Steve’s shorts: The Gift, Part One…
[Note from Steve: The following is an old story that I dug out of my archives and modified. It reflects some current sociological concerns. It’s in two parts; the second appears tomorrow. Enjoy.]
The Gift
Copyright 2020, Steven M. Moore
“We have a heart for you, Mrs. Brady,” the cardiologist said to his patient. He also smiled at the husband.
“Thank you, doctor.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
The husband glared at Dr. Chang. “Not from one of them virus patients, I hope. You’d like that I suppose. Or is it a black heart? She don’t need any black heart either.”
“Mitch!” This time the woman’s voice rose to a more normal level. “You should have left your bigotry at home!”
“Mr. Brady, can I speak to you outside?”
“I suppose. Be right back, Dot.”
The patient’s husband followed the doctor out of the room, a scowl on his face. The Chinese American doctor shut the door behind them.
He went right to the essential. “FYI, Mr. Brady: Your wife is going to die soon if she doesn’t receive this transplant. Do you understand that?”
“It is a black heart. I knew it!”
“It’s a healthy human heart. A man was killed in a terrible accident on the interstate. He was a full organ donor. Eyes, everything. Do you understand how lucky your wife and you are?”
“Black and male too. God help Dot!”
“His heart will save your wife’s life, Mr. Brady. Or do you want to be her murderer? That’s how I would think of you.”
“Listen here, you young punk!” Mitch Brady poked the doctor in the chest. “You can’t order me ‘round or insult me.”
“Let me suggest you go back in there, then, and tell your wife you want her to die. You might want to ask her what her choice is before you do that, though.”
He seemed a bit more subdued. “I know what the hell she wants. She’d like a chance to live to see her grandkids. Always talks about that, the stupid woman. Makes our daughters nuts.”
“Sounds like she’s a loving person. How did she come to marry you?”
Brady didn’t catch the insult and thought a moment. “There’s no other way?”
“No. And time is of the essence.”
“She’ll live?”
“No guarantees, but it’s her only chance at this moment.”
“A black man’s heart. What’s this world coming to? But okay. Let’s do it.”
***
“Only seventy miles? Piece of cake, Ed.”
Ed handed the refrigerated container to the pilot and climbed aboard the helicopter. He had complete confidence in Birdman to get him and his precious cargo to Mercy Hospital in time. Ed had lost count of how many times they’d done it before. He put on the headphones and adjusted the mike. Birdman already had his on, his bald head glistening with perspiration. One might expect the tattoos to start running in the heat.
“They have three landing pads,” Ed said over the engine noise. “At least one should be open.”
“I’ll land on the lawn if I have to. Hold on!” A bit more than halfway into the flight, Ed heard one of the twin engines sputtering.
“What’s up, Birdman?” Ed said over the comlink.
“Don’t rightly know. Bad fuel or motor problem. Heli was just checked over last week. She’s got miles on her, though.”
The sputtering increased and then there was an explosion. The main rotor stopped spinning and the heli started to fall.
“I’m trying to make that patch of marsh next to the interstate,” Birdman said. “Brace yourself!”
Ed eyed the container and confirmed it was secure. He started a prayer to Allah. He didn’t finish it before the crash.
***
“You okay, bro?”
Ed looked up into the concerned face and gentle eyes of a giant. Where am I? He then glanced at the crumpled heli where black smoke was rising.
“My heart!”
The giant got ready to apply CPR.
“Not mine. Inside the heli!”
“I was a mechanic in Iraq. That whole thing’s going up in flames anytime now.”
“There’s a heart inside. A woman’s desperate for a transplant.” Ed raised himself on his elbows. “I have to get the container out.”
“I’ll get it.”
The black man ran like a speedy linebacker chasing an opposing quarterback, found the refrigerated container, and lifted it out just in time.
“Got it, bro.” He carried it to Ed.
Ed watched as the chopper become a crematorium for the dead Birdman. He didn’t have time to dwell on it.
“I need to flag down a car. They’re waiting for the heart at Mercy Hospital.”
“No car is likely to stop for us brown and black boys, bro. We need to wait for the troopers.”
“Every minute counts!”
The giant offered a hand to Ed.
“Name’s Bubba Wilson. I can drive you.”
“In that?” Ed pointed at the eighteen-wheeler.
“Why not? No way anyone is going to stop us. I know where Mercy is.”
Ed looked toward Mecca and said a few words in Arabic, and then followed Bubba to the semi and climbed in next to his driver.
***
Comments are always welcome.
Binge-Reading #2. While I binge on other author’s series, you can binge on mine. Last week, I featured the “Clones and Mutants Trilogy.” This week, please consider my “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco Series,” seven books that make concrete the first part of my trademark motto, “Around the world…,” because they generally start with a homicide in Manhattan but often move to other US and international settings. The one exception is Aristocrats and Assassins, which starts with Castilblanco and his wife Pam on vacation in Europe (Interpol agent Bastiann van Coevorden, a main character in the “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” series, makes his first appearance here).
Available on Amazon and Smashwords and all the latter’s affiliated retailers (iBooks, B&N, Kobo, etc.) and lending and library services (Scribd, Overdrive, Baker & Taylor, Gardners, etc.)
Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!
