When Boardman walked in, his eyes bulged. “Frank! Are you all right? What in hell happened?”
Frank looked sideways at Jim with resignation on his face and said in a low, patient voice, “Commander or Sir, and yes, I’m fine. Please call the hospital and let them know that this …asshole tripped and has a boo-boo. See if they can send over a corpsman and check him over.”
Boardman skipped the usual bear baiting with Frank and ran out to his desk to call the hospital.
Jim said, “Frank, what good will this have done? Now there’s going to be two injured sailors at the hospital.”
Frank raised an eyebrow as he lit another cigarette. His breathing was still heavy and sported glistening droplets of sweat on his bald pate. “Trust me, ‘Punkin. This guy would have gotten off anyways. Bullies antagonize the witnesses. Take it from me-- every bully lies. The only way to make them see the light is to feed them their same medicine.” Frank brightened up, “Besides, I figure, one or two more times with my ‘equalizer’ and he’ll be as peaceful as a lamb.”
Jim was out of his chair, standing over O’Neil, making sure that he was still breathing. O’Neil let out of couple of moans and a shoeless foot trembled slightly, but he seemed alive.
“Shit, Jim! Will-you-relax?” barked Frank. “I didn’t hurt him that bad. I left him in better condition that your friend at the hospital.”
Jim didn’t trust Frank’s medical diagnosis—he felt relieved when a corpsman arrived and started checking O’Neil. He wiped up some of his bloody face with disposable wipes and then broke an ammonia capsule under his nose. After a few seconds, O’Neil began to stir. The corpsman gave a few concerned glances to Frank and Jim but continued to check over the first phases of bruising around O’Neil’s neck amongst the red weals that throbbed across his shoulders and abdomen. When O’Neil was fully awake, he was racked in pain and had trouble standing up.
“Just a misunderstanding, right O’Neil?” grunted Frank with a bright smile across his face.
“Y-yes sir.” nodded O’Neil while being escorted out the door by the corpsman.
Boardman was standing outside the office watching the broken sailor walk uneasily past when Frank caught his eye, “Boardman! Get some tools and fix my fucking door!”
Jim returned to his office a little shaken. His head was buzzing with worry about the Sailor that just had his guts turned inside out by Frank and his own career since he was an accessory to the violence.
The phone next to him rang out, causing Jim to lurch in his chair. “Um, DEA liaison office. Smith speaking.” He was glad that even in difficult moments he could pull himself to answer the phone.
“Hiya Jim!” answered the gruff voice on the other end. “It’s me, Rip. I’m a-just reminding you that today is Wednesday and that means darts night.” Jim rubbed his temple as he had completely forgot.
“Aw Rip, I don’t know—I’ve had a real shitty morning. Besides, this afternoon is the 5k fun-run and I’ll probably just want to collapse for a week.”
Rip paused on the phone for a good long second, “Well mister, I’ve been trying for over a year to get you into my lodge—we need good men like you and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you screw up my Wednesday nights as well! You may not realize it Jim, but some of us look forward to certain days of the week, not as an excuse to drink, but to get plastered with the people that make us happy.”
“Thanks.” Sighed Jim, “I’ll be there as usual at eight.” He put down the phone and his mind crept back to Frank’s office. He had seen fights before, but never where another man was beat unconscious in such a calculated way. Frank had taken apart O’Neil as easily as a fisherman cleaning his day’s catch.
