Forgive and Forget(7)

“Elsie, please grab me some warm water and a couple of towels so he doesn’t bleed on the couch. Donnie, help me get his jacket off.”

They got busy swiftly removing the man’s jacket and boots in an attempt to make him more comfortable. From the looks of things, the clothes were all high quality. The charcoal-gray long-sleeved tee stretched over firm muscles and a flat stomach, and his dark jeans fit snug on strong thighs and long legs. Whoever the man was, he certainly wasn’t just some bum. Joe searched every pocket in the hopes of finding a wallet, some identification, a business card, cell phone, something that might give them a clue as to who their guest was.

“Did you find anything?” Elsie asked, bringing over the bowl of warm water.

“Nothing. Just some dirt. Donnie, get on the phone to Jules. Ask her what’s the earliest she can come by and what we should do in the meantime. Elsie, hold that bowl for me, will you? I’m going to try and get some of this blood off. Bea, could you finish up downstairs?”

Bea gaped like he’d grown three heads. “You want me to just leave you up here with him? What if he wakes up and attacks you? What if he’s a murderer? He might be an assassin hired to take you out!”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. No one’s been hired to take me out. I bake pies, Bea. I’m not the political head of a foreign territory. I’ll be fine.”

Bea looked like she was about to argue some more, but thankfully she also knew when Joe meant business, and so she retreated downstairs. Donnie went off to call Jules, and in the meantime, Joe carefully began to clean away as much blood as he could. Soon, he found the source of it: a thin line about two inches long on the side of the man’s scalp. It didn’t need stitches, but there was one hell of a bump on his noggin. Joe carefully laid him back against the faded brown couch before looking him over.

The guy was younger than Joe had thought, but it was hard to guess how old he was since he was looking a bit scruffy at the moment, what with his hair all over the place and the dark beard, though there were a few gray hairs starting to grow in. There was a nick on his lip, along with several cuts and scrapes around his face, neck, and arms. Damn. The guy’s knuckles were scraped and bruised. He’d clearly gotten into a pretty bad fight recently.

Donnie came scurrying back from the kitchen, his chest heaving as if he’d run a lap rather than the few feet it was. “Jules says we need to wake him up and get him to talk. Keep an eye on him in case he’s sick or dizzy, and keep him awake for a few hours. See about convincing him to get to a hospital. He needs to be observed overnight. She says she’s sorry, but she’s working tonight. She’ll try to come by as soon as she can.”

“Okay.” Joe ran his fingers through his hair as he thought about his next move.

Donnie took a seat beside Elsie, both watching him anxiously. “What are we gonna do, Joe?”

As sure as Joe was that the guy hadn’t been hired to assassinate him, he didn’t know if the man was dangerous. Not to mention his last words hadn’t exactly filled Joe with warm fuzzy feelings. “Why don’t you kids go help Bea? I’ll let you know when he’s awake, or if I need anything.”

Donnie opened his mouth but caught Joe’s subtle nod toward Elsie, who looked a little pale. The kid quickly jumped to his feet and took her hand. “Come on, Elsie. Let’s go help Bea.” Elsie gazed up at Donnie like he was her knight in shining armor and followed him, smiling, out of the apartment.

“All right, Joe, you can do this.” Inhaling deeply, Joe crouched in front of the unconscious man and pinched his hand lightly. “Hey. Wake up.”

Nothing happened.

“Of course nothing happened.” What did he think would happen with a pinch like that? If Bea had been here, she’d have told him off for it, or more likely, probably given him a tweak that put his own to shame. Bracing himself, he pinched the man’s hand. Hard.

Nothing.

“Aw, come on, man. Do me a favor, already. I nearly pulled something dragging your butt up here. The least you could do is be conscious.” He pinched the guy again. “Wake up!” Another harsh pinch later, the guy groaned. Now we’re getting somewhere.

Gently shaking the guy’s shoulder with one hand and patting the man’s cheek with the other, Joe was about to smack him one more time when the guy popped up like a jack-in-the-box.

Joe forgave himself for the inelegant yelp that escaped him. He hit the carpet with a painful thud. What just happened?

Managing to suck some air into his lungs, when the man landed on him, Joe did his best not to panic by shutting his eyes tight and remaining perfectly still. Then he remembered the heavy weight pinning him down wasn’t a bear and therefore most likely not fooled by his playing possum. Were bears fooled by that kind of thing? Maybe this wasn’t the best time to ponder that. The weight shifted, and before Joe knew it, there was a forearm pressed against his neck. Suddenly, this all seemed like a very bad idea. Actually, bad was an understatement. He could just about hear Bea’s “I told you so.” He hated when she told him so.

“Who do you work for,” the man demanded, his face red and his steel gaze pinning Joe to the spot. “Answer me!”

Joe shook his head as best he could. “No one! Me! I work for me. I bake pies.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”