Free The Doctor's Tale by Claire Applewhite

Where’s that fucker, Maypo? I’m gonna fucking shoot ya’ll!”
    The crack of a 9 mm bullet pierced the mayhem. Mary screamed and lunged on the terrazzo floor. Her .38 revolver slid across the slick surface. I snatched it. Huddled beneath Maypo’s gurney, Mary’s eyes looked wide and fearful. A stray bullet grazed her knee, and she moaned in agony. The shooter’s spent casings dropped around me. My mouth felt parched, like it was stuffed with pieces of cotton.
    I felt my hand raise. Just like Uncle Tony taught me all those years ago, I aimed for the shooter’s heart, and then, his head. The shooting ceased. The room sounded like a tomb. My trembling hand gripped the .38 revolver, now three bullets lighter. I hoped that Mary was still alive.
    “Call a code!” I said.
    In the following moments, years of training calmed the frenzied chaos. I can’t explain the synergy, but somehow, Maypo ended up in the ICU. While he took short, shallow breaths, Mary talked to him and held his hand. Though his body was riddled with bullets, Mary clung to the crazy hope that Maypo might survive. Fortunately for Maypo, the shooter seemed to favor quantity over precision.
    I entered the narrow space, complete with an IV pole and humming machines. I think my compassion surprised Mary. In fact, I don’t know what surprised her more: my empathy or my marksmanship.
    “How’s he doing?” I said.
    Mary glanced at me. “See for yourself.” A corner of her mouth creased in a smile. “You know something? For a white guy, you’re a pretty good shot.”
    “I’m not proud of that, Mary. The police want to talk to me, and I’m sure I’ll end up in the Dean’s office over this. I just hope I don’t get thrown out of medical school.”
    “You got to be kiddin’ me! Over a man like Easter?”
    “Who?”
    “Tyrell Easter. That’s who you done shot. He just got out of the damn jail. Made his way to find Maypo and get his evens.”
    “Get even? Over what? What did Maypo do to him?”
    “Well,” Mary said, “You might as well know all of it. Maypo, see he ain’t no saint hisself. Lemme tell you, while Tyrell was locked up doing time, Maypo was living it up with Tyrell’s woman, cruising ‘round town with Shontay Biggs in Tyrell’s Cadillac. Word on that gets around and fast, hear? Maypo knew better.” She shook her head. “He shorely did.”
    “I don’t understand,” I said.
    “Okay, Doctor. I got to spell it out for you. Tyrell Easter and Maypo were a coupla homeboys, you know, before all of this mess. One day, Tyrell decides they gonna rob that Seven A‘Leven over on Hampton. Maypo was supposed to wait for him, you know—drive the getaway car.”
    “What happened?”
    “When the alarm in the store went off, Maypo did, too. Tyrell got arrested. Din’t even score five bills. He coulda told all he knew—brought Maypo down with him. But Easter, he didn’t do that. He did his time his way, on his own time. But when he heard Mays be messing around with his woman and his Cad’lac, he say when he get out, first thing on his list, he gonna kill Maypo. ‘An shore enough, that is ‘xactly what he did—or at least, he tried to do.”
    I stared at Maypo. “So, you’re saying that Tyrell Easter spent all those years thinking about killing Maypo?”
    “’X-actly.”
    “Because Maypo liked his car and his girlfriend too much.”
    “You could say it like that. Now it’s my turn. Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”
    “Growing up, my Uncle Tony taught me how to shoot. He was a city cop.”
    “Was?”
    “Yeah. He died about ten years ago. He taught me how to shoot paper targets. Tonight is the first time I shot an actual person. I feel terrible, and I’m not proud of myself, Mary. I hope I never have to do it again.”
    Mary grinned. “Well, I surely don’t know why not. You’re the best shot I ever did see.” She shook her head and chuckled. “Just three shots—two to the chest and one to the head.”