Authors: Richard Parry
“You guessed?
But you’re not sure?”
“That’s the crazy thing.
I’ve got all my teeth.”
“In your mouth?”
“Where else?”
Val looked at the plastic box again.
“Ok, that was a fair question.
Yeah, in my mouth.”
“So whose teeth are these?”
“No, really.
I think they’re mine.”
Phillips snorted.
“Val.
You don’t just grow new teeth.
It’s impossible.”
Val nodded.
“I know.
It sounds crazy.
But I was thinking about it, about the teeth inside the plastic box, and about how I still had all these teeth in my head.
Then it came to me.”
“What?”
Phillips had stopped taking notes, his pen held only loosely in his hand.
“My teeth have fillings.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“My teeth,”
and here Val shook the plastic box, “Have fillings.
My teeth,”
and here he tapped his jaw, “Don’t have fillings.”
“Let me see.”
Phillips leaned forward with a tongue depressor, looking in Val’s mouth.
“Hm.”
He threw the wooden instrument into a small trash can by his desk.
“See?
No fillings.”
Phillips put his notepad on his desk, and carefully placed his pen on top of it, straightening the edges with deliberate care.
“Val, I think we’d better run some tests.”
“What kind of tests?”
“I don’t want to get you alarmed at this point, because none of this makes a lot of sense to me.
But if we run some tests, we get a little more information to work with.
I’d like to run up a complete physical on you.
Draw some blood, get that looked at.
Is that ok?”
“Can’t you just give me a pill?”
“What for?
There’s nothing wrong with you.
And that’s got me confused all to hell.
Been practicing medicine for forty years now, this is the first time I’ve seen someone who claimed they grew their teeth back.”
Val rattled the box of teeth.
“I’m not claiming anything.
I’ve got the teeth right here.”
“Like I said.
First time.
I’m sure you believe it too, but it’s just not possible.
I’m not…
This might be a bit out of my league.”
“You can’t help me?”
“Oh hell Val.
Of course I’ll help.
You’re my patient.”
Phillips rubbed his chin.
“I’d say your health is improving.
We doctors don’t usually try to cure those who aren’t sick, but I’ll give it my best shot.”
CHAPTER TEN
“Mr. Miles?”
The voice was a woman’s, but not a bedroom voice.
Usually he’d expect a bedroom voice when he was in bed.
“Mr. Miles?
Can you hear me?”
There was soft light hitting his closed eyelids.
He felt tired, although he must had slept for an age.
It was unusual for him to sleep until it was light.
Early to bed, early to rise, hit the gym for a workout, that’s how he started his day.
“He’s coming around.”
He became aware of a soft, rhythmic beeping to his left.
Must be his alarm clock.
Someone should really turn that thing off.
He tried to open his eyes and failed.
It felt like they were taped closed.
“Mr. Miles, you’re in the hospital.
You’ve been in a bit of a scuffle.
Don’t try to open your eyes.
They’re quite badly bruised and swollen, but that should go down in a couple of days.”
He tried to speak, but nothing came out except a croak — he was parched, his tongue thick in his mouth.
“I’m going to place a straw next to your face, Mr. Miles.
It’s just water.”
He sucked on the straw.
It was warm and flat, and nothing had ever tasted so good.
John tried again.
“I said, ‘Where’s Val?’
Have you seen my buddy Val?”
There was a pause, then the voice answered.
“You were admitted alone.
There were…
There are some police officers here who would like to take a statement, if you’re up to it.”
This time, a different woman’s voice.
“Thanks doc.
Mr. Miles, I’m Detective Melissa Carlisle.
My partner Vince Elliot is around here somewhere trying to get us some coffee.
Garret and McNamara are on the door.
You’re safe here.
How are you feeling?”
John chuckled, the sound wheezing and cracking through chapped lips.
“How do I look?”
“Honestly?”
The cop —
Carlisle?
— paused.
“You look like you’ve been beaten half to death.”
“Only half?
I feel like it was most of the way there.”
John scrabbled around.
“Any chance of some more water?”
“Oh, sure.
Hey doc, I got this.
Why don’t you take a break?”
Footsteps moved around to John’s right, the sound of leather soles softly shuffling across the floor.
Water gurgled and sloshed into a cup.
“How the hell do I…
Oh, I see.
One sec, John.
Can I call you John?
I’m going to raise your bed up.”
His bed lurched under him as the whirring of electrical motors started, raising him slowly up.
“Right.
I’m going to put this cup in your hand.
It’s mostly full.
I’ve taken the straw out, because you’re not a kid at a birthday party.”
John’s first sip was cautious as he found the water level in the cup, then he drank it all down quickly.
He felt Carlisle steady his hand while he refilled the cup.
“Oh man.
It’s the weirdest thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I feel like I’ve got a hangover too.”
There was a scraping sound a little further away to his right.
“Christ.
These hospital chairs aren’t meant to make you feel welcome, are they?
I’ve sat in church pews with more padding.”
John chuckled again.
“Sorry, Detective.
You can have the bed if you want.”
“The bed?
What?
Oh, right.”
There was the sound of fabric rustling, then pages turning.
“Just call me Carlisle.
You say you feel like you’ve got a hangover?”
“Yeah.
I mean, I’ve had a few.
It feels just like that.”
“They’ve got a drip in your arm.
I’m no doctor, but water’s the thing, right?”
“How long have I been here?”
“Clock says it’s a quarter to two.
You were brought in about six in the morning, so a little less than eight hours.”
John coughed out on the sip he was trying to take.
“Eight fucking hours?
And you don’t know where my buddy Val is?”
There was a pause.
“This buddy of yours, Val.
What’s his full name?
I can check with the station.
See if he’s come in somewhere else.”
“Valentine.
Valentine Everard.
He’s a big guy, about —”
“Valentine Everard?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
John hitched himself up in bed a little more.
“You’ve heard something?”
“I’ll be dipped in shi…
Sorry.
Pardon my language.”
The voice was new, coming from John’s left.
He turned his head towards the noise.
“Oh, hey Vince.
John, this is Detective Vincent Elliot.
He’s the hero of the hour, because he’s just brought me coffee.
Vince, I love you.
Bring me one of those.”
Elliot’s voice still came from John’s left.
It didn’t sound like he’d moved.
“You know Valentine Everard?”
John turned his head between the two of them.
“What’s going on?
Where’s Val?”
Carlisle cleared his throat.
“John, Mr. Everard is a person of interest in one of our inquiries.
We can’t say any more at this stage, but we’ve been looking for him for a couple days now.
Any information you have —”
“A couple of days?
I was drinking with him last night!
Well, this morning.
It started last night.
I mean.”
John tried again.
“We were out last night, after I finished work.
It turned into a bit of a thing.
You know.”
The sound of footsteps moved across the floor as Elliot bussed the coffee over to Carlisle.
“Yeah, I think we know.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Carlisle started in before Elliot could.
“Vince, why don’t you see if you can find me some more sugar?
This tastes like bilge water.”
“You want sugar?”
“I want you to go away.
You getting me sugar will help with that.”
Elliot laughed.
There was no hurt in the sound.
“Sure boss.
Sugar.
Be back in a bit.”
His footsteps shuffled towards the left, fading out with distance.
There was a mumbled conversation at the door as Elliot started to talk to the door guards.
John tried to pick out their voices, wondering which one was McNamara, and which one was Garret.
“It’s not just an excuse.”
“What?”
John wished he could just open his eyes.
“This coffee really is terrible.
Getting sugar, it’s not just an excuse.”
There was a slurping sound, followed by a cough.
“Elliot’s a great partner, but he lacks subtlety.”
John thought on that while he took another sip of water.
“Something about this needs subtlety?”
“Sure.
Do you remember anything from last night?”
John’s hand touched the side of his face, the motion light.
He winced anyway.
“Christ.
Yeah, a little.
We were looking for a cab —”
“You and Mr. Everard?”
“You should call him Val.
Every time you say, ‘Mr. Everard,’ I keep wondering who you’re talking about.”
“Sure.
You and Val were looking for a cab?
How was he feeling?”
“What?
How was he…
What the fuck is going on?”
“John, you hear that thing about the Elephant Blues?
The bar down town?”
“A little, sure.
Saw something on the news last night.
We actually tried to get in but it was closed.”
“Closed.
Yeah, that’s one word for it.”
Carlisle sighed.
“So, a lot of people were killed at the Blues.”
John ran that through his head a few times.
“Killed?”
“Killed.
Stone dead.
It’s a bit worse than that, but we don’t need to go into that.”
“What’s worse than being dead?”
“Like I said, we don’t need to go into that.
Anyway, we’ve been collecting evidence from the scene.”
“The scene being the Blues?”
“That’s right.”
Carlisle paused here, the sound of breath puffing out between pursed lips.
“Some of the evidence is… inconsistent with what you’re telling me.”
“Inconsistent how?”
“You’re saying Mr. Everard — sorry, Val — was fine last night?”
“He was great.
We’d had a few beers.
Made some friends.
He even beat someone in an arm wrestle.”
Carlisle started to laugh.
“Wait, you’re serious.
An arm wrestle?”
“He won, too.”
“Fu…
Sorry.”
“What’s wrong?”
John tried to open his eyes again.
No chance.
“Our evidence team collected a, ah, a severed limb —”
“A severed limb?
Like, cut off?”
“Something like that.
The forensics boys say it’s a match to Val.”
John laughed, loud and clear.
“Well Carlisle, there’s something wrong with your forensics boys.
Val benched over three hundred at the gym yesterday.
I think I would have noticed if he only had one arm.
Shit, we’ve been friends since school.
I’d have thought he might have mentioned it to me if he’d lost an arm.”