Page 107 of Rafe: Sins of the Father

“Okay, set him here, boys,” Bev says.

The place is empty of customers, and a closed sign hangs in the window.

We’ve barely got Kyle on the table when we hear two car doors slam and turn to see an elderly man fast walking to the door, a big leather doctor’s bag in his hand.

“That’s my Uncle Bill. Dr. Bergstrom. And the lady chasing behind him is my Aunt Yolanda,” Bev says.

When they clear the door, Bev waves them over.

“Okay, everyone. Step back,” the old man says, setting his bag down and checking Kyle’s pulse. Then he pulls the clothing up and examines the wound. Meanwhile, the woman sets down a long metal pole on wheels and begins rigging up an IV kit.

“Give us room, please,” she says.

“She was an army nurse in Vietnam,” Bev says, leaning to me and my father who stand by helplessly. “She’s no stranger to gunshot wounds. Relax. She’s got this.”

I nod, feeling a little better about the situation.

“It’d be better if we move over here,” Bev says, herding everyone toward the bar.

The good doctor and nurse work on him. Their faces are serious, and I can tell it’s not good. The nurse hooks him to a heart monitor and then takes his blood pressure.

“His blood pressure is dropping, Bill, and his heart rate is increasing. He’s lost too much blood.”

My gaze drops to her feet, where several wads of gauze lay soaked in red.

While her husband is busy cleaning and closing the wounds, she looks over at us almost apologetically, and I feel my heart stutter.

“What do you need?” I step forward.

“Blood. But I don’t know his type or any of yours.”

“I’m his twin. We have the same type.”

She nods and looks at her husband.

“Hook him up,” the doctor snaps as he continues to work on the wound.

Like the former war-zone trauma nurse she was, she goes into action, and it's not long before I’m sitting in a chair next to Kyle and an IV stretches from my arm to his.

The married medical pair work for almost an hour, before they bandage Kyle up and the doctor pulls off his bloody gloves with a snap. His wife injects something into the IV line.

The doctor turns and looks at us all. “Who do I talk to?”

My father steps forward. “I’m his father.”

He eyes Wolf up and down, then extends his hand. “I’m Dr. Bergstrom. He lost a lot of blood, but his heart rate and blood pressure have stabilized, and he’s getting his color back now that he’s got an extra pint in him. He needs his blood pressure monitored and might need another pint, but Rafe’s already given as much as he safely can right now. It was a through-and-through wound. The bullet came out, so I didn’t have to remove it. That’s good. It didn’t hit anything vital. It just went through the fleshy part of his abdomen. The kid got lucky. I cleaned and closed the wound, and loaded him up with antibiotics, but he’s gonna need to see someone for follow-up care, understand?”

“Yes, sir. We’ve got a club doctor. We already called him. He’s waiting for us back in San Jose.”

“Good. I’ll make a list of what I gave the patient for you to pass along. He has any questions, here’s my number.” He passes my father his card.

Wolf shakes his hand. “You saved his life, Doctor. I’m eternally grateful. If there’s anything you need…”

Dr. Bergstrom waves him off. “Glad to have a little excitement. Retirement can be boring as hell.”

My father grins, and it’s the first one I’ve seen all day.

The nurse disconnects the IV line she put in me, and I stand, but I have to wait a minute when a wave of lightheadednesssweeps over me. She touches my arm. “Sit down a minute, son. Bev, can he get some juice?”

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