lines on his face were so deep that Ricky couldn’t differentiate between cuts and wrinkles. It didn’t look like the old guy had a scratch on him. Ricky guessed that it was some sort of mystical, indestructible River Indian mojo thing. Indians always seemed tougher than regular people.
    “Wasn’t your fault, kid,” Frank said. “Worse driver would’ve gotten everybody killed. Some things just happen. Hell of a ride you took us on.”
    “Thanks for coming by, Mr. Pacheco. Glad to see you’re okay, but I’m not up for company.”
    “Don’t flatter yourself. I got a biopsy tomorrow on a fresh lump they don’t like the looks of. Easier to spend the night. I’m down the hall. And I told you to call me Frank.”
    “Cancer?”
    “Nothing new. Fighting it for years. I’m thinking I can wear it out in the late rounds and win on points.”
    “If anyone can, Frank.”
    “Don’t mind the cancer so much, it’s my daughter needing to take care of me. Do I look like I need to be babysat?”
    Ricky shook his head, his mind heading in other directions.
    “There was nothing more you could have done. And from the looks of you—wrapped up like Claude Rains—if any punishing is going to happen, that switch has already struck ass.”
    “An arm don’t feel like nearly enough.”
    “Arm and a leg is more traditional.” Frank put his hand on Ricky’s good shoulder. “You’re a kid. The hell of it will pass. I done horribler things than you, and I’ve given up on the guilt for those sins long ago. Can’t blame yourself for accidents. That’s why they’re called accidents.”
    “Tell that to the people I killed.”
    “You didn’t kill ’em. They died. Different.”
    Ricky looked toward the window in an effort to dismiss the old man. The blinds were half closed. There was no view. Frank finally took the unmistakable hint.
    “I’ll be by tomorrow. If you’re not too glum, we’ll play cards.”
    “I don’t want to see anyone. You understand?”
    “I understand. See you tomorrow.”

EIGHT
    T he irresponsible combination of painkillers and Wild Turkey kept Harry in a medicated haze but didn’t stop his rising boredom. In an effort to liven things up, he roamed the halls in a borrowed wheelchair. He liked the sounds a hospital made: robotic beeps, low moans, foul-mouthed nurses, screaming children, crying mothers, and strange interludes of disquieting silence. It calmed him to hear everything as he floated above it all.
    Passing an open door, he spotted Ricky. The big kid was all bandaged up. It didn’t take Harry long to do the math. There had been a bus crash. The kid owned a bus. Holy hell. Talk about a bad week. Hospital scuttlebutt put the current death count at five.
    Harry rolled into the