White Hot

by Sandra Brown

  Beck didn’t even want to think about his not pulling through. “I’m sure Billy would appreciate that.”

  Fred was about to turn away, then on an afterthought asked, “How’s Mr. Hoyle faring?”

  “He’s out of danger for the time being. I think he’s going to be all right.”

  Beck left the four foundry employees talking quietly among themselves and dialed Chris’s cell number. It rang six times before it was answered by his voice mail recording. Beck left a message. “I thought we agreed to keep our cell phones handy. Call me. Huff’s okay, as far as I know, but we’ve got another emergency.”

  The nurse attending the desk declined to tell him anything specific. Annoyed with her deliberate ambiguity, Beck said, “Can you at least tell me if he’s alive or dead?”

  “You’re not family, are you?”

  “No, but I’m the one paying the fucking hospital bill. Which I believe entitles me to know whether or not he’s going to make it.”

  “I don’t care for your language, sir.”

  “Well if you care for your job, ma’am, you’d better give me some information. Fast.”

  She drew herself up taut. Her lips barely moved when she spoke. “I believe the patient is going to be transferred by helicopter to a trauma center in New Orleans. That’s all I know.”

  Hearing a commotion behind him, Beck turned to see a woman rushing in, trailed by five children. All of them were barefoot, wearing pajamas, their faces white with fear. A toddler carried a ragged, one-eyed teddy bear beneath her arm. The woman was on the verge of hysteria.

  “Fred!” she cried when he stood up to meet her. Seeing her husband’s blood on the other men’s clothing, she screamed and collapsed to her knees. “Tell me he’s not dead. Please. Tell me he’s still alive.”

  Her husband’s coworkers rushed to assist her. Lifting her from the floor, they placed her in a chair. “He’s not dead,” Fred told her, “but he’s hurt bad, Alicia.”

  The children were remarkably subdued, probably stupefied by their mother’s hysteria.

  “I want to see him,” she said frantically. “Can I see him?”

  “Not yet. They’re working on him and won’t let anybody back there.”

  Fred Decluette tried to calm her down and at the same time explain to her the nature of the accident. He could barely make himself heard above her sobbing. Beck turned to the nurse, who was watching the scene impassively.

  “Can you give her something to calm her?” he asked.

  “Not unless a doctor orders it.”

  With a distinct edge to his voice he said, “Why don’t you go ask?” Looking thoroughly put out, she stamped off.

  “His right arm!” Billy’s wife shrieked. “He’s right-handed. Oh, Lord, what will we do?”

  Beck crossed the lobby toward them. When she saw him, her crying ceased immediately, as though someone had flipped a switch. The other men shuffled aside, enabling Beck to crouch directly in front of her.

  “Mrs. Paulik, my name is Beck Merchant. What’s happened to Billy is tragic, but I want you to rest assured that I’m going to do whatever I can to help you and your family through it.

  “I’ve been told that Billy will be flown by helicopter to a trauma center in New Orleans, where he’ll get the best possible medical care. I’m sure they’re already assembling a team of vascular surgeons, orthopedic specialists, and so on. Hopefully his arm can be saved. These doctors can work miracles, even on accident injuries as acute as Billy’s.”

  She continued to stare at him without expression, saying nothing. He thought she might be in shock like her husband. He glanced at the five children. The little girl with the teddy bear was sucking her thumb, staring at Beck over her small fist. The others were regarding him somberly.

  The oldest of them, a boy, appeared to be about the age he’d been when his father had died. He was standing apart from the others, his expression so wary it bordered on hostile. Beck recognized this as mistrust of anybody who promised that everything was going to be all right when it most definitely was not.

  Beck turned back to the boy’s mother. Drying tears had left salty tracks on her plump cheeks. “I’ll arrange for your transportation to New Orleans so you can be with Billy. I’ll find a place for you to stay near the medical facility. If you need help with child care, I’ll see that you get it.

  “You’ll want to file a workmen’s compensation insurance claim as soon as possible. Or someone in the human resources department can do it for you tomorrow. In the meantime, I don’t want you to be out any personal expense.”

  He removed his wallet from his pants pocket. “Here are two hundred dollars to cover whatever you may need immediately. This is my business card. I’ve written my cell phone number on the back of it. Call me anytime for whatever you need. I’m here to help you.”

  She took the two hundred-dollar bills and the business card from him and then ripped them in half and threw them on the floor.

  Fred, shocked, lunged forward. “Alicia!”

  But Beck raised his hand, staving him off.

  Billy Paulik’s wife sneered. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to? You do the Hoyles’ dirty work for them, don’t you? Yeah, I’ve heard about you. You’d wipe their asses if they asked you to. You’re here to throw money around and feed me a lot of bullshit about making everything easy and good for Billy, when all you’re really doing is making sure the Hoyles don’t get sued or written up in the newspaper. Ain’t that right, Mr. Merchant?

  “Well, fuck you, I ain’t filing workmen’s comp tomorrow or any other time, and I ain’t taking your pissant handout, either. You can’t buy a clean conscience from me, and you sure as hell can’t buy my silence.

  “Write this down, Mr. Smooth-talking Ass-kisser with the pretty smile. Write it down in my Billy’s blood. I’m gonna make myself heard about what goes on in that stinking foundry. The Hoyles and you are gonna get your comeuppance. Just wait and see if you don’t.”

  Then she spat in his face.

  • • •

  “Have you been calling me?”

  “Chris. Where the hell are you?”

  “The diner.”

  “On my way. Order coffee.”

  Beck had just left the hospital when Chris returned his call. He was headed for home but made a U-turn and arrived at the diner a few minutes later.

  “I’m brewing a fresh pot for you, Beck,” the waitress called to him as he walked in. “Give it two minutes.”

  “You’re an angel.”

  “Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say.”

  He joined Chris in a booth, propped his elbows on the table, and wearily dragged his hands down his face. “Will this day never end?”

  “I just called the ICU. Huff’s sleeping like a baby. Heart’s ticking like a Swiss clock. So what’s the big emergency?”

  “Why wasn’t your cell on?”

  “It was. On vibrate. Problem was, the cell wasn’t on me.” Chris smiled lazily. “A gentleman removes not only his boots but his cell phone when he joins a lady in bed. Didn’t your mother teach you anything?”

  “Billy Paulik nearly had his arm ripped off tonight.”

  Chris’s grin faded. The two men stared across the table at each other while the waitress refreshed Chris’s coffee and filled a mug for Beck. “Something to eat, Beck?”

  “No thanks.”

  Sensing by their solemn mood that banter would be inappropriate, she left them.

  “On the job, I assume,” Chris said.

  Beck gave a grim nod.

  “Jesus. On top of everything else, this is all we need.”

  “That’s why I feel like this day has lasted a thousand years.” Beck then told him what had happened and brought him up to date. “The helicopter lifted off minutes before you called me. They wouldn’t let his wife fly with him. Her brother-in-law is driving her to New Orleans as we speak.”

  He omitted the spitting incident. What purpose would it serve to
tell Chris except to make him think badly of Mrs. Paulik? Beck didn’t. He sympathized with the fear and anxiety that had led her to do it.

  Even upset, she’d had the presence of mind to realize the irreversible impact this night would have on her family. Her husband might not survive. If he did, he would never be the same. Their economic future was in jeopardy. Tonight had changed their lives forever. No wonder she’d felt contempt for the platitudes, the cash, and the one who offered them.

  With as much dignity as possible, he had come to his feet and wiped his face with a handkerchief, then moved away from her and her children. Fred Decluette had been mortified by her behavior. “No need to apologize for her, Fred,” Beck had told him when he began stammering apologies. “She’s scared and upset.”

  “I just want you to know that not all of us share her opinion, Mr. Merchant. I’d hate for it to get back to the Hoyles that we’re ungrateful for y’all’s generosity when something like this happens.”

  Beck had assured the nervous foreman that the incident would be forgotten. So he kept it out of his account to Chris.

  “Billy will undergo surgery, but the ER doctor here told me that his arm is so mangled, it would take divine intervention to successfully reattach it, much less make it useful, and that they’d be doing Billy a favor if they didn’t even try.”

  He paused to take a sip of coffee and glanced up as another customer came in. It was Slap Watkins, exuding the same belligerent arrogance as he had the night before. “Is he paying rent here?”

  Beck continued to watch Slap as he paused just inside the door and glanced around. When he spotted him and Chris, his chin went back a notch as though surprised to see them there.

  “Well, well, Slap Watkins,” Chris said easily. “Long time no see. How was prison?”

  Slap divided a calculating look between them, then said to Chris, “Anything beats working in your foundry.”

  “With an attitude like that, I guess it’s a good thing my brother didn’t hire you.”

  “Yeah, speaking of your brother . . .” The grin he flashed raised the hair on Beck’s arms. “I bet Danny Boy is getting real ripe by now.” Raising his nose in the air, he inhaled deeply. “Yep, I can smell that fucking corpse from here.”

  Chris moved to leave the booth and attack, but Beck laid a restraining hand on his arm. “That’s what he wants you to do. Let it go.”

  “Good advice, Merchant.” Fixing his gaze on Beck, Slap leered. “You been in his sister’s pants yet? She as hot as she looks?”

  It took supreme willpower for Beck to remain where he was.

  The waitress came from behind the counter and approached Slap. “I won’t stand for dirty talk like that in here. If you want something to eat or drink, take a seat.” She handed him a menu.

  Slap pushed it aside. “I don’t want nothing to eat or drink.”

  “Then why did you come in?”

  “Not that it’s any of your concern, but I was supposed to meet a partner here to talk some business.”

  Unintimidated, she placed her hands on her hips and eyed him up and down, taking in his greasy blue jeans and the ratty tank top that left his arms bare. There was an array of tattoos. All of them were lewd, some outright obscene. Most appeared to be the work of amateurs.

  The waitress said, “I can see you’re all dressed up for an important business meeting. But we’re not keeping this place open so you’ll have free office space. Order something or leave.”

  “Good idea,” Chris said tightly.

  Slap looked at them with malice. “Coupla fags. Can’t even tell which one’s the bitch.” Then he turned and swaggered out.

  Through the window they watched him climb onto his motorcycle and speed out of the parking lot.

  “I told you he was trouble, Beck,” Chris said.

  “Waiting to happen.”

  “Or already has. You heard what he said about the foundry. Did you see his reaction when I mentioned Danny? His arrogance slipped. Just a fraction and for just a second. I think we should discuss it with Red.”

  “All right. Tomorrow. But right now we’ve got an immediate problem. Do you think we should wait a day or two to tell Huff?”

  “About Slap Watkins?”

  “About Billy Paulik, Chris,” Beck said impatiently. “The guy was maimed for life in your foundry tonight. He’s got five young kids. He’s worked for Hoyle Enterprises since he was seventeen. We don’t have any jobs for one-armed men. What’s he going to do now?”

  “I don’t know. Why are you upset with me? I didn’t stick his arm into that machine. If he’s worked for us since he was seventeen, he’s well aware of the dangers and should have been paying better attention to what he was doing.”

  “Billy was trying to do some minor repair while the conveyor was running.”

  “He took it upon himself to do a repair he wasn’t qualified to do.”

  “Because it needed to be done. He was thinking of production first, not safety, because that’s what he’s been ordered to think. The machine should have been stopped before anyone worked on it.”

  “Take that up with George Robson. He’s the safety director. He sets the criteria for shutting down a piece of machinery.”

  “George does what you and Huff tell him to do.”

  Chris sat back against the booth and looked at him closely. “Whose side are you arguing here?”

  Beck placed his elbows on the table again, and this time he pressed his thumbs into his burning eye sockets. “You didn’t see his blood,” he said softly. After a time, he lowered his hands. “Fred Decluette said that Billy was working that machine tonight in place of a guy on vacation. He also said he shouldn’t have taken it upon himself to fix the damn thing.”

  “You see?” Chris said blithely. “We’re clear of all blame.”

  Beck wondered how the hell Chris could be smiling. Then he sighed and said, “Yeah. Right.”

  “His medical expenses will be covered by workmen’s compensation insurance. That’s why we pay out the nose for it.”

  Beck nodded, deciding not to bring up Alicia Paulik’s threats. He would save those for another conversation. And perhaps, once Mrs. Paulik had had time to think about it, once she realized the extent of Billy’s medical bills, she would change her mind and choose the easier of the two options available to her, which would be to file an insurance claim and, by doing so, forever lose her right to sue Hoyle Enterprises.

  “Look, Beck, I know you feel terrible about what happened. So do I. But what else can we do?”

  “We could send a bouquet of flowers to his hospital room.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Beck laughed, but not with humor. Chris had missed his sarcasm. “I’ll see to it.”

  “Think you can keep it out of the media?”

  Remembering the vehemence behind Mrs. Paulik’s threats, he hedged. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Which is usually good enough.” Chris drained his coffee mug. “I’m bushed. As if being questioned by the sheriff and Huff’s heart attack weren’t enough excitement for one day, Lila was feeling particularly amorous tonight.”

  “How did you avoid George?”

  “She told him she was visiting a sick friend.”

  “And he fell for that?”

  “She’s got him wound around her little finger by a string that’s attached to his dick. Besides, he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer.”

  “No, just our safety director,” Beck said under his breath as he and Chris left the booth and moved toward the door.

  Before they parted in the parking lot, Chris asked, “Do you think he’ll be all right?”

  “He won’t be all right, Chris. Losing a limb—”

  “Not Paulik. Huff.”

  “Oh.” Sayre had said that Huff had been playing one of his sick games when he summoned her to his “deathbed.” That sounded typical of Huff. “Yes,” he told Chris with confidence. “I think he’ll be all right.”

  Tho
ughtfully, Chris bounced his car keys in his palm. “Do you know what he told me today? I guess he was feeling mellow, thinking that he’d come close to dying. He was a bit maudlin, but sincere. He said he wouldn’t know what he’d do without his two sons. I reminded him that he’d lost Danny. But he was referring to you. He said, ‘Beck is like another son to me.’ ”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “Don’t be. Being a son of Huff Hoyle comes with a few disadvantages.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you can be the one who tells him about Billy Paulik.”

  chapter 16

  “Is Jessica DeBlance here?” Sayre spoke in the hushed tone that one reserves for the library.

  The gray-haired lady at the desk smiled at her. “Jessica is working today, but she went down the street to get us some muffins from the bakery.”

  “So she’s coming back?”

  “Shouldn’t be more than five minutes.”

  Sayre moved to a reading area where a window overlooked a small, landscaped courtyard. Sparrows were splashing in the shallow bowl of a birdbath. Hydrangea bushes were loaded with blue and pink blossoms as large as birthday balloons. Fig vine and lichen clung to the brick wall enclosure. The serenity of it was inviting.

  She hadn’t enjoyed a moment of tranquillity since she’d ordered Beck Merchant from her motel room last night.

  Liar, he’d whispered.

  The incriminating word had stung because it was true. She had denied having any intuition that something like that would happen between them. She’d also denied that she had wanted it to. He had canceled her denials with that one word: liar.

  It echoed in her mind now as it had all through the night, even during her fitful sleep. She woke up still smarting with humiliation, still infuriated with him, but even more so with herself. He’d known that, too.

  Liar also applied to her in a way Beck didn’t know or couldn’t guess. She had explained her reason for staying in Destiny as an obligation to her mother, as wanting to see to what extent if any Chris had been involved in Danny’s death. But the underlying reason was her guilty conscience. Days before his death, she had rebuffed Danny. Her guilt over that was as omnipresent as the humid Gulf air. She couldn’t escape it. It had brought her to the library this morning.