Read Ed McBain_87th Precinct 47 for Free Online Page B

anyway do you
really
like cop movies, maybe we ought to call it a night, huh?
    —Thank you, I had a very nice time.
    —No, hey, thank
you.
I had a nice time, too. Palpating the chest wall now, pushing along the sternum…
    “Feel any pain here?”
    “No.”
    “How about here?”
    “No.”
    Ruling out any inflammation of the carti…
    “What’s this?” she asked suddenly.
    “What’s
what?”
Garrod said.
    “This scar on your shoulder.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Looks like a healed bullet wound.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Is that what it is?”
    “Yeah.”
    “I didn’t see anything in your file about… ”
    “It’s in there, all right.”
    “A gunshot wound? How’d I miss a gunshot wound?”
    “Maybe you didn’t go back far enough.”
    “When did you get shot?”
    “Six, seven months ago.”
    “Before the chest pains started?”
    “Yeah.”
    She looked at him.
    “The scar’s got nothin to do with those pains,” he said. “The scar don’t hurt at all.”
    “But the pains started after you got shot.”
    “Yeah.”
    “You keep testing normal ...”
    “Yeah, but ...”
    “EKGs, stress tests, GI tests, everything normal, no muscular problems … ”
    “One thing’s got nothing to do with …”
    “How soon after the shooting did you go back to work?”
    “Few weeks after rehab.”
    “Where was that?”
    “Buenavista.”
    “Good program there.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Went back to undercover?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Were you doing undercover when the chest pains started?”
    “Yeah, but …”
    “Who’d you work with at Buenavista?”
    “Oh, the physical therapists. Getting the shoulder working again. I’m
in good
shape, you know …”
    “Yes.”
    “So it didn’t take long.”
    “Did you talk to anyone about getting shot?”
    “Oh, sure.’’
    “About the psychological aftereffects of getting shot?”
    “Sure.”
    “About post-trauma syndrome?”
    “Lots of cops in this city get shot, you know. I’m not anybody special.”
    “But you
did
talk to someone at Buenavista about …”
    “Well, it didn’t apply, you see. I had no problem with it.”
    Sharyn looked at him again.
    “There’s someone I’d like you to see,” she said. “I want you to stop at the sick-call desk on your way out, and make an appointment
     with him. His name is Simon Waggenstein,” she said, writing it on one of her cards. “He’s one of the deputy chief surgeons
     here.”
    “Why do I have to see another doctor? All I’ve done so far is go from one doctor to… ”
    “This one’s a psychiatrist.”
    “No way,” Garrod said at once, and stood up, and yanked his shirt from where he had draped it over the chair. “Send me back
     to active duty, fuck it, I ain’t seeing no psychiatrist.”
    “He may be able to help you.”
    “I got
chest
pains and you want me to see a
head
doctor? Come on, willya?”
    Angrily pulling on the shirt, buttoning it swiftly, not looking at her.
    “Why haven’t you applied for a pension?” she asked.
    “I don’t want a pension.”
    “You want to stay on the force, is that it?”
    “I’m a good cop,” he said flatly. “Getting shot don’t make inc no less a good cop.”
    “But you can quit with a pension anytime you want… ”
    “I don’t want to quit.”
    “You don’t have to invent imaginary chest pains to keep you off the street… ”
    “They’re not imaginary!”
    “You’re
entitled
to the pension… ”
    “I don’t
want
the …”
    “You can claim …”
    “I want
back
on the street!”
    “… federal disability incur …”
    “I wasn’t afraid to go
back!
”
    “But if you didn’t want to risk it again, nobody would blame… ”
    “They
already
blame me!” he said. “They think I got shot because I wasn’t doing the job right. I must’ve been doing something wrong or
     I wouldn’ta got shot in the first place, you understand? To them, I’m some kinda failure. They don’t even want to be
around
me, man, they’re afraid
they’re
liable’a