Free Christopher Paul Curtis by Bucking the Sarge Page B

the hospital, your head's running like a spigot!”
    He finally understood what was going on. I took off toward the alley and he stumbled along just behind, trying to keep up with me.
    We were back at the home in two minutes.
    I used my key on the back door and guided him down into the basement. I led him right into my bathroom. Blood was coming out of his head real fast.
    I knew the Sarge would kill me but the closest thing to stop his bleeding was one of her good white towels. We'd just had a state inspection so the everyday towels were still hidden in the linen closet upstairs.
    “Here,” I said, and handed him the white towel, “press this on the cut, it'll slow the blood down. I'll go get the keys and drive you to the hospital.”
    My roommate, Chester X Stockard, looked up from his bed and gasped. That was the most I'd seen him react to anything. Maybe he'd had some bad experience with blood before.
    I told him, “It's all right, Mr. X, Sparky had a little accident, I'ma take him to the hospital.”
    He closed his eyes.
    I left Sparky leaning over the tub and ran back upstairs.
    As soon as I opened the kitchen door the Sarge was standing at the sink. Sparky's run on bad luck was still going strong, she almost never came over here at night.
    She said, “I thought you'd gone to bed.”
    “Uh, I thought you had too.”
    She said, “Tomorrow I want to change Mr. Baker's medication, seems to me like he's getting a little too—”
    There are some knocks that have bad news written all over them. They're a little too hard or a little too soft, whichever, but you know when that first knuckle hits the wood that whatever's on the other side of the door it ain't someone telling you you hit first prize in the Lotto.
    The Sarge looked at the clock in the microwave, then at me. “You expecting someone?”
    “Me? No. Uh-uh.”
    Her eyes stayed on me a second too long as she wiped her hands on the dish towel. I started back down to the basement.
    “Hold on,” she said. “I got a feeling about this, you follow me.”
    I jumped when the knock came again.
    The Sarge peeked through the peephole, then looked over at me. The muscles in her cheeks squeezed her jaw tight. She opened the door.
    “Flint police, ma'am.”
    “Yes, Officer, how may I help you?”
    “Ma'am, sorry to disturb you. We're checking out an assault and attempted robbery that occurred at a fast-food restaurant a few minutes ago.”
    “An assault?”
    “Yes, ma'am, the witnesses said the victim chased after the suspect. We followed a trail of blood to your house. It seems to have disappeared just down there.” I saw the beam from the cop's flashlight swing across the yard. “Have you heard or seen anything unusual in the past few minutes?”
    “No, Officer, I haven't, but I will keep my eyes open.”
    The cop acted like he wanted to ask more, but the Sarge was through. He'd get more information from a fire hydrant than from her.
    “Thank you, ma'am. Do you mind if we look in your backyard?”
    “Knock yourself out.”
    Even before she had the door shut I was already slipping downstairs.
    “Front and center!”
    I went back.
    “Assault and attempted robbery?”
    “Momma, it wasn't nothing like that.”
    “Then what was it like?”
    “Well, Sparky …” I forgot, the Sarge didn't take to nicknames. “… Dewey, had this plan to scam Taco Bell's insurance company and so he made me bust him in the head with one of their roof tiles and he started bleeding real bad and I was supposed to take him in so they'd call an ambulance and then he'd sue them. He was gonna give me some of the money.”
    She said, “And?”
    “And some people at Taco Bell saw me hit him so we had to call it off.”
    The Sarge rolled her eyes.
    “So where is that idiot? He's not getting blood all over my floors, is he?”
    “No, ma'am, I got him a …” Uh-oh. “… a rag before he came in, he's leaning over the tub downstairs.”
    “Get him.”
    I walked as slow as I could