Authors: Robert E. Bailey
“Yeah.”
“What the hell is Fay doing here?” said Ron.
“Small town.”
Ron pulled up even with the drive just in time to see Fay exit his vehicle and pull the bowling bag from behind his seat.
Swack.
Van Pelham appeared at the door wearing a teal-blue polo shirt and dark slacks. He grinned broadly as he took the bag from Mr. Fay.
Swack.
“Waddles like a duck and quacks like a duck,” said Ron.
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “I just wanted to believe. Christ's sake, Karen is his niece!”
“What are you two babbling about?” asked Wendy.
“We're deciding whether or not to go and have a word with our client,” I said.
“Well, how long would that take?” said Wendy. “We have to go and see about Karen.”
“They aren't going to smell any better tomorrow,” I said.
“And he hasn't paid Finney yet,” said Ron.
“Well, that puts a rather fine point on it.”
“Two hundred and fifty dollars per hour.”
“The job was to protect Karen,” said Wendy.
“The feds said to lay off,” said Ron.
“Works for me,” I said.
Ron dropped us at Wendy's old Caddie. The check-engine light was on againâglowing proof that five hundred and thirty-five political putzes had no business designing automobiles. “Let's get something to eat,” I said.
“That's how you waste your money,” said Wendy. “You spend half your life in restaurants.”
“I haven't eaten today.”
“All right,” said Wendy as she fired up a menthol 100, “but drive-thru. We have to see about Karen.”
The first drive-thru that presented itself was the charbroiled burger outfit. I started to pull in.
“No,” said Wendy. “Their stuff tastes burned and gritty.”
I turned off the signal and went straight. I liked their big burger, but it was too sloppy to eat while driving. The fellow behind me changed lanes, pulled up even with us, and flashed me the bird.
I smiled and nodded back. “There's the place that makes the juicy burgers up there,” I said.
“Too greasy,” said Wendy. We drove on.
“How about Mickey D's?”
“No,” she said. “You can't smoke in there.”
“We're not going inside.”
“I don't give them any of my money. There's a taco place.”
“I haven't eaten all day, and you want to have some spiced-up, loose ground beef crap?”
“I just want something with some taste.”
“Quit smoking them menthol coffin nails, and you'll be surprised what things taste like.”
We both saw it at the same time: the roast beef place. They had five for five dollars. We ate. Wendy got the curly fries that smell like they're made out of garlic paste.
The sun had set by the time we got to the hospital and the whole inside of the car smelled like garlicâall the better to ward off vampires, I suppose. Floodlights mounted on the roof of the hospital provided illumination around the building. Below each fixture a large fluorescent yellow box was stenciled with the word “
VIDEO
” in black letters.
I cruised by Edward Fenton's reserved parking place and found it vacant. A plus. Fenton is the security director at Mt. Hollowview. I knew him from American Society for Industrial Security dinner meetings. A pompous ass on good days, he was bound to have his shorts in a knot over my being arrested in his emergency room.
“Make any friends while you were here this morning?”
“Rhonda, the head nurse,” said Wendy.
“She's probably gone by now.”
“Maybe not. She told me that she liked to stay until after evening meds.”
“That's dedication,” I said as I parked the car.
“She's our age. She said that she didn't agree with some of the hospital policies about leaving the wards in the hands of an LPN and some orderlies.”
“If she's at the desk, maybe you should do the talking.”
“Sure thing, doll baby,” said Wendy. She slid over and kissed me on the temple. I put my arm around her and nuzzled my face into her neck where I made a gentle bite and injected a warm breath. Wendy hugged back.
“A shame we have to work,” I said.
“Maybe they have an empty room and a spare nurse's uniform,” said Wendy.
“A scandal brewing,” I said and kissed her on the forehead.
“On the other hand maybe they have cable.”
“Of course they have cable, but if there's anything good on, the bad guys will show up ten minutes before the credits.”
“Oh, well,” said Wendy.
I kissed her on the nose and gave her a wink. “Job's over tomorrow at noon. I'll take a couple of days off.”
“Empty promises.”
“Push the trunk button,” I said. “I need the Colt.”
I couldn't see anything in the trunk, but Wendy always stows her weapon on top of the spare if she's not carrying it. Her Colt was a .380, kind of a nine millimeter short called a Maverick. It uses six-round magazines. The weapon, the magazines, and the box of ammo were all in a zippered case with a fuzzy lining. I left the trunk open and carried it all around to the front deck of the car.
“They're going to see you doing that on the video cameras and have a fit,” said Wendy.
“Those yellow boxes aren't cameras,” I said. “If they were, the bloom of the spotlights would stop down the optics.” I scooped a handful of bullets and started pressing them into the spring-loaded magazines.
“The guard could come by,” said Wendy as she reached into the back seat and came up with her old blue sweaterâreally more of a cable knit blanket with sleeves and large patch pockets.
“I haven't seen any key stations for a guard patrol.”
“There's a security sign on the booth over there, the one with the revolving yellow light.” She slipped out of her blazer and laid it flat on the back
seat of the car. Shrugging into the sweater, she flipped her hair up over the collar.
“No windows,” I said.
Wendy took a long drag on her cigarette and looked around. “The police station is only about half a mile up M-57,” she said.
“They lock it up at night and use the county for dispatch.”
“You're trying to say that it's just us and the bad guys.”
“Bingo,” I said. I slapped a magazine into the Colt and put it in the right pocket of her sweater. She took it out of her pocket and held it out for me to take.
“I'm just here to take notes,” she said.
“Still mad about that?”
“You were rude.”
“You know we can't work together,” I said. “Too many chiefs and not enough Indians.”
“In this case, chief, you're the better shot.”
“You beat me at the range once.”
“That was over who was going to wash the dishes, and the silhouettes weren't shooting back.”
I slid the Colt in my holster but it rattled around in the space meant for a heavy caliber auto-loader. Even with the strap in place I wondered if it might shake loose in a scuffle. I stashed the frame of my Detonics in Wendy's gun case and put it back in the trunk. “Maybe we'll have a quiet night,” I said. Wendy's hand found mine and we headed into the hospital.
A Valkyrie in white, nearly six feet tall and one hundred and eighty pounds, stood watch at the nurse's station in Karen's ward. She had silver streaked flaxen hair bundled ornately at the back of her head and woven with a black felt ribbon. She surveyed us with scalpel-sharp ice blue eyes as we approached. Her name tag said “
RHONDA WRIGHT, RN
.”
“Rhonda!” said Wendy. “I'm surprised you're still on duty. How's Karen?”
“I like to stay until I'm sure the night shift is off to a good start,” she said. “Karen is holding her own. She's reactive to light and speech. I wish they would leave her for a day or two, but they're coming in the morning to transport her to a private facility.”
“Where are they taking her?”
“I'd have to look it up,” said Rhonda. “It's a rest home. One of those places where they warehouse human vegetables.”
“Wait a second,” I said. “She talked to the police when they were here this afternoon.”
“Sometimes people take a flutter of an eyelid or hand movement for more than it is,” said Rhonda.
“She made some rather specific statements.”
“Honey,” said Rhonda, “if she was talking to them she sure as hell isn't talking to any of us.”
“The police took you out of here in handcuffs this morning,” said Rhonda Wright, RN.
“They hadn't thought that through.”
“They thought that you had killed her husband with an axe,” she said and flopped the afternoon edition of the
Grand Rapids Press
onto the counter. The headline was: “P
OLICE OFFICER VICTIM OF AXE MURDERER
.” The tag line was: “Local PI Arrested.”
“Can't believe everything you read in the newspaper.”
“Too bad,” Rhonda said. “We found a torn rotator cuff, old fractures on both sides of Karen's rib cage, and the poor girl has her nails chewed down to a nub. I was starting to like you.”
“We just want to make sure she's safe,” said Wendy.
“Ed Fenton would have kittens,” Rhonda said.
“Fenton didn't have any problem with the marshals,” I said.
“I suppose we could call him,” Rhonda said.
“He could say no,” said Wendy. “Karen needs us tonight.”
Rhonda picked up her telephone and dialed. Wendy's face drooped. “Edward Fenton, please?” she said. “I'm sorry to hear that,” she said and smiled at Wendy and me. “Just tell him the people are back to watch Karen Smith. Oh, he knows what people. Tell him Rhonda called. Thanks,” she said and hung up.
“I hope this doesn't get you in any trouble,” said Wendy.
“Ed Fenton knows better than to screw with me,” said Rhonda. “Just try to stay in the room and read to Karen, or talk to her, hold her hand maybe. That kind of thing sometimes helps a lot. She hasn't had any visitors since her uncle left.”
“Thanks a ton,” I said. “There's another fellow coming by to help us stay awake. I hope that's all right.”
“Karen's in a double room, but the other bed is vacant. The marshals insisted,” said Rhonda. “You could rest in shifts.”
“I'll get something to read from the waiting room,” I said.
Rhonda chopped her index finger at me. “Don't let me down. I'll call Squeaky and have him toss you out.”
“No ma'am,” I said and smiled. I filed the “Squeaky” tidbit away for future fun at an ASIS dinner.
“I'm going to call the boys,” said Wendy.
Rhonda departed with a chart in one hand and an ominous coil of black tubing in the other. “I have things to see to,” she said. “Karen's the third door on the left.”
I found Karen propped up on pillows, wearing one of those cotton hospital gowns that are long on access and short on modesty. An IV line led to her left wrist and a catheter snaked from under the covers to a collection bag. Half-opened eyes gave her a dreamy appearance. Her hands lay palm up on the blanket that covered her lap, the fingers curled, limp and lifeless. She faced the TV set that hung over her bed.
“All right, Karen,” I said, “quit screwing around. I know you talked to Neil Carter from the U.S. Attorney's Office. You lied to him or you lied to me. In any case you've lost your deal and your protection. What the hell is going on?”
Karen's face turned slowly and slightly toward my voice. Her chin made a small deflection but she made no sound.
I tucked the “new language” Bible I had picked up in the waiting room
under my arm, walked around the bed, and took her free hand in both of mine. “Come on, Karen. You in there?” I patted the back of her hand and rubbed it warm. “This is your four-eyed old geezer, Art, talking here.”
Her hand twitched but not like an answer, more like she was asleep. Her head edged back toward the TV. The picture rolled in need of adjustment. I let go of her hand and fixed the picture, the wildlife channel, lions alternately chasing zebras and lying in the shade. I turned down the sound.
“Karen,” I told her, “if you've talked to anybody since you took those pills I'll eat this book. Cover says it's the 'new language' Bible.” I parked my backside in the chair next to the bed. “The wording is supposed to be up to date. I think it's obnoxious. I'm going to start reading at Genesis, if they still call it that. Just tell me to quit and I'll shut up.”
I began reading clearly and slowly. Wendy came in and rubbed my shoulders. “The boys will be fine,” she said. “Daniel is at work, and Ben is going to spend the night with a friend. Your sister called the boys and said that she saw your arrest on the six o'clock news. She said your mother had a conniption fit. I called your sister and filled her in on the current situation.” Wendy gave me a little peck on the growing tonsure that I understand is a genetic gift from my mother's father. I droned on and wished that Karen would sit up and yell, “Enough already!”
Ron made his appearance an hour later, claiming an emergency trip to the grocery store. The night ticked by slowly to the tones of the 'cheap talk' Bible. Karen didn't cuss me out or beg for mercy. Ron slid out of his coat, loosened his tie, and took the first shift on the spare bed. I was supposed to wake him at one. I didn't. Sometime after Noah and before the Tower of Babel, he rolled out on his own accord and we left Wendy reading while we went outside for a smoke.
“I thought she was up and talking,” said Ron.
“She hasn't said a word to us and the head nurse said Karen hadn't talked to them either.”
“Neil Carter said that she talked to him.”
“And to Emmery and her uncle,” I said. We arrived at Wendy's car. I opened the door and picked my radio up off the seat. The battery was dead.