The nurse seemed to find some courage. “If you want to be treated here, you’re going to have to fill out at least your name, sir.”
Darren snatched the clipboard out of her hand and she squeaked and ran back behind the reception desk. She picked up a phone and dialed quickly while staring at him out of the corner of her eye.
“Dammit,” Darren muttered, scrawling his name out on the top of the forms the best he could with his missing digits. “Shouldna done that probly.”
He reached up to push the zero on the payphone and quickly realized he didn’t have a forefinger to push it with. He thumbed the zero, sending a jolt of pain lancing into his hand. With all his other pain, he’d forgotten he’d lost a little chunk of his thumb as well.
The operator picked up and he gave the boss’s number for a collect call. When the beep sounded, he said, “McGlashen.” After a few seconds, he heard the other end pick up and the operator ask if they would accept a collect call from the St. Francis Hospital from McGlashen.
“I vill accept da charges.”
The call was connected and Darren began to run down the events of the past few days, the boss listening quietly with no comment. A nurse hurried past and he grabbed the clipboard and shoved it into her hands. She took it to the admitting desk, holding it as if it were a piece of rotten banana peel.
“And Man’ti’s gone rogue,” Darren growled at the end, “he friggin’ tried ta kill me!”
Silence greeted him when he finished. Darren swallowed and waited.
“Und you haf not found eet?” the boss said finally.
“Well, um… not yet.”
“Dis story dat you haf told me… is not exactly how Man’ti described eet ven he called a few minutes ago.”
Ah, crikey, Darren thought, the bloke musta called in first.
“Ah dunno what ‘e mighta said, but…”
“Silence!”
“Sorry, boss,” Darren croaked.
“I do not care vat is going on betveen da two ov you. Vat I do care about is de retrieval of my money.”
“Yeah, um, we been all ova town and um… can’t seem ta locate it.”
“Man’ti said he may know vere to find eet… somzing about a hat?”
Darren’s mind raced… hat? What fookin’ hat? He had no idea what Man’ti was talking about, but thought it best to fake it.
“Aw yeahhhh,” he said, making it sound like he’d clued in on the detail, “the hat!”
“Yes, zee hat. You are at St. Francis, no?”
“Yeah, boss. Waitin’ ta get treated.”
“Man’ti vill be on zee way. Verk out your differences und get me my money.”
“Done.”
The line disconnected and Darren slumped down into the nearest waiting room plastic chair. His head was swimming and he had absolutely no idea what Man’ti was talking about with some hat. Maybe the big man was lying about it to put the boss off for a bit. But that’s all fine; he was on his way here now. He’d find out what Man’ti was talking about and then murder that fooker.
“McGlashen?” His voice was called over the speaker. “Please report to the reception desk for admittance.”
“Thank the good.” He lurched up to the front desk, and said, “at’s me, McGlashen.”
Before the nurse could check him in, the front doors of the Emergency Room admittance area slid open and an alarm went off. Two blonde women dressed in clothes that didn’t quite fit were rushing in through the doors. One woman was sitting in a wheelchair, sweating heavily and very pregnant. Running in just behind them was a man wearing a white shirt, khaki shorts, and a straw cowboy hat.
“Hey y’all, we needa doctor,” shouted the woman who was pushing the wheelchair. “Mah sister’s ‘bout to ave a baby!”
The two women were obviously twins, blonde and maybe pretty at one time. Nurses rushed to their side and began helping the pregnant woman onto a gurney.
Ah shoulda said ah was havin’ a baby, thought Darren, woulda got in fasta.
The women and nurses disappeared in a whirlwind through swinging doors back into the bowels of the hospital.
The man who had come in with them (probably the baby daddy) was left standing in a daze. He looked at Darren and shrugged as he walked up to the admittance desk. Darren turned to the reception nurse to ask when he’d be able to go back.
“Howdy, friend,” the man in the cowboy hat said and slapped him on the back, “you look like you could use a doctor.”
“Well, that’s why ahm fookin’ heyah, mate…” Darren looked up at the man and froze. He couldn’t help but grin as he remembered the details from his interrogation of Rick Hairre.
“Ah like ya hat, mate,” he said, cocking his head to one side. “Where’d ya get it?”
20
PINs And Needles
Chesney Biggins eased his battered police cruiser into the parking lot of the now winding down Drunken Jack’s. His chase of the Jeep Wrangler had ended with his car whining in protest and threatening to overheat. Smoke wafted up from the cracks in the front bumper and around the edges of the hood. He had Todd send Litchfield PD the plate number, but they were covered up… unlikely the vehicle would ever surface again.
He looked at his watch: 2:30am. There were a few straggling patrons stumbling out to their cars, seeing a police car in the parking lot, then stumbling back into the bar… presumably calling that cab they needed. Chesney wasn’t here for that, but it was a good side effect of his presence. He shut the car off and walked into the bar.
The overhead lights were on, the last few hangers-on were paying their tabs, and the salty musician was wrapping mic cords around his arm and making eyes at a couple of saltier groupies. The air had a tang of smoke and vomit that was unmistakable in any bar at closing time. Above the quiet din of the restaurant, Chesney could hear a radio droning country music from the kitchen where the hired help dishwashers were clinking and clanking through the evening’s dirty slop.
Laura Kate Starlington was running a rag over the bar top and dumping the bar rail mats out. Another college-age girl was sitting across from her on a barstool stirring a straw in a mostly full margarita. Laura smiled when she saw him, but it was a bit of a sarcastic smirk.
“Really?” she said, looking at her watch.
“You have no idea.” Chesney raised his hands in a surrender gesture. “I’ve been all over town today, and to top it all off, I ran my car into an Uber driver on the way over here.”
The other girl at the bar snapped her head around to look at him. “You were in an Uber crash? Where’s the other driver? Is he okay?”
The girl stood up suddenly and clicked her phone on. Chesney had no idea why it would be of concern to her.
“Yeah, he’s fine,” he said, shaking his head, “except for the fact I’ve crashed into two of his cars this week.”
She looked up from her phone. “Oh, poor Troy!”
“Troy?” Chesney asked. “Who the heck is Troy? I crashed into Willie.”
“Who’s Willie?” She looked confused.
“The one-eyed ice cream man who also, I guess, now drives… or did drive… for Uber.”
If it was possible, she looked even more confused.
“Anyway, I didn’t see any passengers in his car, so maybe your friend Troy took another car.”
She didn’t answer. She was busy clicking out a text message.
Chesney shrugged and turned to Laura. “Sorry, it’s been a pretty strange night. What’s been going on?”
Laura arched an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips.
“Well, pretty much a typical night at DJ’s except for a couple of rough foreign guys bangin’ up the frat boy tourists,” she said, dropping her rag into the bar sink.
She fished around in her apron and pulled out a credit card. Chesney took it and looked at the name she’d told him earlier.
“Yeah, Victor Böhring,” he said shaking his head. “It sounds so familiar, but I don’t know. I googled him an
d came up with a few thousand results.”
He placed the card into his shirt pocket. “Let me do some checking and I’ll get back to you.”
“So… how are you?” he asked sheepishly. “I mean, with your dad and all that.”
“I’m okay,” she said, and smiled. “I haven’t really had a chance to let it all sink in yet.”
“Yeah.”
An awkward silence settled in. Chesney realized that Laura’s friend had been watching them talk.
“Sorry, and you are?” he said and stuck a hand out to her.
She shook it and chewed the end of her straw. “I’m Karah. And you are?”
“Uh hem!” Laura cleared her throat loudly. “This is Chesney. He’s the cop working on my dad’s case.”
Karah winked at him. “Ohhhh, nice to meet you, Chesney.”
She flashed a grin at Laura and then turned back toward him. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Chesney could feel his cheeks redden slightly, and wished the bar lights had still been turned down so it wouldn’t be so obvious.
“Well, um…”
His radio crackled into the awkward conversation and for once Chesney was relieved to hear Todd’s voice.
“Ches, we got a disturbance at St. Francis. Litchfield PD is covered up, can you get there?”
He clicked his shoulder mic. “On my way.”
“Sorry girls.” He nodded to Karah and then to Laura. “I’ll um… I’ll check on this and then I’ll call you later. You know, with whatever I can find out.”
Laura tore a piece of receipt paper from the cash register and scribbled something on it. “Call me on Karah’s cell. The asshat who was in here bashing things up earlier stole mine.”
She smiled and arched an eyebrow at him as she handed him the number. “Or you can just stop by and see us later. We’ll be enjoying the beach.”
He was glad he had his back turned as his own grin was hard to conceal. Over his shoulder he heard Karah say to Laura under her breath, “Cute!”
Chesney slid into his patrol car on a slightly sticky seat. He remembered the overturned coffee he’d purchased and decided that he’d get a new one for the drive to Litchfield. Still feeling the glow of seeing Laura, he decided he’d splurge this time and get Starbucks. He clicked open their mobile app on his phone and began typing in his password to see if he still had any credit. Buck forty-two. Hardly enough to buy anyt… His thoughts trailed off as he suddenly remembered his train of thought on Rick Hairre’s zip drive and the PIN.
He opened his laptop (also a little sticky from spilled coffee residue) and clicked the F: symbol indicating the plugged-in zip drive. Again, he was prompted:
Username:
PIN:
He opened the manila folder Tammy Anne Tidmore had secreted to him at the Georgetown Kraft Credit Union. Among other penciled information, the outside read: Rick Hairre, Account #04132016.
He leafed through the papers until he found what he was looking for: a single sheet reading Debit Card Personal Identification Number.
In the middle of the sheet in what must have been Rick’s handwriting was scrawled the four-digit PIN: 4747. He looked back at his yellow pad and noted that his ID card for the Hair Club had also been 4747. The number must’ve had some significance for Rick.
Chesney proudly started to type in the PIN on the zip drive prompt, but his elation was quickly doused. What the heck is his username?
He tried several combinations of Rick Hairre, R. Hairre, Rick H. and R.H., but none unlocked the drive. He flipped back to his yellow pad.
Number 3 read: Driver’s License – Issued to one Rickard Bertram Hairre.
He clicked Username and typed Rickard Hairre and then the PIN: 4747.
His laptop made a whirring sound and the login box was replaced by a spinning circle indicating it was working. The contents of the drive popped up in a file manager window.
Four files were displayed:
GKCU_Deposit_Slip_LKS.jpg
IMG_4833.jpg
TCWEdPro.pdf
VNHSBC002-08171971-47.pdf
He double clicked the first file and the image popped up on his screen: a deposit slip for $500,000. Chesney whistled through his teeth. Where’d you get all that money, Rick?
He scanned the deposit slip, noting that the account number didn’t match the account number on Rick’s file from the credit union. And where did you deposit it? Looks like I may have some more detective work for Tammy Anne.
His radio crackled and jolted his attention from his screen. “Hey, um, Ches? I hate to be a dick, but…” There were not-so-restrained snickers after the pause. “I know you’ve had a hard night but, um, are you at the hospital yet? They called back and said there was no sign of you.”
Chesney didn’t answer. He put his cruiser into drive, hoping the engine would hold together long enough for him to get to Starbucks. Screw ‘em, they can wait, he thought, I’m gettin’ a coffee.
21
Deal or No Deal?
Troy watched as the huge, muscled security guard (whose nametag designated him as an orderly) wheeled the odd little man back through the stainless double doors into the emergency room proper. He’d gotten worked into a frenzy yelling something at Troy about stealing his hat and that he’d have his guts for garters before he’d let him walk out of the hospital with it.
Orderly Eric had slammed a needle into the man’s backside and Troy watched his eyes roll back into his head. He slumped down into a wheelchair that had been slid behind him, and off he went.
He looked like a wreck and Troy thought he must’ve been on drugs or something. Probably gang violence, he thought, too much of that goes on around here.
“So, how are Daisy Mae and Ellie Mae coming along?” he asked the reception nurse.
“She’s pushin’,” the nurse said without looking up from her computer, “probably gonna have a baby soon.”
“No way! Really?” Troy smiled through his sarcasm.
The nurse shrugged her shoulders and eyeballed Troy above her tiny reading glasses. “When the baby is born, if the mother says you’re allowed, you can go in. Not before.”
“Okay, okay…” Troy tapped his fingers on the counter, “I’ll be over here… just waitin’.”
“Fine.”
Troy sidled back over to the emergency room waiting area and slid down onto the vinyl couch. It felt a little sticky and he wondered what fluids might have caused that… he stood up.
He put his hands in his pocket and suddenly remembered his cell phone.
“Ah, crap,” he said, clicking into his missed text messages.
There were fifteen new messages from Karah.
-“Are you ok?”
-“Cop said there was an Uber crash.”
-“Did your Uber crash?”
-“Where are you?”
-“Troy??”
-“We’re leaving DJ’s. Call me.”
-“Ok, I’m starting to worry now.”
-“If you didn’t want to come, you could’ve just said so.”
-“Sorry about that last text. Just let me know you’re ok.”
They went on like that, but he didn’t finish reading them. He tapped out a quick text back.
-“I’m fine. Sorry. Yes, Uber crashed, but I’m fine.”
-“WTH. Why didn’t you text me?”
-“Sorry, you have no idea what I’ve been through tonight.”
-“Well, that makes two of us.”
-“I’m really sorry, Karah. Where are you now?”
-“Back at my place. Laura is with me. You should come over.”
-“On my way.”
-“For real this time?”
-“Yes, for real. I’m taking a cab.”
-“Good.”
Troy walked back up to the reception nurse. Before he could speak, she removed her glasses, held up her hand in the universal stop signal, and said, “No, you can not go back there yet.”
Troy smiled his biggest sm
ile. “Well, that’s good, cause all I was gonna ask for was a cab to go home.”
She rolled her eyes and handed him a business card for Creekside Cab Company.
“Thank ya, darlin’.”
She didn’t answer and went back to clicking away on her computer keyboard.
Troy walked outside and dialed the cab company. His ride (a bright orange Crown Vic with a surfer dude painted on the hood) pulled up to the ER doors within fifteen minutes. The morning light was beginning to paint a new sunrise over the trees and Troy wondered what craziness today would bring. He’d come to South Carolina for peace and quiet… to get away from all the madness in his past. And now he was caught up in all this new crap…
“Where ya headed, my friend?”
“Pawleys. The Turtle Nest house, you know it?”
“Ya mon, get ya dere real quick.”
“No, no, just take your time.”
“Whatever your pleasure, mon.”
Troy settled back into the cab’s back seat. Within minutes, he was asleep.
Darren woke to feel throbbing pains in his right eye, his right cheek, his right hand, his nose, and his right foot. His vision was blurry and he had drool crusted on his chin. His various injuries had pristine new bandages, but the one on his foot was starting to bloom new dark circles where his toes had been.
He felt groggy and bleary-eyed and wondered how many painkilling drugs they had pumped into him. He actually felt pretty good… all things considered. He looked to his left and saw a pretty blonde girl sleeping in the next bed. In what looked like a fried chicken warming tray, there was a tiny little baby sleeping as well. In a chair, next to the tray, was an exact replica of the girl sleeping in the bed. They were beautiful.
“Gr’dayee,” he mumbled through his drug-induced haze. It came out sounding like he had a mouth full of marbles. He swallowed and tried again. “Howrdyyy, bonny girrllss.”
He didn’t know what he was saying, but it woke the girl in the chair.
The Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Series Boxset Page 11