Chesney ducked into his car and radioed Todd. “This is Chesney. I need a tow truck out on Business 17, a block south of Drunken Jack’s.”
Thankfully, Todd didn’t retort with any middle school humor. Maybe he was finally getting bored with it.
“Willie, the tow should be here any minute,” Chesney called out his window as he started to pull away from the Towncar.
One-Eyed Willie just threw his hands up, and said, “Well, don’t dat jus’ beat all? I gotta sit ‘n wait ona tow truck and you git ta ride off in da sunset? Sheeii—”
His expletive was cut off by the sudden screeching of tires as a brand new, fire engine red, jacked up, decked out Jeep Wrangler Unlimited swerved around the right side of Willie’s Black Lincoln Towncar. The driver of the Jeep must not have realized the passenger’s side door was still open from the wreck. The Jeep slammed into it, shearing it away from the car, and sent it flying down the road bouncing and spraying sparks as it tumbled.
Chesney had hunched down instinctively from the sound of the impact. He rose to see Willie hunched over with his hands on the side of his head ... thankfully unhurt.
“Ya got ta be effin’ kiddin’ me ... ” was all Chesney could hear him say as he turned on his lights and took off after the Jeep.
“Todd, I got a lifted red Jeep Wrangler running high speed down on 17. In pursuit, may need backup.”
“10-4 Officer Dick Biggins, we got your rear,” came the radio squelched reply with a smattering of snickers in the background.
“Dammit, Todd,” he yelled into the receiver, “this is serious. Get your shit together and stop with the wisecracks.”
“Settle down, Ches, jeez! Nothing ever happens around here. Just trying to stay awake.”
“Well, give it a rest and send me some backup.”
“10-4.”
The more things change ... Chesney clicked the receiver down and focused on catching the Jeep. His cruiser groaned with the effort ... it had taken too many beatings to give much chase. He stomped the accelerator to the ground and hoped for the best.
Daisy Mae Gallup was now having regular contractions and was pushing involuntarily.
Ellie Mae found herself breathing along with her, when suddenly Daisy Mae screamed. Ellie Mae looked in the rear-view mirror, and saw no sign of the cop car that had been following them since they took the open door off the black car sitting in the middle of the road.
“Oh, mah Gawd! I think he’s comin’ now! Pull over, PULL OVER!”
Ellie Mae jerked the Jeep into the next parking lot and skidded to a stop. Gravel was still flying as she jumped out of the Jeep and ran around to the other side.
“It’s gon’ be alright, Daisy Mae,” she said, opening the passenger door and taking her sister’s hand. “Let’s git you inside and call a doctor. They gon’ have ta come ta us tonight.”
As Daisy Mae gingerly dropped down from the Jeep she looked up at the building situated at the rear of the gravel lot. “Drunken Jack’s? Why’d you stop here?”
“It ain’t like ya give me much choice!” Ellie Mae helped her sister walk toward the building. “Hell, it’s good as any. I’m shore they gotta pho—”
Suddenly, through a blinding red haze forming in her eyes, she saw him standing at the top of the stairs leading into Drunken Jack’s.
“TROYYYYYY!!!!!”
Someone behind him screamed his name. It was a guttural scream, like a gladiator calling him out to die. Troy turned around to face his opponent. Cinnamon and Starr—or rather, Daisy Mae and Ellie Mae Gallup—were lurching across the parking lot toward him. Daisy Mae was leaning on Ellie Mae and breathing hard. She had one hand on her belly and looked like she might pop her baby out at any moment.
As they got closer, Ellie Mae pointed a finger at him. “You did ‘is ta mah sister. Ya don’ got her pregnant and runned off.”
“What?” was all Troy could muster.
“Ain’t a man’s job to take care o’ ‘is family? Ta support his little ‘uns?”
“Wait ... what?” Troy raised his hands.
“Donchu act like you don’t know this here baby is yours,” Ellie Mae said, and pointed to Daisy Mae’s belly. “She don’ told me he was yers!”
A light began to flicker on in Troy’s mind. Oh, sweet Jesus, he thought, they’re crazier than I remember. They’re trying to say Daisy Mae’s baby is mine.
“Now, Ellie Mae, hold on just a second,” he said in low, gentle tones. “Don’t you realize I haven’t worked at the Hippo in over ten years?”
“We know ‘at, stupid!” Ellie Mae shook her finger at Troy. “She’s talkin’ bout that night you spent back in Vegas fer yer brother’s bachelor party! He’s yers alright!”
Troy’s mind raced ... what the hell were they talking about? He hadn’t spoken to his brother, Ryan, since he left Afghanistan ... his brother, who had been discharged (reason unknown) had returned stateside and gone completely off the grid.
“Ellie Mae, my brother and I haven’t spoken since before I worked at the Hippo. Hell, I haven’t seen him since I was shipped off to Afghanistan.”
Confusion spread across the girl’s face. He could see her certainty falter.
“I’m not sure who you think, um ... did this to your sister,” he said, pointing to Daisy Mae, “but it couldn’t have been me.”
She thought for a second, then an evil smile spread on her face. “Oh yeah? Then explain ‘is pitcher!”
She reached into her bra and brought out a faded but clearly recent Polaroid photograph of Daisy Mae looking slim and not pregnant. In one hand she held a cigarette, while her other arm was draped around a man holding a bottle of champagne. The man had longer, curly black hair, a short stubble beard, a decent tan and dark eyes ... much like Troy.
She flipped it over and pointed to a date printed on the back. “See ‘at? And you ev’n signed it!”
She handed the photo to Troy and smiled the smile of a victorious lawyer giving a perfect closing argument to seal the fate of the defendant.
Troy took a close look at the photo. It was clearly not him, though the man did bear a striking resemblance to him. He flipped it over to check out his signature on the back. The date did correspond to the impending baby ... just about eight and a half months ago. He could barely make out the scrawling text, but it became immediately clear what their mistake had been.
He handed the photo back to Ellie Mae, and said, “You’ve got the wrong man. Read it again.”
Ellie Mae snatched it out of his hand suspiciously, and turned it over.
Thanks for one hell of a bachelor party! My brother and I will never forget it!
With love from Troy.
And a little farther down, in almost illegible script, the signature:
Eric Bana
When he saw the look of understanding slowly creep over her face, he said, “Hey, it’s not all that bad. Apparently, you spent the night with Eric Bana. You know, from the movie, Troy?”
“Ho-lee-she-it,” Ellie Mae said slowly.
“Yeah,” said Troy, letting the silence hang for just a few seconds, “and I guess maybe also having his love child?”
“Hey, you two,” Daisy Mae suddenly said out of nowhere, “can we ‘scuss this later? My water jus’ broke.”
19
Hospitable Hospital
Darren “The Body” McGlashen was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he pulled into the emergency room valet area at the St. Francis Hospital in Litchfield. His list of injuries was growing more severe by the minute and all of them threatened to render him unconscious ... but he couldn’t afford to waste time with passing out, there was too much to do.
Unbelievably, there was a pay phone in the lobby of the emergency room, and though Darren had no change to his name he felt sure the boss would accept his collect call.
“Sir?” Someone tapped him on the shoulder. “We need you to fill out these forms.”
An emergency room nurse with almost black curl
y hair stood behind him holding out a bright pink clipboard and pen. He turned around so quickly that it must’ve startled her. She stepped back and shoved the clipboard at him as if she didn’t want to catch whatever pestilence he hosted. Darren almost laughed at her.
“Look, um ... ” —he tapped her nametag with the bloody nub of his right forefinger— “Rachel, is it? Ah ain’t got no insurance. Ah ain’t from ‘is godforsaken country and from da way ah feel, ahm bettin’ I got infections all ova me body. So, why don’t we dispense wif dees forms and get me a docta, eh?”
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 L
aura. “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 and 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?”
The Complete Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Collection Page 18