Page 105 of The Man I Hate

“See that?” I asked.

Anna shifted her attention from the parking lot to the hospital. “What?”

“Inside.” I nodded toward the commotion. “Right beside that potted palm. You can’t miss it.”

She scanned the area. Her eyes locked on the three men. “The two guys arguing?”

“One of them is arguing,” I said with a laugh. “The other is just listening. It looks like the guard is acting as the referee.”

“Is that—”

“You guessed it,” I said. “That’s Hap.”

She peered toward the three men. She squinted. “I thought he was a frail little old man. He doesn’t look frail, little, or old. He’s tall and he looks physically fit, especially for being comatose for three weeks.”

She was right. Considering the length of time he was confined to a bed, he looked like he was in remarkable condition.

“There’s nothing little about him.” I got out of the car and glanced at Anna. “I’ll be right back.”

She shot me a look while reaching for her door. “I’m coming.”

“Suit yourself,” I murmured.

We walked to the entrance side by side. The automatic doors slid open, revealing an amused guard, an argumentative Hap, and an extremely accepting young orderly, who appeared to be offering the old man a wheelchair.

They were thirty feet from where we stood. Consumed with the argument, they had no idea we’d walked through the door.

Hap looked like a blind two-year-old had fitted his mask. It was askew, with one of the elastic straps barely attached to the top of his ear. His left hand clutched a plastic bag marked with the hospital’s logo.

“Painfully fucking obvious you can’t hear,” Hap snarled. He gave the kid a side-eyed look. “Is English your native language?”

The kid was as white as a sheet. His hair was as red as a fire truck. I don’t know what other language he may have spoken. Hoping to diffuse the situation, I started to walk in their direction. Anna held out her arm and stopped me from taking the first step.

“Yes, it is,” the kid responded. “Like I said a moment ago, this is policy, Sir. I’m supposed to—”

“You can go fuck a goat,” Hap said, motioning to the wheelchair. “You get in that fucking thing, and I’ll push your dumb red-headed ass out into the parking lot.”

The orderly sighed. “The hospital’s policy for departing ICU—”

“Here’s my policy,” Hap snapped, interrupting the orderly mid-sentence. “When my dipshit son gets here, I’m walking through those doors like a man.”

“Leave him alone, Old Man,” I said. “He’s just trying to do his job.”

Hap’s attention shot from the orderly to me. His face contorted. “What in the hell happened to you?” he looked me up and down. “You go on a cabbage soup diet or something? You look like hammered shit.”

“Get in the wheelchair, Old Man.” I motioned to the SUV with my thumb. “Let’s go.”

His eyes thinned. “You get in the wheelchair, Dipshit.”

Anna brushed past me. “How about if I push you?” she asked. “We can do wheelies on the way.”

Hap’s eyes widened. “Who might you be?”

She tilted her head toward me. “I’m with him.”

Hap looked her over good. “Are you the fiery Italian gal from next door?”

“How’d you know I was Italian?” she asked.