Jeff actually didn't need the anesthesia.
However, from a dical standpoint, a patient who has just been cut open shouldn't be wheeled out of the operating room looking "explosively" energetic. It would be an insult to the doctors and the hospital. Despite Jeff's claims that his surgical wounds didn't hurt at all and that he felt overflowing with life, the staff had a reputation to uphold.
Scientifically speaking, you shouldn't be having a spirited chat with your surgeon while your abdon is wide open. To keep the procedure "normal," the doctors had increased the dosage until Jeff finally succumbed to sleep.
Recalling the surgeon's baffled expression, George shook his head. "The doctor said Jeff should wake up around the afternoon."
Locke nodded. "That's good news."
Gwen looked around the quiet corridor. "Dad, where are Kate and Jason?"
George rubbed his face. "They're out chasing leads."
He had wanted to go too, but he was a Captain, not a field detective. Besides, Kate, Jason, and Jeff were all close friends, and Jason was Jeff's partner. None of them would have been willing to stay behind, so the duty fell to George.
Gwen thought for a mont. "Dad, Locke and I are going to the insurance office—Kahn and Cindy are waiting for us. After that, Locke and I will stay here so you can go ho and get so rest."
Locke chid in, supporting her. "Yeah, George. You've been up all night. Honestly, you look terrible—haggard. Go ho, grab so sleep, and Gwen and I will take over the watch."
George looked at Locke, then at Gwen's determined face. He smiled. "Alright. When you two get back, I'll head ho for a shower and a change of clothes."
...
The visit to the insurance company didn't take long. Within an hour, the agent had processed the four policies and initiated the payouts. The efficiency was staggering, especially compared to companies that usually fought tooth and nail to avoid claims.
"Silver City Insurance!"
Locke raised an eyebrow as he saw the $3 million payout hit his account. "Quite a fitting na."
In certain legends, "Silver City" was the na of the city where angels resided—a synonym for Heaven, much like the Big Apple is for New York or the City of Angels is for Los Angeles.
Why $3 million for Locke?
His personal payout was $1 million, but Cindy and Kahn had insisted on transferring the lion's share of their payouts—$750,000 each—to him, while Gwen gave him $500,000.
As they left, Cindy and Kahn thanked Locke profusely yet again.
"They've said 'thank you' too many tis these past few days," Locke remarked as he started the R8.
Gwen buckled her seatbelt. "You can tell them not to, but they can't not say it. That's why we're best friends, isn't it?"
Locke smiled. Gwen's logic was sound. He had saved their lives, and the insurance money was essentially a gift from him. If Cindy and Kahn had taken it for granted, they wouldn't have been worth his friendship. But they had insisted that if Locke didn't take the money, they would rather rip up the policies and let the insurance company keep the profit.
They were good friends. They shared the sa classes, the sa lunch table, and the sa library weekend shifts. This ordeal had only solidified that bond.
...
Back at the hospital, George stood up and scrubbed his face as Locke and Gwen approached. "Locke, thanks for this. I'll be back after a quick shower."
"No problem, George," Locke replied. Having the Captain's daughter and her boyfriend there served as a statent to the other officers in the hall: the boss was still watching, even if he was at ho.
Locke and Gwen sat in the hallway, watching Doris Martin through the glass. She hadn't slept either; she remained by the bed, clutching Jeff's hand in prayer.
"Jeff and Doris have always been so close," Gwen whispered. "I've always envied their relationship."
Locke raised an eyebrow. "What about George and Helen?"
Gwen shot him a look. "Are you trying to jinx my dad?"
Locke smiled. "So, are you jinxing ? Our future?"
Gwen paused, then playfully punched his shoulder. She wanted to laugh but rembered where they were and bit her lip to hold it in.
Locke didn't attempt to wake Jeff Martin early. It would look too suspicious. The doctors said he'd wake up in the afternoon naturally. In a city where SHIELD and the FBI were sniffing around, Locke knew better than to be reckless.
By 1:00 PM, George and Helen returned. They had hired a high school girl from their building to babysit the three younger boys.
When Locke and Gwen returned from a quick lunch, they stepped off the elevator just as George was escorting two n to the doors.
Locke's intuition flared. SHIELD. He had dealt with them enough tis to recognize their specific brand of "discreet" arrogance.
"Next ti," George was saying, his voice cold, "I don't want to see any federal agents interfering with my case."
The two agents looked exasperated. "Captain Stacy, we're just trying to help."
They hadn't wanted to co under the FBI banner, given that relations between the NYPD and the FBI were at an all-ti low because of Locke's lawsuit. But they couldn't exactly use Holand Security credentials for a local murder. They had been ordered to check Jeff's neck for bite marks or "unusual" trauma.
George pulled out his phone. "Then I'll tell your supervisor personally that the NYPD doesn't need your 'help'."
The agents froze. If George called the FBI New York Office, they would deny knowing who these two were. It would be another "SHIELD Exposure Crisis." The previous Director, Nick Fury, had been ousted (and t a grim end) precisely because of such exposure.
"Our apologies," one agent said quickly, stepping into the closing elevator. "We're leaving."
George snorted as the doors shut.
"Dad, those two..." Gwen started.
George turned back to them. "New York belongs to New Yorkers."
He knew exactly what they wanted. It was the sa as sixteen years ago—they wanted to snatch his case. Back then, George didn't have the leverage to stop them. Now? Even if he didn't have the leverage, he wouldn't let them touch it. The victim was his best friend. Money or threats didn't move him; if he cared about money, he'd have a yacht in LA instead of a crowded apartnt in Queens.
Locke looked at him with genuine admiration. "That was badass."
George smiled and headed into Jeff's room.
Locke's lawsuit against the feds, handled by the powerhouse firm TNT&G, had essentially dragged the Departnt of Justice's reputation through the mud. It was a refreshing turn of events for the NYPD. Every state in this country has an independent streak, and Texas—Locke's ho—was the leader of that pack.
The Texas newspapers were still running stories about Locke: The Lone Star State's youngest cowboy brought the spirit of freedom to the streets of New York. Texas was proud. While the FBI New York office was just being avoided, the FBI offices in Texas were currently being pelted with beer bottles.
Just as George entered the room, the monitor let out a steady, rhythmic beep.
Jeff Martin's eyes flickered open.
***
Read 30 Chapters early on P-atreon/Redestro666
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