Chapter 12: The Captain's Anger
Outside the infirmary, Captain Belick was seething.
While he had been dozing off in the lounge, Tommy Vercetti had caused a massive scene in the yard. Now Tea Bag lay broken and bloodied, and the warden's furious scolding still rang in Belick's ears.
If Tea Bag died, Belick's monthly salary and yearly bonus might vanish along with him. The thought of losing his precious green bills only fueled his rage.
Forgetting entirely that this was the medical wing, he stormed forward and kicked open the infirmary door.
"You damn scoundrel—so this is where you've been hiding!"
On the bed, Tommy reclined comfortably, his arm bandaged, a faint smile lingering on his lips. Even worse, his hand was clasped lightly around Dr. Sara Tancredi's fingers.
Belick's face turned crimson. Just moments ago he had been humiliated by the warden, yet here was Tommy, the very cause of his shame, resting like a king with a woman at his side.
"This is outrageous!" Belick bellowed, ripping his baton from his belt. "I'll give you three seconds to get off that bed!"
Sara immediately rose, her eyes sharp with disapproval.
"Captain Belick, mind your attitude! This is the infirmary."
Her voice cut through the room like a scalpel.
"I've already said—no one enters without my permission. If you interrupt treatment, can you take responsibility for the consequences?"
"Sorry, Dr. Sara, but this is an order from the warden," Belick snapped, though his tone softened slightly under her glare. "Tommy Vercetti nearly killed Tea Bag. He disrupted prison order. He must be punished."
Sara folded her arms, unmoved.
Belick continued, "The warden decided to be lenient—no sentence extension. But Vercetti goes to solitary confinement for three months. Tea Bag will face four, since he drew a blade first. Fair enough, don't you think?"
Tommy remained silent, watching the exchange.
But before Belick could drag him away, Sara spoke firmly:
"No. He can't go anywhere right now."
The words surprised even her. Why was she defending a prisoner? But she masked the slip with professional authority.
"His wound is deep, and though I've stopped the bleeding, infection risk is high. In severe cases it could threaten his life. As his doctor, I cannot allow him to leave until he's stabilized."
Belick hesitated. He could smell exaggeration, but Sara's steady gaze and medical jargon made him falter.
"Is it really that serious?" he muttered.
"Are you questioning my professional ethics?" Sara shot back, her voice hard.
She unleashed a barrage of terms—necrosis, systemic infection, organ failure. Belick stood there slack-jawed, unable to argue.
Then came the final blow:
"If something happens to him in solitary, Captain, will you take responsibility?"
That struck home. Belick knew the truth of prison politics: the warden gave the orders, but if anything went wrong, the blame would fall squarely on the man who carried them out.
His grip on the baton loosened. At last, he growled, "Fine. The kid got lucky this time. But once he's healed, he goes to solitary. No exceptions."
He spun on his heel, slamming the door with a vicious kick on his way out, muttering curses under his breath.
Inside, the infirmary returned to quiet.
"Thank you, Sara. You really helped me out." Tommy's voice was warm, his eyes almost disarmingly sincere.
Flustered, she looked away. "Don't thank me. I'm just doing my duty as a doctor."
"I know. But still, I mean it."
His hand shifted naturally, fingers brushing hers again. She instinctively moved to pull away—then stopped when she noticed it was his injured hand. Against her better judgment, she let him hold it.
Sara's heart beat faster. What's wrong with me? Why am I letting this happen?
Tommy's lips curved in the faintest of smiles.
Mission accomplished.