“Porter got away, didn’t he.” I finally made the matter-of-fact statement.
“Yeah,” my friend answered dully. “Yeah, he got away.”
“Any leads?” I asked.
He shook his head slowly and then opened his eyes as he lowered his chin and looked over at me. “He dumped the van five blocks away. They’re doing a house to house, and they brought in a canine unit, but nothing yet.”
“He’s not stupid,” I offered. “He had an escape plan this time around.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“What about the officer he hit?”
“Broken arm and prob’ly a concussion. Looks like he’s gonna be okay.”
“Good.”
“Asshole wants you in a bad way, Row. And he doesn’t care who gets hurt in the process. Not this time.”
“Yeah,” I muttered.
It was bad enough that I had to live my life under a rock because of a demented killer, but everyone around me now seemed to be at risk. Pagan or not. It definitely was not a good feeling.
“Any word yet on Carl?” I asked.
His voice had a distant quality when he answered. “No. Not yet.”
“Sometimes feelings can be wrong, Ben,” I offered.
“Let’s hope you’re right.”
“We’ll be at the hospital in just about five minutes,” Rick offered as a lull fell into the halting conversation.
“I never did call Felicity,” I lamented.
“I called ‘er,” Ben told me.
“What did she say?”
“You don’t wanna know.”
“Is she mad?”
“You wanna think about that question and ask it again?”
“Stupid question, huh,” I grunted.
“You said it, not me, but yeah, stupid question,” he returned. “Gotta give her credit though, she seemed like she stayed pretty calm considerin’.”
“That’s a plus.”
“Yeah, I guess, but she didn’t sound too good, white man.”
“What do you mean?”
He shook his head. “She just didn’t sound good, that’s all.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” I pressed.
I waited, but he didn’t answer.
I moved on to the next question. “So can you get someone to pick her up?”
“Mandalay’s already bringin’ her,” he offered. “The way Constance drives they’re probably already there.”
I tried to chuckle and it hurt. I winced, then coughed, and then winced again.
“What’re ya’ laughin’ at this time?” Ben asked.
“You talking about Mandalay’s driving,” I told him as I forced myself to relax in an attempt to deal with the aches. “Which one are you, the pot or the kettle?”
“Gimme a break.” He rolled his eyes and then sat quiet for a moment before taking on a serious tone once again. “So listen, Kemosabe, I need to talk to you about somethin’.”
“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I didn’t mean to insult your driving.”
“Not that.” He scrunched his face and waved a gauze-covered hand at me. “I think we need to get you and Felicity outta town for a while.”
“You mean you think I should run from this,” I said.
“The wingnut’s on a mission, Row,” he returned. “I think it would be the best way to go. Not just for you but for Felicity and everyone else too.”
I was chagrined. “So, it’s more like you want to get me out of the way before someone else gets hurt.”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Maybe. I guess that’s part of it. But mostly it’s for you and Firehair.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Ben?” I asked.
“Man…” he let his voice trail off for a moment. “Row,… Jeez… Listen to me, Felicity’s with Mandalay so she’s safe, okay?”
I couldn’t keep the sharpness out of my voice. “Tell me what’s going on Ben.”
“The S.O.B. had already called Felicity’s cell phone when I got ahold of her. He told her you were dead and that she was next.”
CHAPTER 20:
I suppose it was a good thing that I had been strapped to the gurney. Not that anyone in the immediate vicinity was in any physical danger from me, of course, especially considering the shape I was in; but what my friend had said produced a result similar to that of mixing fire and gunpowder.
By the time it was all said and done, I couldn’t begin to remember everything I had said—or to be more accurate—screamed. What I could recall were several targeted expletives and a devout promise that I would kill Eldon Porter as soon as I had the chance. My rant lasted from its inception in the back of the ambulance, through the lobby of Emergency, and right on into the treatment room. It had finally taken the threat of sedation to get me to calm down.
In reality, all the threat did was get me to shut up, because calm I definitely was not.
“Jeezusaychchrist!” Ben made the exclamation in an almost monosyllabic burst as he jerked away from the doctor who was treating him. “Do ya’ think you stuck that damn thing in there far enough?!”
My friend had not allowed himself to be separated from me. He insisted that we be treated in the same room and had staunchly refused to have his sidearm secured anywhere other than within his immediate reach. As long as Porter was loose, he didn’t plan to take any chances, and he was less than trusting of the hospital’s security staff. In fact, he publicly referred to them as rent-a-cops, and he didn’t mean it in a good way. Not that it was any great consolation, but so far, he hadn’t been doing any better at making friends than me.
He was currently sitting in a chair with his hand resting on a small, wheeled table. The doctor was seated across from him and peering at the appendage through a magnifying lamp while working with a pair of tweezers. Fortunately, for Ben, those were the least dangerous looking of the stainless steel implements he had laid out on the side. Of course, that is probably one of the reasons that until his most recent exclamation, Ben had kept his eyes focused on the door instead of the procedure in front of him.
I was sitting on the end of the examination table watching the pair with only passing interest. Truth be told, I wasn’t really paying that much attention. I was still stewing about Porter’s call to my wife, and my brain was splitting its time between formulating a plan for revenge and processing the sensory input. Neither one seemed to be winning out, and all I was truly accomplishing was making my headache worse.
Just in case that wasn’t enough to deal with, for some reason there was a song playing in the back of my head, and I was having a hell of a time attaching a name to it. I knew I’d heard it before, but the title, artist, and everything else was escaping me.
I thought for a moment that if I gave up trying to place it then it would probably come to me. That’s how things always seemed to work. Unfortunately, the more I thought about not thinking about it, the more I dwelled on it. Once again, a prime example of how things always seemed to work.
I staved off another twinge of pain from somewhere around the back of my grey matter and decided to ignore the tune. For the moment, paying closer attention to the goings on before me seemed the most logical way to do so.
I watched as the intern regarded the industrial-sized Native American in front of him with an exhausted gaze and then took hold of his hand once again. “Detective Storm,” he stated. “You are the one who refused to have a local anesthetic. Perhaps you would like one now?”
“I already said no,” Ben answered.
“Then I suggest you find a way to deal with it.”
“I don’t like needles,” my friend muttered.
“Not many people do,” he returned. “But it would hurt a lot less if you had the local.”
“No.”
“Fine, if that is your choice. However, you are going to have to stop flinching. You still have some metal fragments in your hand, and we need to get them out.”
“Well don’t you think you ca
n be a little gentler or somethin’? I mean do you have to dig around like that?”
“Detective,” the intern began, clearly at the limit of his patience. “I don’t tell you how to do your job, please refrain from telling me how to do mine.”
Personally, I thought the doctor was handling the situation well considering that this outburst had made something on the order of the fifth time Ben had jerked his hand away—and, that’s not to mention that he hadn’t shut up either.
During their exchange, the door had swung open, and a nurse entered, armed with some fresh gauze and washcloths. She had been assisting with both of us earlier, and she now set about cleaning the area surrounding the wound on my cheek. I simply tilted my head to the side without a word, shifting my gaze between her and the floorshow. I couldn’t help but notice that she wore a bemused expression as my friend bickered with the intern behind her.
“So much for bedside manner,” Ben huffed. “Freakin’ Marcus Welby you ain’t.”
“Marcus who?” the intern asked in an absent tone.
My friend raised an eyebrow and cocked his chin down as he stared at the doctor. “How old are you?”
“I don’t really think that has any bearing on your treatment, Detective.”
“Doctor Drew may be young,” the nurse offered aloud without looking away from her task at hand, “but he knows what he is doing, Detective Storm.”
Ben glanced over at the back of her head and then returned his gaze to the doctor. “You really don’t know who Marcus Welby is?”
“No, I don’t,” he replied.
“Jeez. What’s this world comin’ to?”
“You said it yourself earlier, Ben,” I offered in a flat tone, speaking for the first time since I’d been threatened with a hypodermic full of sedative. “We’re getting old.”
“Yeah, well, old is one thing,” he agreed, “but that’s no excuse for…”
The repetitive electronic refrain of his cell phone interrupted him, and he reached around to his belt with his free hand. He fumbled for a moment since the appendage was securely wrapped in fresh gauze but managed to grasp the small device. As he brought it up, he gestured at me and then to the intern with the stubby antenna while it continued to trill. “It’s no excuse for him not knowin’ who Marcus Welby is.” He finished the admonishment then thumbed the phone to life and put it to his ear. “Yeah, Storm here.”
“Is he always like this?” the nurse asked in a quiet voice as she swabbed my cheek with cold antiseptic. A light, southern lilt underscored her words.
I grimaced as the sting set in and tried not to flinch then shifted my eyes over to her. “Pretty much. Don’t let it bother you though. He’s really a good guy.”
My own voice still sounded rough, and its tone remained emotionless and tired. I realized when I heard myself that I didn’t sound particularly convincing.
“I’ll have to take your word for it, Mister Gant,” she returned with a smile.
“No, really, he is.” I tried to sound more sincere. “And please call me Rowan. Every time I hear ‘Mister Gant’ I think my father is here.”
She chuckled. “All right then, Rowan. You can call me Dorothy. I am afraid, however, that I will still have to take your word for it on Detective Storm.”
“He grows on you,” I offered.
She pressed something to my cheek that I later discovered was a butterfly closure and then inspected it closely. “There. All done.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem,” she told me. “Doctor Kirkman will be back in shortly. He wanted to go over a few things with you.”
“That’s fine,” I said then shifted to look at her. “Oh, my wife is supposed to be here.”
She nodded. “Detective Storm told us. Someone will bring her back as soon as she arrives.”
“Thank you.” I tried to inject some enthusiasm into my still flat voice. “I really appreciate it. And there’s just one more thing.”
“Certainly,” she said as she cocked her head to the side and gave me a questioning look.
“Another officer was brought in ahead of us. Deckert, Carl Deckert. We’ve been trying to get an idea of his condition for a while.”
She nodded. “I’ll see if I can find out something for you.”
“Thank you,” I told her again.
“You’re welcome.” She flashed me a quick grin and nodded in Ben’s direction while turning to go. “You know, maybe you can teach some manners to your friend over there.”
“I heard that!” Ben called after her as she exited the treatment room, but she was already gone.
My friend looked back over at me and shook his head. “Jeez.”
I gave him a tired shrug in return.
“So, was that Allison?” I asked as I dipped my head at the cell phone in his hand, referring to his wife.
“What? Oh, no.” He shook his head and clipped the device back onto his belt. “It was Ackman callin’ to give me an update.”
“Good news?” I asked hopefully.
“Not really,” he returned. “Still haven’t found Porter. The weather’s not helpin’, and it’s gonna be dark in a few hours.”
“Is it really that late?” I asked as I pulled my hand up to look at my watch, only to remember that it was broken when I saw the shattered face. I don’t know why I hadn’t just taken it off. I glanced around the room and found the face of the wall clock. It was fuzzy, but it was large enough for me to be able to read it without squinting too much. The position of the hands told me it was just past two p.m. This time of the year the sun was gone by five.
“You didn’t sleep last night, did you?” Ben answered me with his own query.
I closed my eyes and massaged my forehead for a moment, then carefully laid myself back on the examination table. “No. Not much anyway.”
The tune was moving itself back into the forefront, and its eerie chords sent a fearful shiver racing up and down my spine. Each note seemed to carry with it a tiny pinprick of terror that grew exponentially as the melody wove itself through the even rhythm.
“How long you been up?” His voice sounded hollow and distant.
I did a protracted mental calculation that should have taken no more than a second or two then finally answered. “Pushing twenty-four at least, I think.”
“Jeezus, white man.”
“He’s got nothing to do with it,” I mumbled.
“Who?”
“Jesus.” This time my voice was almost a whisper.
The song was all but completely filling my ears now and sounding creepier by the second. If it were not for the level of exhaustion I was battling, I think I might have been overcome by the intangible fear. At the moment, even my earlier anger was falling by the wayside, and darkness was becoming a comfortable blanket. The fatigue broke through my defenses and began to batter me with its weapon of choice—sleep. I made a half-hearted attempt at fighting back but quickly found that I was hopelessly outmatched. With a final, heavy sigh, I surrendered.
The beginnings of a distant echo came from the other side of the room. “Dammit, Rowan, you know what I…”
I didn’t hear the rest.
CHAPTER 21:
The only thing I really remembered about the trip home was that it was dark and that the back seat of the car was cold. Prior to that, there were some dreamlike recollections of unintelligible voices, a feeling like I was sitting up and floating down a long hallway, some fuzzy streaks of white passing through muted light, and of course, that damnable song playing in an endless loop between my ears.
It was still echoing there even now.
With more effort than I expected it to take, I let out a heavy sigh and tried to relax. After failing at that task, I reached down and reluctantly shut off the water in the shower. Then, I just stood there for what seemed like a good half hour. In reality, I think it was more like five minutes. The steam was dissipating quickly and water was dripping from my tortured skin. I tingled with a self-inf
licted rawness on my face, neck, hands, and forearms where I had scrubbed to remove the soot and grime left over from the fire. I was still afflicted with a cough that would attack me without warning, but at least the episodes were becoming fewer and farther between. The doctor had told me it was an after effect of the smoke inhalation and that it would most likely work itself out in a day or two; as far as I was concerned, the quicker the better.
For a moment, I considered turning the water back on and just continuing to stand there motionless as I had for the last third of the shower. The warmth felt good, and it went a long way toward soothing the aches and pains that were once more answering a roll call throughout my body.
I started to reach for the chromed knob but hesitated as I heard the door open and then close, followed by Felicity’s concerned voice. “Row, are you okay?”
I’d been in here for close to an hour, and she had already checked on me twice before now. Three was the charm I suppose.
“Yeah,” I replied in a lazy voice as I reached up and slowly slid the shower curtain aside. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
“I’m making you some tea, then,” she told me, leaning her back against the door as she spoke. “Are you hungry?”
I had actually been expecting her to break out the verbal cat ‘o nine tails on me over everything that had happened, or at the very least give me her particular brand of silent treatment. I knew that she was angry, but thus far, she had not shown that side. In fact, she had not even displayed any visible distress over the call from Porter. What was happening instead was that I was on the receiving end of her maternal instinct, which had evidently locked into overdrive.
“Not really,” I shook my head.
Actually, I was, but my tongue was sore, and I didn’t feel up to dealing with any additional pains that I might be able to avoid.
I watched my wife’s expression and decided that she was simply doing a good job of hiding the fear that I knew she had to be feeling. I was just too far out of it right now to pick it up on an extrasensory level. Moreover, as to the subject of her wrath, I was sure it would be coming at some point. There was no doubt in my mind about that. Based on what I had seen staring back at me from the mirror, my guess was that I just looked so pathetic to her that there was no way she couldn’t give me a stay of execution.
The Law Of Three: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 17