Page 41 of A Matter of Pedigree
“Orange is great,” he said, struggling to sit up.
Carole handed him the switch that operated the bed, and he gradually rose to a sitting position, licking on the Popsicle. He still looked awful, she thought; his skin actually seemed gray, but at least he was beginning to look and act like himself. When he reached for the remote and switched on the TV, she decided he really didn’t need company.
“I guess we better let you rest,” she said.
“Yeah, I got business,” said Frank.
“Thanks for coming,” he said, his eyes on the TV as he flipped through the channels. “See you later.”
Frank, Carole, and Polly began the long walk through the hospital corridors that took them to the parking garage. As they were passing the emergency room, Frank spotted an acquaintance, Mitch Chase, also leaving, with one hand wrapped in a thick, white bandage.
“Hey, Mitch! What happened to you?”
Mitch, a tall man with receding hair, dressed in a Carhart barn jacket and jeans, greeted them warmly. “Frank! Carole! And this is your mom, right? I guess you’re all here to see Frank-O. So how’s the kid doing?”
“It’s a miracle he wasn’t killed,” said Polly.
“I think he’ll be fine,” said Carole. “Thanks for asking.”
“So what happened to you?” asked Polly, her eyes full of concern.
“I burned myself, it’s nothing. How’s your kid? I heard he was in the fire. That was sure some blaze.”
“He’s gonna be okay. Were you at the Factory, too?” asked Frank, keeping his tone casual. “Is that how you got burned?”
“Nah. I was cooking bacon.” He shrugged. “It’s not too bad, second degree, but I thought I better play it safe, get it looked at.”
“Very wise,” said Polly, making her eyes big. Carole couldn’t believe it; the woman simply couldn’t resist flirting with anything in pants. Mitch was at least twenty years younger than she was.
“So what happened? How’d the bacon get out of control?” asked Frank; at the same time, Polly wanted to know what the doctor told him.
Tony ignored Frank and answered Polly. “You know, keep it clean; come back if there’s any sign of infection …” He sighed, a big sigh, as if he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Like I need this right now, right? I got that HVAC contract down at the Factory; you know, it’s a big job, I got a lot invested in materials. I hired a couple of guys, Guatemalans, terrific workers and cheap, too, but now I don’t know where things stand. You too, right, Frank? We might be taking a big hit, if they decide to demolish the place.”
Polly’s eyes were round. “Would they?” she asked, dramatically.
“They’re not gonna do that,” said Frank.
“How can you be so sure. Interest rates are killing the real estate market; the developers might decide to put off the project, wait for the economy to improve. It’s like a big spiral, one thing happens, then another, and pretty soon it’s a full-blown recession with plenty of misery to go around, what with the old guy getting killed and now the fire and Frank-O, and you know there’s gonna be an investigation …”
“Yeah, well,” said Frank, shaking Mitch’s good hand and slapping him on the back. “It’ll work out; things usually do.”
“It was so nice to see you,” said Polly, giving him a little wave as Carole pulled her along.
Frank was thoughtful as they continued their walk to the garage. When they passed through the fire door into the gritty parking area that smelled like exhaust, he finally spoke. “I wonder if the fire marshal questioned Mitch,” he said.
“Why would they? He burned himself cooking bacon. That’s got nothing to do with the fire at the Factory,” said Carole. “See you later.”
“Yeah, right,” said Frank, heading for his car.
Carole watched him go; she loved that wide, rocking, bulldog gait of his. He was headed up the ramp when she noticed a car door open and quickly shut, only to reopen when Frank was past. Carole recognized the man who got out; it was Stu Sempione, the narc.
“What are we doing here in the parking?” asked Polly, giving her a concerned look. “We came in an Uber.”
“Oh, I forgot. My car’s in the shop; we’ve got to get another Uber,” said Carole. “And I’m so hungry? Do you want to grab something in the cafeteria since we’re here?”
“Non! Tres, tres horrible,” she said, shuddering. “I just bought the Popsicle.”
“So you want to get a bite somewhere? Or should we just go home and have a salad?”
