Sergeant Green walked tiredly into the Orthopedic Ward of the Princess Margaret Hospital in Nassau and pulled up alongside the bed of a man in his early twenties who was heavily bandaged about the chest and torso. His face was crisscrossed with cuts and gashes. His limbs were in slings and he seemed to have more tubes sticking out of him than an amateur chemistry apparatus at a backyard science exhibition. The patient was awake and watched her with what she thought to be tired eyes.
" Good Evening Mr. Rhaming," she said and made herself comfortable in the metal chair beside his bed. " Are you well enough to talk?"
" My chest hurt but my mouth alrite," he said in a weak but clear voice. She detached her notebook from the belt of her uniform and plucked a pencil from her upper left pocket.
" Your name is Mr. Robert Rhaming?" she asked.
" Yes," he said.
" Age 26?"
" Will be 27 in December."
" Are you still living at the Kemp Road address?"
" Yes."
" Where do you work?"
" Projector Operator at Marathon Mall cinemas."
" And the Honda Accord in the accident is yours?"
" Yes."
" How fast were you driving?"
" I dunno. Maybe sixty… seventy."
" Okay Mr. Rhaming, what happened?"
" The whole truth and nothing but the truth, right?"
" That's right."
" All of this come about because of Bridgette. She's the one that give me the virus."
" What virus?"
" The Aids Virus."
" Are you saying you're HIV positive?"
" Yes, and all because of her."
" Well, I'm only interested in the accident."
" But you got to understand the whole story."
Green looked at her watch then shrugged.