Read Online The Losers by David Eddings - Free Book Online

you set up is the settlement you got from the railroad.”
    “Settlement? What settlement?”
    “I told you about that the last time I was here. I had you sign some papers, remember?”
    “To be honest with you, Uncle Harry, there are some big gaps in what I remember. The painkillers sort of erase things.”
    “I suppose they do at that. Well, to cut it short, the railroad’s insurance company got in touch with me not long after your accident. They made an offer.”
    “What for? It was my fault. I was drunk and driving too fast. It wasn’t the train’s fault.”
    “You don’t necessarily have to make an issue of that, Rafe—not that it really matters now, I guess. The railroad didn’t want a messy court case. Jurors in this part of the country are a little unpredictable where railroads are concerned. It’s cheaper in the long run for the railroad to make an offer in any case where there are personal injuries. Those ten-million-dollar judgments really bite into company profits. Anyway, you’ll be getting a monthly check from them. I still wouldn’t get my heart set on any castles, though. If you don’t go hog-wild, you’ll get by okay. I’ll put the money—your settlement, your insurance, and your Social Security check all in the bank back home for you. You remember Anderson, don’t you?”
    “The banker?”
    “Right. He remembers you from the football field, and he’ll take care of everything for you. You’ll be getting a check every month. I put a few thousand in the hospital safe for you.”
    “A few thousand?”
    “You’re going to have unusual expenses when you leave the hospital, Raphael. I don’t want you to run short. I’m afraid you’ll find out just how little it is when you get out on the street. You’re set financially, so you can just relax until you get back on your feet again.” Harry stopped abruptly and looked away. “I’m sorry, but you know what I mean.”
    “Sure.”
    “I’ll need your signature on a few things,” his uncle went on. “Power of attorney for you and your mother—that kind ofthing. That way you can concentrate on getting well and just leave everything else up to me. Okay?”
    “Why not?”
    “Mr. Quillian,” Raphael said to his therapist a few days later while resting on his crutches.
    “What is it, Taylor?” the balding man in the wheelchair asked him.
    “Did you have any problems with all the drugs they give us?” “Jesus Christ, Taylor! I’ve got a broken back. Of course I had a problem with drugs. I fought drugs for five years.” “How did you beat it?”
    “Beat it? Beat it, boy?” Quillian exploded. “You never beat it. Sometimes—even now—I’d give my soul for one of those shots you get every other hour.”
    “All right, then. How did you stop?”
    “How? You just stop, boy. You just stop. You just don’t take any more.”
    “All right,” Raphael said. “I can do that if I have to. Now, when do I get my wooden leg?”
    Quillian looked at him. “What?”
    “My peg leg? Whatever the hell you call it?”
    “Prosthesis, Taylor. The word is prosthesis. Haven’t you talked with your doctor yet?”
    “He’s too busy. Is there something else I’m supposed to know?”
    Quillian looked away for a moment, then looked back, his face angry. “Dammit,” he swore. “I’m not supposed to get mixed up in this.” He spun his wheelchair away and rolled across the room to a file cabinet. “Come over here, Taylor.” He jerked open a cabinet drawer and leafed through until he found a large brown envelope.
    Raphael crutched across the room, his movements smoother now.
    “Over to the viewer,” Quillian said harshly, wheeled, and snapped the switch on the fluorescent viewer. He stuck an X-ray picture on the plate.
    “What’s that?” Raphael asked.
    “That’s you, Taylor. That’s what’s left of you. Full front, lower segment. You don’t have a left hip socket. The left side of your pelvis is shattered. There’s no way that