Never Hug a Mugger on Quadra Island by Sandy Frances Duncan, George Szanto

you have to pee. “Oh now they’re promising us elk!” She crossed her legs. “Look, they’ve built a fence”—she looked out the other window—“on both sides. No worry about elk on the highway.” She leaned forward and said around Noel’s seat back, “Tell me more about our client.”
    Noel thought. “Can’t tell you much. Derek’s got broken ribs, a smashed tibia, a shattered cheekbone, possible brain damage, internal injuries. Linda, she’s a nurse, got him medevacked down to Victoria. After ten days they brought him back. Middle son’s the figure skater. Youngest son I don’t know anything about.”
    Kyra’s bladder made her cross her legs the other way and tighten her pelvic muscles. “Would you speed up a bit, please.”
    Noel looked ahead, behind, and obediently did.
    Kyra, to keep the demands of her body at bay, went back to reading creek and elk signs.
    They turned off the brilliantly engineered boring highway—stunning mountains around them now—onto a narrower new road leading down into Campbell River.
    â€œGas station,” said Kyra. “Quickly, please.”
    â€œFirst one,” Noel replied, semi-sympathetic. Bloody hell, is pregnancy nine months of demands? What if we’re doing surveillance?
    A gas station at last. They all used the restrooms. Noel filled up with gas, couple of cents a liter cheaper than in Nanaimo. In the store Alana, still plugged in, picked up a small bottle of unsweetened fruit juice. Kyra, who’d been thinking about pop, thought, oh shit, and grabbed the same. Uncle Noel smiled at both of them and paid.
    Jason had said the hospital was on 2nd Street. Back in the car Noel appointed Alana official navigator and gave her the map. She took it, releasing neither music or juice. Noel turned left, as he knew he had to.
    Here you go, baby, Kyra thought. Drinking juice for nine months. Already you’re changing my life.
    A couple of blocks off Dogwood they located the hospital and a parking space. Lots of green space. Splendid setting for the sick. They entered the hospital, a three-storey building of far greater antiquity than the highway. At Emergency they asked for directions to Intensive Care. Elevator to the third floor. At a nurses’ station Kyra said, “We’re here to see Derek Cooper.”
    A plump middle-aged nurse asked, “Are you relatives?”
    â€œYes,” lied Kyra without hesitation.
    â€œHe’s in 311.”
    â€œNot ICU?” Noel asked. He hated hospitals. He knew them too well.
    â€œTelemetry. Just outside ICU.”
    The three headed down the hall and into a room. In the bed a bundle of body lay under a sheet. Wires and tubes stuck out of it, connecting to bags and monitors. The scalp was bandaged. The skin of the face was deeply bruised, some of it still purple, much of it gone yellow. No one else there, but seconds later three men entered the room, one after the other. Jason and the two brothers, Kyra figured.
    Noel confirmed it by grabbing the older one’s upper arms and holding them tight. “Jason, I’m so sorry.” He glanced toward the lump.
    One son had gone around the foot of the bed to the other side. He picked up Derek’s hand. “Hi Dee, it’s Tim here. Your favorite pest.” His voice choked, he cleared his throat, he blinked hard. “You’re gonna come out okay.”
    The other boy must be Shane, confirmed for Kyra first from Alana’s intense gaze, then immediately by Jason’s introduction. Noel introduced her and Alana to the men.
    â€œI’ve been following all your successes,” Alana said to Shane.
    â€œRight.” He sounded deeply uninterested. He stared down at Derek.
    The family resemblance was strong. The three were about the same height. The two sons had dark brown straight hair, one day likely morphing to Jason’s brown-grey. The three faces were