Whitehorse (20 page)

"They don't know—"

"Yes they do. They're just not telling us."

Sam moved up beside her and put his arm around her shoulder. "Would you like to go to the hospital, hon?"

Leah nodded, her eyes still fixed on Shamika. "Johnny can't be dead. Not
my
Johnny. I just danced with him. He said my hair made him hungry." She laughed. "And he said I was the prettiest girl in the room. He asked me to go home with him, Shamika. Had I agreed then, he wouldn't—"

"Sam is going to drive you to the hospital. I'll stay here with Val. Soon as you hear anything, you call me." Looking at Sam, she reiterated, "
Call
me."

TEN

«
^
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T
he car radio imparted nothing but music. Why music, when Johnny Whitehorse might well be fighting for his life, or worse? Perhaps the deejay's silence was an omen, or a conspiracy to keep the world from knowing that another of its idols had been snuffed out too early. Like James Dean and Elvis and Princess Diana—beautiful, adored, misunderstood, isolated in a frenzy of a hungry, demanding populace whose own worries were eased by the trials and tribulations of their idols—Johnny's death would ultimately make him an icon to be worshipped. There would be movies about his life, books spewing rumors and innuendos he would be unable to refute.

Leah turned the radio off.

"Johnny isn't dead," she said aloud, staring out the passenger window. "I would know it if he was. I would know it here." She pressed her hand to her heart.

Sam said nothing.

The hospital parking lot was a blockade of police cars, television crews, and teenage girls clutching posters and magazine photos of Johnny to their hearts, tears streaming down their faces, holding one another in their arms, bodies shaking with grief. Sam wedged the Cadillac into a space behind a Channel 10 van, then looked at her with a gentle smile.

"You want me to go up first? You know, see what's happened? If they know anything yet?"

"No." She shook her head and shoved open the door, leaving it open as she ran toward the emergency room entrance. The same reporter she had watched earlier, Carl something, stood in a wash of bright lights, staring into a mini-cam as he spoke into a microphone.

"We've just received confirmation of one fatality…"

Leah plowed through a pack of yelling news hounds, all thrusting microphones toward an obviously nervous physician whose responses to them were drowned out by shouts and more questions.

As she sprinted toward the automatic door, someone caught her from behind. "Whoa, lady. Not so fast. Back behind the barricade—"

She twisted around, shoving at the officer's chest. "I have to see Johnny—"

"You're a little old for a groupie, aren't you?"

"I'm a friend—"

"Yeah, that's what they're all saying."

"Please—"

"Look, lady, are you a member of the family?" He looked her up and down, grinning. "I don't think so."

"The lady is a close friend," a voice said. "She can go up with me."

Leah turned. Roy Moon stood just outside the door, his hands in his pockets, his cowboy hat shoved back on his head. "
Roy
," she whispered, her voice breaking.

"If you say so, Mr. Moon." The officer released her and returned to the barricade, where a dozen screaming girls were waving photos of Johnny in the air.

Roy
reached out his hand to her. She grabbed it, refusing to take her eyes from his.

He said nothing, as usual, just escorted her into the hospital, where she was drowned by bright lights and the smell of disinfectant. Police loitered in the hallways, as did women in white uniforms and men in long white coats.

A pair of men stood side by side at the end of the corridor, their jackets stamped
Coroner's Office.
Her step slowed and for an instant the peripheral world became a gray haze.

"In here,"
Roy
said, directing her toward a door flanked by police with walkie-talkies strapped to one hip, a gun on the other. He shoved the door open and stepped aside, waiting for her to enter.

Despite the noise in the corridor, the room was quiet. And cold. A group of doctors and nurses clustered around a body on a bed, speaking softly, jotting notes on clipboards.

"We'll continue the IV through the night. Check his stats every two hours. If he wakes up and needs something for pain I've noted his medication on his chart. I suspect he'll be out for a while, though. I gave him enough sedation earlier to put down an elephant."

The group laughed quietly and turned for the door, filing past Leah and Roy as the physician with a somewhat twisted sense of humor smiled at
Roy
and motioned him toward the bed. "You can come in now, Mr. Moon. I think we've about done all the damage we can do to Mr. Whitehorse, at least for the time being."

Roy
smiled at Leah. "Go on. You first."

The glare of the lights made Johnny's skin look pale. His face showed signs of bruises and abrasions. Cuts on his brow and chin had been closed with a few stitches. There were bandages securing an IV needle into the back of his hand, and there was grass in his hair, along with dry blood.

"Does he know about Dolores yet?"
Roy
asked the doctor.

"He knows. He was awake when the paramedics brought him in. He took it pretty hard, which is one of the reasons I sedated him so heavily."

"I don't know how he managed to survive that wreck. I've seen it on the news. There's nothing left of the car."

"He was thrown clear. One of those rare times it paid not to have his seatbelt on. Miss Rainwater wasn't so lucky. Even if she had survived the impact by some miracle, the explosion would have killed her."

"It don't make sense, Doc. Johnny's a real good driver. He wouldn't do anything to jeopardize their lives."

"We're running blood tests for alcohol—"

"He wasn't drunk," Leah said, reaching for Johnny's hand, frowning at how cold it felt, and unresponsive. "We had dinner together. The four of us. He had two drinks. You have to know, Johnny, Doctor. It takes a great deal more than a glass of champagne and
a margarita
to buzz him. Whatever caused that accident, it wasn't due to his driving drunk."

The doctor put his chart aside. "We're also running tests for drugs."

Leah looked around. "Don't bother. Johnny would never do drugs. He despises them and everything they stand for."

"Cocaine was found near the car, in the lady's purse." The doctor lowered his eyes. "There will be an investigation, of course. If his tests show positive … he could be looking at a manslaughter charge. I suggest, Mr. Moon, that you contact his attorney as soon as possible. I can keep those cops out of here only so long. Come morning, when he wakes up, he's going to have a lot of answering to do."

Roy
nodded. "I'll call him now."

The doctor left the room.
Roy
stood at the end of the bed, hands slid into his back pockets as he watched Johnny sleep.

"You don't believe it, do you?" Leah asked. "You know Johnny would never touch drugs.
Roy
? Look at me."

"There was a bad time, after you left Ruidoso. He wasn't himself. He lost his pride, and his soul was angry. He had much pain in his heart. His spirit became his enemy. He turned to drugs and alcohol. I think he wanted to die. I found him one night, unconscious, a needle in his arm. I took him to his grandfather, and his grandfather called on the Great Spirit to repair and comfort his wounded soul. When Johnny returned to us, he was healed. But the emptiness of loss remained. He became like the eagle with one wing. He could no longer fly."

The door opened and a nurse peered in. "You'll have to go now. We'll be moving Mr. Whitehorse up to a room for the night."

Leah bent over Johnny, searching his face. "I'm here," she whispered. "We'll get through this together. I won't leave you again, Johnny. I swear it."

Sam waited in the hall, smiling as Leah left Johnny's room. He took her aside as a group of nurses and aides hustled into the room, followed by several police officers. "He's going to be fine, Leah. I spoke with the doctor. They did extensive X rays; nothing internal to cause problems. He'll be good as new in a few days. I'll drive you home. You can get some sleep and come back first thing in the morning."

The door opened again. Johnny was rolled out into the hallway, flanked by nurses carrying IV bags. Officers closed in around him, their walkie-talkies squawking and buzzing with static. Two peeled away and moved to the end of the corridor, assuring that no overeager reporters would find their way beyond the outer barricade and zero in on Johnny's whereabouts.

Elevator doors slid open, and Johnny disappeared from view.

The fear and adrenaline rush that had vibrated Leah's nerves on the way to the hospital having subsided, she felt as if every inkling of energy, not to mention bone and muscle, had been drained from her body. As Sam drove them back to her house, she rode with her eyes closed, mind blank, sleep pulling at her consciousness like the moon on tide.

Dolores Rainwater was dead. But Johnny was alive. In that moment that was all that mattered. Johnny was alive. She would see him tomorrow, and comfort him, assure him that all would be fine. She would again be his port in a storm. His Rock of
Gibraltar
.

Sam shook her.

Raising her head, she blinked sleepily at the house, its windows blazing with light. Shamika stood in the door, arms crossed, staring out at the car.

The Cadillac running and the radio turned low, Sam reached for Leah's hand and kissed it. "Some night, huh? I'm awful sorry about Dolores. But at least Johnny is going to be okay. We can thank God for that."

She smiled and curled her fingers around his. "Thanks for helping me with Val earlier."

He squeezed her hand. "I'd say that I'd be more than happy to lend you a hand any time you need it, but I suspect, judging by watching you and Johnny together tonight, that there is more going on between you than simple friendship. Heck, I'm an overweight, balding used-car salesman. I can hardly compete with Johnny Whitehorse." He laughed, sounding sad. "Still, if things don't work out, I'll be around. You give me a call if you need anything at all—a shoulder to lean on. Someone to help you bathe Val if Shamika wants to cruise up to Mojo's."