I filled him in on the bare essentials, then listened to the silence. I could almost hear him mentally listing the pros and cons of getting involved. I hadn’t yet told him what I’d found in Valerie’s apartment. I’d decided that if he couldn’t bother to help, I would tell him I’d found nothing at all.
“Hang on. I’ll be there.”
I hung up before my emotions got the better of me. It was just possible he really hadn’t known about the riot. Or maybe he just wanted to learn what I had found out. Either way, it would get Terri to a hospital, and for the moment, that was all that mattered. I brought out a basin of cold water and a pile of wet towels from the bathroom, laying one across Terri’s eyes. The palms of my hands looked as if they’d been washed in ground glass, and my left knee had already blown up to twice its normal size.
“Rach?”
I held Terri’s head in my lap as I rinsed out a wet cloth. “Don’t try to talk. Someone will be here soon to help.”
But he reached up and held on to my hand. “I might be needing that plastic surgery sooner than I planned. What do you think?”
His voice came out as a deep rasp, and I told him he sounded like Harvey Fierstein.
“Good God. As long as I don’t look like him.”
I started to laugh, but it hurt my ribs.
“There were some real fuckers out there today, Rach. These Southern boys are into some nasty S&M. It was enough to make The Whipping Post look like amateur hour.”
It hurt for him to talk. But I also knew he was afraid not to. If you stop talking, you might pass out. If you pass out, you might die. I let him continue.
“You know that kimono you love, Rach?”
“You mean the purple one with the little geisha girls performing obscene acts?”
“Yeah, that one. It’s yours. I want you to have it.”
“Jesus, Terri. Will you stop it? You’re not going to die. Besides, if you were, I’d want the fuchsia one with the naked boys running around.”
“Bitch. You know I plan to be buried in that.”
Terri shivered. I grabbed a blanket from the chair behind me and began to wrap him up.
“What the hell are you doing, Rachel? Putting me in my shroud? It’s one hundred fucking degrees in here!”
“You shivered. I thought you were cold.”
“Jesus. If I were cold in this weather, I’d really be dying. No, I was just thinking about being buried, and it gave me the creeps. All those disgusting little maggots nibbling away. It would be a crime to lose such a great body.”
“Are you talking about me?”
Terri’s head rolled in my lap as his laugh turned into a moan. “That’s another thing I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, sweetie. You’ve been putting on a little weight lately. Guess it’s that healthy diet you’re on.”
I tried to move my leg as a piece of glass buried itself deeper, but a groan from Terri froze me in place. He let out a low sob and his chest quivered, as though the flesh were no longer attached to bone. I found myself holding my breath until he spoke again.
“You have to admit. This does give me the perfect excuse for a trip to see that gorgeous plastic surgeon in Rio. Not that I planned on resorting to this. But it does make the pain more worthwhile.”
The blood from Terri’s head had soaked through my pants, and I started to worry that maybe he really was dying. Slowly counting to one hundred, I told myself Santou would magically appear by then. “It’s nice to know you still have your values in the right place, Ter.”
Footsteps echoed on the stairs, and for a brief moment I had a flash of skinheads rushing from house to house to finish what they’d begun. My heart picked up speed, pounding against bruised ribs, until I caught sight of tousled curls and Santou’s beak of a nose poking their way in through the door. He took a long look at us sprawled on the floor, before moving in.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Yeah, I know. We look great.”
“Sorry I took so long, but the streets are a mess.”
I silently swore that next time I’d let Santou beat me at darts. “I understand. It’s a real problem when you’ve got to watch out for bodies beneath your tires.” Taking the cloth off Terri’s eyes, I gave Santou a better view of the damage. I felt petty for ever having mistrusted him. “You’ll never know how grateful I am that you made it here.”
“Yes I will, Porter. Hey, buddy. Ever been in the backseat of a broken-down old LeSabre? You’re gonna love it.”
“No. But I can vouch for the backseat of an Acura Legend. Maybe you should think about a trade-in if we’re going to get serious.” Terri gazed through puffy lids as best he could as Santou knelt down beside him. “My hero. If Rach didn’t already have dibs on you, I would.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Anything broken I should know about?”
Terri placed an arm around Jake’s neck. “Nothing that a little plastic surgery can’t fix.”
Picking him up, Santou started out the door. “You’re not going to make me come back and carry you down, too, are you, Porter?”
I would have let him win a second game of darts if he had. “Not a chance.”
I followed as best I could to the street, where Santou’s car was parked in front of a tow away zone. Having placed Terri on the backseat, he gently propped a blanket under his head. It was a side of Santou I hadn’t seen before. The man was full of surprises.
The going was slow as we made our way to Charity Hospital. While most everyone was out of the street by now, pieces of torn clothing lay scattered about, giving the scene more the air of a rowdy party than the riot it had been. Remnants of red ribbons and black armbands lay like discarded party favors. An ostrich boa blew up against the curb. Wigs sat on sidewalks looking like small abandoned pets, while sequins and rhinestones paved a fictional road to Oz.
But there was also darker memorabilia to be seen. Broken bottles and wooden bats streaked with blood decorated the streets. A few people limped past while others sat motionless along the curb, vacant stares their only expression. We drove past the café on Ursuline Street, where the front window lay shattered on the ground in thousands of fragments. The owner knelt picking up pieces of glass, a pool of crystal at his feet. The only thing missing were the skinheads who had run rampant just a few hours ago. Nowhere in sight now, it was as if they had all collectively crawled back into the woodwork.
Santou pulled up to the emergency entrance, flashed his badge, and, as if by magic, two orderlies appeared. I assured Terri I’d wait to see what the doctor said, as the orderlies took him out of the car and slid him onto a gurney.
“Just don’t touch my plants, Rach. Promise me that. You’ll kill them. This may be the wrong time to tell you, but you don’t have a way with anything green.”
He was right. My own plants looked as dead as the cypress in the marsh. I had just begun to limp behind the gurney, when I felt the pressure of Santou’s hand on my shoulder.
“Where do you think you’re going, Porter?”
Annoyed at the question, I tried to move on, but Santou’s hand held me in place. “I’m going in with Terri to make sure he’s all right.”
Santou popped a Tums in his mouth as he motioned toward the wheelchair. “You’re going in, all right, but you’re sitting in this.”
“No way. I’m not a patient.”
Stopping an orderly, Santou pointed in my direction. “Sorry to bother you, but could you tell me if this woman looks like a patient to you?”
The orderly checked me up and down and then grinned, the sunlight glinting off a gold-capped front tooth. “To be honest with you, she looks like hell. But don’t you worry none. We’ll patch her up almost good as new.”
Santou pressed me down into the wheelchair. “I think that says it all.”
“Yeah. It was a real professional opinion.” I allowed myself to be wheeled inside, where I was handed countless forms to fill out for both Terri and myself. Engrossed in the bureaucracy of hospital
procedure, it took a full second before I realized that Santou was no longer standing beside me. I twisted around to see him heading for the exit door.
“Hey! Wait a minute. Where are you going?” I hadn’t planned on being left here. I figured a quick look-see by some guy in white, and I’d be out the door myself.
Santou made an impatient wave toward the waiting room filled with walking wounded. In torn and bloodied costumes, most looked like victims from the parade. “You’re going to be here a while, so I figured I’d do some poking around and see what I can find. I’ll be back to pick you up in a few hours. Just don’t limp off anywhere.”
Turning around, he walked out, leaving me stranded.
I’ve never been a good patient. I can’t stand needles, and the sight of blood, especially my own, will usually make me faint. Even worse is the smell that lingers in hospital corridors. I feel certain that the stuff, markedly generic in odor, is bottled and sprayed up and down the halls at least twice a day. This place was no different. The sea-green walls closed in around me while the number of battered bodies multiplied by the minute. Most of the stories were the same. The gangs that attacked had seemingly come out of nowhere, disrupting and destroying the march. It was nearly inconceivable that a bunch of rednecks had been so highly organized. With their hunting caps, tattoos, and loud bluster, I knew the kind of guys these were. Hand them some Dixie beers and a gun, and they’re your average poacher out to best the game warden. I wouldn’t have thought they were capable of much tactical strategy. It made me wonder what else I’d been wrong about. I watched as one victim after another sped by faceup on a gurney, attended to by doctors and nurses barking out orders on their way to fast-food operating rooms. The anticipation of waiting was more than I wanted to deal with alone. I got up and placed a call to Charlie Hickok. I figured if I was going to take a day or two off from the marsh, I should at least tell him why. I informed Charlie where I was calling from, only to be met with a moment’s silence on the other end of the phone. Then all hell broke loose.
“What in the goddamn tarnation were you doing in the Quarter in the first place, Bronx? Seems to me that’s a long ways off from any scum out there taking potshots at my ducks.”
The dull thud in my head kicked into high gear. I worked hard to compose myself before answering. “I was doing some work on the Vaughn case, Charlie. Remember? You, me, and Trenton are all in this thing together. I managed to get a key to Vaughn’s apartment and had just finished snooping around the place, when I walked out and got caught in the riot.”
Charlie cleared his throat and took a slug of what I could tell, even over the phone, was bourbon. “So? What did ya find?”
I found myself hesitating, unsure of just how much I wanted to divulge. I’d paid dearly for the information, and unless Charlie was going to treat me as an equal on the case, I wasn’t ready to hand over all my hard work with no return. I decided to tell him only what I’d found on Schuess.
“Hell, taking a wild guess, I’d say that Schuess is one Nazi el kooko kooko. Seems to me like Hillard’s got himself into a shitload more trouble than he can handle this time.” Charlie chuckled at the thought. “No problem, Bronx. Take some time off and dry your boots out. Trenton and me have got this thing covered.”
“What have you found out so far, Charlie?” I knew he’d been digging just as hard and fast as I’d been. He had to have come up with some information of his own. If he filled me in, I’d share the rest of the goodies on Global and the diamonds with him. Otherwise, it was information I’d keep to myself for now. It was all up to Charlie.
“Don’t you worry none. Me and Trenton will take it from here. If I need you for anything else, I’ll call. Otherwise, you just head on back to the marsh once you’ve rested up. It’s about time you got back to what you were hired for.”
Charlie couldn’t have made my heave-ho off the case any clearer if he’d rented a billboard to advertise the fact.
“And just what is it exactly that I was hired for?”
“Goddamn it, Bronx. How many different ways do you need to hear me say it? You’re a dirt-level rookie, who keeps trying to horn in on things you aren’t ready for yet. When I think you’re capable of handling something like this, you’ll be the first to know. Until then, you’ll stick to what I tell you.”
He hung up before I could answer. I should have known that Charlie would edge me out of the way once he got involved. I’d done all the footwork, and now he was riding the tail wind in search of the glory. Having been put in my place, I was now expected to behave the way any rookie would who had been reprimanded. Instead, I intended to respond in what I considered to be Charlie Hickok fashion. If Charlie didn’t want to work with me, I’d just work the case on my own.
Feeling as bad from Hickok’s brush-off as I did from my injuries, I heard my name called out and was soon following a nurse through the swinging double doors into a hotbed of activity. I didn’t belong here. In New York, I was someone who had dosed up on multivitamins and herbal concoctions, and went to nutritionists just to avoid all this.
I was placed in a small examining room, where I was told to strip and slip into a hospital gown. Hanging open down the back, the gown did little to offset my sense of vulnerability. Recent years had been plagued with keeping track of friends on their way in and out of hospitals: people who should have been hunting for apartments, planning vacations, rehearsing their next show. Hospitals were places to die. I wasn’t supposed to be here. By the time a doctor finally came in, I was ready to bolt.
With dark hair cut short for no muss or fuss, Dr. Sandra Kushner moved at the same breakneck speed I did—ninety miles an hour set on cruise controls. In her mid-thirties, she wore just a light dab of lipstick for makeup. Dark eyebrows slashed across her brow and a long, sharp nose gave her a strangely patrician air. Hazel eyes analyzed me in a quick, impatient glance. At five feet five, the woman was a powerhouse. From her no-nonsense air, I knew she had to be from New York. Picking up my chart, she began a succession of rapid-fire questions.
“Rachel Porter. Are you from around here?”
“No. New York.” Being a Northerner in Louisiana is like being a stranger in a strange land. You tend to seek out others of your own kind.
“City?”
I nodded as she began her examination, homing in on every unseen injury. “You’re from the boroughs?”
She smiled, aware that I’d caught the difference in our accents. “Long Island. How long have you been down here?”
“Six months. You?”
“Three years.” She noticed me flinch as she touched a sore rib. “Fish and Wildlife, huh? What do you do?”
“I spend the majority of my time trudging through marshes and swamps.”
Taking out a large Ace bandage, Kushner wrapped it firmly around my rib cage. “Jewish girls from New York don’t do that sort of thing.”
I didn’t even ask how she could tell. Almost no one ever could. “No. They don’t work in hospitals in Louisiana, either.”
We smiled, both acknowledging the fact that we were either running from or in search of something neither of us could really define. I jumped as she touched the back of my head.
“Somebody did a nice job back here.”
“I’m glad you like the handiwork. I hate to think what he would have done if he’d really had the chance.”
“I think we can get away without shaving the area and putting in stitches. I’ll just clean around it and trust that you’ll rest, if that’s all right with you.”
I opted against the skinhead look as she moved on to my other wounds.
“You banged up your knee pretty well. Have a nice time at the parade?”
“Wrong place, wrong time. I wish I could say I’d been there by choice, but it was sheer accident.”
Brandishing tweezers, she swiftly pulled out the debris embedded in my palms and knees. As a reward for good behavior, I received a tetanus shot and one of cortisone to help bring down the swel
ling, along with an elastic knee brace to wear. My parting gift was a container of painkillers.
“Well, Porter, for someone who had no intention of being there, you ended up with assorted contusions, a bum knee, and quite a lump on your head. If I were you, I’d stay out of the way of neo-Nazis. You’ll live longer.”
My knee and head throbbed as I waited for the Percocet to kick in. “I came with a friend who was in pretty bad shape. Is there any way I can find out about him?”
Kushner glanced down at my chart. “Sure. Give me his name and I’ll check on him for you.”
With Kushner out of the room, I shed the hospital gown and slipped back into my tattered street clothes as I waited for word on Terri. The fact that I was no longer officially a patient helped to take my mind off my aches and pains, and focus it where it belonged—on the necklace of diamonds I’d left lying inside my purse at home.
It didn’t take long for Kushner to return with news on Terri.
“Your friend didn’t fare as well as you. We’re doing a battery of tests on him now, and it looks like he’ll be here at least another couple of days. Give me a call tomorrow, and I’ll find out what I can for you then.”
“I appreciate it.”
She made a note on her chart. “Just think of it as a favor for a fellow New Yorker.”
Halfway out the door, another thought struck me. “Do you ever perform autopsies in your spare time?”
Kushner gave me an odd look, unsure of whether or not to smile. “Any particular reason you want to know? Perhaps with a loved one in mind?”
I chuckled as I thought of Hickok. “No. Nothing like that. In fact, we’re not even talking human. Sorry. Stupid question.”
Gator Aide (Rachel Porter Mysteries) Page 15