Brain Trust

by A W Hartoin

  “Unless I’m not,” I said.

  “You’re not.”

  That was an understatement. Shortly after I’d returned from Hunt, a man had entered the hospital, a Hispanic of medium height and build, wearing a summer fedora pulled low and an over-sized jacket. His voice was gravelly and strained. He flashed a badge at information and asked for my mom’s location. The volunteer told him that she was in the ICU but would be transported to a regular room soon.

  Then he asked if she’d seen me, complete with a description of what I was wearing. It was totally accurate and the creeps came over me hard core. The volunteer hadn’t seen me and she asked around. Nobody had.

  “It could’ve been a cop,” I said weakly.

  Snyder nodded. “That’s what I would’ve thought. In fact, this would never have come to my attention at all, but we’ve been having a problem with Wash U journalism students.”

  “What’s this got to do with journalism?”

  “Nothing and everything. They’re doing some sort of exposé of hospital security and we’re a target. They’ve been tailgating. You’re familiar?”

  I was. Tailgating was when an unauthorized person gained access to restricted areas like operating rooms by following someone going in with a badge. People’s innate politeness sometimes led them to hold open doors if the person looked official. It was a real problem. In this case, the students had gotten past outer security twice but never into an actual OR before getting caught.

  Because of their repeated attempts, Mr. Snyder was continually reviewing security footage, trying to catch them in the act. Because of his increased vigilance, he happened to see a man in a summer fedora loitering in the hall outside the ICU doors. He tried to tailgate several times, including with Aunt Tenne, but he wasn’t successful. When the guard came running over to the doctors’ fight and went in the ICU, he left.

  Mr. Snyder tracked him with the cameras through the building and out the front doors. He would’ve gotten a license plate, but the man walked off campus. Then Mr. Snyder went through the footage before the man arrived on the floor and saw him questioning the volunteer. Snyder talked to her and found out who the man was asking about.

  “Did you call the police?” I asked.

  “I did and they’re on the way,” said Mr. Snyder. “I wanted to tell you myself. I’ve known your father a long time. We were in uniform together.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate your telling me. My mom needs an around-the-clock guard.”

  “I agree, but if I know your father, he’ll want one of his own people with her.”

  Mr. Snyder was right. Dad would want someone on his own team with Mom, but who?

  “Have you told this to my grandad?” I asked.

  “Ace is here?” he asked. “Oh, that’s right. I saw him pass our guy when he was loitering in the hall. I wasn’t thinking about him.”

  I poked my head back in Mom’s room and said, “Hey, Mom. I’m going to check on Grandad.”

  “He’s still here?”

  “I think so. Do you think Wallace needs a walk?”

  Mom scratched the pug’s belly. She was lying on her back, snoring away. The vet in Sturgis had given her painkillers for the kick she got and Wallace had gotten even more lazy. “Let’s let her sleep.”

  “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

  “When can I eat? I’m getting a little hungry,” said Mom.

  “After the heart test,” I said.

  Mom lowered her right eyebrow to match her left. “What are they going to do to me?”

  “Er…I’ll explain it later.” I closed the door and went with Mr. Snyder, passing the female guard who was going to hang out in the ICU.

  Out in the hall, a second guard was posted at the entrance. He was more interested in the coffee cart that was pumping out lattes at an incredible rate. It turned out that Pete had given the guy a couple of hundred bucks to caffeine up all the patients and family that wanted it in order to soothe everyone over the whole doctors versus extinguisher incident. Pete really was the best.

  We went into the waiting room to find Nikki hovering over Uncle Morty while he ate her baklava. “Mercy,” she exclaimed, rushing over. “You must have some.”

  I wasn’t really hungry after the whole crab dog incident, but my opinion wasn’t required. I was promptly seated in a big armchair by the window, fed baklava, and given a mega latte to increase my stamina, according to Nikki. It was delicious, so I didn’t care.

  “The Feds are talking,” said Uncle Morty.

  “Is that a good thing?” I asked.

  “It ain’t bad. You got them in a fix. They think you’ll go to the press.”

  “I will. Where’s Grandad?”

  Uncle Morty chomped on another piece of baklava and said through spewing bits of filo dough, “Went to the cafeteria to get ginger ale with Tenne. Her stomach’s upset. Something about an injection.” He shot Mr. Snyder a hawk-eyed look. “You got bad news, Will?”

  “Could be better,” said Mr. Snyder.

  “Let me have it then.”

  Mr. Snyder explained the situation as I stuffed an entire piece of baklava in my gullet, not one of my prettier or better decisions. My phone chose that moment to ring. I gagged, swiped the green button, and couldn’t say a word. I sounded like I was being strangled, which I kinda was, just with sugary goodness.

  Nikki walked over and plucked the phone out of my hand while I pounded on my own chest.

  “Hello, Tommy,” she said. “This is Nikki.”

  She paused.

  “Yes, she’s right here, trying to swallow an obscene amount of baklava.”

  Another pause.

  Nikki smiled. “It is the best, if I do say so myself.”

  I swallowed hard and gulped some coffee, holding up my hand.

  “Here she is, Tommy,” said Nikki.

  “Dad,” I burst out.

  “What the hell are you thinking, Mercy?” Dad yelled, loud enough for the whole room to hear and we weren’t the only baklava-eating family in there.

  “I had to—”

  “You had to bother me while I’m working? Think, Mercy. I’m working. For the FBI. Do you understand anything? A damn helicopter flew in with a satellite phone. This had better be good. We’re tracking a cannibal. He ate a cop, for God’s sake!”

  For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Dad was pissed. What the hell? Did it ever occur to him that I didn’t send a helicopter for nothing? No. I was just his daughter, the family moron.

  “Somebody tried to kill Mom and she had a massive stroke, but I wouldn’t want to interrupt your cannibal hunt! Clearly, you have your priorities, you self-involved nut job!” I screamed at him and hung up.

  The entire room stared at me and I sucked down the rest of my coffee. “Well, he knows. It was totally worth eating that crab.”

  “Mercy,” said Nikki. “Your father is—”

  “A complete ass? I know.”

  “I don’t think…” she trailed off.

  Uncle Morty put down his laptop and stood up. “Tommy’s a real fucker when it comes to work. Always has been.”

  Nikki sputtered. Obviously, it wasn’t Greek to call a father a fucker. “Don’t you think—”

  Uncle Morty came over slapped me on the back, so hard I almost fell out of my chair. “I think I’ve been to more of Mercy’s crap than Tommy. Graduations. Talent shows. Those idiotic powderpuff football games.”

  “Really?” asked Nikki, glowing the way women do when they find a caretaker.

  “Yeah,” I said. “He was there. My dad found other things to do.”

  “Like catching murderers and rapists,” said Uncle Morty. “There’s a price to pay for brilliance.”

  “And Mom’s paying it right now. I could kill him. I could beat him to death with a bat.”

  Grandad walked in with Aunt Tenne. “You sound just like Jeanette in Sturgis and she did beat Steve to death.”

  “Great. Now I sound like that psycho,” I said.
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br />   “What happened?” he asked.

  I told him and Grandad got a shade paler. “He didn’t.”

  “Oh, he did.”

  “Give me that phone. That boy, as Bill Cosby said before he was a criminal, I brought him in this world and I can take him out.” Grandad reached for my phone just as it rang again.

  “I got it,” I said. “You can take him out later.”

  Grandad gritted his teeth and nodded.

  “Hello,” I said, steely and cold.

  “What did you say to me?” yelled Dad.

  “I said you’re a self-involved nut job and I stand by it.”

  “Not that. About your mother.”

  I told him once again what happened, thinking that perhaps, just maybe, he would get upset. You know, ask about Mom’s condition, what hospital she was in, stuff like that. But, oh no, not Tommy Watts.

  “Where the hell is Denny?” he screamed. Everyone in the waiting room froze and Uncle Morty picked up his cellphone, nodding at me.

  “How should I know where Denny is?” I asked. “It’s not my day to watch him.”

  Dad went quiet.

  “Well?”

  “You haven’t seen Denny?” he asked

  “No. He’s on a case. I didn’t call him. I’ve been busy and it’s not like he can do anything.” I looked over at Uncle Morty and Grandad now sequestered on the sofa, working on the laptops. They didn’t look happy.

  “Have you been back to the house?” Dad asked.

  I described the cops and techs at the house, finding the bullet with a sense of increasing doom. Somehow, I couldn’t tell him about the blood. It was crucial information, but saying it out loud to Dad made it more real. “Why are you asking about Denny if he’s in Montana on assignment?”

  Dad’s voice was thick and throaty. I’d heard him like that when his partner, Cora, was murdered and it scared the crap out of me. “Because I canceled the job and told him to watch your mother. Aunt Miriam was worried. We’d had some half-assed break-in attempts. Call him. I’m going to kick his ass up into his throat.”

  I pictured the scene, the trampled hosta and that bullet hole so well-concealed. We thought all our people were accounted for except Claire.

  “Dad, where’s Claire?” I asked.

  “Claire? Why the hell are you asking about her? Call Denny.”

  “Uncle Morty’s on it. Where’s Claire?”

  I could hear him violently scratching his scalp before he said, “She said she was going on some cruise. She met a guy from Parks and Rec. I didn’t have time to run a background on him. Tell Morty to run her credit cards.”

  “He did. There’s nothing.” I mouthed to Uncle Morty, “She went on a cruise.” Uncle Morty nodded and went back to typing furiously. “Do you remember this new guy’s name or the cruise line?” I asked Dad.

  “No. I don’t remember the name. She said something about the Bahamas though.”

  I turned to Uncle Morty. “Bahamas.”

  He nodded and typed furiously. “On it.”

  Dad and I went quiet. If Claire was on that cruise with her latest loser, that left only Denny unaccounted for. Denny would never leave Mom alone when he was under orders to keep an eye on her. Never. Not going to happen.

  There was a beep.

  “Dammit,” said Dad. “This phone is low.”

  I looked over at Uncle Morty. He shook his head at me and I said, “Denny’s dead.”

  Dad grumbled, “Don’t jump to conclusions. I taught you better than that.”

  I told him about the blood and Dad said there could be another explanation. Dumped blood to throw us off the track. Could be a service person that was at the wrong place at the wrong time. A Ron Goldman-type situation.

  There was another beep.

  “This phone’s going to die,” Dad said.

  “Shocking.”

  “What do you mean by that?

  “The FBI helicopter brought you a phone that’s about to die. You don’t think that’s weird?”

  He scratched his head again. “You think it’s intentional?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  Beep.

  Dad got thoughtful. “Why didn’t you contact me sooner?”

  “We tried,” I said. “I had to make a deal with the FBI to get this phone call.”

  Two beeps.

  “Tell me what you did, Mercy.”

  “No time. Get home. Mom needs you.”

  “I’m on it. What did you do?”

  “I need your file on Cassidy Huff.”

  “Why the hell?”

  Three beeps.

  “Dad! Cassidy Huff!”

  “My office. Bottom drawer on the right. Why, Mercy?”

  I turned away and whispered into the phone so my spectators wouldn’t hear. “Blankenship put her in a wood chipper. Don’t tell the Feds.” I paused. “Dad?” I’d lost him and I didn’t know when. I closed my eyes. Please don’t tell them.

  A gentle hand landed on my shoulder. I looked up at Grandad. “We can’t get ahold of Denny. No one has seen or heard from him since he ordered a pizza to be delivered to your parents’ house yesterday at five. He obviously didn’t go to Montana, but his wife was under the impression that he did go. He hasn’t called her, which isn’t unusual when he’s working.”

  “Why would he tell his wife he was going to Montana when he was watching Mom?” I asked.

  “Think about it.”

  “Come on,” I said. “Mom and Denny wouldn’t do anything.”

  Grandad hugged me. “I know that, but remember you said Grandma would be jealous of a woman who’s been dead twenty years. How do you think Denny’s wife would feel? Your mother is…well, your mother.”

  “I guess. What about Claire?”

  “Looks like Claire is on a cruise, so that makes sense. She wasn’t around to make the changes on the roster.”

  “He is so dead,” I said.

  “Who’s dead?” Chuck walked through the door. His expression was half angry and half curious.

  “Denny. He was supposed to be looking after Mom and he’s missing.”

  Chuck stopped walking and Sydney bumped into the back of him. “Do you know his blood type?”

  “No, but it should be on his insurance stuff.” My chest was so tight it hurt. “I’ll be right back.”

  Aunt Tenne touched my arm as I passed. “You really think Denny’s dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t believe it. He’s so young,” she said. “Forty-two.”

  I patted her hands as she was wringing them. “I’m going to talk to Mom. I want you to go in when I’m done.”

  She nodded and I returned to the ICU, flashing my access badge at security. Takira was charting at her desk and I asked her, “Any word on the TEE?”

  She picked up the phone and started dialing. “They’re backed up. I’ll check.”

  “Thanks.” I went in Mom’s room to see that Wallace was awake and amusing Mom by doing tricks for bits of Aaron’s special kibble. To call it kibble was kind of an insult. It’s main ingredients appeared to be black truffles, because all pugs should eat truffles, and filet mignon. I should eat so well.

  “Who’s a good girl?” asked Mom.

  “I’m a good girl,” I said.

  Grr.

  “I was asking Wallace,” said Mom.

  “I’m still a good girl.”

  Grr.

  “Quiet, hound,” I said and Wallace ran to the edge of the bed and peered through the safety rail at my feet. Happily, even Wallace’s aim wasn’t that good.

  “Mom, have you remembered anything else about yesterday?” I asked.

  Bark.

  “Not asking the dog.”

  Grr.

  I gave Wallace a chunk of gourmet kibble and asked Mom again.

  “Why?” asked Mom, dabbing the drool away from her chin.

  “Well,” I tried to sound upbeat. “I was wondering if maybe Denny was at the house.”

  �
�Denny.” She dabbed again. I think the drooling was getting worse like everything else in our lives.

  “Yes, Mom. Try to think. Do you remember him being there?”

  “Yes. I think…everything is so fuzzy. I think your father told him to watch me. I don’t know why. I can take care of myself.” She gave some more kibble to Wallace in exchange for sitting up and begging.

  Takira came in and we exchanged a look. That guy almost killed her, but it didn’t seem to have sunk in. “Was he outside with you when it happened?”

  Please say no.

  She frowned but only on the right side. “Denny?”

  Oh my god!

  “Yeah, Mom. Denny. You were out in the side yard and somebody else was there.”

  “Someone attacked me,” she said. “He was there.”

  I swallowed hard and said, “I know that. But I think there was another person.”

  Mom blinked slowly and her eyelids didn’t match. The left side was significantly slower than the right. She needed a neuro-ophthalmologist on top of everything else.

  “I don’t remember,” she said. “It’s all so indistinct. Dr. Nishi said I might have a concussion, but there wasn’t any bleeding in the brain so that’s good.”

  I pushed a curl off her forehead, revealing the widow’s peak that was identical to mine. “That is good.”

  “Will I get better?” she asked softly.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Tell the truth.”

  “I am.” My eyes overflowed. “It will take time.”

  “How long will I be here?” she asked and I realized that with everything that had been happening, we hadn’t discussed it. I didn’t much want to discuss it then either.

  Takira took over in her reassuring way. “You’ll go to the regular floor this afternoon after your TEE at four. They’re thinking maybe a week here total.”

  Mom sighed and reached for her water mug. “Then I can go home.”

  My mind was swirling with thoughts of Denny and blood and the man stalking Mom right in the hospital, but I managed to focus for a second. “I want you to go to rehab.”

  Mom looked confused. “Rehab?”

  “For speech and physical therapy.”

  “Can’t I do that at home?”

  “It will be more intense in-patient,” said Takira. “Mercy’s right. You’ll have a better outcome.”