Driver

Driver - Chapter 8

The bloody encounter at the motel had sliced open Danny's left arm. He pulled the bed sheet and tore a part of it to wrap around his arm to stop the bleeding. It's time to pay a little visit to the good doctor, he thought as he moved towards his car parked in the motel's lot. He looked around one last time to ensure no one was following him. He was remembering a time not long after he'd come to L.A. Many weeks of scrambling to stay out of harm's way, scrambling just to stay alive, stay afloat. Every day was filled with anxiety. Today was not very different. He took the on ramp and made his way towards the city to meet the doctor.

Alexander Bradshaw was a doctor who found himself patching up more law breakers than he would like to admit. Any crew that ran out of the city and needed some medical help would head straight towards Alex who had gained a notorious reputation in the criminal underworld. He would always warn them never to pay him such visits but a bundle of hundred dollar bills for his services would be more than enough to buy his silence. Danny knew about him from one of his previous jobs and thought it might be useful to remember where he ran his medical centre for outlaws.

"Been a while Doc," said Danny as he heard music coming from a wounded saxophone playing on Alex's record.  Doc had ideas about music different from most people's.

"Seems just like yesterday," replied Alex. "Course to me everything seems just like yesterday. When I remember it at all."

Then he just stood there, as if waiting for the rest of Danny's crew to arrive. When no one followed he added, "You're not alone this time are you?"

"Yes doc, it's just me," he answered.

Alex looked down and saw Danny dripping blood on his floor.

"You are dripping on my welcome mat."

"You don't have a welcome mat," said Danny as he tried to find the welcome mat that he was supposedly spoiling.

"No, but I used to. It was a nice one. Then somehow people like you started getting the notion that I meant it" Alex added with a chuckle.

Danny tried to laugh but only managed a muffled chuckle as his arm sent a bolt of pain throughout his body.

"You could be the blood man you know like the milk man. Making deliveries of blood everywhere you go. People would put out bottles with a list of what they need, half a pint or two whole pints. They could ask you for small containers of packed cells…I don't need any blood blood man."

"But I will," said Danny, "And a lot more if you don’t let me in."

He backed away and opened the door to let Danny inside. Alex had been living in a garage when he first met Danny. Here he was still living in a garage, but only this one was much bigger. Outlaws in need of medical attention don't seem to hold back when it comes to paying their doctors handsomely. He had spent a good part of his lifetime dispensing marginally legal drugs to the Hollywood crowd before he got shut down. With all that money he bought a house in the hills but not many knew about it. He hardly ever stayed there. His current work would keep him away from enjoying the luxuries of his house.

Helping Danny onto a table Alex said, "That arm doesn't look so good."

"You think?"

"You want me to have a look at it?"

"I didn't call ahead," Danny replied.

"Don't worry about it. I'll work you in"

The doc scurried about gathering his medical equipment.  Some of the things he gathered and laid out in a perfect line were a little scary. Easing Danny out of his coat as he scissored the blood-soaked shirt away from his body Alex whistled tunelessly. Squinting his eyes, he said "Eyesight not what it used to be." He reached the wound to give it a closer look, "But then again what is?"

Pulling the top off a bottle of Betadine, Alex dumped it into a saucepan, found a packet of cotton squares and threw them in as well. He then picked one out with two fingers and gently swabbed over the wound.

"Relax, you'll feel better now," he turned a cheap desk lamp towards Danny's wound. The bulb in the desk lamp flickered, then failed, came back again when the doc thumped it.

"You better not stress your arm too much while the wound's still fresh," said Alex as he handed Danny a bottle of his old Scotch kept nearby.

"Take a few hits of this boy. Chances are you'll need them. Probably both of us will before this is over.  It'll make you feel better too. You ready?"

"Yes," came the response from the driver.

Doc threw the sponges, swabs, and gloves into a plastic bucket that should have been used as a wastebasket for cars. Living in a garage had taught him to use everything as much as he could.

"That's it," he said. "Stitches are done, the wound looks good. Bad news is that you're not going to have a whole lot of feeling in that arm for some time. God news you should have full mobility very soon."

Danny handed over a wad of bills secured with a rubber band.

"Here's what I figure owe you, if that's not enough— "

"I am sure it is."

"Not the first time you fixed me together Doc."